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Three’s phone buzzes again. They pretend it doesn’t, flipping through television channels to avoid talking to whoever wishes to send them their pity. Sure, Callie dresses it up and asks all the questions indirectly, and Marie tries to prod further, likely hoping Three will give her a real answer, but at its core, it’s the same conversation each time. Yes, they’re still in pain; yes, they’re fine on their own; no, they don’t want to talk about it.
To be fair to the unknown caller, they hadn’t been subjected to a wellness call for two days. After Callie’s brainwashing and Marie’s arduous journey to find her, multiple times apparently, the two decided they needed to go through with their Calamari County trip. Only the newest official agent, Agent 4, had called them since, asking for help with some kind of school assignment, but they quickly learned Three would be of no assistance in that regard. Then they asked if Three would turf with them. They said no.
The clock ticks into the next hour. They mindlessly flip through the new shows, trying to ignore the actual number of the hour that pops up each time they press the next channel button.
As it turns out, actively attempting to forget the number eight has the opposite effect. Eights appear to materialize in front of them everywhere they go. The bandages for their eye cost them 8 dollars a roll. They had to tip the food delivery squid 8 dollars each time they couldn’t stand to leave the house. Cod forbid they want to listen to the 24/7 Squid Sisters radio, because it moved to station 86.8.
Right on cue, Three’s phone goes off. They know how many times they’ve been called.
The octoling serves her purpose and serves it well; all she does is remind them of the metro. The countless days spent wandering ‘Employee’s Only’ halls, the painful whines and screams deep below from whatever horrors Tartar inflicted on the innocent, and the utter humiliation that was their own free will being stripped away all break through the floodgates each time they hear or see her name. Yes, they hated Agent 8 when they first saw her; however, after learning of her defying all odds and quite literally dragging them out of the metro, they couldn’t let that continue. She’s talented, resourceful, determined, and passionate, all things a good agent must be, even if she doesn't have the official title. It isn’t her fault by any means, but knowing that didn’t stop the terrors.
Beyond that, though, a single thing they did days prior keeps them from allowing Agent 8 to enter their mind freely. The entire New Squidbeak Splatoon, along with the octoling and new associates Off the Hook, organized a little get-together before Callie and Marie left to catch up with each group’s missions. They remember watching Agent 8. She appeared more comfortable, yet she spoke very little, eyes usually darting back and forth to and from each speaker.
At some point, Three left to take a breather from all of the metro discussion. They didn’t have anything worthwhile to add anyways. Suddenly, the octoling popped up out of nowhere and tapped them on the shoulder, smiling. Words came out of her mouth in a high pitched, thick Octarian accent, slow, but direct.
“Agent 3, yes? I am hoping to have the talk with you.”
Three spluttered out something about needing to go to the bathroom and coming back soon. When they did so, they noticed her sitting with the others, yet staring in their direction in wait. Instead of having whatever conversation she wanted, they pretended they didn’t see or hear her in the first place, and struck up a conversation with the Squid Sisters about nothing in particular. When they left, Three left, too, both embarrassed and thankful they dodged Agent 8’s talk.
Several jolts from their phone in quick succession pull that out of their mind and bring them back to the present, while knocking their phone onto the floor. They lean down to grab it, but before they can throw the phone onto the couch and pretend it never went off at all, the light from their basic ink spotted lock screen catches their eye, and they read the notifications.
2 new messages from Callie
3 missed calls from Callie
Voicemail left by Callie. Listen now?
1 new message from Marie
5 missed calls from Callie
4 new messages from Callie
Awfully persistent, but that’s Callie. She never takes silence as an answer. However, the single text from Marie makes them second guess the reason for Callie’s barrage. Three draws in a long, deep breath, and taps the notification.
Don’t know if you’re busy, sleeping, ignoring her, or her calls aren’t getting through, but call Callie back. It’s urgent. I’m trying to call Four but they won’t pick up either.
