Everything had been just so wonderful.
The meal was exquisite, the mood mirthful and the company lovely.
For Tres, this was quite possibly the best life could get: a wholesome dinner with a delectable home cooked meal shared between him and his love within the cozy warmth of a welcoming household.
It was bliss of the aethereal kind, something to be treasured and kept close to the heart.
He was a sentimental fool like that, caring more about the little things in life that brought him happiness rather than obsessing over opulence or grandeur like some other squids out there. Most people growing up in the gutters like he did stereotypically covet wealth and prestige deep down, seeking to become more than they really are through a misguided sense of betterment and self actualization.
Admittedly he wasn't immune to such thoughts on occasion but he'd like to think he was raised better than that; in spite of the fact a majority of the role models he looked up to were fictional characters in popular media and the irony (which was not lost on him) of dating someone who was both a famous musical celebrity and esteemed heir to a mythical bandit clan he didn't even knew existed up until a year ago.
They continued to eat, drink and be merry. Laughing at each other's terrible jokes and singing off key, reminiscing about anything and everything worth reminiscing about (even if some of the details didn't quite line up with the way he remembered it) as their plates were swiftly picked clean of food and the sun settled down on the horizon.
Amidst the warm orange glow of the evening sun, Tres was happy, incredibly so.
However, his pleasant mood was spoiled by his danger sense, having been honed from years of living on the lower rungs of society, still putting him on high alert.
The constant twisting and knotting of his guts felt like his intestines were slowly being knitted into a sweater, souring every bite of food going down throat and each heartfelt laughter that left his mouth. The nigh ceaseless presence of irrational paranoia was preventing him from living in the moment as best he could.
But why?
That was the question he was afraid of finding answers for the most.
Why would he be worried?
There weren't many factors he could think up that would warrant such an exaggerated sense of paranoia without jumping to some horrible conclusion.
He was in a safe environment as far away from immediate danger as possible (with the exception of the obvious if somewhat negligible hazards in the home such as choking on his food or slipping on a wet surface) among the company of someone whom he trusted with his life one hundred percent.
There was no reason whatsoever to feel on edge, to feel as if something was wrong that he needed to be far away from.
...Shiver.
She was the only factor actually worth mulling over about.
Sure, they may have been enemies once but that time had long since passed.
They were lovers now. Lovers who shared a bond so strong they've been teased relentlessly by their friends and even been mistaken by passersby as being a married couple on more than one occasion.
He was her compass, she was his north.
He was her gravity, she was his fall.
He was her everything, and she was his all.
Tres could wax poetic about the nature of their relationship all evening long, it didn't make him any less uneasy about his crackpot assumptions... or the frightening possibility that, however slim, he could be right about them.
"Tres? Precious?" Shiver's voice snapped him from his catastrophizing, bringing a measure of comfort to his anxiety-ridden self. "You're stabbing at nothing," she pointed out.
Tres stared down at his empty plate, it would appear he had been subconsciously been picking at it with his chopstick for a good minute now. "O-oh, I guess I am," he meekly replied. "Silly me."
"...Are you still worried about that dream?" Shiver asked, concern laced in her voice. "You probably think I can't tell, but I can. It's written all over your body language."
"Heh, nothing gets past you," he conceded, smiling half heartedly. Honestly, it was naive of him to think Shiver wouldn't notice his emotional distress. He's known for being terrible at hiding his feelings and her insightfulness was on par with his own, perhaps even more given her nature as a bandit. "I must be more stressed out than I thought."
"Well, if that's the case then I have the cure for what ails you," Shiver chirped delightedly and rose from her seat before returning to the kitchen.
Tres, still paranoid, watched her like a hawk from his seat at the table, scrutinizing every little thing she did whilst simultaneously kicking himself mentally for behaving like a wacky conspiracy nut.
Shiver had brought out an ornate metal teapot and a glass jar full of the finest matcha powder she owned.
She was going to make him green tea.
