Chapter Text
The next morning, Squidward found SpongeBob already in the kitchen. The smell of Krabby Patties was already wafting through the water, and the entire work area was spotless. There were no more donut crumbs.
Squidward rubbed his eyes suspiciously.
"You're early. What is this, another one of your overzealous attempts to annoy me, SpongeBob?"
He slowly approached the register, dropping his bag with a dramatic sigh. He noticed one detail that unnerved him more than anything else: SpongeBob wasn't swinging, nor was he twirling the patties with circus artistry. He was standing there, still, focused on the grill, with an almost robotic efficiency.
"Hey! Did you hear me? What's this attitude? Is this the 'formality' you were talking about? Did it shut your brain off? Good, about time."
He prepared to clock in, but first he gave him one last pointed look.
"Remember: no small talk, no hugs, no stupid questions. Got it?"
SpongeBob simply nodded.
Squidward pulled back slightly. No words. No yelp. Just a measured movement.
The octopus stared at his colleague's profile for a long moment, his usual sarcasm stuck in his throat. The silence was so heavy, so unnatural, that Squidward almost felt the need to fill it with one of his grunts.
"Good. Excellent!" he said, with high-pitched voice, "I see your 'epiphany' last night wasn't another one of your faking."
He hurried behind the register, grabbing his hat and notepad. He felt strangely exposed, deprived of his daily target.
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At eleven o'clock, Patrick arrived, and SpongeBob greeted him warmly.
Squidward was busy staring at his calculator as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world, enjoying, or at least enduring, the operational silence. He heard the door open and the sound of an unmistakably stupid laugh.
"Oh, great. Here comes the other one..." he murmured, rolling his eyes.
Then, he heard the yellow guy's voice. Warm, cheerful. His usual, annoying tone.
"Hi, Patrick! Welcome! What can I get you today, my dear friend?"
Squidward froze, and so did his pen on the notepad. He slowly leaned over the counter to take in the scene. He saw SpongeBob greet Patrick with an energy he'd completely denied him. The sponge was bright, lively, himself, but only for Patrick.
"Hey SpongeBob! Give me a triple Patty! Hi, Squidward!"
The star waved at Squidward, ignoring his deadly expression.
The cephalopod straightened, returning to his mask of cynicism, but with a different hint of annoyance in his tone.
"Yeah, hi, Patrick. Order, eat, and go."
As the yellow boy reentered the kitchen, Squidward pointed an accusing finger at his tie:
"I see your little game... You're only 'formal' with me. You're pathetic."
He leaned against the counter, staring at him with a challenging expression, waiting for SpongeBob to fall back into his old pattern.
"I'll be right back, Patrick!" SpongeBob exclaimed, trying to mask the tension.
"Okay!" his friend replied, starting to more or less correctly count the amount for the lunch.
"Squidward, I intend to be formal with you because that's what you want. Patrick is my best friend, why should I be formal with him?"
The two of them eyed the starfish, who had splashed ketchup on his face and was laughing about it.
Squidward felt almost offended by his childhood friend's unassailable logic.
"Ah, I see. 'Professional' is a dress you put on and take off at will." Squidward muttered, crossing his tentacles and narrowing his eyes, "I understand I'm the sole recipient of your new, annoying 'maturity.' It's almost a compliment."
Squidward shot him a sour look, but it was clear SpongeBob's coherence had thrown him off.
"Very well, now let me check Patrick's payment, just in case."
Seeing SpongeBob standing by the register, Squidward snapped:
"Hurry up, SpongeBob. Serve him and let's return to our silence. I'm not about to witness a prolonged display of your friendship. It's disgustingly warm."
The twenty-five-year-old remained with one hand in mid-air. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. Squidward noticed a fierce melancholy in his gaze; it wasn't the usual tearful sadness, but something deeper, something that made him feel, for a moment, uncomfortable.
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After serving Patrick, SpongeBob didn't speak to Squidward again for the rest of the day.
The octopus remained at the register, intent on doing as little as possible, but the yellow man's prolonged and stubborn indifference unnerved him like an out-of-tune clarinet.
