Chapter Text
It was Autumn in Bikini Bottom.
No one really liked Autumn in Bikini Bottom—except for pumpkin farmers .
Which made Mr. Krabs have the brilliant idea of making Pumpkin-Fries the brand new Krusty Krabs’ Autumn special. But since Autumn is a time when many many people look for pumpkins to buy, the price obviously skyrocketed.
So, he turned to look for old domestic-farming couples with more affordable goods to buy.
That’s when things started to go downright bizarre .
“Oh, my parents have a pumpkin farm!” Said SpongeBob.
It in itself was already surprising. Something Squidward got really stunned by knowing. SpongeBob didn’t seem like the kind of a guy that was raised on a farm, or that is a farmer's son.
But again, neither did Squidward look like his family was anything but Jewish .
And of course, Mr. Krabs wouldn’t lose the opportunity to buy pumpkins with a high discount because it was from Ms. and Mr. Squarepants’ land.
Squidward had seen SpongeBob’s parents before, once or twice, but they never talked .
So, when they came, on a Sunday morning, with many many pumpkins on a farm cart—he left this safe zone near the cash register and went outside to receive it.
Mr. Squarepants had already been paid the right amount and Squidward was instructed to just take the pumpkins and put them all in the kitchen.
“Hello, good man!” Exclaimed Harold, smiling. “At last we met again, it's been almost a year!” He laughed, sympathetically. Taking one of the pumpkins and helping him. “How's the shoulder?”
Squidward halted in surprise, adjusting two of the winter squash in his tentacles, and looked over a shoulder to check Mr. Squarepants following right behind.
He had no idea how that man knew about his shoulder since few did - but he suspected it was nothing more than gossip on the part of his son, the chatterbox.
Don't get him wrong, he loves gossip too but why does SpongeBob keep talking about these details of his life to others? Especially his parents? That was just too weird.
“Stopped aching, so I’m healthy enough, I guess.” He replied politely to engage in the harmless conversation.
At least he thought it was harmless.
“A healthy stomach is a healthy body!” Harold said, cheerfully in his old-aged way. The crow's feet showing in the corner of the glasses. “I bet you are eating well. The love of cooking has its benefits, right?”
Squidward noticed something slightly off with the ‘you’ in that sentence. Mainly because it sounded like that old sponge was talking about a third person.
Still, he just nodded his head, slowly, shrugging.
Once they reached the kitchen, Squidward dropped the pumpkins so he could open the fridge and rolled them inside—it was Spongebob’s responsibility, not his .
He took the pumpkin from Harold’s arms and threw it inside as well. Closing the fridge with a loud noise.
The old sponge placed his tiny hands on his hips and sent him a happy smile. He looked a lot like a very proud dad.
“I know I haven’t said anything before but I just want you to know I’m really happy for you.”
That entire sentence was off. Waaaaay too suspicious. The ‘you’ sounded weirdly like a plural .
Why was he saying that?
“ Thanks? ” He dragged the word as a groan, grumpy like usual but with a high discomfort behind it.
That old man must have gone senile. Old people usually do. He’s pretty sure his father had gone as well because he hadn't called in more than two months to check on him.
Most nights when he remembers it—the memory saddens him.
For the sake of his health, Squid decided to avert eye contact with Harold, and went back to the truck - there still were a few more pumpkins to take out.
Thankfully (or not) once they got back SpongeBob was talking to his mother on the side of the truck with The Krusty Krabs’ shopping basket in hands (Yes, all restaurants have their own shopping basket since the municipal market decided to abolish the use of plastic bags because of the problems that came long with savage sea turtle attacks)
“Oh, hi dad! hi Squidward!” He waved excitedly, smiling. “Sorry, I’m late! I had to stop by the market before we opened.” It was completely useless to explain since they all knew it, but that’s Spongebob for you. “Still want help with that?” He offered, looking at the trunk and at the pumpkin still stocked there.
Squidward waved a tentacle in the air, taking two of the squashes and pilling them.
“Nope.” He grumbled, picking them and going back inside. Leaving all the three sponges outside so he could finish his job in peace and without thinking about whatever that conversation was.
Truth be told, he wasn't a very sociable guy. He was selfish and could hardly get along with anyone. He was not polite and—because of personal problems with his parents—he was rarely courteous to other people's parents.
But for some reason he couldn't explain, the parents of that annoying yellow sponge found him extremely friendly and well-mannered. Whenever SpongeBob received a box of fruit and vegetables that his parents had picked from the garden, his mother (Margaret) always included some extra canned shrimp and fresh seaweed for him.
— Because we are neighbors! — Spongebob would say, probably shrugging off.