Their fingers start moving before they fully process the text, starting Callie’s voicemail and then going into her messages.
hey so we kinda need u to do us a biggg favor
like rn
“Heyyyy, it’s me, I’m sorry, I really really really didn’t wanna bother you ‘cause I know it’s late, but there’s something going on Marie and I can’t do ‘cause we’re not in town. Marie’s been trying to get Four but she can’t reach them either, and I feel so so so bad, but pleaaaaaaaase pick up the phone, okay-talk-to-you-stay-safe-and-fresh-please-call-me-back.”
THREE FOR COD’S SAKEEE
nobody is dying btw dont panic plz but we rly need u to do something
mar thinks 4 is asleep so youre kinda the last last resort now
we REALLY dont wanna call the police for this so please pick upppp
The mention of the police gets Three typing a ‘What the fuck is happening’ text, but Callie interrupts it halfway through with another call. Almost instantaneously, they swipe and accept it, bringing the phone up to their ear.
“-ick up, please pick up, please pick up,” Callie mutters.
“What the-” they start.
“Oh, thank cod,” she interrupts. Her pace quickens as she continues, “I was so worried, I thought we might need to get someone to check on you, too. I mean you usually don’t take so long to pick up, even at night.”
“Cut to the chase, Cal, what do you want?” Three asks.
She blows air onto the speaker. Three flinches a little. “I know this is the last thing you want to do, especially this late at night, but… well we need you to look for Agent 8.”
Dead air fills the line. Three pulls the phone away from their ear and stares at Callie’s profile picture on their phone. They click the speaker button and put it in their lap.
“Are you still here?” Callie asks, voice clearly overwhelmed with fear.
“What do you mean look for her? You expect me to get into Pearl’s mansion or whatever and wander the halls ‘til I stumble upon the right room?” Three replies.
“No, she’s wandering Inkopolis Square. Pearl and Marina were showing her around, and they went into Jelfonzo’s to check on some stuff they needed tailored, and when they turned around, she was gone,” she explains. Callie never speaks so directly.
“Okay, why is this my problem? Why didn’t they want to call the police, or just search for her themselves?” Contrary to their words, one of their hearts drop. That girl first stepped foot into Inkopolis a mere two weeks prior; it’d be impossible to find her way around.
“Well, they searched as much as they could, but they had recordings to do, and management wouldn’t budge. Marina called me up super quick, ‘cause they’re worried she might try to fight or run from the police, so they wanted to try and get a Splatoon member to help.”
Three puts their head in their hands and groans. Why did all of the associates of the Splatoon need to be busy idols? “How long has she been gone?”
“Probably half an hour at least. I forgot to ask, I’m sorry,” Callie answers.
They stand up. “I better get paid for this.”
“I’m sorry, I know you really don’t want to be around her,” Callie says.
They pause halfway to picking up their phone, do it, then reply, “What?”
“It didn’t seem like you liked her the other day,” she explains.
They should've known she would notice. “No, it’s not like… that.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t believe Three, and they knew it. They put on their sweater and shoes, and as they gather the rest of their things, Callie’s vacation comes to mind.
“How’s Calamari County?”
“Oh, it’s great! Peaceful as ever,” she says, much more cheerfully. That’s the Callie they know. “It’s so nice to see all my old friends, and- oh, you need to come next time! There’s so much traditional food here they just don’t have in the rest of Inkopolis and you absolutely need to try it!”
“Hopefully I’m not busy then,” they reply. “Sounds great, though.”
“It really is…” She pauses. “Are you leaving yet?”
“I’m heading out now. I’ll text you when I find her.” They take their keys off of the wall.
“You have Pearl and Marina’s numbers too, right? Text them too so you don’t need to wait for me to see it.”
“Got it.”
“Stay fresh, Three!”
“You, too.”
They end the call and head down the hallway of their apartment building. Thanks to Off the Hook, they still have a roof over their head. They missed a rent payment while stuck in the metro, and they not only dealt with their landlord, but paid the hefty late fee along with it. Finding Agent 8 is the least they could do for them, they suppose. Opting for the stairs, Three quickly descends them, almost tripping over themself at the end of the final flight.
