"So, uh… What kinda music do you listen to?" Three asks. They'd been in the car for a bit now, driving in silence. Eight isn't facing her, instead looking out the window of the passenger's side. Three always felt kind of awkward in social situations, though… Usually for different reasons.
"It's nothing you listen to," she mumbles. "Play whatever, I don't mind."
"There's a difference between liking something and not minding it… C'mon, at least tell me."
"Well… Okay. Um, there's this group or producer or something called Nemo's Day at Wahoo World? I like some of their songs… And, um… There's this artist, I think, called… Hematolagnia? I found them the other day… I really like their stuff." Huh. "Sorry, sorry, I know-"
"Oh, I used to listen to Nemo's Day at Wahoo World. Like, in early high school, I think? Not so much anymore. They're not bad." She taps at the steering wheel. "Haven't heard of the other one, though. Is it breakcore?"
"Um… I think? I showed Marina a song and she said it was the musical equivalent of someone taking a shit on a keyboard." Three snorts. "What? I mean, I… Kind of agree."
"Oh, so you like shitty things?" Three laughs dryly and the words come out of her mouth before she can stop herself, "Shit, maybe that's why you think I'm cute."
Eight laughs. It sounds nervous and fake.
"I, um… Don't sell yourself short." Three feels her face warm a little more. "I, um, I just… I think you're, um… Cool. I guess. And I know that this, um, sounds, like… Stupid, but, it… I figured…" Eight sighs. "... I thought you'd, um… Like to hear that."
"... Thank you, Eight." Three has to try not to tear up, which is… Strange. Three… Three doesn't cry much, so… Not entirely sure why she's close to now. "That… I, uh. Think you're cool, too, if it counts."
Looking over briefly, Three can't see Eight's face, but she sees her smile in the reflection in the mirror.
Again, Eight laughs. It sounds more genuine. Soft, even.
"Well, um… If you don't mind me asking, what do you listen to?"
Three shrugs a little.
"Metal and classic rock, for the most part. A-Sea/D-Sea, Wetallica, Aquasmith, uh… Led Submarine. Y'know, like… Suburban dad bands." Eight makes a small noise of acknowledgement.
"Pearl listens to those bands sometimes. Sometimes I walk in on her singing along to it when she makes breakfast. It's a little funny."
"... Pearl cooks?" Pearl… Pearl never struck Three as the type to cook. At all. She always thought it was Marina that did everything, or maybe Pearl just hired a personal chef because she's rich and it seems like something she'd do.
"Yep." Three stops at a red light. It's dark out now, and the city lights illuminate the streets. "It's a hobby of hers. Apparently she had someone train her since she was young. I don't really understand it, but it makes her happy… So I can't really argue."
"Has she tried teaching you?"
"Once or twice… I've made more progress than Marina." Oh? "She's… I love her, but she really sucks at it. I think she tried to fry the milk once."
"... Why?" The light changes color and they start moving again. "And, uh, you live in Sunset Court, right?"
"Mhm." Three hears a soft tap-tap-tap-tap as Eight drums her claws against the inside of the car door. "And, um… Apparently she tried to make ice cream? I'm just as confused as you are."
"... Fucking hell, I thought Marina was, like, normal." She sighs. "Though, I mean… She does eat ketchup ice cream."
"... Don't you put ketchup on ramen? Are… Are you really in a position to say that?"
"It's… Not that bad," she protests. "You just haven't tried it."
"I… Don't think I want to," Eight admits. "Sorry."
Three laughs.
"Fine, fine…" Looking over at Eight, she notices the deep purple hue to her face. "... Are you okay?"
"I… Haven't heard you laugh before." Eight twirls one of the tassels on Three's hoodie. "It… It, um, you…"
"Oh. Sorry."
"Don't be. It… It's nice." Three feels her face warm some more. "You… Um, You're nice, too. In… Your own way."
"Thanks," she mutters. Tears threaten to prick her eyes. She clears her throat. "You too."
Eight lets out a quiet hum. Silence settles over them. It continues for the next ten minutes that the drive to Sunset Court takes.
"This it?" Three asks.
Eight nods. "Yeah."
