The glaring rays of the midday sun filtering in between the blinds of the windows danced gently across Tres's weary visage, stirring him from his restless slumber. He let out a low groan as he rolled onto his back, it was a deep and guttural sound uttered in low undulating trills from far the back of his throat.

Slowly, weakly, his eyes opened. He was conscious once again, however muddied his senses were.

His mind was still swam with grogginess, his body began moving on its own as he pushed the blankets aside and pulled himself up to a sitting position.

He was immediately greeted by a strange sensation, aching and numbness simultaneously wracked his body from the tips of his tentacles down to the soles of his feet. He felt positively sick to his stomach, not helped by the fact his muscles felt like jelly.

It was difficult to move, let alone form a coherent thought. Sleep had brought him scarce comfort, he could barely remember anything apart from his own name at the moment.

It took far longer than he would've liked but as the brain fog slowly lifted from his mind he began registering things about his immediate vicinity that should've set off the alarm bells in his noggin.

The air was fresh and clean, not at all rank with the lingering scent of pollution and crumbling sunbaked junk that permeated off every corner of his scrapyard by the far edge of Splatsville. Instead, his nose was caressed by the gentle aroma of warm sandalwood, cool matcha and something else betwixt... Herbs?

He learned he'd been resting on a comfortable futon roll than his usual lumpy spring mattress. Feeling beneath him his fingers glided along the contours of plush fabric just as sweet smelling as the atmosphere. The texture was silky and exotic. It was like laying on a cloud among a field of cotton held up by a cushion of air. To describe it as Heavenly would be doing it a disservice

Most peculiar of all were the walls of the room he was in, they looked too pristine and orderly to be a part of his dingy shack. There were no signs of cracks or faded paint. Not a sight of peeling wallpaper or crumbling drywall to be seen. It was immaculate, almost fantastically so.

It wasn't hard to put two and two together to finally realize that this was not his home.

But that didn't take away from how cozy everything was nor the strange sense of familiarity that tickled his frontal lobe.

He didn't know how or why he ended up here, only that he knew what this place was. Or, at the very least, he should.

"Wha... Where am I?" Sucking in a deep breath, he willed himself up, biting down on his lips and urging his flimsier-than-usual squid limbs to follow his commands. "Come on. Baby steps, Tres. Baby steps."

He made the unfortunate mistake of standing up too quickly and felt a head rush that caused him to nearly double over. Shooting out a hand he caught himself by the doorway but lost his grip and clumsily stumbled across into the bathroom opposite of the bedroom, landing right in front of a mirror by the sink that brought him pause.

"What in the-?" Staring at himself in the mirror he took note of his appearance, namely how fresh he was. He looked great in spite of how awful everything felt. He didn't remember ever looking this good in all his time above ground.

For one reason or another, someone, something, whatever, had gone through the hassle of scrubbing his face while he'd been unconscious. His skin and tentacles glistened with a polished sheen, causing him to glow like a bronze statue. There was little time to be admiring his own reflection, however.

But perhaps most peculiar of all were his clothing. They were not his usual set of kicks, the shoddy faded black half shirt and pants, instead he was currently wearing the bright blue and yellow hue of his agent gear, the one that had been issued to him by the New Squidbeak Splatoon.

He'd never wear this outside of the mission area, they'd explicitly forbade him from doing so. Both because it would shine an unwanted light onto the clandestine organization and because if it got damaged in any way they'd be pulling out the cost of mending it from his paycheck (the stingy louts...).

Why would he be wearing this...

Suddenly, a searing spike of pain drove itself into the side of his temple, causing his hand to shoot up and grip at the side of his head.

A memory, vague but somewhat lucid all the same, resurfaced from the recesses of his mind. It was the very last thing he could recall before ending up here.

Someone had broken into Pearl's mansion, the NSS's Splatlandian Headquarters, in such a way that Marina's highly specialized security system never even got the chance to register there was an intruder on the premises, much to her dismay. The intruder was either incredibly skilled, lucky, knew precisely how the security system was laid out or some combination of the three to have been able to breach the perimeters with such terrifying ease.