Zipping up their sweater, they walk outside. Inklings head to Deca Tower for late-night turfing, while Three curses the time of day. At least they have some streetlamps to aid their one good eye in spotting the octoling. Bothering Three more than their mediocre sight is the potential of the darkness to frighten Agent 8. After all, the run-down metro shrouded itself in it. They almost threw up at the sound of Cap’n Cuttlefish’s old man ringtone the other day; who knew what she could stomach?
They peek around the shops near Jelfonzo’s, hoping Agent 8 stumbled back upon where she got lost in the first place. A part of them wants to wait, but they drag themselves through the streets as other tired inklings turn in for the night. A few glare at them. Suddenly, they become aware of how creepy they must appear. To a random guy on the street, an inkling with one visible eye peeking into every shop and restaurant isn’t the best impression.
They make rounds, trying to form a coherent route through the city that limits the chance they’d miss her. When they reach the sit-down restaurant furthest from Deca Tower, they turn back, then to the sides. She’s not in the heart of the Square.
Picking up the pace, Three almost jogs through the side streets. They search small landmarks next: a convenience store a bit out of the way, a coffee shop near the edge of town, anything that may catch Agent 8’s attention. Searching along the outskirts, they come across the city's busiest train station. Although it’s the last place they want to be, they scan the benches for people. Several inkfish stand around the platform, but a pair of tentacles in a familiar shade of pink catches Three's eyes.
They rush up the steps. When they reach the top, the octoling whips their head around and stares through them. For a moment, they doubt it's her. She appeared so tense in the past, and her tentacles were always tied up in a high ponytail, but in normal street clothes and tentacles down, she’s like a new person. Three walks forward, but keeps their hands visible. They stop five feet away. Agent 8 opens her mouth but doesn't say a word. They wait a bit too long to end the silence.
“You lost?” they ask. Of course she's lost, what kind of question is that?
Agent 8 tilts her head to the side, and her eyes flick side to side. “Uhm… I am not lost? I win the fight before.”
“No, I mean, uh,” Three trails off. This could be a long night. “You went missing. They sent me looking for you.”
“Ah, yes, yes!” she exclaims. “The friends are not here with me.”
A wind gust blows her curly tentacles around. She shudders, making herself smaller, and tries to pull the short sleeves of her shirt downward, to no avail. Three puts their hands in their pockets.
“Sit down, I'm gonna figure out where I gotta take you,” Three says, brushing past her, taking a spot on the bench.
The girl hums in acknowledgement, and sits down next to Three. A little too close for Three's liking, but they’re leaning against the armrest already. They open their phone and text Callie that they found her, then send another message to Marina and Pearl to figure out what to do next. Agent 8 peers over their shoulder, but Three can’t tell if she saw them. They shoot her a look, hoping she'd pick up on it better than their words.
“You, uh, have the other name, yes?” she asks. “Marina says the number is not the… common name.”
Clearly she didn’t. “You can call me Three. It's fine.”
“You do not remember the name?”
“I know my name. I’d prefer you call me Three,” they insist.
“Three, yes.” She nods.
She goes back to observing the station, acting as though she doesn’t have a thousand reasons to hate this kind of place. It isn’t in disrepair, unless they count the single flickering overhead light that’s giving them a headache, but the ambiance echoes the familiar sound of the metro. They check their phone, but don’t scroll on anything. Nobody noticed their messages, which only made the wait more excruciating.
Tapping sounds draw Three’s attention, and they watch Agent 8’s shoe drum against the hard concrete. It stops, and they glance up and see the girl with her other leg on the bench, closing the little distance they had from her.
“You are wanting to say something?” she asks.
They look back at their phone, and sigh. They may as well. “Why’d you come here of all places?”
“Ah.” Agent 8 gazes across the station, then back at Three. “I look for a place I know. It is the only one I remember.”
It’s the only one they can think about. “I see.”
“It is both scared and comfort,” she continues. She turns her body further in, hands on either edge of the seat. “It is difficult to say-”
A train blows its horn. Three stands up out of their seat, and their breathing hastens. The night train. It's just the night train. Agent 8 leans over, peering down the tracks as the train comes to a stop. The doors open, and in a matter of moments, only the two are left, and Three is still hyperventilating.
