Work Text:
Squidward had a problem.
A problem that spanned the entire surface of his countertop and overfilled onto the floor in several baskets.
“What am I going to do with all of this!-“
The cephalopod groaned aloud, staring at a counter full of seaweed.
It was a pleasant summer day in Bikini Bottom. The kind of day where all Squidward wanted to do was lounge outside with a cold drink and his favorite sun hat, enjoying a good book. (Good thing it was Saturday. He would’ve hated having to work on such a nice day.)
Instead of sunbathing, however, today Squidward had decided to pick the seaweed he was growing in his backyard.
His first attempt at harvesting the seaweed around a month ago ended with him leaving to ‘help’ (He was using that term loosely. Squidward was compelled by the loss of his clarinet…) SpongeBob go find the royal court of jellyfish.
After Squidward had returned home, limbs sore from running and skin abused from electrical stings, doing garden work had been the last thing on his mind. (The first, a warm bubbly bath. The second? His bed.)
Since then he had no significant free time, being stuck between work and his neighbor’s crazy antics. (Only Neptune knew why Squidward had to be the one resident sandwiched between two of the most insane residents of Bikini Bottom…)
Between Krab’s insane concert revenue idea and Sandy’s funding generating monkey robots meant to replace her superiors (Funding generating monkey robots who instead tried to take over the town…) and Spongebob and Patrick’s weekend idea of digging a massive tunnel through the entire block (Causing Squidward’s house to sink about six feet underground!-) it turned out that no, he couldn’t dedicate the afternoon needed for delicately plucking and trimming his seaweed.
What a shocker.
‘Well, no more…’ He had told himself this morning. Today was the day.
The seaweed would get harvested.
And so, he had hauled himself outside after a good stretch, two baskets and tools in hand, ready to pick the hip high seaweed he had left a month ago.
What he saw made him drop his tools in horror.
Barnacles!-
It turned out that the passing month had been a good month for seaweed, much to Squidward’s chagrin.
The previously manageable seaweed was now almost double his height!-
Squidward stared at it, swiping his eyes over it in complete disbelief. (What the tartar sauce?!-)
Squidward took a deep breath in. Out. And steadied himself.
(He could handle this… He could handle this. How could this even begin to compare to all he had went through with Spongebob? It was just grass. If anything, this should be a cake walk!-)
Breath in. Breath out…
Squidward rushed back inside.
-.-.-.-
Ten minutes later he was equipped with all the baskets he could find in his house, his sea green radio (For all the exercise he was about to do, he needed some good music.) and a good pair of gardening gloves.
He was ready.
For the next three hours Squidward fought against his own seaweed. (What a betrayal!-)
It was three hours of a comfortable but monotonous process.
Cut the seaweed as high up as he could possibly hold his arms. Pack it down into the basket, sometimes a little aggressively if it wanted to escape. Bring inside if full.
Repeat until all seaweed was at his height. Cut seaweed to ground level. Basket. Rinse and repeat.
It was straight forward, but still pretty taxing. (Squidward had forgotten just how heavy seaweed could get. It looked deceptively light when it was floating along in the water.)
Sweaty and panting, he hauled basket after basket of seemingly unending seaweed inside.
When he finally finished, the cephalopod passed out dramatically on his couch with a loud huff, the very second he put the radio down on the coffee table.
After he had cooled down, Squidward got up slowly and took a good look at his kitchen. Took a good look at the amount of seaweed everywhere.
And now, he was faced with his current problem.
There was no way he could eat that much seaweed before it went bad. He can’t think of anyone who would want THAT MUCH raw seaweed. (Those who were not inclined to cooking usually didn’t bother with fresh seaweed. They usually bought dried seaweed, or processed seaweed that was already made into a ready to eat food… Squidward couldn’t blame them. It took a lot of work to get it up to snuff. Good thing cooking was a beloved passion of his.)
Hmm… He could invite someone over to his house. Make his bounty of seaweed an event of sorts.
After all, who could ever deny Squidward’s cooking? He wasn’t very good at patties (He certainly couldn’t make the same magical patties Spongebob made. Passible ones? He supposed…), but his family and original recipes were good.
Hmmmmm…. He liked that idea. A little drink, some pleasant music. It sounded like a nice evening.
(As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, Squidward liked people well enough. [Especially when those people were complementing his food!-])
Alright, that was decided. He would invite some people over to enjoy his wonderful food!
Well, who could he invite? Hmm…
Spo- (No. He wasn’t going to consider him quite yet…)
Hmm….
