Happy Galentine's Gay, I guess. (OK a little late but)

So unlike my other SpongeBob Musical fics, this one has the original musical happy ending with SpongeBob successfully saving Bikini Bottom from volcanic doomsday, rather than my darker alternate ending in my other stuff with SpongeBob failing and the volcano actually erupting (which doesn't happen in the show). So this is a whole new story, starting from scratch, not related to the other ones. And it's fluffier than my usual. Fluff fluff.

Fic belongs to me.

SpongeBob Musical belongs to Kyle Jarrow (who wrote the book).

SpongeBob © Nickelodeon.

A month passed after the near eruption.

During Bikini Bottom's Reconstruction period, the Mayor had asked Squidward into her office on a Sunday afternoon (which he was more than happy to oblige—after all, if the Mayor personally requests you, it must be important) and to his gratification, she offered him a commission. He perked up at the word ''commission'', thinking this was his long-deserved reward for organizing that stupid concert, but his parade was soon rained on by the mention of the name ''SpongeBob''. Of course. Any shard of happiness he ever had always had to be spoiled by the likes of that half-witted invertebrate. He sulked, listening to the Mayor ramble on about wanting Squidward to carve a sculpture of SpongeBob, to honor the ''simple sponge'' for his bravery in saving the town. Squidward didn't agree to it, not verbally anyhow, but the Mayor assumed all was settled and rushed Squidward into the hallway, where he bumped into the sponge himself on his way in. SpongeBob must've said ''hello'' or something but Squidward went temporarily blind and deaf.

''SpongeBob, yes, do come in!'' the Mayor waved him in her office, then turned to Squidward before closing the door and said, ''I just can't wait to see your masterpiece, Mister...'' his last name escaped her.

Still glowering, he replied, ''Tentacles.''

''Yes, Mr. Vegetables.''

''Tentacles, with a 'T', ma'am,'' he repeated, louder this time.

''Telephones, that's what I said,'' and she closed the door.

''THAT'S TENTACLES!''

Inside the office, neither the Mayor nor SpongeBob heard Squidward's outburst, although SpongeBob did hear something that sounded like ''Professionals!'' being screamed right outside the door. He turned to find the source of said noise but the Mayor pinched his cheek, like his Grandmother always did, forcing him to turn his attention towards her. ''Now, little yellow one, I have a proposition to make,'' and she petted his hair in a forced maternal display of affection. ''Lollipop? Cookie? Or whatever kids eat these days?'' With that, she pushed a bowl of sweets, which had been resting on her desk, towards him.

''No thank you, ma' am, I've just had lunch.'' He wouldn't dare eye that candy neither. He was trying to act mature before the Mayor, but in reality he hadn't quite grown out of those things. Nevertheless, he didn't want her to see him as just a ''kid'', so he straightened up, and folded his hands firmly over his lap. He had to remind himself that he was in a government official's presence, not at his Grandmother's. The Mayor seemed impressed and took her place behind her desk, ready to talk business with SpongeBob, one-on-one, like one adult to another.

''So, Mr. SquashPants,'' she indicated. ''You're not as 'simple' as everyone said you were. No, I see a man sitting right where you are, not a boy. Shame on Mr. Cakes for notifying me how callow you were. After all, a juvenile couldn't be the hero of our town, now could he?'' she laughed, expecting him to laugh with her.

He flushed scarlet, not bothering to correct her mispronunciation of his surname (and poor Mr. Krabs, thank the watery heavens he wasn't here. He would have the mind to disregard the Mayor's feelings and stubbornly correct her). SpongeBob knew she was generally bad with surnames and thought it best not to point this out. She meant well. ''Thank you, ma 'am.'' He said, shyly. ''But I'm not—''

''Nonsense!''

Squidward knew the Mayor had dismissed him but he couldn't help but eavesdrop and found himself crouching in the hallway, his ear pressed against the door to listen. He heard SpongeBob at first politely decline the Mayor's offer, saying he hadn't done it for the glory but that he did it because he loved Bikini Bottom so much (this was only the half truth. After all, Squidward hoped SpongeBob didn't forget about his initial quest on the path to praise or as he put it ''claim to fame''). You little brat, Squidward thought to himself. Don't sound so discreet. You know you want that statue as much as the next guy. I mean, who wouldn't?