The thought of her preparing tea in and of itself was incredibly benign. A hot cup of the green stuff would do him wonders, he thought. And if it was Shiver preparing it he knew it was going to be good. After all, the Carcharadon clan prided itself on their meticulousness and tireless pursuit of perfection. It will turn out fantastic, of that there is no doubt.
But there it was again, the itching of his palms and the tingling of his nape.
As Shiver hovered over the countertop, checking every so often to see if the water was coming to a boil she made a brief gesture, sweeping an arm over a nearby tea tray as she prepped the matcha. It was such a nonchalant action, so unbelievably normal and mundane that by all rights it shouldn't have aroused any form of suspicion. Maybe she was counting on it, maybe she was banking on his trust in her to not think too hard about it.
But think he did.
His eyes wildly darted to her smooth pale hands and ruby red fingers, becoming utterly fixated on them. They glided over a single cup, two slender digits tracing the rim of the mug in one fluid motion, leaving a glossy shine behind along the edge. It looked so utterly trifling for a bystander to take notice of.
If he weren't paying attention as he did he would've missed it entirely.
Tres gulped subconsciously, his mouth feeling uncomfortably dry.
'That was a weird thing to do,' he thought, biting the inside of his cheek.
Shiver was a mischievous little vixen who was gifted in sleight of hand. It was possible she'd done something to the cup.
'Maybe she laced the rim with something...' He shook his head after concluding the thought.
'No, no, no. That's ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous. It's nothing. Nothing at all,' He rationalized, attempting to convince himself it was all in his head. 'But... Why does she make me so nervous?'
He became trapped in his own mind, frantically jumping back and forth about, what could be, and, what is, that he didn't even realize Shiver had already set the tea tray down on the table. The subtle clinking of glasses snapped him from his scattered thoughts, he turned to see Shiver smiling at him as she began pouring out two hot cups of tea, one for him and one for her.
"It's a special herbal blend. I made it myself. It helps relax the body and the mind," she explained. "I hope you enjoy it."
He could see what was happening in real time; the glossy residue of something as she handed him his mug, the one she likely, or likely didn't, lace with something, as the steam from the tea obscured the shine, making it appear as if it were never there to begin with.
'You wouldn't do anything to me, would you, Shiver?' Tres wondered as he struggled to keep the disquieting throbbing of his hearts under control. 'Why would I think that? What's wrong with me?'
He faked a smile and with all the confidence he could muster picked up the mug in both hands, one to hold and the other beneath to keep it steady.
The soothing fragrance of the tea was like a siren's song. It called out to him, promising warmth and refreshing nourishment for his parched soul. The temptation to simply gulp it all down was strong. He wanted nothing more than to give into that temptation, to silence the voice in his head screaming at him to watch out for danger.
"T-thank you, Shiv," he stuttered, raising his mug.
"Anything for my precious," she replied, her voice more melodious than all the songbirds in the sky and sweeter than honey. She raised her mug as well and the two proceeded to share a drink together.
Trepidatiously, Tres brought the mug up to his mouth.
All it would've taken was a single sip of the tea to solidify his trust in Shiver...
...It was a hair short of touching his lips when he changed his mind at the last second.
"...Wait," Tres uttered, setting his mug down, earning a look of confusion from Shiver.
"Is there something wrong with the tea, Tres?" Shiver queried, setting her own mug down. An expression of concern once again graced her porcelain features, but it was two-fold. Concern for thinking she'd prepare a bland cup of tea for him, and concern for him not drinking it.
"Don't take this the wrong way. I know you can make a mean cup of tea," Tres started, feeling himself easing up as he took charge for once after waking up, "but how about we unwind the, er... proper way?"
"Uh, I'm afraid I don't follow," she replied, raising a curious brow.
"Ah, come on!" Tres drawled jovially with an exaggerated shrug. "You know what I'm talking about. We gotta do this right!" He then stood up from his seat and shuffled over to the pantry and reaching up at one of the cabinets, specifically the one she kept liquor in. "And what better way to destress than with a good bottle of booze!"