Thankfully, Agent 4 was on site. It was only by Quattro's excellent hearing that he manually sounded the alarm alerting the others to the intruder's presence.

Tres, properly armed and geared up, had successfully managed to corner the intruder within the mansion's western wing after they'd eluded capture by the other, something he acknowledged was no small feat.

But as impressed as he was he was still confident that taking them down would be a simple task. After all, he had Little Buddy by his side and CQC was his specialty. Attempting to evade or overpower him at his strongest was asking for their clock to get thoroughly cleaned.

Which was why he was left quite perplexed that the intruder did neither.

They didn't run nor did they fight, instead, they chose a third option: they went to incapacitate him.

Man-O-War venom.

It was one of the few things that could be guaranteed to bypass his hardy innate resistance to deadly toxins. He hadn't expected them to have it on their person. His overconfidence and recklessness had led him straight to his downfall.

The intruder had managed to prick him with a needle laced with enough of the stuff during the ensuing scuffle to effectively stop him cold. He understood immediately the severity of the situation he now found himself in as the telltale signs of numbness and paralysis rapidly spread across every nerve in his body.

It didn't take long for his body to quit on him. If he had retained consciousness for only a moment longer he would have been able to knock out his assailant with one good punch. His knuckles were inches away from colliding with their face before his muscles seized and his body grew limp, causing him to collapse onto the floor as his vision faded to black.

There was nothing more beyond that.

"That happened, right? It must've..." Tres murmured, unsure if what he remembered was real or a convincing hallucination conjured up from fatigue and stress. He looked down at his clothing again, perturbed as to why he would be wearing it when he wasn't on a mission. "I'm not going crazy, am I? What is going on here?" His mind soon wandered to Little Buddy and the rest of the team. "I hope they're doing alright."

Stowing away the mounting feeling of trepidation in his gut he quickly left the restroom to explore the rest of the house, remaining cautious the whole way through. He wasn't sure what he would find hobbling around like a drunkard, but anything was better than laying around doing nothing.

It didn't take long for him to discover where he was and why it felt so familiar to him. He had been here before, all the time in fact. How could he have been so ignorant to forget?

To his shock and bafflement he learned he was in Shiver's house.

It all clicked then and there; the cleanliness, the sweet smells, the overwhelming feelings of deja vu that stabbed at his brain like an ice pick underneath the eye. This was the home of his beloved girlfriend. As if that weren't enough, the pictures of them together framed on the nearby wall was a dead giveaway to his current location made him feel like the dumbest squid on the planet.

...And yet, the unease didn't leave him.

He kept his guard up. The palms of his hands itched and the skin on the back of his neck tingled. He couldn't find it in himself to relax, not when his danger senses were still going off.

There was definitely something fishy about the entire situation.

Fishy...

Fish.

Fish?

Tres's attention shifted from his worries to the new scent wafting through the air, tickling his nostrils with its tantalizing aroma.

He became overwhelmed with nostalgia again.

He recognized the scent as grilled catfish; it was his childhood meal. Not explicitly his favorite but the one the matron mother always served at the orphanage because it was considered a bland trash fish fit only for the impoverished and sump scum. Still, it held a special place in his heart despite the conditions of his unfavorable past. Food was food, and he was always grateful to have something to eat.

Absentmindedly wiping away the drool forming by the corner of his mouth he hobbled over to the kitchen where he saw her, Shiver, facing away from him as she tended to the meal cooking over a hot grill.

Hot, juicy, mouthwatering filets of catfish sizzled atop the indoor grill, graciously smothered with a bubbling layer of savory lemon herb sauce that sent his salivary glands into overdrive. The sights, the sounds, the smell; all five of his senses were poked, pinched and prodded at simultaneously. It made him take an unconscious step forward, accidentally revealing his presence to his lover.