Alright, so SpongeBob tried to contain his excitement, but he couldn't pretend he wasn't happy about it either. He was, oh so very much. At the same time, becoming a hero grew less important to him the closer he got to Mt. Humungous. He tried to tell her this, but the Mayor only lightly teased him about his humbleness. ''Of course you must be rewarded!'' she said. ''Without you, our town would have been up in flames and burnt to a...um...'' He saw her wracking her brain for the proper word.

''A crisp?'' SpongeBob suggested.

''I was gonna say Herring and Pumpkin Pot Pie, you ever try one of those? 'Course not, they sell that kind of cra- uh, stuff in Shell City. They catch you fresh and cook...uh, anyway, that works, too. What was I saying?''

''That I was to have a memento, to be Squidward's magnum opus.'' He blushed again.

''Yes, because you're a hero and thanks to your heroism we're not pickled herring in fishy pot pie!''

Before the Mayor could go off on a tangent once more, scatterbrained as she often was, SpongeBob then quickly requested that his friends be included into the honory monument. He couldn't take all the credit—it was Sandy who invented the ''ingenious bubble device'' in the first place, and Patrick who had saved him in time from falling to his death. But the Mayor either didn't hear him or pretended not to, and before he could stop her, she had pushed him out of her office and into the arms of Squidward waiting in the hallway outside.

''But, Miss Mayor, ma' am,'' he started but she closed the door in his face. He sighed, then turned to Squidward, and nervously smiled up at him but as usual, the sour crank had a grimace and told him to be at his house tomorrow morning to model. Then he left, grumbling something about ''who needs heroes'' and ''wouldn't do it for the world if it didn't mean exposure and getting some credit myself.''

''Turn to the left, please,'' Squidward instructed him. SpongeBob moved his chin to the left. ''Your other left.'' He did as he was told, moving instead to the right. Squidward sighed and stood from his easel.

''What?'' SpongeBob asked.

''Let's see your other side again. Maybe it's your 'good side'.''

''Both sides are my 'good side','' SpongeBob teased, but Squidward was in no mood for jokes. SpongeBob re-positioned himself on the stool and waited for further instruction. Squidward contemplated him for such a long time that SpongeBob grew restless and began to squirm, reaching to scratch a tickle on his nose.

''Don't move!'' Squidward barked.

SpongeBob froze, his hand in mid-air, inches from his nose.

''No, I mean,'' Squidward began, slapping his head. ''Forget it. Just lose the hand.''

Lose his hand? How would he do that? SpongeBob thought for a moment, then an idea entered his head. He then proceeded to pretend to chop off his hand and throw it over his shoulder. ''How's that?'' he beamed at himself, turning to find Squidward's approval, but instead he was met with knit brows.

''Cut it out. Now just be serious.''

Serious? Gee, couldn't Squidward make up his mind? With that, SpongeBob let his hand fall before furrowing his brow and pouting his lips, perhaps a little too much.

Squidward sighed. ''SpongeBob? What are you doing?''

In a deep, slow voice, SpongeBob answered, ''I'm. Being. Seeeerious.'' When he saw that Squidward wrinkled his brow, either in confusion or annoyance, it was hard to tell, SpongeBob, reverting to his normal voice, inquired, ''No good? How's this?'' and he relaxed his mouth into an Abe Lincoln frown, resting his chin in his hand as though he were thinking of something very important. When Squidward didn't say anything, SpongeBob whispered, ''Why so serious?''

Squidward came over and made him go back to his first position. ''Stop playing around. I mean it.'' But today he didn't sound angry. No, in fact, he sounded very weary, as though he hadn't slept all night. SpongeBob suddenly felt remorseful that he was giving Squidward a difficult time, and he tried extra hard not to laugh, he really did, but he couldn't help it, not if his life depended on it. If this had been the Mayor, he knew he could act appropriately, so he didn't know why he couldn't get it together for Squidward. He thought for sure Squidward would scold him to ''Grow up!'' any minute now, as he always did. But Squidward said nothing of the sort. He only stared at SpongeBob in his fit of snickering, then shut him up by grabbing his chin tightly in his hand and sharply turning his face once more. But the action wasn't hurtful. Yes, Squidward was exhausted, SpongeBob could tell. He wanted to ask him if he had a rough night, but frankly, he couldn't talk with Squidward's fingers pressing on each side of his jaw. After a long time, Squidward finally blurted out, ''You have a really weird face.''