He reached in and pulled out a tall bottle with frosted glass and stylized etchings of birds along the side. It was a bottle of unique melon flavored sake brewed in limited quantities the name of which he could never remember because it was written in Splatlandian dialect Octarian. What he did know was that it tasted great, burned good and went down smooth. Though Shiver didn't drink much she liked to imbibe on occasion.
And, well, what better time than now?
He gave the bottle a shake, hearing the liquid slosh within. Curiously, it was only a quarter of the way full. 'Hmm... It's a lot lighter than I remember. Empty, almost... Shiver probably drank it on her own time. Eh, it doesn't matter. There's still enough for the two of us.'
He sauntered on back with a more visible spring in his step and calmly set the bottle down before his bewildered girlfriend, whose eyes had widened considerably at the sight of it.
"Been a while since we had this, eh?" Tres guffawed before taking a seat, kicking back with one foot resting atop his knee as he set aside the tea and grabbed an empty mug from the tray.
"Um... Are you sure about this, Tres?" Shiver asked hesitantly, gawking at the bottle of sake. "I don't think alcohol would be good for you in your current condition-"
"Despite how I actually feel I'm right as rain, Shiv. Naturally, it's all thanks to you," Tres cut her off as he began fidgeting with the bottle cap. "In fact, I'm so grateful about everything you've done for me so far that I propose we share a toast between us." He was adlibbing at this point, whatever came out of his mouth was literally the first thing that popped into his head, which were almost always random quotes from his favorite movies.
The cap came off easily. Immediately a subtle yet complex aroma of melon with mild floral notes, not too heady nor mute, wafted from the bottle's opening. Tres could taste it in the back of his throat from the smell. It spoke of its quality when the fumes alone were enough to make him want some under zero pretense.
He set aside the mugs full of tea, reached over for a pair of empty ones and began pouring sake into them, eyeballing about two fingers worth of alcohol.
Sake is a sipping beverage to be appreciated in an intimate fashion, especially among couples. It wasn't meant to be chugged down callously like plain ol' beer or a cocktail, drinking it properly was part of the experience.
Once he was content with the amount he set the bottle down and coolly slid a mug over to Shiver like a seasoned bartender, watching with a sense of smug self satisfaction as it gently came to a stop right in front of her. He sure picked one heck of a time to flaunt his own form of showmanship.
"I know you usually prefer drinking this cold but we'll just have to make due with what we got on hand, seeing as this is a spur of the moment kind of thing. So, what do you say?" Tres asked as he playfully swirled the liquid in his mug, mustering every ounce of charisma he had to pull off the suave air of a debonair.
Frankly, he looked ridiculous. But, you know what they say: you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take.
"Let's have some fun," he declared, concluding with a sly wink.
Shiver looked down at the mug, silently contemplating his offer. This evening had taken a turn she was unprepared for. By all rights she could refuse, should've even. There wasn't much incentive for her to go along with his spontaneous drinking session, especially when it was brought on by his own irrationality.
To both his shock and relief, she accepted, with a smile no less.
"...Pfft," Shiver snorted, struggling to hold back laughter. It was a jarring sight. Her attitude took a one-eighty turn so quickly Tres was surprised she didn't get whiplash.
It was almost like she wanted this, to the point she was processing her disbelief that he'd suggested it at all rather than disapproving it. Maybe she figured loosening up wasn't such a bad idea at all, especially after a filling meal.
"You know, you always did have a way with words, Tres. It really has been a long time, now that I think about it. Too long..." she whispered wistfully before grabbing her mug and raising it confidently. "To us!" she proclaimed, her smile radiating with bright exuberance.
Tres, smiling beatifically, felt his unease wash away as he responded by mirroring her gesture and clinking their mugs together.
"To us!" He cheered, and took a long admiring sip from his mug.
The hour spent emptying out the bottle's ambrosiac contents blurred together along with the world around the two. Colors became brighter, sounds grew higher and the heat rising up around their cheeks burned uncomfortably hot.
Though they were far from hopelessly smashed, their inhibitions were nonetheless lowered and their mood practically over the moon.