“It’s too thoughtful . We aren’t even that close!” He would try to argue over the phone. He had come home and seen the basket on his table in the kitchen (Yes, SpongeBob has a copy of his house keys for emergencies and when he tried taking them back he had already made thousands of copies. It was his own mistake in the first place, really.)
— Oh, Squidy! Relax, silly. It isn’t a big deal, they are just presents! — He’d reply. Usually. Sometimes for different reasons.
He would look at the inside of the basket of goods and find at least five things he really likes, and then he’d give up.
“Fine, I’ll take it.”
— Great! By the way, my mom wants your feedback on the shrimp. She said they are homemade-seasoning, Oh! And--
Sure, from that moment onwards some things in the conversation would change but not too much and Squid would end his evening having the best meal of the entire week with SpongeBob on the line, chattering and making comments about the cephalopod's poor cooking skills.
The weeks go by. Children grow and adults age.
And Squidward will never understand why the hell Sandy still lives in that sunken city. And not only does she live, but she also seemed to be constantly building a nefarious plan to be mayor of this place.
“Care to join our charity event this Tuesday?” She asked, handing him a flyer. “We’ll be litter-picking on the field of jellyfish.” She explained.
He barely raised an eyebrow above his half lid tired eyes.
“ Why ?” He asked.
Sandy took a deep breath in already preparing herself for the long explanation about environmental management and helping jellyfishes during the mating season, but then she saw Squidward's face and realized with who she was talking to—she let the air all out in a sigh, shoulders lowering.
“Political campaign.”
Squidward nodded his head.
“Thanks for the honesty, but no .” He replied, going back to read the newspaper.
“Would it help if I say I need the field clean to run monitoring probes to catalog earthquakes?” She tried again, the flayer in her hand swaying in the air as she gestured aimlessly.
“Not at all.”
“We’ll be giving people free parking tickets for a month .” She lowered her eyelids preparing for her ace up the sleeve.
“I don’t even have a boat .” He snorted, adjusting the newspaper.
“Spongebob has.” She said, grinning.
Squidward frowned at her, not understanding it.
“So what?” He asked.
Sandy placed the flayer in the cash register.
“He’s been crying for the last five days because he can’t attend, and he would die to have those tickets.” She explained, still grinning using her ace card.
Squidward sent her a nasty look, the newspaper denting in between them because of gravity and comic-relief power.
“And why can’t Patrick do that for him?”
The machiavellian squirrel shrugged with that nightmarish grin on her lips.
“He is unable to enroll for voting.” The words seemed to be more terrifying than they should be considering it was technically a benefit for society.
Squidward rolled his eyes, annoyed.
“ Fine , charity it is.” He sarcastically cheered, adjusting the newspaper again.
With the tickets, he can at least bribe SpongeBob to get off his personal space for the next full month.
Litter-picking on jellyfish fields doesn’t sound like a fun activity, does it?
And you are right.
It isn’t .
“Oh, cheer up!” Harold tapped into his back with a little bit of force. They were near a cluster of rocks where there was a suspicious amount of metal plates and electrical wiring. (He would have suspected Plankton if he didn't know for a fact the little green marine drifter doesn't leave litter because he recycles most of his stuff.) “Doing it for a better future, right?”
Either the gentleness, animation, and affection of the sponges are common to the species as a whole, or Squidward could already guess who SpongeBob took after.
That old gentleman was undeniably energetic despite his age, he seemed to have been a great father—although the cephalopod doesn't have a very good role model to compare. Either way, he bet Mr. Harold Squarepants did the best he could do to raise his son, and that was admirable.
Especially with a guy as annoying and hyperactive as SpongeBob.
Squidward didn't know that he would also participate in Sandy’s charity event. Not that it made much difference on what he had promised or anything - he’s into it for the parking tickets, after all. He’s going to use it to buy him some peace. The entirety of thirty days without SpongeBob's nonsense. Almost a blissful vacation.
“So how's practice going for the spring recital?” Asked Harold to Squidward, and the younger adult looked at him with widened eyes.
He seemed unconcerned, picking up the scraps of electrical wiring lying on the ground amidst the rocks. Squidward looked at him with incredible surprise, doubt, and uncertainty.
Was he trying to create some sort of issue between them or was he honestly asking out of interest in a friendly gesture?
What world was he living in, that his annoying neighbor's parents (the one who considers him one of their best friends but has a weirdly bromantic one-sided crush on him, and yes he knows it but ignores it) were treating him better than any relative of his that’s still alive?
His cousins didn't even remember his name. His uncles shunned his existence. And since he confessed to his father that he was dating another man (before the drama of the complete and permanent destruction of his heart), he was kicked out of the house and hasn't had much contact with his parents ever since.
So don't blame him for feeling suspicious about something. Don't blame him for feeling disconcerted and shy. Don't blame him for crying in the shower later remembering this event and devouring a dozen crab burgers for existential crisis and depression.
