Chapter Text
The mini season between the late summer evenings and the early fall mornings was where the customer frequency would usually plateau—until the dip in the beginning of the school year, at least. During this time, the Krusty Krab always hosted a decent amount of customers; rarely would the building be overwhelmingly filled with hustle and bustle, but neither was it void of people entirely.
Sometimes, though, when the contentedness settled in the air, and everyone was eating or chatting or minding their own business, the activity at the cash register would dip for a while. During these lulls in interaction, Spongebob seemingly made it his top priority to talk to Squidward; to babble about Mermaid Boy and Barnacle Man, or whatever; to retell and pantomime his entire day up to that point; to ask questions and then ask more before he could even receive an answer. His earnest eagerness to speak to Squidward far outweighed the aforementioned listless man’s patience. Luckily for the both of them, however, tomorrow was Saturday. Only one night of work left until the weekly day off.
“-nyways, now I wanna go to it and see what it’s all about, ya know?” Spongebob chatted through the order window. “Hm? Where?” Squidward inquired monotonously, as he had lost Spongebob somewhere in a conflicting train of thought. “The new restaurant a few minutes away from our street, silly! I think it’s an Italian place,” Spongebob responded, a thinking finger tapping his chin in consideration. “What’s it called again?” Squidward asked, not looking away from the art magazine in his hands. “Uh, I think it’s ‘Oyster Garden,’ but I’m not sure. I’m excited, though. The restaurant has locations all over the sea, but there hasn’t been one this close to Bikini Bottom until now.”
As the internal metaphorical winds of nostalgia stirred up his mind and swept the dust off an old memory, Squidward turned to look his coworker. “‘Oyster Garden’? Oh, I love that place!” the older man exclaimed, smiling and flicking a wrist in sync with his praise. “Before I moved to Bikini Bottom, I lived a few hours away, and in my hometown, there was an Oyster Garden. I used to eat there almost every single night because I was obsessed with Italian food.” Spongebob beamed at Squidward’s recollection. “So it is Italian?” “Yep, and I’m glad. I love Italian food and there aren’t many high quality eateries with good Italian around here.” “I love Italian.” Spongebob purred, seemingly lost in thought about the idea of going to the restaurant. “We should go then!” Squidward blabbed before he could control what his mouth was doing.
Spongebob was broken out of his reverie and a few customers even glanced over at the pair. “Really?” Spongebob asked. “Ye- I mean, no, I- rrrr…” Squidward growled, embarrassed at his misspoken words. Spongebob looked at him with an inquisitive look. “Ugh, fine. But only if you wear something nice. No work clothes,” Squidward hissed. He could have sworn Spongebob’s face flushed. “S-sure! D’you want me-“ “Let’s just—let’s just talk about it after work,” Squidward grumbled, squeezing Spongebob’s lips shut with his hand. He told himself that his internal body temperature had risen because Krabs had touched the thermostat, despite the fact that Mr. Krabs was in his office and nowhere to be seen in the public eye, where the thermostat resided, untouched.
The rest of the day from thereon went over smoothly. Surprisingly, Spongebob was subdued for much of it. When Squidward would peek through the order window, or steal a glance as an order was handed out, or carefully watch him when he walked in and out of the kitchen, he saw the guy’s seemingly ever-present smile. For some reason, he was… relieved that Spongebob was being silent of his own volition, and not because he was upset or otherwise. The work day was rather placid—more so than usual.
The two workers began cleaning quietly as the last of the customers trailed out, some mumbling kudos or expressing quiet words of complimentary gratitude. There was no chatting otherwise, the only sounds being the sloshing of the mop and the squeaking of the cleaning rag on the window and the soft clinks of coins hitting coins as Mr. Krabs counted away in his office. Squidward and Spongebob both mutely finished cleaning and returned their cleaning supplies to their respective places.
“G’night boys! See you lads in the mornin’!” Mr. Krabs opened his door to dismiss the men, waving as they left. Spongebob waved and responded with a gleeful “Bye!”, while Squidward gave a feeble farewell gesture of his home, hardly lifting his hand to wave.