She pulls into the driveway a little, parks the car, and unlocks the doors. Eight hesitates.
"Something wrong?"
"Um, I… I just wanted to ask if you, um…" Her voice trails off and Three sees her face flush purple. "I was wondering if you, um… If you would, um, like to… To go, um…" Is… Is Eight..? "... No, um… Fuck."
"... Take your time?" Three suggests, feeling her hearts start to race. Eight- No, there's no fucking way Eight's… God. Fuck.
"It. Um. Sorry. I was…" She sighs. "I… Just. Um… Thank you, for… Everything."
"Oh, it… It's, uh, nothing, really." She smiles at Eight. "I had fun."
"Me too," Eight replies quietly. "So… Um… Maybe we'll get together tomorrow?"
"Yeah." Three nods. "I'll text you, okay?"
"... Okay." Eight gives Three a small smile. "Um… See you. I guess. And, um… Thanks again."
Eight exits the car and Three watches her enter the house before leaving.
(She doesn't text her later. They don't talk for nine days.)
Three sighs quietly as she enters the café. Forcing a smile, she gives her coworker at the register a small wave.
"Hi, Justin," she greets, forcing fake enthusiasm into her voice.
"Oh, um… Hey, Summer." Justin smiles back. "How are you?"
"Good, good," she replies as she scoots behind him. "You?"
"Yeah, I'm good." The store is relatively empty. Good. Justin drums his fingers against the counter. "Hey, can you get the muffins from the back while you're there? Coffee's almost done."
"Course I can!"
Opening the door to the back of the shop, she hangs her bag on one of the hooks. The smell of baked goods hits her almost immediately.
Three fishes her glasses from her bag and quickly ties her tentacles up in a bun. Changing her ink to magenta, she decides she's about as ready as she's going to get.
Three scans the room for the tray of muffins. They're on the counter, probably cooled by now. Stopping by a sink to wash her hands, she takes a deep breath. Generally speaking, she… Likes her job. It's simple but not overly monotonous. It's not life-threatening. It's… Enjoyable, besides the bitchy vegans that come in at all hours of the day. Hell, even her coworkers aren't that bad. Maybe she'd never tell anyone, but she's decently happy with her job.
Once her hands are clean and dry, she gingerly feels the tray with the back of her hand. It's cool, or at least cool enough to hold, and she grabs them and pushes the door open.
"Are these them?" she asks, and Justin gives her a small nod.
"Thanks, Summer."
"You know me, just doing my job." It's a line she figured she would use at her second, actually important job, but it fits here, too. Setting the tray down on the glass display, she slides the display door open. By now, Three has the placement of the various desserts committed to memory, and she puts the batch of blueberry muffins on the far right, top shelf. "The floor's clean, right?"
"Clean from last night." Three rolls her eyes.
"Justin, did we have customers today?" He nods. "Are the tables clean, at least?"
"They're wiped," he tells her, and she accepts it. "You care a lot about this… Dunno why."
"I'm passionate about dumb things," Three offers. "Were there more things in the back that you want me to get?"
Justin looks over at a nearby egg timer with 'SCONES' written on it in black Sharpie. "Scones have about ten minutes left." He looks over at the next timer. "Lemon bars have five."
She nods in acknowledgement and slides the display door shut.
The door to the shop opens with a small jingle of bells.
"I'll take it," she mumbles, and Justin nods and goes to the back. Standing up, she gives the customer her warmest smile. "Hi, welcome to Oceanside!"
"Oh, hey…" The customer's voice trails off and she sighs after realizing. "Three, you fucking work here?"
Waiting by the register, she taps her foot against the ground to the tune of the song playing from the radio. "Yes, I do. What can I get you today, ma'am?"
"Don't ever call me ma'am again."
"Sincerest apologies, miss." Three's sure her grin is nothing short of shit-eating.
"... Summer." Four looks defeated. Three can't help but laugh - genuinely, this time. "C'mon."
"Fine, fine." She leans on the counter, growing a bit closer to Four. "So, what would you like?"
"Uh…" Her voice trails off as she skims the menu written on the wall behind Three in neat chalk writing. "An espresso and a brownie, please?"
"Got it. For here or to go?"
