Ah, heck, Three's adorable.

Loud? Yes. Grumpy? Yes. Unfortunately-yet-constantly smelling like sweat? Yes. Banned from multiple food establishments? Sadly, yes.

But... Also undeniably cute! ... Even if she denies it all the time, like a complete and utter butt.

Is it wrong of Eight to think so? Definitely not. Especially when she's in that, like, tired-but-too-stubborn-to-sleep state after she's taken out her contacts and just wears her glasses, but they keep slipping down her nose and she gets grumpier and grumpier with how much she has to push them up. And then the grumpier she gets, the more she slouches, and her posture is awful but that's okay, kind of! Not really... But she won't fix it, ever, and Eight respects her decision. And by "respects her decision," Eight means she absolutely disrespects it and wants Three to change so she doesn't destroy her back at the tender age of eighteen and doesn't end up looking like Mr. Cuttlefish before she's even old enough to legally drink.

Three pushes her glasses up again and mutters a series of swears that Eight can't hear too well. Still, it brings a smile to Eight's face. Three, however, is doing the opposite of smiling, which is scowling, and before you say "The opposite of a smile is a frown!" Eight knows and doesn't care. Her scowl and her resting face are two very similar things that most people would get confused, but Eight can tell the difference at this point. When she scowls, aka Right Now, she furrows her brow a little more, her pupils get a little smaller (Gods, Eight loves her eyes so, so much...) and she purses her lips a bit more. Oh, well, they're moving a bit more now. Recently she's started using lip balm, so they're not nearly as chapped, and sometimes Eight can taste it when she kisses her. Three's bought, like, a bunch of flavours that are all artificial but undeniably sweet, minus the mint one. Mint isn't even that good, but Eight honestly doesn't care when she has Three pinned against a wall or... Really any surface? Most... Surfaces? Maybe not a stove, and cars are awkward, but... Eh. When it comes to mint lip balm, she doesn't care all that much. She doesn't care about lip balm flavours in general, but it's cute that Three thinks about buying them. Maybe it's because she tends to bite them when she's nervous or super pissed, but she doesn't need so many, does she? Eight's pretty sure she normally wears... Some kind of fruit most of the time. And, well, sometimes she makes Eight guess. (And if Eight purposefully guesses wrong so she can kiss her again? Her secret to keep!)

But, see, now Eight's curious. Is she wearing any right now? Would it be rude of Eight to try and find out? Ah, is Three saying something? Gods... What a butt. How... Adorable..!

She snaps her fingers a few times, getting Eight's attention.

"Are you done staring yet?" she snaps. "It's your turn."

"Oh." Eight laughs softly, feeling her face warm. "Sorry."

"Fucking hell, you space out a lot." Three hands Eight the set of dice.

Eight rolls and they loudly clatter against the coffee table - a three and four, so she moves seven spaces. Her little plastic game piece clacks with each movement.

"It's not my fault I'm so often enraptured with your illustrious beauty." She laughs again when she sees Three make a series of very funny faces... In this exact order: shock, vague anger, shock again, and then wild confusion.

"Where the fuck do you keep learning these things?"

"Four." Three rolls her eyes. "Who else?"

She snatches the dice angrily. "I dunno, your moms?"

"Pearl never took theater. You know this." A six - two threes. Three rolls again.

"I mean, I didn't... But thanks." An eight this time - two fours. "I'm going to fucking scream if I get doubles again." She passes GO and collects 20,000 C. Fake... C? "Speaking of, how are they doing?"

"They're okay, I guess? I dunno," Eight replies with a shrug, only to laugh sharply when Three rolls a two. Or... Snake eyes, if you prefer.

"MotherfuCKER," she screams, slamming her fist against the table with a loud thud.

"Go to jail, you stinky baby." Three gives her a glare that would scare the most hardened soldiers. Too bad Eight's not a soldier anymore. "But, um, to answer your question, they haven't been so busy lately. I think they might throw the celebratory party soon?"

"Party?" Three asks, dropping her little plastic boat in the orange section of the jail square. "What party?"

Eight rolls - five. She lands on Three's property and slides her 15,000 C.

