Made a little whoopsy-daisy because I didn't realize that Chapter #3 was short enough to be a full chapter. But now we're back on track!
Quick warning for two instances of a homophobic slur, one right at the beginning and one right at the end.
~
Was this the time when Three was seven years old and his father had thrown away his favorite stuffed animal? Was it when he was eleven and someone had stolen his sketchbook and the whole class had laughed at him? Or was it when he was fifteen and someone had knocked him to the floor and called him a fag? Whatever the cause, the result was always the same: Three sprinting up the stairs, bursting into his room, and slamming the door behind him. Then he sank to the floor and sat with his back against the door, sobbing silently into his knees, alone.
But then he felt arms encircle him from behind, and he heard his mother's voice, telling him, "I'm sorry, Ry... but it'll be okay, mijo. It'll be okay."
Wait—no, this was all wrong. This wasn't how the memory went. His mother was never there, nor was his father. He'd always had to deal with it all alone. But he still felt those comforting arms wrapped tightly around him. Then whose were they? When Three turned around to look, the person he saw holding him had morphed into—
Eight.
"GYAH!" Three launched himself away from Eight, slipping off the bed and crashing to the ground. "Dioso, Eight, don't tempt me like that..." he muttered.
Awakened by the noise, Eight was just opening his eyes.
His hands patted the mattress uncomprehendingly as he blinked against the bright light shining through the window. He seemed to panic for a moment, as if he didn't know where he was, and just about fell off the bed, too.
Three scrambled to remember what had happened last night, how he and Eight had ended up in a bed together. First, the conflict with Four came back, then Three's demanding for Eight to come live with him, and then... he had slept on the floor, hadn't he?
After a moment, the memory resurfaced: late at night, half asleep, and Eight's pale face appearing in the dark beside him, because Eight just wanted to be near him...
He hated himself for giving in—Eight didn't understand the significance of these things. He couldn't give consent.
But Three also might have hated himself just as much if he had refused.
Enough of that.
"Okay... now we're both awake," Three said awkwardly, trying to break the silence and effectively diverting his thoughts away from his emotions.
"Why on the floor, again?" Eight asked, poking his head out over the edge of the bed.
"You tell me. Why—" Then Three realized: Eight probably didn't even know he had wrapped his arms around Three. He'd been doing it in his sleep. Maybe he'd also been dreaming about his mom—or, would it be about being a mom?
Where was he going with this?
He stood up and brushed himself off. "...never mind."
"What?"
"It means forget about what I just said because I changed my mind."
"Oh. Thank you, Three."
"For what?"
"No other person is so much... patient."
"About what?"
Eight seemed confused that Three was confused. "About... my language."
"What? No! That doesn't bother me at all! You're the one who's being forced to learn a whole new language and can't understand half of what anyone around you says. I have no right to complain, nor does anyone else."
Eight gave him the biggest, most adorable smile. As he did, Three noticed for the first time that Eight only had two sharp teeth—one on the top left and one on the bottom right—not the three sharp teeth like normal. Like Inklings, Three had to correct himself. Still, it made his grin look so...
Three caught himself smiling again. He started talking to hide it. "Hey, we should head down to the Square."
"O-oh... okay."
"We're not going through the manhole, I promise. There's so much more to do down there! There's the Galleria, Crusty Sean's snack truck, Squid Beatz... and, of course, battles—oh my cod! We need to get you gear! A weapon! Oh, we are so going down to the plaza and getting you a set of battle gear! And testing weapons! This is going to be great!"
Eight seemed surprised by his excitement.
"What? I'm gay, I like shopping, all right?"
Eight cocked his head to the side in confusion, and the tension in Three's shoulders relaxed. That wasn't the kind of thing he would normally say, but since Eight couldn't understand it anyway, it seemed to give him a bit more confidence.
"Don't worry about it... let's go! Oh wait—we can't go out in these pants... you can wear the hoodie, that's battle gear—it's got Sub Power Up. Not the best, I know... that's why it was sitting at the bottom of my drawer. But we'll get you some more stuff!"
When Three looked back at Eight, the Octoling had this uncomprehending, completely discouraged expression that was so sad to see. "I'll explain it all, I promise. You will understand. Just give it a few weeks."