"To go." Three nods again. As she turns around to get a to-go cup from the cupboard, she realizes something. "Was this the place you were raving about for months?"
"Mmh, yeah, I guess so. I'm surprised I didn't run into you before." She pours the drink into the cup. "Unless… When did you start?"
"Seven months ago." Four makes a noise of vague confusion. "You saw me a few times, but we never talked."
"Really? How come you never told me?"
Three shrugs. "You never asked."
"I don't think I can come here again. It's too weird," she mumbles.
"Aw, you don't want a budding autumn romance with me? It'll be like those fucking online stories you read all the time," Three replies. "Do you want any cream or sugar?"
"Just a bit of both, thanks." She nods and adds it. "And… Summer, I love you, but you've thrown up on my shoes too many times for a fall romance." Four pauses. "... You used to read those too, y'know."
"Not that often," Three mumbles. "And it was only because the endings sucked. I also grew out of it."
"Oh, sure you did." Four rolls her eyes. "I've looked at your search history. Anyways… Speaking of budding romances, how are things with you and Eight? Did you hang out last Wednesday?"
Three can't stop herself from sighing. "No," she admits. "... We haven't talked since last Tuesday."
"Why not?" She sets the cup on the counter.
"Does it matter?" she snaps, sliding open the case and grabbing a brownie and a few napkins. "There's… You know she doesn't like me like that, right?"
"My cod, you really are an idiot," Four mutters. "I don't have time to get into it right now, but… Trust me, okay?"
Three rolls her eyes. "Okay, whatever." She rings up Four's order. "That'll be 753 C."
Four gives a small nod as she pulls her card out of her bag. Three swipes it and hands it back.
"Thanks so much," she says in that same bullshit customer service voice. "Please come again, Sarah."
Four shudders. "I really, really hate that." Taking her food, she hesitates a bit before leaving. "You wanna go out for ice cream later today? I can get Eight to come."
"Mh… Sure." She tries to sound uninterested but she feels her face warm slightly. "My shift ends at 4:30."
Four nods. "Okay, that's fine. Any time should work."
"... Alright." The tip jar clunks as Four drops a handful of change in it. "See you, I guess."
"Okay!" Three doesn't like the smile Four gives her. "See you around."
(A fact that Three forgets: It's a Thursday. Four has practice.)
(She only remembers it later, and by then it's too late.)
Three finds herself fretting in her car, obsessing over her appearance in the mirror. Her tentacles are down and her ink is back to its normal golden hue. She left her contacts at home, so she's still wearing her glasses. As a matter of fact, she's pretty much just wearing her work uniform, minus the apron - a white dress shirt and some black pants and a pair of black shoes that aren't too worn. They're probably the cleanest clothes she owns, if only because she wears them almost exclusively for work. She thinks they smell like pastries and coffee, a far cry from the usual odor of sweat and ink that her clothes normally have.
She looks presentable. And presentable isn't good enough for Eight.
Fixing her hair one last time, she sighs and grabs her bag. It… Would have to do. She'd really hate to keep Eight waiting. Three steps out of her car.
Checking the time, she sees it's 5:00 PM. Good enough. Eight said she'd meet her between 5:00 and 5:30. And… Fucking Four had turfing practice. It's almost like she planned this.
Three checks the text again - 'Is The Wharf okay?' - as she walks down the street, stopping at the parlor. Sure enough, it's called The Wharf, and she pushes open the door and enters.
It smells sweet, which makes sense. An employee greets her and gives her a wave, and she returns it.
"I'm waiting for someone," she tells them, and they nod. Three takes a seat at a nearby table and shoots Eight a text.
You, 5:03 PM: I'm inside
Eight, 5:04 PM: Okay! I'll see you soon, we're like a minute away
Eight, 5:04 PM: I'm so excited to see you again! We've both been busy recently though
You, 5:04 PM: Same here and yeah works a bitch
Eight, 5:04 PM: Haven't things been quiet since Kamabo?
Eight, 5:04 PM: Unless you're working overtime which is dumb
You, 5:04 PM: No I work 2 jobs
You, 5:04 PM: NSS and a regular one
Eight, 5:04 PM: Oh, really? Where?