Shiver perked up at the sound of his footsteps, turning her attention away from the food and towards him. She greeted him with a warm smile full of love. She looked as breathtaking as always.

"Afternoon, Precious," Shiver practically sang. Joy was radiant across her stunning visage. She was undoubtedly happy to see him, but there was something else hiding behind that happiness. Something Tres was unable to perceive in his current state. "I see you're finally awake. You've been asleep for a long time."

"Shiver. I, um," Tres blushed as he fumbled with his words, finding it difficult all of a sudden to form a coherent sentence. "I, er... I-I..."

Shiver giggled at his stupefied expression, bringing a ruby finger up to her plump lips. "Use your word, Precious."

He nodded dumbly in return and racked his brain to come up with a response that wouldn't make him sound like an absolute buffoon, well, more than he was now.

"Wha... Shiver, what's going on here?" He finally asked, his mouth dry and tone unsure. He watched Shiver flash him a disarming smile as she sauntered on over and took him by the hand, guiding him towards the dining room table and urging him to sit down.

"Oh, this? It's dinner," she stated a matter o' factly. "Or, did you want to know how you ended up at my house?"

"Er, the second one."

"Well, you probably can't remember but you passed out on a routine patrol out in the Splatlands," she explained, reaching over to a nearby pitcher and pouring him a tall glass of water. "I took the liberty of bringing you back to my house to have a clean and quiet place for you to recover in while I scrubbed away the filth clinging on your shocking supple skin. You're welcome, by the way."

"Uh, I-I passed out?" Tres replied, perplexed. He didn't hesitate to accept the glass Shiver offered him and taking a long sip from it, feeling the cooling water soothe his parched throat. "Thank you, for the water and-and for saving my butt," he sighed.

"It's a cute butt," Shiver smirked wryly. "Apropos of nothing, we talked about this before, Tres; it's because you keep staying up so late working in her garage," she tutted. "You could've died out there if the Captain hadn't contacted me to get you. You were delirious from dehydration when I found you collapsed out in the Splatlands. I seriously thought your brain had fried like an egg under the sun, what with you babbling nonsense and the fact you didn't even recognize me when I showed up with Master Mega."

'That would explain why I can barely remember anything, or why my head feels like an anvil was dropped on it,' he thought. "Is that why I'm still wearing the uniform?" he asked.

"Well, I certainly couldn't change you out of it," she blushed, her cheeks glowing a bright periwinkle. "I know we've seen each other naked already but I'm not your mother. You can change yourself. Besides, that thing might as well be shrink wrapped on you with how tight it can get in certain areas."

"A reminder wasn't necessary, Shiv," Tres cringed. "I'm well aware of how the pants keep riding up my crotch, no matter how often I keep telling them to get it tailored... Hey, where's Little Buddy?"

"Back at the scrapyard," she said, turning around and returning to the kitchen to tend to the fish while keeping up the conversation. "Big Sis Callie and Pearl are watching over him as we speak. The poor fella was worried sick about you, he started stress eating to take his mind off your condition. I had to prevent him from eating all the steel belted radials you collected."

"Heh, that sounds like him," Tres smiled sheepishly. "I... I guess that means everyone's okay then."

"Why wouldn't it be? It's not like anything major happened recently. I'm sure everyone else is either hanging around the mansion or wandering about the city. There's nothing to worry about."

"It's just..." Tres paused, wondering if he should tell her about his hazy recollections.

He was afraid she'd call him crazy if he rambled on about things that either did or didn't happen, but with such huge gaps in his memory and a wellspring of doubt percolating just below his surface thoughts would she even be wrong? In the end, he decided it would be best to at least entertain the thought, if he's lucky maybe she'll humor him instead of contemplating having him admitted to the loony bin.

"I had a weird dream," he told a half truth.

"Weirder than the one where you and Little Buddy swapped places?" She stifled a laugh. "You woke yourself up by throwing yourself at the wall while sleepwalking thinking Little Buddy had thrown you at an obstacle."

"...Not as weird as that," Tres tried hard not to cringe at the mention.