"Arh... Good .” He replied, after a few seconds of blinking at the older sponge reaching for some electrical wirings between two rocks. “I'm playing every week to memorize the sheet music." His eyelids lowered as he got lost in his own thoughts.
He lied, as he did to everyone that asked. He hasn’t even been accepted to the spring festival’s music presentation. But still practices week after week, every free time he has, because whenever he closes his eyes and pretends he’s practicing to be part of the Bikini Bottom Orchestra it makes him feel the best. To be part of something. To be respected by many. By those that don't respect him.
He had memorized the sheet just fine. Unfortunately, he’ll most probably never play it to the audience. But no one needs to know that. He can just lie a little bit more. Appearing to be a failure in front of others would not help him at all. He already gives himself enough reasons to feel bad about it.
He picked some of the heavy metal plates and stacked them sideways—sighing.
Squidward snorted a laugh. He’s a heck of a problematic guy, isn’t he?
“I think we’re done here,” Harold said, standing from his crouching position on the floor and cracking his back naturally from the excessive physical exertion against those aged muscles. “Great teamwork, son!” He cheered, tapping the younger adult's back.
The cephalopod gave him an unsettled look and a failed bark of a laugh. Shaking his head. A smile behind his long nose.
He took Mr. Squarepants’ black plastic bag over his shoulder together with his own and turned back to the start point.
“Then we should head back.” He said.
“Oh, you don’t need to--” Harold tried to say Squidward’s gentle gesture was unnecessary since the plastic bag was his, but right after taking a step forward he groaned about back pain again, putting a hand on his side. “Urgh.” He uttered in embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m way too old for these activities.” He tried to laugh it out, making his white mustache wiggle.
Squidward just sent him a gentle knowing look, a playful grin on his lips.
“It's not age, Harold. It's field labor fatigue.” He offered a justification for the early exhaustion. “You must be harvesting too many pumpkins.”
Harold laughed out loud, pressing a hand on his belly. He gave the man just a few years older than his own son a thankful smile, the chicken feet showing on the corner of his glasses.
“You are a good man, Squidward.” He commented, once he was back on his feet and they started to walk back to where Sandy was to place, threw the plastic bags out, and retrieved the free parking tickets. “I’m so glad my son chose you.”
Squidward frowned at him, confused. Spongebob had chosen him for what exactly?
“ Pardon ?” He looked down at the old sponge walking beside him with a growing doubt. “Choose me for what ?”
Harold sends him one of his old man’s tired smiles, sighing.
“Ever since he came out to us, I and his mother were very worried he'd suffer. But now he has really good friends and you in his life.” He said, seriously putting his heart out in the open. “We are so glad for this.”
Wow, that couple really cares a lot about their son.
Squidward felt a pang on his chest. SpongeBob must feel very loved, respected, and emotionally supported. He couldn't tell what that kind of feeling was like.
“Well, your son is kind of hard to deal with sometimes, but he's a good guy.” He replied with honesty. It’s not like he hated that guy's existence. He just wished he didn't have to put up with half the annoying, absurd things that happened in his life because of him. Like an insane, loud roommate.
They kept walking over the Jellyfish field, almost reaching the starting point, where some other people were waiting and talking.
Harold laughed at his reply.
“Yes, we are aware of how much work it takes to deal with him.” He pressed a hand on his belly again, chuckling. Then, he sighed again and looked at Squidward with a fond parental smile. “That's why we were concerned that he’d never find someone that treasures him as much as we do.”
The cephalopod halted suddenly and Harold had to turn around to look at him.
Squidward blinked his eyes. Why does he feel like Harold thinks he has something with SpongeBob ?
He opened his mouth to ask but Sandy rushed to them, shouting.
“Fellows! Thanks for the hard work!” She shouted excitedly, clipboard in hand. She looked in a rush. “Please fill in the blanks and I’ll send the free-parking pass to your mailbox tomorrow or wait in the line to retrieve it.” Giving the clipboard to Harold, she took a step back to whisper to Squidward. “I think Patrick broke into your house, you better go there asap .”
Squidward didn’t need to be told twice but if she was doing this to try to negotiate his vote, she would be in trouble.
“You bring me the tickets tomorrow, or I’m suing you!” He pointed a tentacle to her, squinting his eyes in a serious expression. He threw the plastic bag on the ground, grumbling. “I’m outta here.”
“What? Already?” Asked Harold a bit upset, but Squidward took a deep breath in and sent at least a polite farewell to the old man from over a shoulder.
“Nice meeting you again, Harold.” He said, waving.
“You too, son!” He shouted back, waving. Squidward was already running to his house but he could hear him clearly (although he chose not to reply). “Send a big hug to my champ!”