SpongeBob giggled, thinking Squidward meant it as a joke, then exclaimed in return, ''So do you, Mr. Tennis Balls!''

But Squidward didn't hear him. He was lost in his thoughts, studying some part of SpongeBob's features with those tired middle-aged eyes of his. SpongeBob wanted to think he was looking straight through him but the look in Squidward's eyes suggested otherwise. It looked as though he weren't really seeing him, but rather, looking past him. SpongeBob carefully watched as the lines on Squidward's face grew longer. He wasn't satisfied with what he was seeing. ''Should've used your submarine squirrel maiden instead,'' he told him. ''Now that's a profile I can work with.'' It took SpongeBob a moment to realize he meant Sandy. ''She's got a certain Nubian elegance to her,'' Squidward continued. ''If she weren't a hillbilly, she'd be the Queen of the Nile.''

In English, that simply meant he found Sandy to be exceptionally beautiful. SpongeBob bit his bottom lip. Squidward was so beat, he probably didn't grasp what he just said. But to SpongeBob, it was as good as a confession. ''I'll tell her you said that,'' SpongeBob joked.

Again, Squidward didn't seem to comprehend. He went on, ''Your eyes are too dark, almost pupiless. You have an ugly mouth, thin and lopsided, too many freckles on your arms. How does the Mayor expect me to work like this?''

SpongeBob wasn't offended. It was true, he had a sideways grin and he always hated his freckles. Amused, he leaned back on the stool. ''Anything else you have a problem with?''

''Well, now that you mention it,'' Squidward resumed, ''You could use some color. You're deathly pale. And your body—''

SpongeBob raised an eyebrow. ''What's wrong with it?''

''See those little veins sticking out? Right there in the crease of your arm? No, the inside of your elbows. There. That's terribly unattractive.''

SpongeBob frowned. He understood then that Squidward wasn't clowning around. Okay, he could agree on a few things, like his freckles for instance. And he was pasty, no matter how much sun he tried to soak up to little avail. But getting so fussy over barely noticeable veins—something everyone had, including Squidward, particularly in that same exact spot on his arms, was crossing the line a bit. In short, Squidward's criticisms were a little too on the nose.

''And these knees,'' Squidward pointed. ''If I had knees as shoddy as that, I'd be far too embarrassed to run around in short trousers as you do. Oh, that's another thing. Your thighs are so thick I'm surprised you haven't ripped your pants yet. And your ankles. They're too skinny.'' Squidward pulled at them, only protected by SpongeBob's black Vans Sk8-Hi, the high top which snuggily hugged his ankles. ''Wearing those stupid socks with those stupid shoes don't make it any better. In fact, it makes it worse. Who taught you how to dress anyhow?'' SpongeBob pursed his lips, but Squidward wasn't finished. ''Your shoulders are far too square. Look, they jut out like an ogre,'' and here, Squidward gripped him around the shoulders, to demonstrate their faulty ''squareness.''

''What do you expect? I'm a sponge,'' SpongeBob tried to reason but Squidward just kept talking over him.

''And what are all these moles on your neck?''

''My mother gave me those.''

''One reason people shouldn't have children. They pass on their ugly hereditary traits to the poor offspring who has to suffer for it.''

''I like my 'moles','' SpongeBob rebutted, but despite this he covered the small spots on his neck, feeling a little embarrassed having been called out for it. ''And my mother is pretty. She calls them 'beauty marks', not 'moles'.''

''Then what does she say about your big ears? They're as red as coral.''

''She says—''

''That you have a face only a mother can love, that's what she says.''

SpongeBob sighed. ''Are you through?''

''Not quite. Don't get me started on your Adam's apple. And your red eyebrows clash with your blonde hair. How in the world did that ever happen? Is that a pimple on your chin?''