The two walked home in silence, for a moment. The sun hung a bit low in the sky, painting the atmosphere with large swatches of French blue and orchid purple and streaks of salmon and cantaloupe orange and splashes of flamingo pink and daffodil yellow. The stars freckled the sky as the swirl of light they succeeded continued its slow descent. Squidward glanced at Spongebob, whose gaze was transfixed on the sky. His eyes sparkled and his mouth hung slightly agape. Squidward knew the look. Spongebob had pure, unadulterated love for the natural beauty of the town.
“The sky looks nice tonight.” Spongebob thought aloud. Squidward hummed in thought. “I guess. It looks the same every night.” “No way! Each night, there are little differences,” Spongebob argued, “and, if you look real close, you’ll see ‘em. Like tonight. There are less clouds than there were last night, and last night’s clouds were more opaque. At least, I think that’s the word.”
Squidward followed his companion’s gaze. He supposed these clouds were more translucent than last night’s. “I don’t know. I just like to look at it because there’s always something new. It’s always familiar, but unpredictable, too. I think that’s really cool,” Spongebob mused. “That’s rather observant of you,” Squidward teased, his monotonous tone becoming more lighthearted. “You flatter me,” Spongebob joked, an amused hand pressed to his own freckled cheek.
As their houses came into view, Spongebob turned to Squidward. “Uh, so…” Spongebob started, clearing his throat, “d’you want me to meet you there, or…?” He trailed off bashfully, a trait of Spongebob’s that Squidward had only seen once in a blue moon. “Just… come over at seven fifteen.” Squidward coughed awkwardly. “O-okay!” Spongebob agreed. “See you then.” Spongebob waved, giving Squidward a soft smile before entering his own home. Squidward chuckled as he heard Spongebob’s cooing at his cat. “Gary!”
Squidward smiled. Cute.
…
He flushed in the face and hurried inside.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
“Coming~!” Spongebob singsonged to the person at his door. He tiptoed over a sleeping Gary, whom he had just fed, and bounded over to the door. He opened it to reveal…
“Hi, Patrick!” Spongebob greeted gleefully. “Hiya, Spongebob!” Patrick replied. “Hey, uh… oh, I remember! Do you wanna hang out? It’s a great night to go jellyfishing!”
Spongebob froze, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, Pat. I’d love to go, but I’m… I’m busy tonight. We could go tomorrow!”
Patrick frowned. “But… fine! Have fun with your… n-not-jellyfishing!” Patrick grumbled, storming away. “Patrick, I said I’m sorry!” Spongebob called after him.
He closed the door. “Ugh… I love Pat, but sometimes he can be a bit much.” Spongebob sighed, running an exasperated hand down his face before heading upstairs to get dressed.
Squidward paced his room anxiously. He had an outfit planned out: a spice brown turtleneck, charcoal-colored dress pants, ivory socks, and light dove-grey slip-on shoes. The thing that was making him anxious, however, was not the outfit, but the reason for such. He had accidentally invited his coworker to a fancy Italian restaurant, proceeded to tell him to dress nice, and then offered to drive to the place. If Squidward didn’t know any better, it would seem that he was taking Spongebob on a date.
A date…
…-ish.
With Spongebob.
His first date in years.
With…
Spongebob.
Was he going mad?
Technically, the two hadn’t confirmed it to be a… date, but still. The implications were present.
Squidward groaned. He didn’t even like Spongebob! Why did he have to ask him, of all people, to dinner?!
When the doorbell rang at seven fifteen on the dot, Squidward felt his chest throb with anxiety. Or maybe he was just having a heart attack. He truly was going mad.
His suspicions were confirmed when he slowly opened the door to unveil a sheepish Spongebob in a half white, half sky-blue button-up and aegean blue jeans, who was digging the toe of his boot into the ground.
“H-hi,” they both stuttered in sync. Squidward cleared his throat, not wanting to stall. “You look, uh… nice.” Squidward said at the same time Spongebob had said, “Um, I like your outift.” Squidward felt his face heat up as he looked at Spongebob’s cheeks become more rosy than usual.
“How about we get going?” Squidward prompted. Spongebob nodded, watching him pull on a near-raven-black trenchcoat with marigold buttons before grabbing his keys and locking the front door behind him. The two silently went around the house to Squidward’s vehicle, Spongebob hopping in the passenger side as Squidward unlocked it. Hopping in the car himself, Squidward flicked on the radio, browsing the stations until he landed on a classic jazz and swing channel. Starting the car with a steady hum from the engine, Squidward backed out of his parking spot and continued onto the road.