Squidward hated to cook. Sometimes he ventured into the kitchen, and when it rarely happened he still had to, in some of these cases, ask for help—and the only one who actually knew how to cook on his social circle was SpongeBob.
He's not the type of person who likes to ask others for help if there's no need, let alone help from his annoying neighbor, so the number of times I asked SpongeBob to help him could be counted on two hands at most.
However, when Squidward was diagnosed with early-onset diabetes predisposition, he was forced to control his eating before it further affected his physical and mental health. And that led to the need for a healthier diet.
And because he doesn't cook, his neighbor took the initiative to start cooking for him.
Squidward didn't like being treated like a dependent person, and the only reason he'd let that pesky yellow sponge cook him dinner three times a week was for three simple, basic, and unique reasons:
First, he didn't have to spend money buying any ingredients, because SpongeBob bought them all. He only came in with the kitchen, the gas, the utensils, and the drinks. Which made him save a lot of money last month and he liked having some extra to invest in other things.
Second, SpongeBob actually behaved — which was a big improvement — and while he cooked, Squidward could rest, watch television or practice his clarinet. He also wasn't bothered with the exception of the occasional singing that he let out sporadically.
And third, because the food was really good.
But if it weren't for these reasons, he wouldn't share the dinner table with SpongeBob three times a week. Nor would he buy wine to drink with it—because somehow it tastes better this way.
He would find another way.
As he always did.
"He was probably looking for a hammer." SpongeBob explained his theory on the reason why Patrick invaded his house. Waving a hand around. Wholemeal noodles and sun-dried tomatoes sway in the air before he devours it.
He hummed a catchy tune that indicated it tasted as delicious as he planned it to be.
After letting Spongebob eat first to see if it was tasty or not, Squidward served himself a plate. (Even after months, with the many profs to confirm that that yellow sponge can indeed cook meals other than fast food, he still does it).
Once he was told dinner was ready SpongeBob had already opened a bottle of red wine and served both of them (A thing he noticed after a while—SpongeBob's taste for alcohol).
It was a great combination with the noodles, so he shrugged and enjoyed the meal.
"Why did he need a hammer?" He asked, looking sideways, trying to figure out if there was anything broken that he hadn't noticed before.
SpongeBob chuckled.
"He's trying to install a skylight on his rock." He said.
Squidward opened his mouth but froze on a silent question.
There were so many questions.
SpongeBob chuckled again, shrugging.
"Where did he get this ridiculous idea from?"
The yellow sponge thought about this for a second, sipping the wine.
"I think…" He started, humming. "On Tuesday, he saw it on the television, then I said something about my parents' house having one, and he suddenly decided he wanted to install his own."
Squidward got somehow satisfied with the justification and let it go. He needed to bring up another subject.
An unpleasant one.
"Anyway, I have been having --" He said, slowly, working on the right phrase. Sipping his drink, he waved a tentacle in the air. "-the impression that your parents might be thinking we are closer than we actually are."
He eats another fork full of pasta waiting for SpongeBob to reply.
When the answer was delayed to come, the cephalopod looked up at him.
You would think Sea Sponge-Creatures don’t change color. But the yellow color is an easily changeable pigment. And to tell the truth, since he met SpongeBob his facial expressions are easily read effortlessly. The guy is truly expressive.
Squidward just hadn't realized it was possible for that little yellow guy to blush so much .
While the octopus man looked at him, SpongeBob averted eye contact.
“CoofCof.” The yellow guy ignored the subject completely and tapped against his own chest to dislodge the food that seemed to be stuck.
That was a highly worrisome response to his question.
"... Oh my god." He groans, shoulders lowering in realization.
"I can explain ." SpongeBob quickly replied, both hands in the air. His cheeks are as red as the necktie of his daily uniform.
The Pacific octopus man, bordering the age of forty, was absolutely enraged and disgusted.
“You told your parents we are dating?!”
The sponge man laughed, trying to fake his anxiousness. He threw the remaining content of dinner in his mouth and stood quickly from the table, taking his plate to clean in the sink of the kitchen.
He took advantage of the opportunity that his back was turned to Squidward, and continued.
“Yeah, but that happened a loooooong time ago.” He stretched the word, playfully. Ignoring the flush in his cheeks.
That was relieving, but Squidward didn’t have time to enjoy the relief before he continued, in a lower voice—almost like he didn’t want the cephalopod to hear it.
“... We married in June.”
Squidward's eyes twitched.
“We what ?!”
After placing the plate on the sink, SpongeBob flinched at the loud angry shout. He knew it would happen eventually. He just hoped it didn’t.
He turned around with a regretful and uncomfortable expression, going back to the table.
Squidward just kept looking at him like he said nothing but random mad nonsensical words.
The yellow sponge, bordering the age of thirty-six took a deep breath in and looked at him, apologetic - worsening things by adding information on the faking relationship.