Tres didn't remember exactly when it was suggested or by who but it was agreed upon by both of them that they should walk off the buzz in the cool air of the courtyard gardens.
It was quiet, with only the faint chirping of crickets and dull buzz of Splatsville's evening hustle and bustle humming in the distance. The sky was a mix of blooming orange of the setting sun upon the horizon settling into a smooth gradient to a galactic star speckled purple of the night sky looming just overhead. It was only a matter of time before darkness fully enveloped them and the fireflies came out to illuminate the background.
The soft crunching of gravel punctuated the atmosphere with each step the pair took walking side by side together with an off balanced gait. They leaned onto each other for support, shoulder to shoulder as they were embroiled in small talk; mostly recalling stories from the past.
Tres had been attentively listening to Shiver ramble on about their fated battle in the Alternan depths a long while back, yammering on with a mild slur to her speech but the effects of booze did little to affect her gift in storytelling and the embellishments that it came with (he'd remember if he used a brella instead of a splatana during their confrontation).
Throughout it all, Tres felt himself growing more and more comfortable in her company. The paranoia felt so faraway now, reaching an equanimity he didn't realize he craved so badly now that he'd achieved it. His inner peace matched the peace of the gardens around them.
Of course, that could've just been the lingering effects of the sake running through his systems, but he'll take what he can get.
Maybe, just maybe, things were going to be alright...
"...I love you, you know that?" Shiver mumbled out of the blue, catching his attention.
"What?" he chuckled. "Where did that come from?"
"You're always saying it," she replied, stopping to let out a brief unladylike belch. Her cheeks glowed with a pulsating blue hue as her tentacles curled and unfurled rapidly in embarrassment. "Oh, my."
"Well, excuse you," Tres quipped, earning a jab at his arm. He laughed at the hit, "anyway, you were saying?"
"I..." Shiver's smile wavered as she spoke, "You say it to me all the time; in the morning when we first wake, throughout the day every chance you get, and at night right before we go to bed. You have no idea how elated I feel whenever I hear you speak those three little words... It made me realize I don't say it as much to you as I should have." She sounded so sorrowful as she confessed her deepest most personal thoughts.
The sake probably affected Shiver more than he had initially guessed for her to be spilling her guts so freely like that.
"It's alright, Shiver," replied Tres. "Even if you don't say it as often, I know."
"But it's not enough!" she blurted out angrily, looking particularly crossed. She'd become moody, hysterical even. Expression shifting psychopathically between so many emotions he couldn't track them all. "I wish I said it more, every single day. It's such a little thing, but the impact it has is huge!"
"Shiver, I told you. It's fine-"
"Because you deserve it!" Shiver interrupted, practically shouting now as she went on a warpath with words. Nothing was going to stop her from saying what needed to be said. Tres raised a curious brow at her. For the life of him he couldn't understand where all this was coming from. "Everything you've done for me, for everyone, deserves to be rewarded. There should be no question about that whatsoever."
"Shiver-"
"You work so hard, day in and day out! In spite of everything you've gone through, in spite of this cruel world beating you down at every single turn, in spite of the terrible mistake that nearly caused you to lose your way in that filthy alleyway, in spite of-"
"Stop," Tres growled as he came to an abrupt stop, nearly causing Shiver to lose her footing.
She stumbled forward a few more steps before stopping as well, struggling to keep her balance. Once she righted herself she turned around to see Tres standing absolutely still like a statue. His demeanor had pivoted entirely from happy drunk to stoically sober in an eyeblink. Whatever mirth he shared with her evaporated along with the alcohol swimming in his blood.
His eyes turned hard and sharp, lips set in a thin line. Both of his hands were balled into tight fists that shook with barely repressed frustration. The accusatory glare sent her way was wounding, the way his heated gaze seemed to bore right through her.
There was nothing to him now but raw focus and eerie hostility.
"T-Tres?" Shiver called out weakly.
"...Who are you?" Tres finally spoke, his voice trembling.