Out of the corner of his eye, Squidward saw Spongebob turn his demure gaze from his copper-colored boots to the radio, which was enticing the air with the dancing vibrations of the melodious trumpet improvisations and piano and string accompaniment of the song it was playing. Under the music was a mumbling inquiry spilling from Spongebob’s mouth, too quiet to be heard, even over the soft melody. Squidward turned down the volume a bit, turning his full head to face the vehicle’s other occupant. “What’d you say?” he asked, his tone surprisingly not harsh. Spongebob looked at him, face spotted with an almost-ruby-red tint, twiddling his fingers together lamely. “Oh, I, uh… I asked if this was, um… Louis Armstrong, but I-I don’t want—I…” Spongebob stammered, visibly struggling to find the words, “I… didn’t wanna… look dumb…” he murmured.
Squidward had to bite back a smile. A timid Spongebob was incredibly rare, and especially around him. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever seen him this reticent, at least, not because of or around Squidward himself. Still, his gently abashed nature at present was incredibly… endearing, for lack of a better word.
“No, you’re—you’re right,” Squidward responded with a lighthearted air about him, “it is Louis. It’s his cover of ‘La Vie en Rose.’” Spongebob suddenly looked much more confident in himself, exclaiming, “Hey, that’s French! Doesn’t that translate to ‘Life in Pink’?”
Squidward raised an eyebrow. “Um… yeah, I think that’s the direct translation.” Spongebob smiled and sat back in his seat. There was a minute of silence before Spongebob spoke again. “The piano sounds magical,” he hummed, half-lidded eyes gazing at the sky with tranquil fondness. Squidward’s face basked itself with pink as he turned his attention back to the road. “I think that’s the quick and slightly swung ascension of eighth notes in the accompaniment. I agree, though. It’s almost mystical.” He felt himself grow wistful as Louis’ voice made its way into the atmosphere.
“Y’know, his vocal technique was pretty unconventional for the time,” Squidward mentioned. “I think it still is. I haven’t heard anyone else sing with the type of voice he does. It fits the key really well,” Spongebob responded. Feeling mischievous, Squidward decided to give Spongebob a little test. “Yeah? What key’s it in?”
Spongebob hummed along and put a finger to his chin. “Oh, I know! This is the key of C, so there are no flats or sharps aside from the occasional accidental.” Squidward’s jaw nearly dropped. “Also, the note at the baseline of the melody is a C natural, because a lot of the held notes keep returning to it. I think it follows an ABCD song form, but I can’t really tell because I’m not sure. I just like it a lot.”
Squidward was appalled. “Where’d all this musical knowledge come from?” Spongebob tittered, a light, bubbly sound escaping him. Squidward shook his head subtly, clearing his mind.
“Tch, it’s kinda silly, but… when I was in school as a kid, I didn’t have any friends besides Patrick, and he was too busy to play a lot of the time, so I’d just spend my time practicing the guitar. I learned the uke when i was a little bit older. Anyways, playing instruments for years kind of helps you develop a taste for music theory, especially if you grow up with perfect pitch,” Spongebob chuckled.
Squidward grunted in acknowledgement, mental gears turning. He never would have guessed that Spongebob had perfect pitch, but it seemed to explain his tendency to vocalize anything for fun when he was bored in the kitchen. Then a thought dawned on him.
“Wait… if you have perfect pitch… why do you enjoy my clarinet playing? I-I know it’s not… great, and it’s really squeaky and I think I need to tune it-“ “I like seeing you happy,” was Spongebob’s response. Squidward turned to meet Spongebob’s eyes. Spongebob simply gave him a kind, beaming half-smile.
Spongebob turned away, looking at the road. “You have a really good smile, you know that?” It was Squidward’s turn to rotate his gaze to face the road.
If Squidward’s body was a marching band, his heart would be the drums and the butterflies in his stomach would be the color guard but the song they were playing to was incredibly fast and it made him anxious but not in a bad way but not in a way he was used to and his brain was the drum major but the drum major had given up on conducting and just fell off the ladder and-
He short-circuited. Promptly, he swerved almost dangerously quickly to the shoulder of the road and put the car in park. He closed his eyes and took in a deep inhalation of breath through his nose.