“In detail, the story is that we started going out in 2014, broke up in 2016, got back in 2017, got engaged in 2019, and married last year.” He counted on his fingers, walking to the front door. “We did a small celebration in secret. Went to Atlantic City on our honeymoon. Patrick is the best man. I lost our rings in a poker game. We are still discussing moving together. Gary and Snellie are having snail babies. BUT--” He turned around, showing all the six (?) fingers in the air and opening the door with his feet. “Right before Thanksgiving this year we’ll break up and everything will go back to normal again!”
When the door of Squidward’s house opened and SpongeBob took the first step outside—the octopus man stood from the chair, enraged.
“You can't be serious !” Squidward shouted outrageously. “Get back here!!”
The yellow sponge didn’t, he ran out of the door, closing it behind him and leaving Squidward with the dirty dishes to deal with alone.
He could try to run and hide all he wanted, but he couldn't do that forever .
Squidward opened the big can of sweet corn and looked inside to check if his coworker was there, grumbling once he didn’t find any clue of where he was hiding. He wasn't in the pantry, wasn't on the stove, wasn't in the freezer, on the shelf, in the potato basket, or under the counter. He wasn't in the office, behind some pillar, or on the ceiling. But he was there. Squidward knew he was there.
The irritating clatter of his rubber shoes gave him away.
“We still have twenty minutes until we open.” He announced, leaving the kitchen. “I’ll lock the front door and when I come back I want you out of wherever you are hiding!”
Spotting his feet on the ground, the older male went on with his quest.
He locked the door, frowning.
He hadn’t slept much the night before, but he was well fed which usually makes him less grumpy than usual—unfortunately, the reason for his healthy stomach is the same reason for his bad mood. So he wasn’t going to let it slip.
Once he pushed the wooden door of the kitchen and stepped inside, SpongeBob was there, with his back against the fridge crestfallen, twisting his hat with both hands.
Squidward crossed his arms.
“I gave you enough time to think on how to explain it to me.” He said, looking at the younger man from above. He was still very angry. “Now spill it.”
Sighing in a complete waiver, SpongeBob took a big breath in and sighed.
It took him a minute to actually look up at Squidward’s face.
His cheeks were slightly flushed.
"Squiddy, I’m sorry, I--" He tried to defend himself, unrestrained unresting hands moving aimlessly around. "My parents were the ones that started misunderstanding things, and I just… It was supposed to be completely harmless , so I decided to indulge in their idea because they looked so happy ." He held his right arm against his side, averting eye contact again.
Yes, he was ashamed.
As he should be.
Squidward just frowned at him, waiting for the rest of it.
SpongeBob sighed again, closing his eyes and letting his back slide against the fridge door until he was sitting on the floor.
“Ever since I moved out of their house they were always asking me if I had found a date. But I never did.” He argued. “They started thinking I was suffering from loneliness and they were constantly insisting that I should try harder on meeting someone.” He explained like it wasn't a big deal. His face was flushed and embarrassed. “I told them I had Patrick and Sandy and you to make me good company, so I was fine. I don't need a lover if I have such good friends.”
The octopus man noticed it was probably going to take a while and adjusted his feet to a more comfortable position. Letting the frown cease a little.
He shouldn't make this look like some sort of criminal investigation—as much as he wanted to.
SpongeBob gave Squidward an apologetic smile and, shrugging the arm he was holding, he continued.
“I’m above thirty so they kept insisting. I lied to them I was dating Sandy - but they know I’m gay since before I moved, so it didn’t work.” He played with his hands on his lap. “I wanted to make them happy and not disappointed, so Patrick was out of question - and the only good options I had were you and Larry.”
Squidward mindlessly felt a warm sensation of being compared to Larry for the first time in his life—if only it wasn’t in these circumstances he’d have felt really proud of himself.
“They already think you are a great guy and I thought--” SpongeBob started again, looking at the octopus, sheepish, making his voice change for another one to express a specific thought process, like it was literally what he said one day. “Oh, Squidward doesn’t date. He wouldn’t mind if I lied to my parents that live far away from Bikini Bottom for a little while that we were neighbors and boyfriends - after all, when I actually find a real date I’ll just tell them we broke up and no one would mind.”
After listening to the explanation, Squidward asked.
“For 8 years ?!”
It was one of the longest fake relationships he ever heard about, even in the freaking soap operas .
In a sudden will to defend himself, SpongeBob stood from the floor and his cheeks flushed.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t plan it to take this long either.” He grumbled, offended. “I tried dating that anglerfish from Rock Bottom in 2016 but you remember how it ended up being a complete disaster , and since me and you were--” He made quotation marks in the air. “Such a great pair,” His fingers motioned slowly. “they begged me to give us another chance .”