"Well, they said they'd throw me one once I got to the surface? Like, as a 'Congrats, you survived!' kind of party," she explains. Three huffs and rolls an eleven. "They just haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Eight. It's been three months." Eight nods. "They couldn't fucking find time at all during that time?"

"Well... They're idols." A three. Eight's finally back on her own properties! "They've been really busy lately..."

"I don't care how popular they are," Three snarls. "They haven't made any fucking time for you?"

"Don't be so mad..." she mumbles, knowing fully that telling Three to not be mad is like telling Pearl to not be loud. "They'll do it eventually."

"Eventually my ass. I'll fuckin' throw you a party if I goddamn have to." Seven - three and four. She swears quietly as she shoves the dice into Eight's hand.

"You don't have to..."

"Yeah? Too fucking bad. I want to." She rolls her eyes. "You of all people deserve it. Saved the damn world, and they're too busy to throw you a fucking party? Doesn't even have to be grand or anything, just a cake and some small shitty paper hats and..." Her muttering grows angrier and quieter with each word. Eight rolls two fives and then rolls again, landing on Three's property. Again. She gives her 5,000 C with the dice.

"Are cakes, like, a party thing..?"

"Sometimes." Three finally rolls doubles and escapes the dark confines of Stinky Baby Jail. "I could probably make one..."

"You bake?"

"Eight. I work at a bakery."

"Yeah, but... Four works as a professional turfer, and she's not even that good at it." Three snorts. "What? It's true."

"She's better on the field, I'll give you that..." Three rolls and lands on a railroad and hands Eight 25,000 C with a dramatic eye roll. "But yeah, I can bake... Sort of. I'm not, like, chef level, but it's better than the boxed shit."

"You can buy cake in a box?" Three visibly deflates.

"I hate rich people," she states plainly. "But yeah, you can. It's just the dry mix, though. They're pretty shitty, but they get a little better when you add mayo."

Eight sighs. "I thought you hated mayo?"

"I do." What. "BUT, it adds moisture and you can't taste it."

"... I hate that," Eight mumbles. "I really, really hate that."

"I mean, it works." Three rolls her eyes. Eight rolls the dice and lands on Three's property again. Jerk. "Still. I'll... Fucking get something together for you."

"Thanks, Three." Eight gives her a small smile. "That means a lot to me."

"... It's nothing." Her voice gets smaller and she quietly clears her throat, looking away.

"It really isn't. I mean, you don't even have to... Like, do anything. I don't really need a party or anything like that, but... You seem adamant about it." Eight plays with the dice in her hand. "Really, spending time with you is nice enough."

Three goes silent. Eight wonders if she said something wrong.

"Sorry, I-"

"Don't. I... You. You deserve nice things. And... I, y'know, it..." She clears her throat - louder, this time, and sniffs quietly. "Sorry." Her voice wavers.

"Thank you, Three." Three nods slightly and wipes away a tear. She always seems to cry whenever Eight's just... Nice to her, which makes her wonder if any ever complements her at all. She never really understands why her girlfriend gets so emotional when it comes to these kind of things, though, but... Three will tell her whenever she's ready. "Do you want to stop playing for tonight?"

She nods again, reaching for the Monopoly box with their labelled plastic bags inside. Eight stops her hand with her own, and Three pulls hers away. She quietly sorts the pieces and money away, jotting down a few notes on which hotels and houses went where.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Eight asks, putting the lid back on the box and sliding beneath the coffee table.

"Yeah, sure," she mumbles. Three doesn't say anything about the whimper in her voice, so Eight doesn't either.

Glancing over at Three, she notes Three's furiously typing something on her phone, although Eight doesn't know what. She finishes whatever she's typing and then sets her phone down on the ground as it continues to charge.

Eight wants to ask what she typed, but, well... It doesn't matter.

Honestly, just as long as Three's happy... Eight can't care too much.

It turns out it mattered.

"Hey, Eight?" Pearl asks as Eight sits down in the back seat of her car. "Do you want to explain why your girlfriend very angrily texted us about a party last night?"

"She... What?" Pearl holds up her phone, showing Eight the very vulgar and very angry messages Three bombarded her with. "Oh, Gods."