You, 5:05 PM: Can't disclose… Its a secret
Eight, 5:05 PM: :(
Eight, 5:05 PM: You're no fun
Eight, 5:05 PM: I'm here BTW!
Three looks up from her phone and through the glass door into the street. She sees Eight wave over her shoulder at Pearl in her car, and then she starts walking towards the entrance to The Wharf. Eight's outfit looks relatively plain, for Eight, all bright, vibrant hues that clashed and didn't belong together in the slightest, although her hoodie is a dark grey with only some yellow writing on it and motherfucker that's Three's hoodie why is she wearing it still? She beams at Three with another wave, and Three feels her face heat up. A lot. Because she. Zuh. Damn you, Eight. Damn you and your dimples.
"Hi, Three!" she greets when she enters.
"Oh, uh, hey, Eight… What's up?" Eight takes a seat across from her.
"I'm good! It's nice to see you again," she tells her, placing her hands on one of Three's as she talks. Eight's hands are warm. Three's are not. "Have you been well?"
"Mh, I guess. Just working, mostly. You?"
"I haven't done much at all… I guess I've just been getting lazy." She laughs. "Are those clothes new? I haven't seen you wear them before. I really like those glasses on you, they make your eyes pop. They're probably comfier than contacts, right?"
"Nah, they're my work uniform. Or, uh, a set of clothes I wear to work? It fits dress code, I guess. Dunno if it's really a uniform. And, um, thanks? They… Are, if you're wondering."
Eight hums softly and nods. "Well, you look nice. You always do." Her words are accompanied with a small squeeze of Three's hand. Her face feels like it's on fire.
"Oh, um. Thanks. You, um. Too. Yeah."
She laughs.
Three thinks her hearts are about to burst.
"So… You didn't wait here too long, did you?" she asks. "There was traffic… I'd be here a while ago if there wasn't."
"Nah, I, uh. Didn't wait all that long, it's fine." She stands up. "So, you, uh… Food? Yes?"
Eight giggles. "Okay, you butt."
"I'm not a butt," she grumbles.
"Yeah you are," Eight protests. "You're a cute, stupid butt."
"Yeah? And you're a, uh… Toe." Three resists the urge to die. Toe was the first body part that came to mind… So she said it. Fucking hell, she's a moron.
"A toe?" Eight repeats. "... Gods, you're lucky you're cute."
There are many things to unpack here:
1. AH FUCK SHIT MOTHERFUCKER EIGHT CALLED HER CUTE AGAIN, THIS IS UNFAIR, EIGHT IS THE CUTIE HERE NOT THAT THREE, LIKE, CARES, OR ANYTHING, BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T, AND SHE WON'T, AND SHE NEVER WILL, BECAUSE THREE IS STOIC AND COOL AND ALOOF AND FUCK YOU
2. … She forgot number two.
3.
4.
5. Oh, shit, she needs to say something
6.
7. Seriously, she has to respond.
8.
9. Error 333: Three cannot respond at this time.
10. Dammit, she should really get better at handling complements.
11.
12. HEY THREE
13. BE THE ARTICULATE RESPONSE
"You. I, uh. Your face. Haha. Take that." Eight raises an eyebrow. "Good. Face. Nice, face? Yes. Face."
Eight softly smiles with a laugh. "You're such a butt."
"Do you. Uh." Three looks around wildly. "Food."
"... Let's just go before you hurt yourself." Eight stands up and pulls one of her hands away so she could walk while holding Three's own. Not that Three, like, minds or anything. Because she doesn't. Because she ah oof pretty girl hand pretty girl called her cute ahahahahahaaaaaaaa
The same employee gives them a smile as they walk up to the vast selection of ice cream and shit. Eight smiles back. Three is currently too stupid to do anything beyond Follow Eight and Not Die, which is slowly finding itself to be a lot harder than once imagined. Which is fine.
"Hey!" they say. "Just order whenever you're ready."
Eight spends a minute or two looking at the shit array. Three spends a minute or two trying to relearn speaking.
"So…" Their voice trails off. "If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been dating? You're really cute together, by the way."
Three is no longer relearning speaking.