They're being dramatic. It's just a train. It doesn't even look like the ones in the Deepsea. They hear Agent 8. Maybe. Not her, they don't want her around. She's the reason for this, why they're like this. If she never… No, she's not. She did nothing wrong. She was trying to survive. She speaks again. It sounds louder. They can't understand it. They're ignoring her again. She hates them. She wishes she was with anyone else in the Splatoon right now, anyone but them. She doesn't deserve to be subjected to their dramatics. Is this why they couldn’t let themselves think of her? Because they'd need to admit the truth? They're the reason they're like this now. They're the reason she suffered through the metro. It's all their-
“Let us go.”
Agent 8 takes their hand, dragging their mind back to the train station, and they become aware of everything at once. She's in front of them, already facing the direction of the stairs down to the Square. The light flickers on. Their face, wet with tears, contorts in confusion.
“What..?”
“Come with me.” She takes a small step away from them, lightly pulling on their arm.
They follow her, and she guides them off the platform. Is she pitying them? They wipe their tears with their other sleeve and attempt to slow their breathing. The light tugging becomes Agent 8 walking barely a step ahead of them back toward the Square. She doesn't know where she's going; why are they letting her drag them across town?
Agent 8 stops at a bench at an intersection. It’s gone. They’re fine now. No, no, they were fine before. They can go back. They turn in place, but the train station is farther behind them now, much farther than they thought it was. She brought them all the way here.
Two pats on the metal bench focus their mind on the present. Agent 8 sits at one end of the bench, inviting them on. Sitting down, Three puts as much distance between them as possible, leaning toward the back and side of the seat. Immediately, they pull out their phone and find a text from Callie, sent several minutes ago.
omc im so relieved!!!! ill tell mar too so she doesnt worry
get home safe and stay fresh <3
Neither member of Off the Hook saw their messages. Callie and Marie always answer their work related texts in a timely manner, but Pearl and Marina didn’t exactly sign up for this willingly. Though, given Agent 8 is more akin to a dependent of some sort, rather than a colleague, it surprises Three that even in recording sessions, they aren’t watching their phones like hawks. Feeling prying eyes over them once more, they look up and see Agent 8 staring them down for what may be the hundredth time. She must not have anything better to do. Off the Hook needs to get her a functional phone.
“You are alright, now?” Agent 8 asks.
“Mhm.”
They make full eye contact with her. She wants to say something more; they see it in her face. Every few seconds, she looks away, eyes flickering down and to the sides, but they meet Three's again. And again. And again. Is she scared of them? Good, they don’t want to talk. A tiny voice in the back of their mind hurts at the thought. They go back to scrolling away on their phone on nothing in particular. Agent 8 inhales a deep breath.
“I am sorry,” she blurts out. “For the train.”
Three stops.
“It is scared. The train, the phone, the, ah, the turf war, the sanitization, the dark. They are…”
When Agent 8 trails off, Three faces her again, but she’s fully turned away from them. Her hands fidget around, from stretching them, to tapping her fingers together, and back to different stretches. She mutters something in Octarian; they can’t catch any of it. Almost two and a half years on the field and their single mode of communication with most octolings remains elementary at best. Their quick and decisive speech always goes straight over their head.
They give her time to think, but the moment she notices them staring, half formed words stammer out of her mouth in Inklish. Did they mess up her translation? She takes a breath, fixing her eyes on the broken sidewalk beneath them.
“You know the metro like me,” she says. “Pearl and Marina are not there. The Captain did no tests. I…” She scoots backward, leaning against the back of the bench, and she puts her feet on the seat in front of her, arms wrapping around her knees.. “It hurts me. I think it hurts you.”
Three’s breath catches. “What… are you saying?”
“It is the helpful to have the person to… ah, how you say… I do not have the word, but means the support. I have been hope to be the friends with you, Three.” As if she felt Three’s chest tighten herself, she continues, “If not, it is okay, yes. The thought is nice, but no anger if no desire.”