"Did you... Mention one to her?" Marina asks, messing around with the radio. Pearl puts her phone down as she begins driving. "Since... I- We're both... Very confused."

"Oh, um..." Eight twirls one of her hoodie's tassels. Is it still Three's..? She never asked for it back... "You, um... Do you remember the, uh, 'Congrats! You survived Kamabo!' party you said you'd throw for me? Right, I offhandedly mentioned it and she got... Um... Pissed."

"What pa..." Pearl's voice trails off and Marina voices the thought they're probably both sharing: "Ah. Shit."

"... Did you forget?" she asks, now tugging at the tassels.

"I, uh- No. Definitely not."

"I... I don't blame you if you did," Eight admits. "I know you're busy with Off the Hook and Inkopolis News, and you're probably tired by the end of the day anyways, so..." Pearl looks a little upset, from what she can see in the rear-view mirror. Why? Did Eight mess up? "It's fine, really. Three said she'd do something for me, anyways, although... I don't really understand why, but she really, really wanted to and-"

"Eight, we're, um, working with Three! On that." Marina starts frantically typing something on her phone. "Yeah."

"... Okay?" Eight sighs quietly. "You don't have to lie to me. Your lives come first. I'd probably forget, too."

"NOPE!" Pearl says, making both Marina and Eight wince at her volume. "No, we, uh, didn't forget. Not at all. We're... We're working on it!"

"You know," Eight starts, looking out the window, "You're both really shitty liars."

"... I'm sorry, Eight," Marina mumbles. "We should have done it earlier."

"It's fine, really! You've done enough for me as it is, anyways..."

"No, it's really not..." She sighs, switching the radio station.

"Reena, I liked that song," Pearl grumbles.

"Yes, Pearlie, and I like hearing."

"If you like hearing so much, why are you dating me?"

Marina goes silent. "... Sometimes people make bad decisions."

"Oh, you know damn well I'm not a bad decision. I'll prove it to you toni-"

"THAAAAAAAT'S ENOUgh now, dear, thanks." Marina continues to switch through the stations before settling on some station that's playing the same songs over and over again. "But, um, Eight... Do you have a favourite cake at all?"

Eight shrugs and then remembers no one can see it. "I don't think so? Besides the ketchup cake... Or, like, mayo frosting."

"... I suppose I can see where you're coming from." Marina's claws audibly tap against her phone screen. "Okay, okay. Sooo... Well, do you even... Like cake that much? Or do you like ice cream more?"

"Eh." Eight makes a so-so gesture that no one can see, either. "They're both okay?"

"... Well, we can get both." Marina hums softly as she continues to type away.

"So... Eight! Is there anything in particular that you want?" Pearl asks, taking the opportunity to change the radio station to something that isn't The Same Three Songs by Wet Floor: The Game. Eight quietly thanks her.

"Um... Well, I had a nice set of pens that ran out of ink?" She twirls a tassel around as she thinks. "And, um... One side of my headphones stopped working, so I only get sound in my left ear."

"Eight," Pearl starts, "You are both pathetically simple and disgustingly hard to buy for."

"Well, I-" Eight sighs. "You know I don't really need much, and you're already housing me as it is."

"What do you want, then? Doesn't have to explicitly be material."

"I... Just want to spend some time with you all. That's really it." She sighs quietly. "You've been super busy following the NILS attack, and it's hard to get all - or most - of my friends in one place. So... Yeah."

"Okay..." Pearl goes quiet. A Chirpy Chips song starts playing while Marina's loud tapping continues.

"We'll get something together for you, I promise," Marina tells her. "I wish you said something earlier, though..."

Eight nods absentmindedly, thoroughly done with this conversation. On one hand, it hurts a little, knowing they completely forgot about her, but... Well, they're busy, and Eight has other friends, anyways.

Besides, she's sure the party will go smoothly nonetheless. Assuming it... Even happens.

Her phone buzzes from a text from Four. "Do you mind explaining why Three just threw her phone at the wall and yelled 'I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL HER PARENTS'?"

"No," she replies, then shuts her phone off and slams her head into the back of Marina's seat.

No one questions it.