2/1/20: I have found the format editing to be easier on the fanfiction website Archive of Our Own (AO3), and therefore this story may be updated more frequently on that site.

In this chapter, Patrick catches up with SpongeBob.

The bed creaked. A loud grunt cause the sponge to stir in his sleep.

"SpongeBob, get up," a hushed voice demanded.

The sponge groaned and stretched, pulling the blankets down to his non-existent chin. He awoke as the definition of groggy, dried tears crusty around his 'lids. He opened them up to the harsh, blinding light of the morning, revealing them to be a jarring shade of bloodshot (if bloodshot were ever a color), and he looked like a sufferer of severe pink eye, or as if he had been mercilessly doused with pepper spray. His blue irises reverse-dilated as they adjusted to the cruelty of the sun's rays. His vision was immediately met with the form of a large, pink blob.

"Patrick?" SpongeBob asked, his voice alarmingly husky. He began coughing up phlegm. Clearing his throat, he said, "Gee, I sound terrible… What time is it?"

"It's time to go jellyfishing, duh. C'mon, you're gonna miss the bus!"

"The bus?" he gasped, tumbling out of bed.

"Yeah, we got tickets, remember? Go get dressed ...You look awful." Patrick sat on the bed, two jellyfish nets tucked under his arm. He was sporting a goofy jellyfish-shaped hat on his head, wearing the souvenir as a proud trophy of his jellyfishing accomplishments. "Get your jellyfish hat, too! I brought mine." ("Jellyfishing, jellyfishing, jellyfishing, jellyfishing…" Do y'all remember that scene where they kept chanting it over and over? Well, I feel like I'm typing it over and over.)

"I can see that, Patrick." The sponge struggled to get to his feet, his legs once again becoming two sticks of gelatin. He looked washed out, slime still oozing out of his pores. It was embarrassing to be seen like this. He clumsily wrapped himself in a blanket and stumbled into the bathroom to clean himself up.

SpongeBob raised an eyebrow at Patrick, who had followed him in. "Uhhh, a little privacy ?"

Patrick replied with a look of confusion. "Since when do you care about privacy?"

"Since when did you get so nosy? Get out."

"Ugh, fine. I don't even have a nose." The starfish made his way towards the exit, rolling his eyes dramatically in hopes SpongeBob would give him attention (which he missed). He stopped in the doorway, a question befalling upon him. "Say, what's all that goopy shit coming out of your craters?"

SpongeBob blushed and pulled the towel tighter around him. "You know what it is, let's not talk about it. Also, since when do you curse?"

"I dunno, since you started ignoring me. I need an outlet. You're not any better."

SpongeBob was a bit dumbfounded. Since when did he acquire such profound wit? he questioned inwardly. Woah. Now he was starting to sound like Plankton. Neptune, this is stupid. Stupid like Patrick. Gah, quit wasting time, SquarePants! "Patrick, look, do you wanna go jellyfishing or what?"

"Well yeah, I mean I paid for tickets. So yeah ."

"Okay, good, so can you get out of here? Let me get ready like you've so rudely awoken me to do. Please. " With that, he dropped his towel and ran the water, desperate to rid himself of his icky discharge.

SpongeBob dipped his toe into the shallow water, satisfied with the temperature. The shower was on, and the steady stream of warm droplets was much appreciated. Despite the pounding headache he bore, he was able to relax under the water's pleasant blessing.

He picked up the bar of soap and held it under his nostrils. He breathed in the pleasant scent. Lilac. ...Squidward. Ever since Squidward had started using what Mr. Krabs had called "frilly soap", he'd been both washing and spritzing himself with the same products. The flowery smell was so intoxicating; he couldn't get enough of it.

As he began to scrub the bar across his arms, he recalled the day that Squidward first noticed his fresh, new smell.

"I don't know what air freshener you've switched to, Eugene, my man, but it smells heavenly in here." The octopus' large nose crinkled as he inhaled deeply.

SpongeBob walked by the cashier boat, dirty plates in his hands. "I know, right? Smells a lot like you."

"Oddly enough, you're right. Finally, some recognition in-" He paused, his tentacles flying up to pinch his nose. "Whew, SpongeBob, that smell's practically billowing from you. What, did you- did you bathe in the stuff?"

Mr. Krabs came out of his office, gagging. "What is that godawful smell?"

"Godawful?" Squidward sighed. "I knew it was too good to be true. SpongeBob, this is your doing, isn't it?"

The sponge nodded, cheeks rosy red. "I… K-kinda sorta."