The air between the two was charged with a silent, icy tension, broken only by the sizzling of the grill.
"Finally, peace..." the octopus muttered, trying to convince himself. But it was a burning silence.
Around mid-afternoon, at yet another Krabby Patty perched on the serving counter, Squidward let out an almost unheard word by his part:
"Thanks..."
There was no response, just the sound of the spatula scraping the grill.
Squidward flinched slightly. He felt a desperate need to break the silence, to elicit a reaction, any reaction, just to return the world to its predictable, annoying normality.
"I hope you cleaned the fryer well, SpongeBob." he snapped again, his tone harsher than necessary.
More silence. A silence that surrounded the octopus like an invisible but impenetrable armor.
As the shift drew to a close, Squidward found himself staring at SpongeBob's back, as he busied himself putting sauces away in the refrigerator.
"Good." Squidward said loudly, "I can finally go home and play my magnificent, misunderstood clarinet, and I won't be interrupted by anyone asking me to go jellyfish hunting."
"Mr. Krabs, I've finished scrubbing the grill and putting away the sauces. I'm going home!" SpongeBob shouted, completely ignoring his colleague's statement.
"Yeah, yeah, go ahead. I just hope you turned off the water…" Squidward muttered out of habit, but the comment was weak and devoid of his usual nastiness.
The octopus watched SpongeBob as he took off his chef's hat and moved toward the door with quick strides. He was literally running away. Not a word to him. Not an invitation to do 'neighborly things.' Absolutely nothing.
Squidward felt strangely... empty. The constant annoyance was, in its own way, company. SpongeBob's complete indifference was a noisy absence.
As SpongeBob was almost to the door, Squidward picked up his bag.
"See you tomorrow, partner. Be on time." he said, hoping to at least get a halfhearted greeting.
"Hold on, guys! Can you explain to me what's going on? I haven't felt this cold since my dad took me skiing on Mount Bass! What happened? Did you guys have a fight?"
Mr. Krabs had emerged from his office, swinging the door open with a loud 'CLANG' that echoed through the empty restaurant. His large claws thrashed in the water, and his voice was a hoarse thunder.
"Mr. Krabs! Absolutely nothing happened! We had a perfect, professional day at work! SpongeBob maintained impeccable comportment, and I didn't have to yell once..."
Squidward shot him a nervous look, silently begging the sponge not to ruin his explanation.
Mr. Krabs approached, his large eyes darting from Squidward to SpongeBob. He noticed SpongeBob's tense body and silent efficiency, a highly unusual behavior for him.
"Impeccable, you say, Mr. Tentacles? It seems more incomprehensible to me! And you, SpongeBob, are as silent as a shell!"
Mr. Krabs rubbed his claws, sensing that something was off with the balance of his establishment.
"Go ahead, tell Papa Eugene! You two argued like two old, mismatched slippers and now you won't make up? Or it’s because of yesterday donuts? Who's to blame for the tension?"
"Mr. Krabs, nothing has happened that will cause disturbance in your establishment. And Squidward, thank you for praising my comportment.” SpongeBob said, even adding a small bow.
Squidward's eyes widened, glaring at him.
"I didn't praise your comportment! I simply noted your efficiency!" he stammered, desperately trying to retract his moment of inadvertent honesty.
Mr. Krabs rolled his eyes.
"SpongeBob, why are you thanking him? Has Squidward ever said 'thank you' in any context other than 'thank you for leaving'?"
He scratched his chin with a claw, a confused expression on his face.
"All right. As long as the grill is clean and operational, I don't care about your soap opera drama. Now go home, both of you."
Mr. Krabs retreated to his office, muttering something about the inability to accept reality and the shackles of certain relationships.
Squidward said nothing more. He cast a final, icy glance at SpongeBob and, without saying goodbye, rushed out the door, leaving him alone in the now-dark restaurant.
SpongeBob, seeing Krabs and Squidward walking away from him, burst into silent, hot tears as he too made his way home.