"Umm…" Eight gives Three a glance. Three is too busy Error 333-ing to respond normally. "We, um… Aren't."
"... Oh, you're not?" Eight shakes her head 'no.' "Shit, my bad."
"It's fine," she mumbles, casting a worried glance at Three, who is currently so fucking golden that she looks like a pot of fucking Squraft macaroni and cheese. "So, um… Which flavour do you like the most?"
"Me or her?"
"Um… You. I'm just giving her a moment." Eight sighs quietly. "This happens a lot… She flusters easily." Yeah, okay, Three's going to ignore that comment.
"Ah, alright…" They scan the selection of cold shit. "Weeell, it really depends on what mood I'm in. Today I'm feelin' the fruitier ones. And I mean the actual fruit ones. Not… Ketchup."
"Ket… Chup..?" Eight repeats the word quietly. "I… Didn't know people sold that."
"Mh, yeah. Caught on after that Splatfest. Dunno why, I've always been a mayo squid myself."
"Why… Would you willingly eat mayo?" Three asks, having finally relearned the act of speaking. "Mayo frosting is so much worse than ketchup ice cream."
"... People besides Pearl do that?" When Three nods, Eight grimaces. "That's disgusting."
"Yeah. We had, like, a mayo frosting promo for a week or two. Sometimes people still come in asking for it." She shudders. "Fucking awful."
"Are you ever going to tell me where you work?"
"Oceanside Café, like two blocks away." Eight furrows her brow.
"... Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"'Cause I'm an ass."
Eight rolls her eyes. "Oh, so you're an ass but not a butt?"
"... Be quiet."
The mayo heathen on the other side of the ice cream laughs to themself. "But yeah, if you're wondering, I normally go for fruit. Everything's always made in-store, so… I assure you, it's all good."
Eight nods. "Oh, okay. Thanks."
Three scans the shit array. She has a decent idea as to what she wants… Even if she doesn't even like ice cream that much. It's just too cold.
"Can I get a small rocky road in a cone?" she asks. They nod. "Cool. Thanks."
"Coooould I get…" Eight's voice trails off. "A, um, small strawberry? In a cup."
They nod again and start scooping out ice cream. After doing that, they ring it up at the register.
"That'll be 930 C," they say.
Three reaches into her pocket to pull out her wallet, but Eight lays a hand on Three's wrist.
"I'll pay for it," Eight tells her.
"You paid for dinner last week, I-"
"Three, pleaaaaaaaaase?" She accompanies it with a bright smile and suddenly Three can no longer argue and just nods dumbly. Eight hands the employee her card and they take it.
A few moments later, and they have their ice cream and they leave the parlor.
"So… Um, why did we leave, exactly?" Eight asks quietly.
"I… Was following you." They keep walking down the street.
"... Oh." Eight tries to eat a bite of ice cream but she isn't great at multitasking.
"Do you wanna, uh… Eat in my car, or something?" Eight nods. "Great, I'll, uh. Lead you. I guess."
As they walk, they talk about little things. Small details about their weeks, things they saw recently that made them laugh, tiny things about this and that and nothing at all. It's comforting.
But at the same time, their ice cream is starting to melt, and Three's really starting to regret getting a fucking cone. While it isn't running down her wrist quite yet (thanks to some napkins), it is absolutely trying to. And that's… Less than ideal. Bad, even, because Three's shirt is white, and Three doesn't want to bother removing a stain, and Three doesn't feel like washing her shit or finding her other shirt buried beneath all the others in her dresser.
Eight managed to eat hers (which was slightly melted in a soupy way) in a horrifying display in which she basically just chugged the entire thing. Which might have been kind of hot. Not in a temperature way, fuck off. But still. Three's really fucking hating the cone life right about now.
She takes a bite out of the shit after crossing the street, which is something Four gives her shit about too for whatever reason. Fucking hell, ice cream sucks. Why make cold desserts? It's going to melt. It's fucking stupid. What's the point? Just to suffer? Three feels some of it dribble down her chin and she briefly panics. She goes to wipe it away with her sleeve but then she remembers it's white and fuck and eight just grabbed her arm why is she doing that? oh holy shit eight is getting awfully close she-
Eight licks her chin.