"Why, though? That was my signature smell."

"Yeah, well now it's the whole damn restaurant's 'signature smell'," Krabs said, crossing his arms in disgust. "Smells like women's perfume in here. What's the big idea, SpongeBob?"

SpongeBob beamed, his grin wide. "Just taking inspiration from Squidward, is all."

"Is all? Really?"

"Yes, sir!"

"I'm gonna have to limit ye to a single squirt per day. I'm practically choking back in me office, boy-o. Squidward, that goes for ye, too. Quit being a bad influence on the kid. I don't want him becoming like ye."

"B-but Mr. Krabs," the octopus spluttered. "That's completely unfair!"

"Tell that to yer lil' boyfriend," he replied as left to return to his office.

Squidward's face had gone red, and he glared at SpongeBob. The boy just smiled at him, his blue eyes big and bright. "Did you hear 'im, Squidward? He said boyfriend!" he squealed. Squidward just shook his head, and sniffed at his own shirt. No doubt, they bore the same scent.

SpongeBob opened his eyes, looking down at the bar of soap. He'd been scrubbing his arm for quite some time. Tartar sauce! I'm gonna be late. He plunged the bar into one of his holes, vigorously pumping in and out (ignoring the sparks that were igniting in his loins). He took care of all the pores around his face before he heard the bathroom door swing open.

"SpongeBob, what the barnacles are you doing?!" Patrick cried, desperation in his voice. "C'mon, get out of there. The bus should be here in five! Oh my gosh ."

"'Oh my gosh' nothing. I'm coming, hold up." He continued to scrub his pores, shoving the bar deep into his spongy flesh. Just as he was about to turn off the faucet, the curtains were flung open.

Patrick snatched the bar of soap from SpongeBob's hand. "COME ON!" he shouted. He ignored the protesting words of his friend and began to forcefully scrub him all over. "You. need. to. get. dressed!" He pressed the bar into SpongeBob's waist, shoving it deep inside one of his more sensitive pores. "Stop fighting me! I have waited TOO LONG to hang out with you. You are NOT gonna miss out on this." The starfish fought back tears.

SpongeBob just stood there, pressed up against the shower wall, giving up the fight. His arms hung defenseless at his sides. Patrick was strong. What he lacked in brains, he made up in brawn. And while he admired that about Pat, the big fella' would sometimes use his brute strength in a way that he did not approve.

"Patrick, get off of me!" he groaned.

"No! Maybe if you weren't so caught up in your Squidward fantasies all the time, maybe I wouldn't have to do this."

"Patrick, I'm clean, okay?! I was just about to turn off the shower. Geez." Patrick let up and he stepped out of the tub, foamy bubbles leaking from his body. "And what makes you think I was fantasizing about Squidward? 'C-cause I wasn't. That's freaking gross."

"SpongeBob, I'm your best friend," he said matter-of-factly. "You think I'm not aware of your silly crushes?"

The sponge ignored the rhetorical question and snatched his towel from where it hung in the bathroom, his face bright red. "Let's go." And they're not silly , he hissed inside.

"You're not gonna wear pants?!"

"Patrick, quit being a…" He felt like a dumbass without his dictionary to aid his vocabulary. "...a dumbass all the time. You know I'm not leaving without my pants."

"Geez, SpongeBob, no need to be so intolerant."

"Stop! Stop using big words like that. It's 'OOC'."

"Huh?"

"Out of character, Patrick."

"Oh."

Patrick stared blankly, following SpongeBob into his bedroom, where the guy began dressing. As SpongeBob pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, Patrick thought to himself. Man, I'm hungry and I wonder what a piña colada tastes like. (Okay, Patrick's thoughts are boring. Moving on!)

SpongeBob fitted himself into his signature square pants, sighing as he leaned up against his bedside. He was drained. (Emotionally, not physically. His pores still leaked suds.) He looked at Patrick. The things he did for the people he cared about. Lately, SpongeBob had become accustomed to lying, so it should come as no surprise that he had lied to Plankton about having "other priorities". In reality, most of his priorities hadn't changed. He was still living the same life he lived before his pride had got to him. The only difference now is that he simply would not admit it.

Once he had ensured that his shirt was tucked in and his belt was secure, he grabbed Patrick's hand and lead him downstairs to get his jellyfish net. He rummaged through his closet until he found his prized net, enclosed in a case with azure-colored engraving that read Ol' Reliable . He reached for the case, his fingers shaky, as was his breath. Fatigue was upon him.