Squidward pinched the middle of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, but you can’t use this lie as an escape plan .” He scolded the yellow squared sponge guy in front of him. “Put yourself in your parents’ shoes - you are lying to people that are just worried about you. That love you. Care for you. And accepted you in their life for what you really are, and are honestly expecting you to be happy with this choice.” The scolding sounded a lot personal from SpongeBob's point of view. “There aren’t many parents in this world that do it, you know.”
SpongeBob groaned ashamed at himself again - like the many times he did to himself in the mirror.
“ Yes and that’s why I panicked .” He shouted, jumping on the spot, hands straight forward. “I realized that if I told them how exactly we interact together, they would notice we are not a lovely couple and from that moment on I started telling them, in detail, what we do together.” He started walking around the kitchen, waving his hands, chattering with his tongue running a mile an hour. “But we do a lot of things together and before I realized they started thinking for real that we are just a very healthy gay couple that fights a lot and whenever I tried to argue that it wasn’t like that they started reasoning things that disarmed me completely and made it too difficult to talk over and I didn't know how to answer so I lied you asked me to marry you and I said yes !!!” He pressed both hands on his flushed face and took a deep breath in, trying to adjust his nerves (and lung function). Chest expanding and exhaling quickly.
Squidward was super confused and disorientated.
“ Hold on --” He raised a tentacle. It was happening way too fast. “Why was I the one that proposed?!”
SpongeBob, after controlling his breath again, looked at Squidward between his fingers.
“Because they a-a-a--” Spongebob hiccupped in a growing high tone, his eyes watering and his nose rosing. “-a-adooore you!”
Then he burst out in ugly tears.
Aloud .
At that moment Mister Krab appeared at the kitchen door, opening it quickly and questioning the noise.
“What’s happening here?” He asked, worried. Looking at SpongeBob’s crying out loud and a very uncomfortable and tired Squidward scolding him from above. “Why the fuss?”
The Cephalopoda man groaned, ignoring his boss, and pressing both hands (tentacles?) against the younger one’s shoulder and shook him out of it.
“Pull yourself together.” He shook him harder to see if brute force could make the yellow man stop crying. “Either you tell them, or get yourself a real date, I’m not gonna help you lie to your parents!” They don’t deserve it.
SpongeBob cleaned his eyes with the back of his hands and looked at Squidward with a desperate look.
“But how , Squiddy?!” His voice was filled with sadness and despair. “How do I do it?!”
The cephalopod looked into those wet light blue eyes and puffy flushed cheeks staring back at him and sighed.
"Eugene." He called Mr. Krab, by the door, looking at them without understanding a thing. Once the crustacean looked back at him, he asked. “Can you give me Pearl’s new phone number, please?”
Plan A was simple, it was for SpongeBob to participate in Pearl's circle of friends until he finds someone who is interested in him. It was a ridiculous plan, to be honest, but SpongeBob didn’t tell him.
The vibrant lights of the sign above the main entrance of the dance bar left the little one with an uncomfortable feeling in his belly. The loud music echoes off those quivering walls.
“Are you sure, Squiddy?” He asked.
He was wearing relatively more elegant clothes than usual. He was even wearing a new cologne that he had received as a gift on his last birthday and a blue dress shirt that matched his eyes, together with a sneaker that Squidward gave him because it no longer fit him.
“No, but you look younger than you are.” He commented, offhandedly, putting both hands inside his pockets. “And older fish like to get involved with younger ones, so you are supposed to be easy bait in the dim light.” He explained, half certain and half uncertain, shrugging.
They were in front of the bar, looking at the way the walls were shaking as if the whole structure was dancing too. The bouncer looked at them with a raised eyebrow, waiting for them to finish the conversation.
It was already pretty late but there weren't many people outside. Apparently, that day was a special day, with someone playing some live electronic music so many people arrived earlier to get good spots on the dance floor.
“I'm not nocturnal , I go to bed at ten every night!” In SpongeBob’s own view those were serious arguments. “I can't even remember the last time I did this.” He whimpered, getting scared by just remembering how weird it was to be alone in such a place.
Their routine wasn't much different, although SpongeBob's daytime activities were certainly more exciting than Squidward's.
"You won't be alone." He said. And when the yellow guy’s eyes widened with emotion that his friend would accompany him, Squidward grinned playfully and mischievously. "Pearl will be there." And then he took a step back teasingly.
Just as quickly SpongeBob’s fists held into his shirt, his head perspiring in worry.
“No nonono, please , Squiddy.” He begged, whimpering even more. “I’ll stop bothering you for two weeks!”
“You already owe me a whole month of peace for the free-parking tickets!” He crossed his arms, arching an eyebrow at the short guy holding the hem of his shirt. He won’t fall for that. “What are you afraid of? Teenagers ?”