She smiles, the same smile from a few days ago. Is that all she wanted all this time? After all they’d done to her, of their own volition or not, she waited to find her moment to befriend them anyways. Her sweetness sickens them.
Maybe they didn’t hear her right. “I’m… sorry, what?”
“Ah!” She moves her legs off of the seat and leans against her armrest. “It is okay, I understand.”
They definitely heard her right, and she definitely heard them wrong.
“That’s not what I meant.” It comes out far too defensive. “Sorry. I just-”
“It is not the large deal,” she says. “There is no force, and we will… make doing, yes?”
The words spill out of their mouth. “I’m not saying that I don’t want it, I just don’t know why you would want that after… everything.”
Agent 8 pauses in thought. “We can cut our tentacles!” she says far too cheerfully.
Three immediately adjusts their two front tentacles behind their shoulders. “What?”
“It does not translate?” She tilts her head. “Ah, the fresh start!”
Three’s entire body relaxes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she says. “We did not have the good start, but I will put past personal issues away for a better… soon?”
“Future?” they ask.
“Ah, yes, the future. It will be nice to have a future… together,” she says. She turns away for a brief moment, then smiles at Three.
“Well, okay then,” they say. The weight of their past actions, although not gone, lifts off of their shoulders.
Agent 8 offers her hand to them. “I am called Eight,” she says, smiling.
“Three,” they reply, shaking it.
They swear she squeals in excitement, but their train of thought is interrupted by their buzzing phone in their other hand. They open it, and two texts from Marina greet them.
Thank you so much, Three! You’re the best! Pearlie and I are going to be stuck for a while, though… I’ll try to update you when we know for sure.
We didn’t get to eat before we left, so Eight might be hungry. Do you think you could grab her something to eat? We’ll cover the cost, don’t worry!
“Marina texted,” they say. “They’re still busy, but do you wanna grab some food?”
“Ah, yes,” she replies, “if it is no issue.”
Three takes a moment to calculate the closest corner store in their head, then stands up and crosses in front of Eight. “Let’s go, then.”
The short walk to the store brings no new conversation, to Three’s simultaneous joy and dismay. The thought that they truly did scare her off before, even after their conversation, lingers as they walk through the automatic doors. Did they eat dinner? They can’t remember, grabbing a bag of their favorite sea salted kelp chips. That will hold them over if they didn’t. Eight follows closely behind them.
“What do you want?” they ask.
“I do not know,” she says.
They look around, suddenly aware of the kind place they’re in. More than likely, she’s never been in a crappy corner store like this one. After all, famous pop idols wouldn’t have a need for a place like this.
“Well, uh, are you hungry for a snack or a meal?” they ask.
She considers it, or she doesn’t understand what they’re saying at first. Regardless, she answers, “I am more hungry.”
“So, a meal then,” they say.
They bring Eight to the back of the store with the assortment of low quality foods. She lacks any reaction, simply looking over the counters in front of them.
“You can take whatever you like,” they say, gesturing to the pre-packaged meals.
She starts to squint at the shelving, stretching her hands. She turns to Three with an innocent face. “What is it you like?”
Leaning against the shelves behind them, they say, “It’s for you. I don’t have to like it.”
“I know. Many things I have not eat. I am asking for the…” She glances around in thought. “Ah, the recommend.”
They jolt up from being put on the spot so quickly. After looking over the array of things, they find a wrap they usually grab in a pinch. Turning it over to read what’s in it to her, it becomes crystal clear they had absolutely no clue what they were eating. The tiny script doesn’t help their ability to decode the ingredients.
Eight peers over their shoulder. “It is good?”
“Uh, yeah,” they say.
“Okay,” she says, backing away from them.
Surprised at her blind acceptance, they take a moment before heading to the front counter. Worst case scenario, if she didn’t like it, they could swap. The jellyfish at the counter quickly checks them out, and the two head outside and sit on a ledge separating the greenery from the concrete. Eight delicately unwraps her food while Three opens their chips. They watch as she takes a bite.