Patrick snatched up both the net and SpongeBob and burst through the pineapple door, leaving the door slightly ajar, unbeknownst to him. He stopped at the bus stop. The bus was within view, only a mile or so down the road.

"SpongeBob, look! The bus is almost here." The starfish hopped up and down excitedly, squeezing SpongeBob into the side of his body. Leftover bubbles flew from him.

"B-barnacles, Patrick," the sponge squeaked. "Let go."

"Oh, sorry," he sheepishly replied, setting down his friend. "C'mon, let's get on."

SpongeBob eyed the bus, stepping towards it almost reluctantly. He half-wished it would drive away without him, like it had done all those years ago on his trip to Glove World. Why was he doing this? He was tired. He should be staying home, enjoying the warmth of his bed, the warmth of a hot shower. But no, he was accompanying his doofus friend to a sport he had played a thousand times before. Jellyfishing. Who was the barnacle-head that invented that game, anyway?

SpongeBob and Patrick paid their fares and SpongeBob chose a seat in the very back of the bus. Thankfully, it wasn't very crowded, but there was still a considerable amount of fishfolk taking up seats.

Patrick grinned at his pal, nudging him on the shoulder. "Aw, lighten up, Sponge. It's gonna be fun."

SpongeBob rolled his eyes and groaned. "Easy for you to say, Patrick. You're not the one who got home from work at five in the damn morning."

Patrick frowned. He knew SpongeBob to curse around him only when something was wrong. Foul language was something that rarely left his mouth when he was in the presence of his friends. SpongeBob was just like that. At least, before his pride , anyway. Before all of that employee of the month nonsense. "Well, how's about I do most of the catching, that way you don't wear yourself out? Trust me, SpongeBob, I'm a jellyfishing pro. I won't let ya down."

"I appreciate your trying to help, buddy, but this past week has just not been going well for me. I probably would've stayed in bed all day had it not been for you." SpongeBob was very particular about how he expressed his feelings since his pride , but something about the dim wit of Patrick made him open up. This guy beside him was one who would likely not care nor care to gossip about SpongeBob's emotional breakdowns and weaknesses. Why had he pushed Patrick away, anyway? Maybe because he didn't want to be seen as a child anymore, as someone who relied on others to keep him emotionally stable. But it was times like these when fatigue had him within its grasp and he was too tired to care how much of a fool he seemed -especially in the embrace of a dear friend, no matter how ignorant that friend may be- where he felt as though he could be the himself of the past. This didn't mean that SpongeBob wouldn't snap and be a complete douchebag to Patrick sometimes, but it did mean that he still had a heart for the "other priorities" in his life, those things, those people whom he used to dedicate entire days to. His emotions were wishy-washy and it was hard. Maybe he was bipolar. He'd never actually gone to doctor's, after all. That was just another lie.

Patrick squeezed his best friend away from the edge of the seat and closer towards him. He rubbed his shoulder, comfortingly. "Well, I'm glad you didn't stay in bed. What was I gonna do all day without you?"

"I dunno, perhaps sit on your behind all day and watch Mermaid Man reruns? Like you usually do. Instead of actually get a job." The words were teasing.

"SpongeBob, you know I can't get a job."

"Do I? Hm, and why's that?"

"'Cause nobody'll hire me. They don't like the looks of my resume—"

" Résumé. "

"Résumé," he repeated. "Apparently you need more than two years of Wumbology to get a job around here."

A chuckle couldn't help but escape SpongeBob's lips.

"Hey, look, you're smiling!"

"Don't push it, Patrick."

"Sorry," he nudged him playfully, tee-heeing like a young girl. "Oh boy, I can't wait to get to Jellyfish Fields. Look, SpongeBob, I've got my hat on. Look at it!"

"I see it."

"But just look at the colors, and watch this! —Fling. Look, watch it jiggle." He flicked the underside of one of the tentacles that protruded from the hat. "It's all floppy. Kinda like Squidward's nose."

As Patrick proceeded to guffaw (loudly enough to where he was getting the side-eye from some), SpongeBob began to drift away into his little daydream land. Squidward . He smelled the arm that he had over-lathered with soap that morning. Lilac. He touched his finger to a pore on the left side of his face, and swiped the inside of the orifice. Drawing his finger back, he examined it. There was a bit of residue on his finger. It smelled strongly of the soap bar's scent. Not here, not now, SpongeBob thought, sitting up abruptly. Patrick was getting louder.