SpongeBob looked at him, confused and worried.
“Wait, it’s way past curfew on a Monday. Why are teenagers awake at this hour?”
Because they still have energy for these things, unlike adults like him.
“Because they don’t work.” He argued instead, turning SpongeBob around and pressing his shoulders forward, dragging him to the line of the entrance. “Also, who else would be in a club on a Monday night except for them and desperate adults seeking company?”
The yellow man whimpered, shoulders rising in the air as he felt his feet dig the sand.
“What if someone deceives me into buying them expensive drinks again?!” He desperately tried to argue against the idea of going alone on the sea of thirsty sharks. He has bad memories from all the previous times he tried that at a young age. “I’m way too gullible and cute!”
Squidward stopped pressing him forwards and halted on the stop, looking at him with an unbelieved laugh on his lips.
“You are not naive, you are childish. It’s totally different. Now go and find yourself another husband .” He picked SpongeBob in the air and threw him inside over the head of the bouncer in front of the door, who just looked over his sunglasses at him and the other two fishes stared at him clean his hands (tentacles?) and turning around.
Finally silence . The blessing of no noise, irritating talk, and annoying sounds.
He took a deep breath in and—dramatically—sighed slowly.
Smiling, he placed both hands on his hips and looked at the horizon.
The loud music from inside the club occupied the vacant space of SpongeBob’s incessant whimper and insecurity chattering—it was a nice change.
When he took the first step back to the bus stop he heard a breaking noise from inside and flinched.
“ Goddamnit… ”
It took him twenty minutes to actually get the courage to enter.
When Squidward finally spotted SpongeBob inside the club, he was already drinking from a bottle of beer because at least he'd been allowed to walk around the dancefloor without having to actually dance with those strangers.
With his lips pressed against his longneck bottle tip, he almost spits it all once he saw SpongeBob inside the VIP area talking with a fish girl with red lips and dark long fins he remembered being the principal pianist of the Spring orchestra.
The same one he was 'supposed' to participate in.
“ Goddamnit! ” He cursed out loud, groaning. Holding his bald hand and getting anxious.
He didn’t approach, he was too worried about approaching.
SpongeBob seemed like he was having fun, talking with the talented lady. He played something with his nose like a flute and both laughed out loud. Then he made a very deep frowning face and shaped a long nose on his face with his flesh—then he said something from behind his giant nose and both laughed again.
Squidward felt highly offended.
He took a deep breath in and decided to approach.
“Oh! Squidward, you came!!” SpongeBob sounded excited, waving his legs over the high.
The loud music was, obviously, loud. But they managed to talk.
“Did you find Pearl?” He asked him.
SpongeBob pointed to the lady beside him.
“Yes! But I also met Wrassy and it's been forever since we’ve seen each other!” He raised both hands showing the pretty red-lipped lady.
She waved, politely.
Squidward, pushed SpongeBob sideways to ask in private.
“You know Alaska Wrasses?!” He asked, totally bewildered.
The yellow sponge grinned at him playfully.
“Well, yes, I know a lot of people.” He waved his eyebrows suggestively.
Squidward gave him a raised eyebrow.
He giggled.
“We are from the same fan club of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy” He joked, giggling some more.
That highly talented woman was in the same fan club from that stupid show? Hardly believable, but surprisingly possible. After his eyes stopped twitching at the brain cells dying from being used to process that information, the octopus man pinched the middle of his eyebrow and sighed.
“So you haven’t talked about the Spring Festival, right?”
SpongeBob’s eyes shined as he remembered.
“Oh, yes! We should tell her you are going to participate too!!” He turned around to talk to her, but Squidward just as fast pressed a hand against his mouth, looking at him with a desperate look.
SpongeBob frowned at him, in a silent question, and Squidward gave him a scolding look for him to not mention it at all . Then, they exchanged some non-verbal communication, sighing with their eyes and eyebrows, while the woman waited, sipping her drink. Green eyes changing from the shot guy from the tall one.
“Is there something wrong?” She asked.
The cephalopod took his hand out of SpongeBob’s mouth and replied to her.
“Not at all, Hi.” He raised a tentacle to shake hands. The woman did as well with her fin. “Squidward Tentacles.”
“Oh!” She smiled, surprised. “Squillian’s friend, right?”
And that's it.
That’s the whole point of Squidward's existence. Being remembered by the popular people of someone that Squillian knows about. A nobody. Not even the guy that almost died once because of his supposedly called friend on a fatidic day of winter after a horrible break up with a supposedly loving and supporting boyfriend outside of the record studio using his stolen finances to his selfish publicity. With everything going downhill after that. With him being kicked out of music college, and dumped into a puddle without a home to go back to. On that freezing weather, with the chilling sensation of snow falling on his skin as vivid as the sound and feel of his once-warm heart now broken to tiny meaningless pieces and turning itself into a cube of ice. Cold and lifeless.
