Chapter Text
Through small earbuds poured the soft, purring hum of the plucks at a low guitar, a gentle thrum overtaking the auditory senses of one teal-haired man. It was some song about a first love, or some arbitrary, trivial thing, but the instrumental was like ear candy for Squidward. It was simply heavenly. Not to mention the vocals, which were incredible, despite the lyrics, which were a take-it-or-leave-it sort of deal.
As he walked, he drank in the details of the chilly atmosphere around him. Snow dusted the ground, and a soft, playful breeze ruffled his hair. Squidward sunk into his jacket, appreciating its warmth. His breath was escaping in quiet puffs, creating tiny clouds in front of his face. His boots crunched in the sand as he went along, coming into view of the Krusty Krab.
Things were going smoothly, until he saw an eager face gazing at him through the window, waving at him with an eager hand. He knew the sinking feeling he’d felt when he’d woken up was for a good reason.
Squidward tiredly entered the doors and reluctantly popped out his earbuds, shoving them in his pocket for another time. He didn’t typically listen to music—it was a conditional thing, depending on how he felt—but he knew the consequences should Mr. Krabs have caught him on the off-chance that he was. Luckily, the greedy man was nowhere in sight.
“Whatcha listenin’ to, Squid?” Spongebob somehow suddenly appeared at his side, startling him. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grumbled rhetorically in response. In his peripherals, he saw Spongebob scratching his head. “Uh, yeah, that’s why I asked.”
Squidward sighed, settling into his daily position at the register. He saw Spongebob shyly approach him out of the corner of his eye. “Uh, well… anyways… happy Valentine’s Day, Squidward!”
Squidward recoiled as Spongebob held out a heart-shaped piece of paper towards him. “You do this to everyone every year.” “I think everybody deserves a little love and compassion.”
Squidward frowned.
“And, uh, even though I know you haven’t ever… actually read… one of these, I still try to put something unique in it every year. Y-you know, in case you do.” Spongebob added timidly, setting the paper down gently on the register. “Whatever.”
As soon as the ginger was out of sight, Squidward crumpled it up and shoved it in his pocket so he could toss it in the next trashcan he came across.
Squidward frowned as he heard the click of the grill starting up and the squeak of shiny black shoes moving around in the kitchen. That was the signal that the day had begun.
The day started out slow, picking up speed around lunchtime. Squidward didn’t care; he just wanted to go home—to be fair, though, he had wanted to go home from the very moment he’d left his house. The customers were all annoying, especially the couples. He wished there was a “No PDA” policy.
Of course, Spongebob was still doing his thing where he passed out personalized cards to each and every person who entered the building. Squidward frowned upon this trivial practice, as the holiday itself seemed arbitrary. However, he couldn’t help but feel a sinking in his chest whenever a customer would become particularly flirtatious with the frycook.
Later in the day, around two o’clock, Squidward was reading a dance magazine when a voice pulled him from his reverie.
“Alone on V-Day again, ol’ chum?” Squidward looked up, hoping and praying that the snooty, nasally voice didn’t belong to who he knew it belonged to, being that the owner of the voice pulled shit like this every year, without fail.
“What do you want?” Squidward growled.
Squilliam flashed four ticket-like papers in his hand. “Well, I was looking for someone to go on a double date with, since I’m going with my date Squinn, but I thought I’d humor myself because, once more, you don’t have a date!” Then, the hoity-toity man laughed that horrible laugh. Once he calmed down, he leaned over the register. “Plus, even if you did, even they wouldn’t want to spend their dinner with you. Hope the eggs are keeping you company, sucker!”
Squilliam laughed again, hard. The sound was enough to make Squidward break. “Actually, I do have a date,” he snarled, trying to stay calm. Squilliam raised a brow.
Just then, Spongebob burst out of the kitchen with an order for a table near the kitchen. Before he could leave, however, Squidward grabbed his arm. “S… spongebob is my… date.” Squidward struggled, nearly choking on his words. Spongebob just looked confused while Squilliam actually looked caught off-guard. “Wh-? Pah! I thought you hated that pest!”
Squilliam’s terrible laugh bubbled out again. “Well, it just so happens that I don’t.” Squidward felt confident in his retort, until Squilliam countered it. “Well, if you like him so much, you should join my partner and I on a double date! How fun!”