"Patrick, shush!" he said, grabbing his friend's arm. "It's really not that funny."

"Sorry, I'm just excited."

"I can tell. But seriously, we've been here a thousand times before. What makes this time any more special? And don't say the hat."

"Aw man!" Any further comments about the hat were silenced. "I'm just super excited because it feels like we haven't hung out in forever. I dunno, maybe I'm just stupid."

"Well, that's half of it."

"I mean, I feel like you never have time for me anymore." He let out a huff made of frustrated emotions. "D-did you get to hear the magic box?"

"The- The what is it now?" He peered at him quizzically. It didn't ring a bell.

"The magic box! Y'know, the one that Plankton said was supposed to get sent to you? It had a special message inside. You were supposed to get it. Did you get it? OH NO, it probably got lost in the sky on its way to your house! Darn it, I knew you should've never moved into a pineapple. The magic box probably mistook it for—

"Nep-damn, hold your seahorses. Geez."

"And I oop—" (Yes, I did reference a meme.) Patrick immediately went quiet.

"I did hear it," he admitted. "What about it?"

"I… I dunno. I just was wondering if you heard what I had to say, cause—"

"I did."

"Oh."

"Yep. 'Nuff said."

Patrick turned away from SpongeBob, disinterested, and looked out the window, allowing himself to be captivated by the coral plants flying by as the bus continued down the road, only a short way from their destination. The colors blew by in a blurry mix of red and orange, the sun shining down on the underwater floor. Before he knew it, the familiar green landscape of Jellyfish Fields was in view. He looked down at SpongeBob who was nestled in his side. Aww, he's so cute, the thought intruded into his mind . "Hey, SpongeBob?"

"Yes, Patrick?" he replied, snuggling closer to him. The starfish was warm, and that was making him sleepy.

Patrick paused for a moment, staring into SpongeBob's eyes, which now held him captive. Those beautiful blue orbs shone brighter than the sun, his eyelids opening and closing slowly. His delicate body bounced with the movement of the vehicle, any attempts at rest futile. You could almost see a glimpse of his former self, with how that palpable tenderness was radiating from him. Squidward's missing out on a truly amazing guy, Patrick thought. Man, I never thought I'd be thinking that my own friend looks… precious.

"Patrick!" SpongeBob stressed, that momentary gentle soul retreating back into his being. He sat up straight, shifting away from Patrick when he noticed him staring. "Uh… what did you want?"

"Well, I was just going to say that we're almost to Jellyfish Fields, but now we're here."

"Already? Ugh." He sighed, and stood up shakily, the headache from earlier returning almost immediately. "Frick," he breathed. His hands gripped the seat in front of him. This was a bad idea. He should've never gotten out of bed this morning. (Darn it, I hate using present tenses in a past tense story.)

"Have a nice day," the bus driver grumbled as everyone began to exit the vehicle.

"You, too," SpongeBob grumbled back. He squeezed Patrick's hand tighter, ignoring the disgusted look on the bus driver's face. They weren't a couple, but he'd be damned if someone was gonna give him and Patrick dirty looks for holding hands. (Sounds like something to start controversy with Focus on the Family . Oh, wait—)

SpongeBob looked up into the sky at the sky flowers, basking in the afternoon sun. He looked over at Patrick who was breathing heavily, his jellyfish-shaped hat askew on his head. They had been capturing the gelatinous creatures for hours, with SpongeBob pausing to catch his breath every once in a while. He felt as though he spent more time catching his breath than catching jellyfish, to which Patrick was not amused. Despite this, the two had a relatively good time together, goofing off in the privacy of the meadow-like land. Those fishfolk who had been on the bus had not been headed to Jellyfish Fields, which was pleasantly surprising to the duo. They had some much needed catching up to do. Now here SpongeBob was soaking up the rays and his own sweat, feeling as though he wanted to pass out beneath the underwater sun.

"Wow, Pat, you're panting like a worm [dog]," he finally commented. He himself was also panting in such a manner, his tongue sticking out just slightly from the side of his mouth. His forehead was dotted with visible beads of sweat, and his cheeks were flushed a pale red.

"Yeah, I am," he chuckled. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. Patrick was a bigger fella. Getting around wasn't the easiest thing for him, thus why he was half-collapsed on the floor. He turned over to look at SpongeBob. Again, the word precious crossed his mind. There was something about the way SpongeBob looked when he was tired. He was so fragile, so vulnerable, a being that needed at least eight hours of sleep to function. Witnessing the creature in a state of utter exhaustion was a sight to behold. What had happened to that lionhearted workman he knew him to be, even before his pride? This… This is what Patrick missed. He missed the SpongeBob that would both stoop to his level AND show the virtues of a strong leader. Nowadays, he only saw the side that would put him down. This moment was precious.