Someone who could inhale food- (No. He would die a bloody horrible painful death before willing letting that pink menace into his house…)
S-
Mr Krab’s!- (…No. He already had his fill of that penny pincher at work. Why would he treat Eugene to his food? Besides, he apparently ‘Didn’t trust Squidward’s cooking’ after he ‘lethally’ cooked a patty. [Was it bad?… Maybe. It wasn’t that bad though!-])
All his squid and octopus friends were out of town. (Drastically so. It was a shame. No one was within bus or even driving distance...)
…
…..
[…Oh, what the shell!-]
Spongebob.
He liked Squidward’s cooking. Put up with his remarks with a wide friendly smile and an earnest response. (Squidward never could tell if he didn’t recognize the remark, or completely ignored it…)
Lived extremely close.
He liked seaweed, and Squidward (regretfully admitted) that he could play and recognize good music while having thought provoking responses.
Squidward could ignore his shrill voice when he made a simple comment that was so mindblowing it made Squidward mad he didn’t think of it first.
(Squidward licked his lip absently as he considered the idea.)
Best of all, SpongeBob seemed to have an almost bottomless stomach.
Squidward always felt bad about wasting food, and tried hard to avoid it. Probably something about the way he was raised. (Wasting money, wasting food that could’ve fed someone, Granny Tentacles stories about the war and shortages...)
Whatever the source of his beliefs, Spongebob could take care of it.
After a second more of thought, he decided to bite the bullet. (Oh, what harm could it do! If Spongebob messed something up, he was usually back within the day to help fix it again anyway…)
Squidward walked up the stairs to his bedroom. Opened the window nice and wide, and took a huge breath of water.
“SPONGEBOB!-“ He screamed loudly, shaking his house a bit with the sound.
Soon enough, Squidward heard a squeak squeak squeak. (Was that sound from Spongebob himself or his shoes? A combination of the two? That was something he never was able to find out…)
“Yes Squidward?” Squarepants replied joyfully, with that odd tone he used when addressing Squidward sometimes, directly under the Moai’s window.
“Come inside.” He called, much quieter since Spongebob was right there.
Spongebob squealed happily, and moved to wait right in front of the door, shaking in place excitedly with a Squeak-Squeak-Squee!-
Squidward took a deep breath. (He wasn’t sure if he had enough energy left after all the yard work…)
As he walked down the stairs though, he mused that it was entirely his fault. Spongebob probably would’ve left him alone for the rest of the day had he not called him.
If this went badly, it’d actually be his own fault for it. (Hmm… That was a novel thought.)
He answered the door as soon as he got downstairs, letting Spongebob into his living room.
Spongebob stood by the door with a wide smile, shaking his hands around as he usually did. (Squidward tended to ignore it nowadays. A sponge who wasn’t in motion was a) super concentrated, or b) in massive trouble. The constant energy and motion that came with Spongebob was as much a part of him as the holes on his face, or the light sea blue of his eyes.)
“So, Squiddy, why’d ya call me?” Spongebob asked in a deceptively calm tone of voice, obviously pushing down his excitement. (His constant squeaking and painfully wide looking smile showed it.)
Squidward sighed.
“Spongebob, you don’t have to do that. I already know you’re excited…” Squidward paused for a moment. (Wait… Since when did Spongebob suppress his enthusiasm?!)
“-Anyway, come here.” He continued, leading the sponge to his seaweed infested kitchen.
“I know!” Spongebob replied cheerfully.
“You seem a little tired though. You know I’m always looking out for ya Squiddy!-“
He replied with a little wink.
(Squidward wanted to deny that he blushed just the tiniest bit at that…)
“Ooo, is that seaweed! There’s so much!-“
Spongebob called out as soon as he entered the kitchen.
“That’s why you’re here.” Squidward said, gesturing around at his messy kitchen.
“To… What? Make seaweed crafts? Boat fuel?“ He questioned, tilting his head, eyes wide open.
Squidward facepalmed.
“No Spongebob.” He replied calmly.(Squidward didn’t even know you could make boat fuel from seaweed!-)
“I’m inviting you over for dinner tomorrow night.”
Ignoring Spongebob’s gasp, he continued.
“I can’t possibly eat all this seaweed myself. That’s where you-“ Squidward poked his head with a squish sound.
“-come in.” He finished.
“Oh!-“ Spongebob exclaimed, with starry eyes and a gleaming smile. (Genuine stars. Squidward was starting to suspect sponges were sourced from some sort of insane lab, because he couldn’t comprehend how they did half the things they were able to do…)
Squidward stared down at Spongebob, watching his response.
(And if he didn’t know any better, he’d suspect Spongebob was about to make an attempt to hug him, but decided to restrain it.)
Squidward didn’t know how to feel about that. (About the idea of Spongebob hugging him because he was happy with him, or even grateful, instead of clutching him tightly after a near death situation.