The taunting lilt in Squilliam’s voice was enough to push Squidward over the edge. That bastard knew what he was doing, but Squidward wasn’t about to back down. “Fine.” Squilliam chuckled at Squidward’s curt response. “Eight o’clock: meet us at ‘Lune Bleue.’ It’s French, so it should be fancier than anything you eat,” Squilliam said, crowing with teasing laughs.
As the unibrowed man walked out, Spongebob shot Squidward a befuddled glance.
“What was that all about?” Spongebob prodded cautiously. Squidward sighed and put his head in his hands.
“I—it—ugh…” Squidward struggled, “I said something stupid just so I could look better than him. Again. But I don’t care.”
Squidward turned his head to find Spongebob still looking at him, eyes searching his face as an eyebrow crawled upwards to portray his confusion.
“So… what does that mean?”
Squidward groaned at Spongebob’s inability to pay attention to anything ever.
“It- we have to… go on a… a pretend date. Not a real one. Just… to make Squilliam jealous of how much better I am.”
Spongebob seemed to relax. “That’s all you’re worried about? You’re already leagues better than Squilliam-” “No, I’m worried about having to go with you. I’m not particularly excited by the idea of having to stay around you for a whole dinner. But it’s fine. The sooner we can get it over with, the sooner I can forget about any of this ever happening.”
Spongebob frowned at Squidward’s jab, but strained a smile quickly after, mumbling something under his breath before returning to the kitchen. Squidward pointedly tuned him out.
The later half of the day was awkward, but not unbearably slow. Thanks to the system that the Krusty Krab employees functioned on, they hardly, if ever, had to speak to each other at all. In fact, all Squidward had to do was write down the orders and they could practically function without talking at all. Squidward appreciated the silence, but felt an uncomfortable weight settle deep within himself.
Customers began to give both him and—through the window—his coworker questioning looks. However, they’d quickly move on, their beloved or whomever pulling their attention away.
At one point, Squidward sighed deeply. The restaurant was nearly empty, save for two couples seated across the room in the front. The building was quiet save for the soft, distant chatter of the faraway customers and the mechanical hum of the devices in the kitchen. It was almost closing time, and the hands of Squidward’s watch seemed to move slower and slower by the minute.
About two minutes after closing, the customers all approached the cashier, giving gracious tips for allowing them to stay late.
Squidward left his station to quietly spot-sweep the dining area. He heard things being moved around in the kitchen, followed by the soft squeak of a rag on the cooled grill. Cleaning went faster than it usually did, since Spongebob seemed to be outright avoiding Squidward. That made Squidward’s chest twist in a weird way. Even worse, the building was completely quiet, aside from the sounds of cleaning supplies being put to use.
Squidward was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice Spongebob walking by him, passing by without so much as a word. Somehow, that irritated Squidward more than any of Spongebob’s other antics.
Quickly leaning the broom to the side, Squidward tugged his jacket on and bounded to keep up with Spongebob, exclaiming, “Wuh—? Wait! Wait up!”
Spongebob turned around at Squidward’s exclamation, stopping to wait for him. “Hff… Spo… Spongebob…” Squidward panted while he placed his hands on his knees and leaned over to catch his breath. Spongebob simply watched him with an inquisitive look. Squidward sucked in some air and gnashed his teeth anxiously. He blew the air out slowly, puffing his cheeks. “I didn’t… I… ugh. I didn’t mean to be so rude earlier. I... I’m s… sor… I apologize.”
When Spongebob didn’t say anything, Squidward cleared his throat. “Uhh… my house, seven-thirty. Okay?”
Spongebob gave him an irate look that, given any other context, would have looked hilarious, seeing as he never had reason for it, but instead made Squidward’s stomach sink. “I thought you didn’t…” Spongebob’s look of offense was still there, but softened. “I thought you didn’t want me around. All I do is be nice to you, but…”
Something in Squidward’s chest tightened uncomfortably. “N- well. I… listen. I was a… bit panicked. I don’t hate having you around, I just… I’m sorry,” Squidward frowned, feeling awkward as the silence continued. “Uh… you can choose the music on the way, if you’d like.”
He looked up from his shoes and at Spongebob, who now adorned a gentle smile. “I would like that.” Squidward felt his heart speed up, only for a moment.
The pair finished their walk home in comfortable silence. “See ya soon, Squid!” Spongebob waved to Squidward before entering his own home.
Squidward stood outside his door, alone, fumbling with the keys. He began losing his focus as he did so, getting lost in thought. He was so… desperate—not only to one-up Squilliam, but to have a date in the first place—that he had chosen Spongebob of all people. Granted, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but Squidward still felt regret for even considering Spongebob for such an event as a date, much less actually choosing him.