“It is good,” she says. Her gaze falls from Three’s face down to their bag of chips.
“Do you want one?” they ask, handing her a chip.
She takes it from them, puts it in her mouth, and nods. “It is,” she stops to finish chewing, “good also. How you say the food?”
They swallow their own mouthful before responding, “Oh, they’re chips.”
Eight flinches, narrowing her eyes at them, “Chips?”
“Yeah,” they reply.
All of a sudden, she articulates her words clearly. “The band?”
The band of chips? They sit for a moment, thinking through anything that could resemble that until they solve her puzzle.
“Do you mean Chirpy Chips?” they ask.
“Yes!” she says. “We are eating them?”
The horror in her voice breaks them, and they laugh. “No, no, oh my cod, no. They’re not related.”
“Ah, I almost worry for them,” she says. “The music of them is nice.”
Three pulls themself together to continue eating their chips. Eight eats her wrap as well, but once again, she stares down their bag of chips.
“Do you want more?” they say.
“It is okay?” she asks.
They point the bag in her direction, and she takes a handful, eating them one by one. Three grabs more of their own as they begin worrying Eight doesn’t like her food. The thought wracks their mind for a few more moments until they give in.
“Do you actually like the wrap?” they ask.
She startles at their voice, then says, “I say I like it, yes?”
“Okay, good, just uh, making sure,” they say.
The two sit and eat, watching a few stray people pass by on their way home. About halfway through their bag, Three’s phone lights up with a text from Pearl.
Yo 3, sorry for the holdup there. Rina and I are gonna be here late so would you mind helping get 8 back to my place?
Almost immediately, she sends a link to her address. Three clicks on it, and it directs them to Pearl’s mansion in Inkopolis’s suburbs. As they check the information and note the thirty minute drive, another text pops up.
I can send one of my drivers to come and get you.
Are they all at your house?
Yeah why?
If they’re that far I would rather just take her to my apartment for the night than wait that long this late.
If 8 doesn’t mind it’s all good
They finish their message and look over to Eight, still eating her sandwich.
“Do you want to stay at my place for the night?” they ask.
She finishes her bite and replies, “It is okay?”
“Yeah, Pearl and Marina won’t be back soon. We can wait here for someone to take you there or you can come to my house,” they say.
“I like your house choice more,” she says.
They shoot another text to Pearl, and Eight follows Three as they walk to their apartment. They finish their food as they go, with Three sharing more of their chips as they go along. The lack of late night traffic makes their journey simple as they reach Three’s apartment building.
Three walks in and makes their way to the elevator. Leaning against the wall, they press the button and wait for it to come to the bottom floor. Eight pauses several feet away from them, staring at the gray doors. They open, and Three walks in.
They put their arm in the opening. “Come on.”
She stands frozen, a scowl on her face. Did they do something wrong? Was taking her here a mistake? What’s wrong with the-
Oh. Fuck.
They exit the elevator and approach Eight. Her gaze snaps to them, and she flinches, taking several steps back. It isn’t the elevator. It’s them. Fleeting memories beneath Tartar’s mind control return in an instant. Looking up at them from the elevator platform, Eight appeared so fearless, so determined to defeat them, taking advantage of every second she could to analyze them before they hit the battlefield. That same octoling stands in front of them now, curling in on herself and on the verge of tears at the sight of a tired and weak Three in an old apartment elevator. No, she’s crying now. Not just crying, but covering her mouth, attempting to stifle her sobs.
What are they supposed to do? Does she want them to comfort her? Surely not, she’s terrified of them. Every answer they think of is swiftly rejected. They can’t call anyone. They can’t take her somewhere else. They certainly can’t leave her alone.
Will saying something make it worse? Three gives it a solid fifty-fifty chance it will. “What do you need me to do?”
Three hopes her slowed breathing is from trust and not confusion. Her face contorts, but it eases when she puts a hand out.
“Please?”
Three holds themselves back from rushing forward to help her. Instead, they take deliberate steps toward her, and hold her hand in theirs. She squeezes it. They both speak at once.
“You’re okay.”