"Oh?" She sounded intrigued. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I, er," He chose his words carefully, "I was in a fight." Not carefully enough, it would seem.

"Shocking," Shiver quipped.

"There's more."

She gasped dramatically, "No..."

"Someone had broken into the- my place," he swiftly corrected. "They knew how to get in. Got past all the security and everything, could you believe that?"

Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, but he could've sworn Shiver flinched ever so slightly at the mention. It probably meant something, it probably meant nothing. There was no way to be sure.

"...Don't take this the wrong way, precious, but your scrapyard is far from being the most secure place in Splatsville," Shiver remarked. "It's situated on an isolated lot right on the edge of the city, faraway from law enforcement and close to gang territory. Your only methods of protection are a chain linked fence, razor wire, rusty chains and padlocks. Any two bit burglar could easily break in and nick your goods if they wanted to. It's only by virtue of your fearsome reputation for dealing with crooks that dissuades any genius thoughts of stealing from you."

"Ahem, be that as it may..." Tres cleared his throat, "How about I go back to talking about my dream? Picking up from where I left off, I managed to track down the punk who broke in and confront them. There was a bit of a struggle but..."

"...But?"

"They... poisoned me. I couldn't tell but whatever it was, it was enough to drop me like a bad habit. I was left vulnerable, completely at their mercy. If I hadn't woken up when I did maybe..." Tres concluded prematurely but kept his eye on Shiver, studying her reaction.

She'd always good at masking her feelings when she wanted to, even now it was hard to tell how she felt through observation alone. But to his credit he was able to spot a change in her body language. It was subtle, but he could see the muscles on the back of her neck tense up and her tentacles wriggle in distress.

Was she worried about him, was that it?

That was likely the reason why. After all, he was practically describing his own potential death. Even if it was just a half true retelling of his own foggy memories the grim implications he laid out were dreadful.

He frowned, feeling terrible again. Maybe listening to his paranoia was a bad idea?

"...It was just a dream," Shiver finally said, her tense muscles and quivering tentacles relaxing as she took a deep breath. "More like a stress induced nightmare brought on by mild dehydration. You're still recovering, after all."

"Y-yeah..." Tres awkwardly scratched at his head, facing away in shame. "That, um, sounds about right. You always know best... Listen, Shiver. I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable by rambling on about my own problems. I jus-"

"Shush, you." Shiver shushed as she walked on by and gingerly laid out a plate of grilled catfish in front of him, quickly followed by a bowl of rice, miso soup and wakame seaweed. The food looked as if it leapt straight out of a recipe book. The aroma, near intoxicating. She'd outdone herself for such a simple meal. "Don't apologize. I'm here for you, always. It's normal to lean on each other for support, isn't it?"

Tres's hearts thumped wildly in his chest, and in the waning light of the soon-to-be evening sun Shiver looked as radiant as the pale moon high above the night sky. He felt himself falling in love all over again with not just her entrancing beauty, but with how thoughtful, caring and patient she'd been this entire time.

She really was one in a million.

'What did a schmuck like me do to deserve someone like her?' he thought. Of course, he knew the answer, but it wasn't a bad time to do some self reflection.

"I love you," Tres blurted out dumbly, earning a snorting giggle from his girlfriend.

"I know," she teased, picking up a pair of chopsticks and began picking at her catfish. It was unbelievably tender for a fish with a reputation for being tough, flaking off into more manageable chunks with barely any effort from Shiver. "Now, enough of that worrisome dream. It's suppertime, let's enjoy ourselves. If it weren't obvious already, this is my spin on an old favorite of yours."

"It's nostalgic, if nothing else," Tres commented as he grabbed a pair of chopsticks. "Knowing you it must taste like Heaven."

"You flatterer," Shiver smiled.

Tres smiled back and the pair enjoyed a wholesome supper together.

The moment couldn't have been any more perfect...

...But then, why, throughout everything that's happened thus far, did he still keep his guard up around the love of his life?