Calmly, SpongeBob questioned, ''How long have you been scrutinizing me to pick up on all these detailed observations?''

''Long enough,'' was Squidward's blunt answer. At this point, SpongeBob didn't care if he was deprived of sleep. Maybe it was making him crazy, but SpongeBob also felt that Squidward was awake enough to know what he was saying. ''Now I'm in desperate requirement of eye bleach, speaking of which, have you seen it laying around somewhere?''

In a Suffolk accent, or at least the best one SpongeBob could muster, he smugly said, ''Check up your arse, I'm sure it finds the view just lovely.''

Squidward looked at him sideways, and surprised SpongeBob by not scowling, but smiling. Yes, smiling. Maybe he cracked. Gosh, he really needed to go lie down. ''Arse?'' he echoed softly. ''I say 'ass', love.'' (The 'love' here was clearly farce, not meant to be a term of fondness.) ''I'm not that English,'' Squidward added. True, he had been living here long enough.

''So tell me,'' SpongeBob queried, ''Is there any part of me that doesn't need help?''

''Hm,'' Squidward chewed on the tip of his pencil, thoughtfully. Even in his drowsy state, he loved a challenge. ''Your nose is alright, I suppose,'' came his honest reply. ''Not too prominent, not too small. Just right.'' SpongeBob let out a sigh of relief. Finally, a compliment and not a remark of— ''Except it does looks better on the right profile,'' Squidward broke into his thoughts. ''Your left nostril curves down at a the most unusual angle—''

Geez, couldn't Squidward come off his high sea horse already? ''Would it kill you not to get so obsessively analytical?'' SpongeBob retaliated. ''I mean, you're worse than Sandy.'' And maybe, SpongeBob thought, that's why he respected her, but he couldn't be for certain. ''I know you're an artist and all, but you make it sound like I'm a table. I'm made of flesh and blood, not wood. I'm sorry I'm not perfect—''

''I never said that,'' Squidward protested. ''All I said was that you're little on the strange side.''

SpongeBob rolled his eyes, not without a little grin. ''But Sandy's just ideal.''

''SpongeBob, she's a woman, of course she is.''

''What's that got to do with it?'' SpongeBob grumbled, and then it suddenly dawned on him. Of course, why else would Squidward— SpongeBob grinned wider, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. ''You fancy her or something?''

As he predicted, Squidward's face turned the deepest shade of red SpongeBob ever thought possible in a man who's face was usually so colorless. When Squidward saw SpongeBob smirking ear to ear, he snapped, ''Will you get your mind out of the gutter? I wouldn't dream of liking her if she were Adam and I was Eee — er- I- I mean, if s-she were Eve and I-I was...'' SpongeBob grinned even wider, so wide, Squidward feared the boy's face would split wide open. ''Will you desist in looking at me like that?!'' Squidward demanded, trying, at all odds, to control his stutter. The complexion of his face had turned from beet red to an eggplant purple and he had to wipe the tiny beads of sweat forming on his brow with his handkerchief. ''No, that's not it, but well, the female form is different, that's all.'' SpongeBob could tell he didn't want to discuss Sandy—and her femininity—any further, but as Squidward delivered those words, at that exact moment, SpongeBob let his eyes wander around Squidward's studio, and they rested on one of his marble statues—of a male nude, censored only by a mere seashell where his family jewels would be. Then he let his eyes trail over the other displayed pieces, both finished and works in progress. SpongeBob noticed a curious reoccurring theme in all his paintings, sketches, sculptures, etc. Most were self-portraits yes, but the few that weren't still contained a male subject, usually nude. SpongeBob couldn't help but wonder, if what Squidward said was true about the female form reigning supreme, how come she was absent in Squidward's oeuvre? And as much as the artist treasured his late mother, Squidward didn't even seem to possess one portrait of her (unless SpongeBob accidentally misgendered the painting on that far wall, that he felt positive was Squidward but he could be mistaken. After all, Squidward did look an awful lot like his mother).

''And yet,'' SpongeBob pointed out, although he didn't meant to say it out loud, ''If the female form were so 'perfect', as you claim, how come, in all your years of producing art, you've never once painted or sculpted a woman?''