That’s him.
“More like an acquaintance, but yes.” He replied, probably shaky but trying to shrug it off just like always.
SpongeBob looked at him with an unreadable expression, somehow worried.
“SpongeBob told me about you, you’re actually nicer than what I’ve heard!” She smiled at him. “Right?” She asked the yellow guy, looking at him. The big earrings swayed with her movement.
After a second of an afterthought of Squidward's reaction, SpongeBob stuttered going back to his cheerful personality.
“O-of course!” He sits back on the high chair, telling Squidward to join them. “He’s a great guy, a great artist, and a great friend too!” He smiled at his neighbor, kindly. As usual. As always.
Sometimes SpongeBob deserves the right to be a pain in his ass because no one ever really treats him as nice.
“Oh, really?” The girl replied, surprised.
SpongeBob excitedly replied.
“Indeed!” He smiled. “He memorized the entire Spring Festival Orchestra score on Clarinet. Didn’t you Squiddy?” He batted his eyelashes, proud of his friend.
“I-I-I--” The octopus stuttered, face flushing absurdly. Complete out of words. Wanting nothing but to murder his traitorous friend who he'd thought had entered into a nonverbal agreement through looks a few seconds ago. But also completely taken by surprise by the information he could swear no one knew about.
How does SpongeBob know about it?
“He practices all the time, and sometimes I listen from the window.” He giggles, explaining. “It's such a wonderful melody.” He playfully commented, daydreaming.
Oh, barnacles .
Alaska Wrasses looked at him with a high surprise and flattering smile.
“So you liked it?!” She asked, in such a sweet voice.
It took Squidward by even more surprise and SpongeBob nodded his head fast, smiling.
“I loved it!” He shouted.
“I was the one who composed the scores!” She pointed at herself, cheeks flushing. She looked younger when she smiled in such away. “I thought the melody would look great with solo clarinets but I decided to take them out because…” She stopped, and her voice vanished, getting lower than the background music, making it impossible to be heard.
SpongeBob got closer to try listening, but Squidward already presumed what she was trying to say.
“Squiliam discouraged you, didn’t he?” He asked, not even looking at her. He resumed drinking from his bottle of beer even though it might have gone warm by now.
The lady looked up at him. Something hidden in her green eyes. The cephalopod looked at her by the corner of his eyes, sad, and averted eye contact a second later.
SpongeBob looked between them with a growing alarm.
He took his non-alcoholic beverage in his hands and threw it over his shoulder.
“Oops, I’m going to get another drink. Be right back!” He stood from his chair, taking the glass up and leaving both of them behind.
The octopus could see SpongeBob anxiously dodging the many people dancing in the middle of the room - almost falling - and chuckled at his friend’s clumsiness.
Such a dork.
He isn’t mean.
He's brash, shameless, imprudent, and maybe a little stupid, yes. He does care about others, and a person he undeniably cares a lot about—maybe more than he actually should considering he’s hated by the other part—is Squidward Tentacles.
And one thing he does to people he likes is taking care of them.
And by taking care of them, SpongeBob knows it’s better if he doesn’t get himself involved with Squidward’s past.
Sure, he met Squilliam. And he knows how much of a prick the guy is.
He also knows how low, mean, bad influence, selfish and crooked he was.
A complete Swindler .
But doesn’t know the details, and he’s pretty sure Squidward wants it to remain like that.
There's nothing SpongeBob wouldn't want to know about the other man. He wished he could know everything . Sometimes he wants to pick inside, get a glimpse, ask little bits here and there. But the subject name “Squilliam” archive hidden on the high shelf of Squidward’s brain is a no-no. And he understands it.
He hates everything about it. But he accepts.
Because he’s pushy, but he doesn't push. He’s curious, but he doesn’t dig deeper than he should. He’s passionate , but he stands still in his place, as a friend wishing to not be pushed away.
The night cold breeze of the streets at half-past midnight was a nice one.
They had opted to walk back home to sober up - the work shift would not start until 3 or 4 pm the next day so they would have plenty of time to rest when they arrived.
Whatever conversation Squidward had with Alaska resulted in a smile on the older man's blue face and that was reason enough to make the yellow guy less worried.
“So…” He started, holding both hands behind his back. Cheeks flushed. “What’s Plan B?”
Squidward looked down at his side, at the sponge man, arching an eyebrow at him, and frowned the other.
“What Plan B?”
“You know…” SpongeBob said, shy, averting eye contact.
The octopus didn’t know.
“I haven’t found a date…” His voice was low and abashed.
Squidward face-palmed himself, remembering the reason why they were there.
“ Goddamnit. ”