“I am sorry.”
As Three processes her unnecessary apology, Eight lets go of their hand and throws her arms around them. They carefully hug her back, giving her the chance to back out when she wants to. Her small gasps for breath while she cries become less frequent, then stop altogether. Letting go, she wipes her eyes one more time, then looks at the dark spots on Three’s sweater.
“This sweater’s seen a lot of tears. It’ll be fine,” they say.
She laughs. Even after crying for several minutes straight, she smiles as bright as ever. Three catches it, and can’t help but smile back at her. After a few moments, her face falls again.
“The elevator?” she asks.
“We can take the stairs,” Three replies, gesturing over to the open doorway.
“The elevator is okay.” She puts on a brave expression, but the glint in her eyes makes Three doubt her.
“I’m terrified of trains. You’re allowed to be scared of elevators,” they say.
Eight hesitates, then nods. Three takes her to the stairs, and they walk up together. Earlier that night, the stairs felt like nothing, a quick obstacle to overcome before the real challenge of locating the octoling. After their chaotic rush around town, though, each step up tires them out more than the last.
Eventually, they reach Three’s floor. They unlock the apartment and allow Eight to enter first. She takes two steps in, scanning their tiny apartment. If they knew they’d be having visitors, they would’ve made an effort to clean up the scattered takeout bags, put away their mess of paperwork, and vacuum or mop. Maybe not those last two, but they could pretend. Three squeezes between her and the doorframe and takes off their sweater and shoes.
“This is the small mansion,” Eight says.
Three laughs, “Yeah. You live the good life with Pearl.”
“Yes, I like the life with them,” she replies. She enters the house at last, letting Three close the door behind her. “I am thanking you.”
Three waves her off. “It’s no problem.”
As if uttering that phrase alters reality, Three remembers their small apartment only has a single bed. It doesn’t matter; Three fell asleep on the couch several times recently for no reason other than being too lazy to get into their actual bed. They usher Eight to their bedroom.
“You can sleep in here for the night,” they say, opening their pajama drawer, “and you can take clothes to change into from this drawer.”
They take out a set themselves and head to the bathroom to change. Quickly, they change into their more night time wardrobe. As their hand reaches for the door knob to leave, they catch their reflection in the mirror, the bandage over their eye still sticking out like a sore thumb. They’re supposed to uncover it and let it breathe overnight. Their hands raise up to the top of their head, then lower. They’ll make sure Eight settles in before dealing with their face.
When they come back to their room, they find her sitting at the edge of the bed. Eight glances up at them, and her ink print pajamas fall off one of her shoulders. She adjusts it back, but it shortly falls off again.
“Do you want to try something else on?” they ask.
“It is good,” she replies. “I like the large clothes.”
“Okay, then.” Three notices she left the drawer open, and closes it. “The bathroom is right across from this room, and you can turn on the lamp next to you if you don’t wanna sleep in the dark.”
She examines the lamp on the bedside table, finds the switch, and presses it. “See you after waking.”
“What?”
“The saying before the sleep,” she explains, “You do those, too, yes?”
“Oh, yeah, uh, good night,” they say. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yes, the good night.” She pulls the covers over her body.
They flick off the light switch and close the door. Hopefully, she’ll sleep well. Returning to the bathroom, Three faces themself in the mirror. They remove their bandages with care, revealing their other eye. Teal flecks cloud their iris, blurring half of their vision. Their other eye rests upon the discolored scarring on their right. It still aches now; how bad was it when they weren’t conscious? They didn’t want to know. The coloring grows a deeper and deeper green each day. All Three could realistically hope for is an eventual rebound back to a more normal sickly color.
Opening the cabinet, Three takes out their ointments. In a swift motion, they hit the light switch, plunging themself into darkness. They’ve done this enough times; they can feel their burns just fine. Applying one, then the other, they make quick work of their stubborn skin.
They open the door and leave, flinching at the bright light in the main room. After dimming it, they grab their phone and flop onto the couch, laying flat across it with their legs kicked out over the armrest. They unlock it, greeted by a text back from Pearl.