“Squidward?” Spongebob asked carefully, a look of anxiety and concern making its way to his face.
“I… I didn’t even mean to ask you to go to this with me. I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t want to say it!” Squidward ranted, carefully avoiding Spongebob’s eyes. Before the red-haired boy could speak, Squidward continued. “But… I… you must be doing something to me, be-because… I can’t stop myself from… feeling like I’m having a good time. Because… I am…” he sighed, face reddening in shame. “A-and… okay, I just… now that we’re here, a-and I really am doing this… I wanted to think of it as, you know… not entirely, ah, platonic.”
He swallowed heavily, fully turning his face away from the other occupant. The air was silent for a time—he wasn’t sure how long; it could have been seconds or years—before Spongebob spoke.
“I… wow, uh, hah…” he stuttered nervously, chuckles sprinkled in his speech, “s-sorry. I just… I don’t know what to, uh, say, haha.” There was silence again. Both of the vehicle’s occupants looked away from each other.
“I-if you really didn’t wanna go… with me, why are you here now?” Spongebob questioned softly. Squidward heard the soft shifting of fabric, and looked to see that Spongebob had turned to look at him. Upon making eye contact, the two could practically feel the air around them heating up.
Squidward cleared his throat. “I, uh… I am actually having a good time. I want to… I want to stay, a-and I want to go to dinner.”
Spongebob raised an eyebrow, asking, “You didn’t wanna ask, but now you want to go, but you-“ Spongebob suddenly got a sly smile on his face. “You said all that just to beat around the idea of asking me out, didn’t you?” Spongebob inquired, not unlike when he found Squidward in the patty vault.
Squidward rested his forehead on the top of the steering wheel. “It’s okay, Squid. I…” Spongebob hesitated, and Squidward suddenly felt his small hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted this to, uh… be more than platonic.” His voice had quickly gone from coy to cowardly as his face turned red and his blue eyes soaked in the details of his own jeans. Spongebob quickly retreated his hand.
Squidward flushed. “Really? You wouldn’t?” “I… I’ve kind of maybe sort of had a teeny tiny eeny-weeny crush on you for a few years now, so I think it’d be okay with me, you know, if it’s… romantic.” Spongebob cleared his throat.
Squidward looked at him studiously. “You really don’t mind?” “Really. Honestly, I’m surprised I’m not the one asking you that,” Spongebob chuckled. Squidward smiled, shifting the car into drive.
“Sorry that that was, uh… so abrupt. I was just kind of panicking,” the taller man mumbled, focusing on the road again. “It’s okay. I did too.”
They were quiet for the rest of the ride, a comfortable air surrounding them as the low music from the radio carried them away while they enjoyed each other’s company.
Upon arrival at the restaurant, the two had to wait half an hour to be seated due to the capacity of customers in the building. Spongebob and Squidward both breathed in the warm, delightful smells of pasta and soup and garlic, swirling in the air in a mouth-wateringly enticing manner. Squidward and Spongebob sat in the waiting area, simply enjoying the soft Italian music playing throughout the restaurant.
“This place is nice,” Spongebob commented, looking up at Squidward. “Yeah. It’s great. I’m already feeling the nostalgia,” the teal-haired man quipped. Spongebob hummed happily in response.
After a while, the pair was finally called to their table and given menus.
“Oooh! Some of this looks really good!” Spongebob gaped. Squidward failed to hide a fond laugh. “Yeah, there’s a lot of stuff on there.”
Spongebob suddenly gasped (a little loud for comfort, in Squidward’s opinion), and pointed at an item on the menu. “That’s what I want! That’s what I’m gonna order!” Spongebob bounced jubilantly in his seat.
A waiter taking orders from another table cleared their throat at him, causing him to grin sheepishly. “Sorry,” he whispered.
Squidward watched the scene with amusement. “Great first impression, kid,” he teased. Spongebob was pink in the face, and Squidward did have to admit that he found it charmingly dinky. “I’m sorry, I’m just excited,” the ginger mumbled.
Squidward smiled. “Now, what food were you looking at?” “The ‘Grilled Chicken Margherita.’”
Squidward frowned as Spongebob anxiously drummed his fingers on the table. Leaning over slightly, Squidward bravely lay one of his hands on Spongebob’s. “Hey. Relax,” he reassured. Spongebob seemed to calm down a bit after that.