The sound of Squidward's pencil, still in his mouth, snapping in two, startled them both. ''What are you accusing me of?'' Squidward provoked. He sounded more frightened than upset, for his face turned whiter than SpongeBob's socks.

''I'm not accusing you of anything,'' SpongeBob responded. He really wasn't. It was just a candid observation. ''I mean, it's just something I noticed. It's not a bad thing, Squidward. I mean, some of the world's most renowned masters only painted men...sometimes both. It didn't mean anything. I mean, Michelangelo—''

''Was in the closet.'' Squidward said quietly.

''What? No, we don't know that. He was a devout Catholic.''

''So?''

''So, his art didn't say anything about his sexuality. And anyway, 'queer' meant something different in the sixteenth century than it does now.''

''He wrote love sonnets to a 23-year-old he meant when he was fifty-seven.''

''Sure, but even if he was, historians say he was so melancholy and reclusive that his love life wouldn't have been very physical. He could express himself through poetry, that's all. Maybe people read too much into it.'' When Squidward didn't look convinced, SpongeBob tried again. ''Da Vinci—''

''Was accused of sodomy at twenty-four with a notorious male prostitute. It's also speculated that his young male apprentice who lived with him for over twenty years was probably his lover. In fact, he surrounded himself with beautiful young male assistants.''

''There weren't any witnesses. Besides, people were always making anonymous sodomite charges like that during the Renaissance. Didn't mean they were true.''

''He never had any known historically documented relationships with women, he never married, never had any children—''

''Hey, there's nothing bad about that.''

'' — he wrote in his notebooks that male-female intercourse disgusted him—''

''Yet he drew anatomical studies of both genders.''

''Paying more attention to the male anatomy.''

''Squidward, stop! You're missing the point.''

Squidward flashed a cold gaze in his direction. ''No, I think you made your point.''

''No, look! Um...'' and SpongeBob had to think of one painter who wasn't gay or rumored to be gay. ''Francisco De Goya.''

''What about him?'' Squidward moaned.

''He painted lots of guys. And women, too.''

''Not male nudes, SpongeBob, only women, and anyway he was a court painter, often commissioned by the royal family to paint their portraits, the King, Queen, their children, whoever.''

''Yeah, but you forget when he started painting the Peninsular War—''

''I didn't forget,'' Squidward groaned, rubbing his tired eyes.

''—soldiers and people getting killed. Mostly guys.''

''Political art. Again, not nudes.''

''I wasn't just talking about nudes.''

''Would it humor you if I said—''

''Ugh!'' SpongeBob threw up his hands. ''Don't say it! Look, everyone and their grandmother is speculated to be gay, alright? What the heck do people know? Someone writes a letter or something to someone: 'I like you so much, we suit each other so well, gee come see me sometime, let's hang out, man, take a thousand embraces! Let me draw a penis at the end of this letter while I'm at it!' Oh my goodness, he must be gay. If they were, big deal, but who cares about the sex lives of some old dead guys?''

Squidward blinked, quietly listening to SpongeBob's theatrical display, then said, ''Yet funny how you brought Da Vinci and Michelangelo into the conversation first. You could have at least mentioned Van Gogh, because although it's rumored he had stormy love affairs with men, too, at one point, I'd be willing to agree with you because at least like him, the body of my male work contains self portraits, a fact you fail to realize.''

No, SpongeBob hadn't dismissed this. ''Squid,'' he said, ''You're taking this too far, all I said was—''