Alright Rina and I will come tomorrow to get her, can you send your address
We just made it back. Come anytime.
After sending their information, they open their Splatnet. They read through two posts before the squinting becomes too much to handle. Nobody truly knows the extent to which the sanitized ink impacts them, not even Three. Maybe it gets worse. Maybe this is the worst it’ll be.
They sit up. They have to stop the spiral while they’re ahead. Picking up the remote, Three resorts to flipping through the television channels once more. Nothing stood out to them. They knew it wouldn’t.
They should clean. Not that it matters much, Eight already saw their messy apartment. Still, people say if your home’s a mess, you’ll feel like a mess. Something like that. It’s too late for that, though. The last thing they need is some noise complaint from their neighbors, or worse, keeping her awake.
At the least, picking up that paperwork would be smart. Cap’n told them not to worry about filing anything until they were better, and they should’ve listened. Did he really expect them to, though? Over two years of constant agent work left them with little time for normal hobbies. What else are they supposed to do to fill the time?
Go to sleep, probably. They’ve never fallen asleep with the remote in their hands. Putting it down and trying to fall asleep is more than likely a better use of their time at this point. Then again, they won’t be able to with the quiet. They tap through more channels, looping back to the first.
A loud thud echoes through their apartment. They look around, but nothing appears to have changed. The sounds of the city streets become clearer, though still muffled. Standing up, they tiptoe their way to their bedroom. They knock, then open the door to the sight of Eight standing at their now open window.
She whips her head around. “Hello?” Her hands cling onto the window stool.
“I thought I heard something,” Three says.
“Ah, yes.” She looks back outside, then turns back to them. “The sleep is not easy.”
Not for either of them, apparently. “Is there anything I can do?” they ask.
“Pearl or Marina stay in the room with me, but I am okay alone,” she answers.
The words exit their mouth before they think about them. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
“It is no issue?” she asks. The night light illuminates her wide-eyed expression of hope.
“It’s fine,” they say. Her smile validates their choice, but they have nothing better to do, anyways.
She closes the window and walks back to the bed, carefully climbing in. Three closes the door behind them, and sits on the edge. They slip into their bed and turn toward Eight, whose gaze immediately fixes on their right eye. Her face falls and she leans back, saying something in Octarian. They forgot that she hasn’t yet seen their face, though they don’t quite know what she expected.
She realizes her mistake. “You are okay? It looks bad.” Three grimaces. “No, it looks hurt? It… you know…”
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” they say, burrowing under the covers.
Eight follows suit. “Sorry,” she whispers.
“You didn’t do it.”
Three starts to turn away from her in the bed, but she reaches for their hand. They readjust and lie facing her. Whatever puts her at ease. Eventually, the two end up in comfortable sleeping positions facing one another, with Three having one arm beneath their pillow and one at their side, and Eight in a near fetal position. Darkness covers most of them; only faint outlines of features would remain if not for their proximity. Three focuses on Eight’s peaceful expression. It could be the most peaceful she’d ever been. No, Pearl and Marina must give her more comfort than this. Even so, knowing they may provide even a fraction of what she gets there is enough.
Her eyes gaze into theirs. Can she read their thoughts? Their face flushes, and they hope she isn’t paying as close attention to them as they are of her. Eight moves closer, tilting her head downward, causing her tentacles to briefly brush Three’s lips as she snuggles into the covers.
They ever so slightly recoil. Did she know what she just did? Three’s face grows even warmer as they stare at the top of the octoling’s head, who lies there as if nothing happened. A bit more shifting occurs until Eight settles in her spot. The two aren’t touching, at least not anymore. The idea that Octarians do, in fact, possess mind-reading capabilities enters their mind once more, but they dismiss it. Someone would’ve told them if that were the case.
They watch as her breathing steadies. If Eight was thinking about it, she isn’t anymore.
She felt safe enough to fall asleep in their apartment. That’s good. That’s… good.
Maybe eights won’t bother them as much anymore. Maybe the metro won’t bother them as much anymore.
They should’ve picked up the phone the first time.