"Patrick?" SpongeBob said. His voice wavered ever so slightly.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Do you ever… get depressed?"

Patrick breathed in, taken aback. He was expecting a comment regarding how beautiful that blue jellyfish they saw earlier had been, or some tough-to-answer question that surpassed his understanding, but he wasn't expecting that. "D-depressed?"

"Yes, depressed!" he snapped. "Don't play dumb with me now, Patrick. For Neptune's sake, do I need to whip out the dictionary? My gosh."

Though the outburst was brusque, especially at such a peaceful time of relaxation, he knew what was beneath the offended voice of his friend. Insecurity. "Uh, I… I dunno."

"Is that your way of saying yes or are you really just that stupid?"

"Hey! Coming from Squidward that doesn't mean a whole lot, but coming from you… Words hurt, y'know."

"Ever heard of 'sticks and stones'? All I want is a straightforward answer."

"But you don't need to be a jerk."

"If it's the only thing that'll get my point across, then yes I do."

He turned away from SpongeBob and laid flat on his back, staring up into the sky as he crossed his arms. "I don't even get the point that you're trying to make," he said, sighing. "You know my brain functions in weird ways sometimes."

"All the time."

"Fine, I'll answer your question! If it means keeping me sane." If Patrick had possessed a pair of nostrils, they would have been flared. Why does SpongeBob have to argue? I miss when he would, uh… What's the word? Tolerate me more.

"Well, go ahead then."

He breathed in. "Yes, SpongeBob. I do get depressed. But why?"

"Why what? Why do you get depressed?" he sneered. He had to stop himself from a potentially morbid chuckle, from the bitter laughter that Plankton was forced to endure when the scum decided to show up at the Krusty Krab that night. Something inside him wanted to give rise to the darkness. Wasn't pride one of the seven deadly sins? Is it that I'm so full of sin that I'm like this? SpongeBob thought. Eh, then again, even Squidward admitted that I fell under the description of what one might call a saint. He glanced over at Patrick, who did not look amused by his sarcasm.

The starfish squinted at him. "No, I meant why did you ask?"

"Oh. Just wondering."

Patrick leapt to his feet, having been quickly fed up with the turn this conversation was taking. "Look, SpongeBob, YOU may think this is funny, but I don't, and believe me, I think a lot of stuff is funny. But you're just sitting here giving me a hard time, and I… I..." He clenched his fists in frustration. "I'm tired of the way you've been acting lately!"

SpongeBob just laid there, hands behind his head.

"SPONGEBOB!" Patrick said, bouncing up and down like a spring. "You told me you listened to the magic box! Don't you care? Seriously, SpongeBob, this really hurts my brain. You know that better than anybody else. I need you in my life. I need the you that helps me. I… I'm… Look, I'm not trying to be selfish. I just can't do life by myself."

Still no response from the guy.

"Did you hear the part where I told you I loved you? That was hard for me! Agh, I don't handle emotions well. I-I think I'm gonna have a… a breakdown or something?" He was holding his head in his hands, a wave of emotions coming upon him. "D-damn it."

"Y'know something, SpongeBob," Patrick continued. "We had a great time here today and I never once thought 'Hey, what if this ends in disaster?' because I actually thought things were going so perfect, and you're my best friend, and I— I love you."

Patrick eyed the sponge, scanning for a hint of guilt, a hint of concern, but his face was blank, was cold. The precious warmth from earlier dissipated into his being once again. But Patrick was not going to be ignored like this. He was not going to be treated like a stranger, not after the hours of fun they had just had. There was one thing that Patrick knew would without a doubt provoke a response. At the top of his lungs, he cried, "ROBERT!"

The large, black pupils shrunk, and the mouth hung agape. "What the dirty barnacles did you just say?" SpongeBob hissed, his two large buck teeth resting on the tip of his tongue.

Patrick's heart began to pound in his chest. Maybe this had been a bad idea. "I… I just wanted you to answer me."

"And THAT'S how you do it?! By bringing up shit from my past to torment me with. I thought I made it crystal clear that I never wanna hear that cursed name again."

"I'm not trying to— to torment you! I'm trying to get you to stop tormenting me."

"Then maybe you should go… Rick. "