Squidward strode back to his easel, gripping his broken pencil in both hands. ''No, this conversation's over. All the Old Masters were gay, rest your case, I get it. Gee, why doesn't Squidward paint a woman for once? I'm not going to answer that. Maybe someday I will. Maybe I already have and you just don't know it. Maybe my masterpiece will be a portrait of Sandy, geez, I dunno, SpongeBob. And believe me, I wouldn't be sculpting you unless the Mayor hadn't commissioned me in the first place. Do you think I'm enjoying this? No, it's the worst assignment I've ever gotten. I wouldn't paint you or sculpt you if you were the last person on Earth!'' He threw down his pencil, which was now useless. But his fury dissipated quickly. He was just too fatigued to stay mad or really give an honest damn, and calmly he said, ''But if we're going to do this, we're going to do this right. So you're just going to sit there like a good little boy and not move a finger and I don't want to hear a peep out of you, got it?'' SpongeBob obediently nodded but Squidward misinterpreted this as insolent and affixed, ''Look, I don't like it anymore than you, but might as well get this over with. We've already wasted precious time flapping our jaws about trivial topics. The Mayor wants this done by Friday. I can finish the preliminary sketches tonight if you just cooperate.''

SpongeBob remained as still and as quiet as a mouse while Squidward prepared. After awhile, Squidward muttered, ''I'd change those shabby clothes of yours if I had a choice but the Mayor wanted you in the same tattered outfit you climbed that mountain in.'' SpongeBob didn't say anything. He just stared ahead of him, finding some spot of interest on the wall, which wasn't much to look at, but he refused to make eye contact with Squidward, who eventually grew bored of the silence. ''You can talk if you want, just don't move your head,'' he invited, but SpongeBob had nothing to say. Squidward didn't ask him again after that. The only sound that broke the silence was the loud sketching of Squidward's pencil scraping against his canvas pad.

An hour or two passed before SpongeBob did think of something to say. He was vaguely reminded of the act he put on in the Mayor's office yesterday when she perceived him as immature. ''When did your parents stop treating you like a kid?''

Squidward didn't hesitate to answer, nor did he ask why SpongeBob brought it up. Without removing his eyes from his easel, he replied, dryly, ''When my father left, and my mother died.'' SpongeBob felt a pain of pity tearing at his insides. He was sorry he asked. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself and left Squidward alone to work through the uncomfortable silence. He worked through the afternoon until he had enough grand designs prepared. SpongeBob arched his spine, growing fidgety from the pain in his back for having to sit up straight for so long, and Squidward relieved him by saying, ''Alright, you're free to go.''

Finally! SpongeBob stretched his muscles, glad to be able to move again. ''You're done?'' He rubbed his neck, which was now sore and didn't even notice that Squidward had approached him.

''Yeah. You can go home,'' Squidward answered.

''Can I see?'' SpongeBob eagerly crossed his legs, trying to look as cute as possible so that Squidward would unveil his rough work. It didn't move him in the slightest.

''Nice try,'' Squidward shook his head. ''Maybe tomorrow. I'd rather you not look yet.'' SpongeBob pouted, but he crossed his fingers, hoping he would have something to look forward to the next day. As he was about to jump off his stool, the most peculiar thing happened. He felt Squidward bend down slightly and kiss him very delicately on the cheek. SpongeBob didn't know why but he supposed it was Squidward's way of apologizing which he readily accepted. ''You're still ugly, except for your nose,'' he heard Squidward say, but SpongeBob knew what he really meant was, ''I'm sorry for being so tough on you.''

SpongeBob shrugged with a grin. ''It's okay, Squid, I'm used to it. And I want you to know I didn't mean you were Michelangelo.''

Squidward smirked. ''Why not? He was a great painter and sculptor. I'm honored you compare me to him, gay or not.''

SpongeBob shook his head. ''You're more like Van Gogh.''

''Not yet. I still got both ears,'' and with that Squidward nudged him off the stool and playfully shoved him to the door. On SpongeBob's way out though, Squidward caught him around the back of his neck and whispered in his ear, ''Maybe next time I'll paint you naked like Raphael's cherubs.'' SpongeBob's whole face from his neck to his ears glowed like a fire but then Squidward laughed and slapped him on the back. ''I'm just kidding!'' and before SpongeBob could turn to look at him, he felt Squidward push him out the door, which closed behind him with a thud. He stood in shock on Squidward's stoop for a few moments before he slowly walked home.

He wish he could say whether Squidward was only joking or not, but he knew Squidward was not one to lead him on. If he said he was kidding, he probably meant it. As SpongeBob turned the handle on his door, he stopped as a smirk crept onto his lips. Who knows? Maybe Squidward wasn't kidding after all.

Fin