Three drops her ice cream.
What the shit.
"Fuck," Eight swears. "Oh, gods, Three, I'm so sorry, I-"
Three looks at her and tries to communicate her plight. It is a plight that is, in fact, cute girl just fucking licked me? wh but it is also the kind of plight that leaves you very, very stupid. Because of that, Three sits there and is fully aware of how goddamn stupid she must look, but she just doesn't care enough to fix it.
What she does care about is the brief, half-second when Eight's lip touched Three's skin or how her tongue barely grazed Three's own lip.
She cares deeply, and she feels a strong, nigh-uncontrollable urge to just kiss Eight right then and there in the middle of the street, her foot covered in half-melted chocolate ice cream.
Eight's still babbling apologies and Three takes in the deep purple flush to her face. It's a color she's starting to grow fond of, a color she likes more and more the longer she knows Eight.
Three cups Eight's cheek in her hand, brushing her thumb against it before she realizes what she's done. She tenses, stops mid-movement - Eight tenses, halting her speech halfway through another apology. They wait - wait a while, or maybe just a few seconds - and Three finally speaks.
"It's, uh… It's fine." Gingerly, she pulls her hand away. "Don't… Worry. About it." Three tries to smile and finds it to be much more genuine than she thought it'd be.
Eight nods, silent. Her eyes stay trained on Three for more than a few moments, watching her wordlessly. Shit, did Three fuck up? Eight almost always had something to say - at least, she did around Three.
"Sorry," she says. "That- It… That was uncalled for, I-"
"I like your face," Eight blurts out and then immediately claps her hands over her mouth.
It takes Three a moment to process that, and once she does, she feels her blush intensify and she can't help but laugh.
Eight stares at her with a look that couldn't be described as anything besides pure awe. Then, a bit abruptly, she shoves her hands in her pockets.
"You're such a nerd," Three mumbles. "So… Um… You, uh, wanna come over… To my place? We could, like, hang out."
"I- Um, you. It. Yes. I would. Enjoying. I do that. Yeah, it, you, I-" Three raises an eyebrow. Eight sighs. "... Yeah. Also, um, your shoe."
Three looks down at her shoe. "FUCK." Dammit! These were really nice shoes. She could clean it, but- FUCK! It's such a fucking pain. Fuck.
"Sorry, I- I can get you a new pair, it-"
"Eight. Do you realize how much shit you've bought me already?"
"What, the ice cream and pizza the other day? It's not that much," she replies quietly. "And this is kinda my fault anyways."
"Did you knock the ice cream out of my hand?"
"No," Eight mumbles. "But I did lick you."
"I- Yeah, you did, but-" She remembers the small moment when Eight's lips touched her skin and she blushes. "... Still. You don't owe me anything."
"... You're really nice, Three," Eight tells her. "I'm happy I met you."
"You too," Three wants to tell her, but she turns around and quietly clears her throat as she tries not to cry. "C'mon," she says instead, trying her best to force the whimper from her voice. "Let's go."
Eight doesn't say anything about it, or much at all, but Three knows she heard it. She jogs up to Three's side and slips a hand out from the pocket of her hoodie to grab Three's own, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"It's okay."
It takes a lot of willpower to not just yank her hand away right then and there, and takes even more to stop herself from crying, because Eight cares, somehow, despite not really knowing her. Three steals a glance at Eight, steals a few - each detail, each bit, so gorgeous from her bright, wide eyes to the small scars dotting her skin to her nose, crooked and slightly misshapen from a fight from so long ago, lasting like a memory.
Each glance hurts, stings like a stab wound, another metaphorical nail in Three's metaphorical coffin. Each one aches and burns, because Eight is so, so perfect and Three is so, so not.
By the time they reach Three's car, Three's okay - physically, at least. She gives Eight a small smile when their eyes meet. It's brief and fake and not much at all, and they both know it.
Neither of them say anything.
Three forces a small pang of sadness away. Right now, things aren't about her or her stupid, stupid feelings. Things are about Eight and driving and nothing else.
She sneaks another glance at Eight, hoping to catch her eye, wishing she would talk.
Eight doesn't. The car ride is silent.
And, fuck, does Three feel stupid.