A/N: I promise this is the last of the 'OMG YEARNING' crap I'm going to write for this pairing. *is probably lying*
Squidward had never been so tired in his life.
He was up to two packs of cigarettes a day; the smell of cloves followed him whether he was smoking or not, and he simply couldn't find the energy to care. The constant will I, won't I was wearing him thinner than was probably safe or sane, but he couldn't care about that either.
What he did care about - besides his coworker - were the increasingly depressive thought patterns he was noticing in himself. For the first time in a long time, he was worried, actually worried, about himself. Yesterday, at home, he'd been cutting some onions for soup and he'd nicked the side of his right tentacle. It had just been a scratch, just enough to bleed, and yet he'd stared at it, watching the blood seep into the wound with something akin to longing.
And before he'd realized it, he'd pressed the knife to his wrist. For the longest moment of his life, he'd simply stood there, staring at his hands; and finally had flung the knife away, terrified of what he had almost done.
After that, he had gathered up all his kitchen knives and asked Spongebob to hold onto them for him; he didn't even remember what excuse he'd made up. He could only hope it'd been a good one.
At this point, he seemed to live on cigarettes, for he had very little appetite. He only half-finished meals, or he forgot to eat altogether. He hoped nobody had noticed that, especially Spongebob.
At least, if nothing else, it was almost time to close for the night. Although it looked like he and Spongebob would finish their separate duties at the same time and he'd have to endure his neighbor's presence on the walk home.
His tentacles trembled, and he clamped down on that thought, fiercely, viciously. He wished...he didn't know what he wished. Well, he knew, but he also knew he wouldn't get it, so he had no choice but to endure, and hope the cracks he knew were starting in his psyche wouldn't show, at least until he got home.
He knew he couldn't last forever. He would break, inevitably and irrevocably.