All good things must come to an end is a phrase that was permanently etched in the back of Squidwards skull. Any sense of peace or enjoyment never lasted because it seemed like the universe itself was against him winning in any capacity. Especially with the people he was surrounded with.

Reaching his moai house, he wished the celebrations lasted just a little while longer. National No Spongebob Day was by far his favorite holiday, and the fact that it had to end was a travesty in Squidwards opinion. Not only did he have to return his dull, dull life, but he had to do so living next to the biggest crybaby in Bikini Bottom.

Everyone saw him walk away in a slouch when everyone returned from the celebrations. Everyone else didn't have to deal with their bedrooms getting flooded by the little weirdos tears.

The cephalopod glared up at the pineapple house as he passed, expecting to hear that all too familiar wailing that left him with a headache.

Instead, all he heard was the ambient noise of the evening.

Welp, Squidward wasn't going to look a gift seahorse in the mouth, especially when it came to something like this. A long bubble bath was calling his name and he wasn't letting any concern about Spongebob and his dramatics stop him

. . .

And that was all good and well until 2 am.

It was ALWAYS 2 am when Spongebob felt the need to disturb his sleep. Sitting up with a groan, Squidward woke up to the sound of coughing. Expecting to see the familiar yellow square in his bedroom, he looked around, ready to grab him and toss him out of the window. That's how close the coughing sounded.

Instead he was greeted with the sight of an empty room. If it wasn't coming from inside, then outside? He stuck his head out his window, and found the source coming from Spongebob's bedroom window.

Because of course.

"SpongeBOB! Do you mind? Some of us have work in the morning!" Squidward shouted. "Take some cough medicine of a throat lozenge or something! Before you wake up all of Bikini Bottom!"

The only response he got was a yellow hand reaching out and closing the window to his bedroom, muffling the sound of coughing from inside the pineapple.

Well.

At least it won't keep him up now.

Closing his own window, his bedroom was once again bathed in sweet, sweet silence.

. . .

"Mr. Squidward!" Mr. Krabs came storming out his office, the sound of the door slamming open barely heard over the sound of long line of impatient customers in front of the cashier boat. "What in blazes is goin' on out here? Where's Spongebob?'

"He never showed up and we're overrun with these bottomfeeders you call customers!"

"What happened to him?

"How should I know? I'm not his keeper!"

It was only the sight of a hoarde of hungry customers and the profits they'll bring in that kept Mr. Krabs from blowing his top. He went into the kitchen to man the grill, muttering something under his breath about dragging the frycook here by his ankles once they were done with the lunch rush. The customers might be annoying but at least he didn't have to take orders from them while listening or seeing any of Spongebob antics.

Honestly, during the rare days when he wasn't there, Squidwards job was almost pleasant.

"Lad's out sick," Mr. Krabs said after talking on his phone in his office. "He'll probably be out for while. Sounded like he was coughed his gills off. Check on 'em when you get off tonight, will ye Mr. Squidward?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Squidward shrugged. It's not like Mr. Krabs could see if he actually did or not.

But he was coughing pretty loud last night. Loud enough for him think the sponge had, once again, made his way into his bedroom.

'Maybe Spongebob really is sick,' Squidward wondered. 'Oh what am I worried about? It's not like I care. And besides, he's never sick for longer than a few days. He'll be fine.'

Three days. Three extra days without seeing the little yellow nuisance. He might be back at work and not exactly on a vacation, but it definitely was a bonus after coming back that Squidward soaked in and enjoyed every minute of. But nothing good lasts forever, and when the fourth day came, Spongebob came through those double doors. Later than he and Mr. Krabs arrived for once, but he was here none the left.

"Oh well. It was fun while it lasted," Squidward mumbled. He shuffled through the small collection of magazines he kept under the cashier boat. He picked up the latest copy of Fancy Living Digest and turned to a random article. Three days was a long time for Spongebob to come up with nonsense to yammer on about for hours on end, let alone the weeks everyone was gone for No Spongebob Day. And unfortunately, he was going to bear the brunt of it.

But, as his neighbor passed him and walked into the kitchen, he did it in silence without so much of a 'hello', a wave, or a glance.

Squidward looked through the porthole into the kitchen. Spongebob looked fine; usually when he was sick the color of his skin faded into a sickly greyish shade. But it wasn't like him to be quiet like this. Typically he'd be singing, whistling, or humming some asinine tune that would have him ready to tear off his ears. But as he took out the vegetables to prep, he did it in silence.

"Don't look a gift seahorse in the mouth, Squidward," he whispered to himself. "Whatever it is, he'll get over it."

"Hey Squidward?"

The cepholopod didn't bother looking up from his magazine. It was an interesting article on new interior design trends, and he wanted to read as much of it as he could before he was pulled into whatever nonsense Spongebob had cooked up.

"What is it, Spongebob?"

"I'm sorry."

Now that got his attention. Admittedly, Spongebob hadn't done much of anything to upset him in these last few days. It's been a welcome reprieve from his usual antics, though with each passing day Squidward was left wondering if that was the last day of it. And now he was apologizing?

"You're. . .sorry. . .?" Squidward asked.

"For breaking into your house, and taking your stuff, and trying to get you to do stuff me and Patrick, and not leaving when you wanted to be alone," he prattled on. Squidward looked at him in confusion as he continued to speak. His yellow hands messed with his tie and he avoided eye contact as he spoke. "I didn't mean to get your nerves. I just wanted to cheer you up because you looked lonely. I'm sorry."

Now.

Squidward had dreamt of the day his thorn in his side of a neighbor would come to his senses and realized that he didn't want to be his friend or be part of his nonsense and finally, FINALLY, leave him be in peace with his art, music, and what taste of the fancy life that he could scrape together from his pathetic life. He had long ago given up on that ever happening and resigned it to that same corner of his mind where he left his other hopes and dreams.

But here it was, right now, in front of him, being served up on a metaphorical silver platter.

"An apology doesn't count if you don't change afterwards, you know," Squidward said, prodding for Spongebob's response. This was a joke, right? It was April 1st and he just forgot to check his calendar this morning. The porforian looked up at him with that too familiar smile.

"I know! I know, and I will," Spongebob said with a toothy grin. "I promise!"

"Yeah, well, we'll see," Squidward turned back to his magazine.

"Is Mr. Krabs in his office? I have to talk to him about something." Squidward nodded. He peaked over his magazine and watched the fry cook walk to their boss' door and disappear inside.

Should he be worried? Squidward was enjoying the uncharacteristic silence for these last few days without overthinking it, because that's when things always went bad for him. But. . .he was okay, right? This wasn't like him at all. Was something actually wrong?

No.

No.

He was fine.

He was always fine.

There was nothing to worry about.