When the waiter came around, Squidward ordered for the both of them—getting for Spongebob the Grilled Chicken Margherita and for himself the Fettuccine Alfredo—as Spongebob was still in an anxious ick. He had also requested two waters to be brought over, which were fulfilled quickly.
He slid one of the cold drinks to Spongebob, whose eyes turned to look at Squidward gratefully. “You okay?” Squidward attempted. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
Then, the waiter walked by.
“Hey, waiter? Could I get a bendy straw?” Squidward asked, leaning slightly in the waiter’s direction. “Coming right up, sir,” the employee gave him an odd look, but otherwise did what was asked.
“What was that for?” Spongebob questioned, a smile growing on his face. Before Squidward could answer, the waiter reappeared with the straw. “Thank you,” Squidward acknowledged before tearing the wrapper open and bending the straw to plop it in Spongebob’s drink.
“I think I’ve heard you mention that you like ‘em, so I got one,” the older man chuckled. Spongebob’s face was a much darker shade of pink now. “T-thanks,” he mumbled, smile growing wider.
The music danced around them jovially, wistful long tones accompanying excited rapid-fire melodies. Squidward watched as Spongebob bobbed his head gently with the music. He found it charming.
The four-legged man sighed. Just this morning, he had dreaded seeing Spongebob, and now he was on a (real, verified, officially romantic) date with him. He had become a completely different person, it felt.
When the two men both got their meals delivered, the space around them was bathed in pleasant scents. “Mmm…” Spongebob moaned, “this smells really good.” “It is really good.” Squidward countered good-naturedly. Unfortunately, however, their enjoyment was cut short before they could even take a bite, as someone had called, “Spongebob!” in an obscenely loud manner.
Spongebob shrunk in his chair as Patrick, who was flanked by Sandy, stormed up to him. The restaurant went quiet as the general public followed the occurrence with their eyes. “I thought you said you were busy!”
Spongebob blushed, shrinking down further. “I, uh,” he coughed, “I am busy. Right now.” Patrick and Sandy both had their arms crossed, and Squidward caught Sandy sneaking her phone out of her pocket. “Oh yeah? Too busy to hang out with your friends? After we went jellyfishing, I was gonna invite you here to try it out!” Patrick shouted.
Spongebob went to speak, but was cut off once more. “But it seems you’re too busy with him!” Patrick gestured at Squidward. “I was gonna invite him along!”
Patrick’s disturbance of the peace had caused the other customers to mumble amongst themselves. “Uh, Pat… th-this is kind of a, uh, private thing, y’know, just for me. And Squidward,” Spongebob explained meekly. “Oh, so you have time for Squidward, but not us?” the pink-haired man exclaimed.
“Y’all got some explainin’ ta’ do.” Sandy grumbled, putting her phone in her pocket. The doors burst open again as a hearty voice shouted, “What is the meanin’ o’ this?”
Spongebob held his beet-red face in his hands while Squidward rolled his eyes. Mr. Krabs marched over to their table and eyed the two silently. “Would you two like to explain what’s goin’ on? Why did Miss Cheeks ‘ere call me about some dilemm’er between the four of ya’s?”
Squidward frowned, hands up defensively. “L-look, Mr. Krabs, we can explain-“
“Excuse me, sir, but we’ll have to ask you and your friends to leave the building for disturbing the peace,” the manager of the restaurant spoke as he tapped Mr. Krabs on the shoulder. “What? But I ain’t do nothin’!” “Yeah!” “This is a load of… uh, barnacles!” Mr. Krabs, Sandy, and Patrick argued back respectively.
“Please leave the premises or we will be allowed to call in force.”
The three aforementioned ne’er-do-wells grumbled as they left, sputtering curse words.
“I’m so sorry about that, sir,” Spongebob apologized to the manager. As the other man went to respond, Patrick comically slipped, knocking Sandy and Mr. Krabs over in a domino-esque fashion.
Squidward almost burst a blood vessel from holding in a laugh. “Uhh…” Patrick groaned. As Mr. Krabs and Sandy stood, Squidward and Spongebob watched Patrick fail miserably to stand correctly the first time, then try a different method, only to rip his pants. “Aw!” Patrick shouted.
Sandy gripped Patrick’s wrist and led him out of the building. “Did anyone see my butt—woah!” the large man called as he was tugged away.