He didn’t know how he felt about the idea of the impulsive sponge holding himself back for him…)
Squidward leaned forward, gave him a little pat on the head instead of addressing those thoughts. (Spongebob seemed happy enough with that, so he left it.)
After a brief moment of silence, Spongebob raised his hand.
“Squarepants, this isn’t a classroom.” Squidward deadpanned, with a roll of his eyes.
Spongebob snorted.
“Can I bring Gary?” He asked.
Squidward’s eyes widened.
No. Oh Shell No.
His beautiful house, covered in slime?! No, No, No! (Just the idea alone horrified him!-)
He was also mildly allergic to snails. A scratchy throat and reddened eyes were never pleasant. (And no snail was worth that. Not even his almost prize winning snail was truly worth it, even for the brief amount of time he had her...)
Squidward shook his head frantically.
“Allergies, remember?” He said with a glare.
“No snails in my house! EVER!-“ He snapped.
“Ohh. Forgot about that!” Spongebob said cheerfully.
“No Gar-bear over here then!-“
The mention of a certain pink snail brought Squidward’s thoughts to another pink resident of Conch Street.
“And don’t bring your bumbleheaded friend over either!-“ Squidward snapped, fixing him with a dull unamused stare.
(He would take the snail over Patrick any day! The snail would slime his house and make him sneeze, but at least it couldn’t make his brain rot!-)
Spongebob saluted. (Squidward supposed that was an agreement…)
“And what about Sandy?” He chimed in with an almost perfectly tilted head, seeming not at all put off by his (…perhaps a little unjustified) frustration. (Squidward just didn’t get it… [Why did he always put up with that?])
Squidward shook his head and considered Spongebob’s question.
…Well, and what about Sandy? Hm…
From all of Spongebob’s friends Squidward minded her the least. She was interesting at least, with a list of inventions longer than the Mariana trench was deep,
and unending undecipherable scientific jargon. (Though by this point, the poor squirrel had just about given up explaining most of her inventions because of the blank expressions in response, or her audience flat out ignoring her.
Squidward usually enjoyed the misery of others, but in those moments he felt at least a little bad for her. She probably deserved better than to live in a town of nimrods.)
She also had a lightning fast mind, which meant that most of the time she was at least good for a snide comment that’d made him snicker. (Or glare, depending on who the quip was directed at.)
However, her accent was grating, and her taste in music was questionable.
With Squidward’s tendency to make jokes at other’s expenses, that was his one of his prime choices. (Other than the fact that she was a land mammal who chose to leave her natural habitat for the water. That point was getting a little overplayed though, so he decided to only use it when the situation really required it. [Or when it was just too irresistible.])
She would always snap back with a quip equal to whatever he fired at her. Apparently jazz was elevator music that put babies to sleep, and his favorite musicians were stoned hippies.
Those comments offended him to no end! What was wrong with Kelpy G? So what if he was a little under the influence even in his recordings? If that allowed him to play better or more comfortably, Squidward wasn’t judging. He was just enjoying the results.
Besides, was country music any better? It was nothing but crying over lost loves with a guitar rattling in the background!
Nothing like the smooth flowing tones of jazz that almost took Squidward away to somewhere else. (Somewhere more refined and elegant than he was currently.)
What could country music possibly have on that?
Oh, and how could country!-
…Maybe getting into another argument wasn’t a good idea, especially when he wanted a nice and pleasant dinner. (Though he was sure he could have that with her… Hmm, had she ever tried some of his seaweed dishes? Maybe he should swing a bowl by her tree dome. Seeing her reaction would be interesting.)
“Still, better not” He mumbled aloud unknowingly.
“Alright!” Spongebob exclaimed cheerfully, shoes squeaking as he leaned forwards and backwards on the tips of his toes.
Squidward jolted back at the unexpected response (Since when did he say that aloud?!) quickly recovering into his usual flat expression.
Spongebob bounced in place excitedly in front of him.
“Oh Squidward, I’m so excited! I bet you’ll pull out the best, most tastiest recipe in the sea!-“ Spongebob’s eyes gleamed, and he smiled so wide Squidward was almost afraid of him breaking his face.
“That soufflé last time was so good! I was so scared it’d deflate, but it didn’t! That was crazy! And the roast before that! I didn’t even know you could do that with kelp! Oh my Neptune, this’ll be great!-“
A slow tentative smile crept over Squidward’s face. (How could he not smile? People weren’t usually so happy and excited for things that he made or did…)
Impossibly, Spongebob’s eyes lit up even more, his ever present smile seeming to grow by an entire pair of teeth, but he didn’t say a single word.
(After an unexpected and uncharacteristically dry joke Spongebob told at work one slow, slow, boring day, Squidward burst out laughing.
Even when he was able to choke down his laughter and restrain himself (“Pull yourself together Squiddy, it was just one of Spongebob’s jokes!-“), a smile still remained on his face.