As Squidward stepped inside, he fretted. It was currently six fifty-nine, and he had no idea what to wear. He went upstairs quickly and dug through his drawers.
Squidward eventually pulled out the perfect outfit after ten minutes. He rushed to the bathroom to change. Quickly brushing his teeth and combing his hair, he spared his watch a fleeting glance. Six minutes past the hour. That gave him fourteen more minutes to prepare.
Squidward spritzed himself with a pleasant, wispy, mango-scented fragrance, hoping mostly to hide the stench of sweat and grease from his workplace. Checking himself in a full-body mirror, Squidward adjusted his near-ebony-colored slacks and tucked in his asphalt grey turtleneck. He looped a thin gold-colored belt through the loops of his pants, fixing it so as it was not too tight around his midsection.
Hastily, he touched-up his hair and gelled it, letting it fall into place naturally. Seven twenty-six. Four minutes until his… companion arrived. Squidward wearily trudged down his stairwell as if he was making his walk into the afterlife—and, based on his dramatized moping, one who did not know any better may have, upon first glance, actually thought he was deceased. Unfortunately for Squidward, he was very much still alive and well.
He flopped down in an armchair in his living room and sighed, puffing his cheeks as he did. What was I thinking? Squidward thought as he ran an exasperated hand down his face, A date? With Spongebob? I’m about to be off my rocker.
He spared another glance at the clock. Twenty-eight.
God, the passing of time was so nerve-racking. And so agonizingly slow.
Sitting there, Squidward almost didnt hear the knock on the door over his pondering of every decision he had ever made.
Before he could get too existential, however, the clock hit seven thirty, and who else but his neighbor knocked at the door. At least he bothered to knock, Squidward mused.
“Coming!” the tall man shouted. He quickly pulled on a pair of faux leather black boots, a greying, wintery cobalt coat, and a greyed beret to match his sweater. As he opened the door, he quickly flung a modest, peacock blue scarf with thin white stripes around his neck, to face the biting February air.
The door opened to reveal Spongebob, in all his well-dressed glory. He was wearing a simple ivory button-up with a sweater vest which was, color-wise, comparable to that of strawberry lemonade. He wore dark slacks that reminded Squidward of the color of coffee grounds, and coated himself with a muted ruby cardigan. With this, he donned a soft, flaxen-colored scarf, with shoes of the same color to match. His face was dusted with bubblegum pink, his cheeks splotchy from the cold.
“Um… how long were you out there?”
Spongebob’s face seemed to darken in color. “Ah, only a minute or two, but the weather’s not… lookin’ up.” Squidward frowned.
Spongebob stood still for a moment before breaking. Holding his hands up defensively, he blurted, “I-I’m sorry! I was so nervous about being late. I spent a lot of time just pacing around in front of my house, honest!”
Squidward held up a silencing hand. “Okay, Spongebob. I believe you.” The ginger’s temper seemed to simmer at that. Squidward cleared his throat. “Uh… let’s get going.”
Locking his door, Squidward turned and shoved his hands and keys into his coat pockets. As he walked along, Spongebob speed-walked to keep up.
They reached the nearby bus stop in silence. Glancing down at his partner, Squidward noticed that Spongebob surprisingly looked… shy. It wasn’t as if he had never seen a timid face on the guy, but it also wasn’t a common thing. Before Squidward could speak on it, however, a bus came to a loud stop before opening its doors.
There were a few other people on the bus—most of them middle-aged-looking men and women in professional outfits presumably coming home from work—but none paid attention to the boarding pair.
Squidward and Spongebob awkwardly maneuvered to the back, scooting between lighthearted chatter and outstretched legs.
Finally, Squidward slid in next to Spongebob, who sat next to a window. As the bus doors closed, Squidward fumbled to retrieve his earbuds. Offering one to Spongebob, he asked, “Do you still… wanna choose the music?”
Spongebob looked him up and down for a split second, more pink blossoming across his face. “Yeah,” he responded after a moment, a smile growing on his face. Squidward handed Spongebob his phone, and turned his head to the window as the shorter man opened the music streaming app.
He didn’t particularly care what the ginger chose, as long as it wasn’t…
A series of stomping and clapping—similar to the sound of heavy objects in a dryer—broke the silence through the earbuds.
… bad.
Squidwward nearly gasped loudly at the song choice. He recognized this.
Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart
Baby, bang it up insi-ide
Squidward glanced at Spongebob, drinking in the details of his face.
Spongebob’s chin rested on the heel of his palm, his fingers curled as support. He seemed to be hanging on every lyric, but his eyes were closed and his facial expression was unreadable. He seemed discontentedly content, to put it simply.
The sky was slowly darkening in a color gradient achieved only by nature, and the swaths of honey orange near the horizon painted Spongebob’s face in a pleasing way.
Squidward blinked. “Spongebob”?! “Pleasing”?! In the same sentence??!
However, those thoughts were tarnished when he glanced at his companion once more. He was almost entranced by the freckles that littered his face as stars do to the night sky. For someone who was almost brighter than the sun, Squidward found it oxymoronic to compare him to the opposite of such.
I thought maybe we would kiss toni-ight
Squidward was broken out of his ceaseless thoughts by that lyric, feeling an odd heat rise to his face at the mention of a kiss.
Then, he remembered something he was going to say.
Tapping Spongebob’s hand and turning the blue-eyed man’s attention to him, he was able to show him his baffled look. “You like Mitski?!” Squidward whisper-shouted to his companion incredulously.
“Oh. Yeah, I do. Her lyrics just feel… relatable, I guess. I like them.” He smiled pleasantly.
Spongebob looked back out the window, listening silently to the music in his ear. The color swatch of the sunset danced on his face as clouds passed over and the sun slowly sunk towards the line where sky met land.
Squidward allowed the lyrics to serenade him, sinking in his seat as an odd feeling settled in his chest. He found himself coming to… adapt, perhaps, to the warmth encompassing his left arm as he and Spongebob were forced in the seat to sit shoulder-to-shoulder when the bus careened left or right. He dismissed it as himself being much too aware of the brat next to him.
As the next song booted up, and Spongebob’s legs swung to the beat, Squidward found himself replaying in his head the events of the day leading up to his current situation. Muted drums and soft cymbal taps embraced his senses.
My baby, my baby
You’re my baby, say it to me
So Mitski was the artist of the night. Alright.
Squidward laid his head back, glancing at the ceiling.
He heard Spongebob chuckle gently. “I cried, y’know, the first time I heard this. It reminded me of how my grandparents used to talk to me when I was a kid, and how much I missed my grandpa.”
Though Squidward had a feeling as to where this conversation was to head, he still asked, “What happened? Did he… move away, or…?”
Squidward knew it was a stupid question, but the kind look in Spongebob’s eyes dissolved it completely from memory. “Ah, no. He, um… he passed away a few years ago,” Spongebob recalled, his hand absentmindedly rubbing his cheek, “I was so upset for a really long time, but I knew I couldn’t bring him back. So, I just accepted that I couldn’t, and decided to appreciate that I still had my memories of him.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Squidward offered, unsure of what else to say. “Ah, don’t worry about it. He’s in a good place,” Spongebob retorted.
Squidward watched a fond smile grow on Spongebob’s face as he engorged himself on nostalgia.
After a short moment, Spongebob inhaled and spoke again. “He was a bit of a cranky old guy. He was always blunt, but he had oddly specific things he would say, like, ‘Don’t run for a bus, especially one that’s going up at a 90-degree angle.’” Spongebob chuckled. “He was always kind of a party pooper, but he loved us. Every year, he’d dress up as Santa to entertain me and my cousins.”
Squidward nodded at Spongebob, gesturing for him to continue. “Obviously, we had no clue who Santa was until Sandy came around, but we appreciated the act. ‘An old guy giving out free toys? Wow!’ We were all in love with that idea,” Spongebob laughed, the reflection of the sunset making his eyes appear a soft indigo. “When you dressed up as Santa that one year, I was so happy, because it was like he was still here.”
Squidward felt shocked; since when did Spongebob figure out that it was him? Also… what…? Squidward had no idea what to think.
“I like to think of him as, uh, less ‘deceased’ and more, ‘lives on in the people I love.’” Spongebob made quotation marks with his fingers. “Yeah.” Squidward nodded, losing himself in thought. Spongebob looked back out the window.
“People he loves”… but… Squidward thought, contemplatively, his thoughts running short. He failed to draw a connection between the items previously spoken, but knew there was something there. Squidward wanted to think more on this, but when he felt Spongebob lean into the seat, his cheek barely resting on his shoulder, he let it be. For some reason. Somehow.
The rest of the ride was spent in comfortable nonspeaking silence, with only the music left to carry on a closed conversation.