Squidward and Spongebob were both struggling to hold in their laughs now. “Again, sir, I-I’m—snrk—so sorry for their—ppfhm—tear-ible behavior,” Spongebob snickered. He and Squidward both burst out in laughter.
“I’ll be asking you two to leave as well,” the manager admonished, now visibly irate. “B-but, we didn’t even… get to eat!” Squidward gasped between laughs. “What—what a—pfft—rip-off!” Spongebob quipped, howling with laughter, Squidward joining in. “I will call somebody if you do not leave in the next five seconds,” the manager warned calmly.
Spongebob slapped a large wad of cash down on the table before taking his and Squidward’s plates in his mad dash to the door. Squidward followed, hardly able to breathe.
The two men hopped in Squidward’s vehicle, panting gleefully. They made eye contact before laughing again. “Oh jeez... nobody's ever made me laugh like that in a long, long time,” Squidward breahed. “Yeah, that was fun,” Spongebob responded.
He pulled forks out of his shirt pocket and handed one to Squidward. “Did… did we dine-and-dash?” Squidward smirked, laughter ready to bleed into his breath. “No, I paid.” “How much?” Squidward watched Spongebob shrug. “I’unno. Enough to put bread on the table.”
Upon noticing his accidental wordplay, the two occupants of the car laughed in unison. “That was—“ Squidward snorted, “that was really bad!” The two broke out into their hysterics again, now wiping tears from their faces. “Hah, yeah. That was a lotta fun,” Spongebob smiled, “‘til we got kicked out ‘cause of me.”
The smile on Spongebob’s face remained, there but it was painful, strained, and smaller than before. His upturned brows did not make him look any happier, either.
Squidward sat still for a moment. He grabbed both his plate and Spongebob’s, throwing them haphazardly at a trash can near the car. Some of the food splattered on the side as one of the plates broke. He then cautiously reached for Spongebob’s shoulder, turning him towards himself.
“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known,” he comforted as best he could. “B-but… I was loud, a-and I disrupted people! I-“ Spongebob’s rambling was cut short by a finger over his lips and a “Shh!” from Squidward.
“Listen to me. You have a hard time controlling your volume sometimes, but that’s okay! Not everyone can control the volume of their voice all the time. You were excited. And your friends? You didn’t know they were coming, much less waiting to make a scene.”
Spongebob looked at Squidward, the eye contact feeling almost electric. “You mean it…?” Spongebob asked carefully. “A hundred-thousand percent.” Squidward jokingly made a gesture of crossing his heart, winking at Spongebob. “That’s not a real percent!” Spongebob shoved Squidward playfully. “It is in terms of theoretical mathematics!” Squidward pushed back.
The two giggled, their short bout of play-fighting over. Both the ginger and the blue-haired man felt their faces become bathed in warmth as their faces were closer together than they were before.
“Um.”
Squidward smirked at Spongebob’s awkward stuttering.
“Is this… oka—?”
The blue-eyed vehicle occupant was cut off as the other’s lips skimmed his own, lightly. “Oh…” was all Spongebob could say. “Maybe we should… try again?” Squidward offered awkwardly. Spongebob bit his lip with mirth. “S-sure.”
The second kiss was much better.
Until it wasn’t.
As the two broke apart, they heard excited squealing from somewhere nearby.
Looking around, they found that Sandy, Patrick, and Mr. Krabs had been excitedly observing them from behind the trashcan.
Squidward and Spongebob glanced at each other, then back at the stooges, who caught this look, and panicked.
“‘Operation Squidbob’ has been undermined!” Sandy whisper-shouted to her companions. “Let’s get outta here!” Patrick agreed. Mr. Krabs scampered after them as they ran away, the three chatting anxiously.
Spongebob and Squidward glanced at each other again, chuckling after a short moment of eye contact.
“I think I’m ready to go home, hm?” Squidward offered. Spongebob quickly yawned. “Yeah, me too.”
As the summer-to-fall air swept the hairs of the men, tousling their locks gently, the driver interlocked his fingers with the hand of his passenger, whom was leaning on his shoulder. He felt a gentle squeeze as the smaller hand accepted his into its own, and beamed.
The mini season between summer and fall had never been this giving, but it seemed generous, this year. And that was alright.