Glancing up, he noticed Spongebob’s mouth fall open in shock. (At that moment, he wanted to curse, just a little. Too bad Krab’s would have his ass (and a chunk of his minuscule paycheck) for it.)
“I made you laugh!-“ Spongebob crowed triumphantly and shrilly a split second later, bouncing up and down with a repetitive squeaking sound.
Instantly, Squidward forced his mouth into a scowl.
It was forced and performative, even he could admit that. (And infinitely more bitter than the genuine smile he had shown a second before… But how could he admit that he laughed at a joke that dunderhead made?!)
Spongebob’s gleaming smile and shining eyes dulled after that for just a moment. A moment of almost awkward silence reigned.
Something about that put a small wrinkle in Squidward’s brow, and he vaguely considered saying something. A joke, an apology, just some words to fill up that uncomfortable silence. (…An apology for what? Laughing at Spongebob’s jokes? Pretending he hated them? Not liking the sound of Squarepant’s voice?)
He decided against it with a mental eye roll. (But something about that stuck with him.)
Squidward usually couldn’t get Spongebob to shut up, so why was he worried when Spongebob was silent? (It was weird…)
While Squidward’s head was running a mile a minute, Spongebob had recovered.
After a contemplative hum, he returned to prattling on idly about bubbles and Patrick and how much he loved his job as he recleaned the grill for the hundredth time. (Squidward certainly did not have that much devotion for his job. If Krab’s asked him to clean something he’d do it, begrudgingly, but never without prompting. And he definitely would not be happy about it like Spongebob was.)
With a small huff Squidward turned away, propped his feet up on the register and pulled out his latest book, intending on finding out just what did happen to Eduardo Angula’s wife after she ‘went missing’. (Squidward suspected with her secret lover.)
He also intended to let Spongebob’s idle chatter fade into the background. (It’s like a broken boat engine! He groused mentally. Unending and equally annoying.)
Instead, his eyes glazed over the text, mind occupied with the image of Bikini Bottom’s golden boy stall in his unflinching optimism because of him, face almost falling into a disappointed frown. (Something unprecedented for the creature that always smiled. Squidward could barely count the times he had frowned throughout the years on two hands!-)
The same golden boy who made a borderline mean joke just to try to get him to laugh. (The same sponge who was usually trying to get him to lay off on people with, ‘Come on Squidward, that wasn’t very nice!-‘ and other similar air headed platitudes.)
Eventually Squidward did get back to his book to learn that no, she didn’t run away with a lover. She was actually kidnapped by a shining hook. (Squidward’s face fell after this, eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.) The book then changed from a predictable thriller and mystery novel to a confusing mess of a horror story with new characters being added left and right, and plot threads that started and ended almost randomly. (Why did it feel like the author used a dartboard to pick their next plot threads? Why was it all incohesive?!)
To say the least, he was lost... (Oh, forget it! That was the last time Squidward picked out a book based on cover alone!-)
Squidward put down the book with a groan, and pulled out his art magazine instead, completely ignoring Spongebob’s (…rather insightful) comments on the pieces as he leaned forward to hover right over Squidward’s shoulders.
The day then passed on like a usual work day, earlier events completely forgotten.
Squidward supposed that Spongebob learned from that occasion.
(Why did Spongebob care so much about someone like him?! He was the cynical and rude next door neighbor. He was the failure that reached for the stars and stages, but ended up as a fast food worker! Why was someone as bright and gleaming as Spongebob paying so much attention to him? Caring so much?-))
And in that moment, more than ever, Squidward had wanted to lean in and press a kiss to his head. A little thank you for thinking of him, for caring, even through how bitchy he was. For attempting to make someone who was almost never comfortable feel comfortable. (Squidward could never handle anything other than distance. [And by Neptune himself, he worked to maintain it!] Yet time and time again Spongebob attempted to get close, every rejection not dissuading him at all.) That made him want to smile more, made him want to choke down the venom, soften the spiky exterior!-
He shoved it down like always. (Squidward wasn’t ever planning on telling him. Why would he? Spongebob was a star to be quietly admired half the time, while Squidward groaned or cursed at his idiotic antics he was somehow pulled into the other half of the time. Squidward wasn’t looking to change that dynamic.)
A beat passed, and Squidward smoothed his face down into a flat expression. Spongebob grinned (when did he not?) bouncing around as he threw out suggestions. (Thing’s he’d bring to go with the meal, a movie night, listening to the music channel, board games, breaking into Squilliam’s house, types of napkins…)
Squidward listened to Spongebob ramble on, humming affirmatively or saying ‘hmmm, maybe not…’ in response.
(Squidward couldn’t quite get his eyes to stop smiling though...)