Eight's expression softened, and he nodded almost confidently.
"Now pay attention, because I'm going to show you everything I can!"
After a crash course on SquidBeatz (not so surprisingly, Eight had crazy-fast reflexes and beat Three's record for Wet Floor's Endolphin Surge on the second try), a briefing on the shady urchin by the name of Murch who could get you all kinds of gear, and a snack at Crusty Sean's food truck, it was time to start on the Galleria.
Eight was just finishing his Deep-Fried Seanwich. "So... bad... but so good..."
Three laughed. "Yeah, that's pretty much what it's like. So what do you think about Inkopolis Square?"
"It is... amazing. It is more than I ever dreamed it can be."
"I'm glad you like it. I personally think I liked Inkopolis Plaza better—I'd probably still be going there if the whole place hadn't shut down after Ammo Knights relocated here. No weapons, no Turf War, I guess. I had to move apartments and everything. Good thing I got in on it early, though. Those apartments are worth almost twice as much as when I got mine. Thank cod for fixed rates. And those are a couple miles away—the ones that are closer? It's ridiculous! And I'm ranting again, sorry."
Eight wiped his mouth with a napkin even though, as far as Three could tell, his face was already clean. "All things are okay. I like... I like to hear you talk."
Three couldn't stop smiling today, and he couldn't decide whether that made him concerned or just ecstatic.
"Okay, if you're ready, let's hit the Galleria. Oh—one thing first. They won't let you buy anything since you're so new. Once you get your level up, you'll be able to buy your own gear from here. You can always get things from Murch, too. Anyway, I'll buy it for you, so just tell me what you like, okay?"
"O-okay."
They started with headgear at Headspace, Flow and Craymond's shop. Three usually didn't linger in here for long because the whole vibe of the store (mostly Craymond's constant nagging) put him on edge, but watching Eight explore all the different headgear in awe was enough of a distraction. He had explained that each one had different abilities, so every once in a while Eight would run up to Three and ask what each piece of gear did. Eventually, Eight showed him a Sporty Bobble Hat. "What does this one?"
"Sporty Bobble Hat? That one has Tenacity." Three could tell Eight seemed interested just by the name of the ability. "It helps you fill your special gauge when other players on your team are splatted. So if your team is struggling, it can help you make a comeback, even when it seems like all hope is lost."
Three may have talked up the ability a little bit because Eight would look cute wearing it. As Three watched Eight put it on, a little smirk broke through. Eight would certainly be popular with the Octoling girls.
Actually... Eight was a total twink.
No no no! Three shoved the disgusting thought out of his mind.
Eight couldn't be gay. He was way too... innocent. And just the fact that Three had been thinking about an Octoling that way...
Exactly how close could Three get to this Octoling before it got weird? It depended on who you asked, didn't it? Four? Too close already. Pearl? The sky's the limit.
Then who was right? Did it even matter?
Ugh, Three was thinking too much again. That was always a dangerous game.
"Um.... Three?" Eight's voice brought him back to reality.
"Yeah, sorry. Are you sure you want that? There's plenty of other—"
"No, this is the favorite one!"
Of course. Now every time Three would see him wearing it... he wasn't going to finish that thought. "Okay, I'll buy it."
Eight's pure joy as the two cephalopods left the store almost made it all worth it.
As they made the short walk from Headspace to Ye Olde Cloth Shoppe, Three couldn't help but slip back to his earlier thoughts.
Did it really matter what anyone else thought as long as he and Eight were both okay with it? Eight didn't seem to have any reservations about Three's being an Inkling... so it was up to how Three felt about it all. How did he feel about it all? What counted as his morals, and what was just his hunger for companionship?
Eight was the only one who had ever put up with him since he had become Agent Three. And before that... was that even the same person? That person before was so different... he didn't even go by the same name.
Three decided to put it out of his mind for today, at least. Today was about Eight finally getting to explore the Surface. He'd put his feelings aside for now—what good had feelings ever gotten him, anyway?
Jelfonzo greeted them as they entered with a "Good morrow, young squire! For what art thou—" he trailed off as his gaze fell on Eight, and it lingered there for a few beats too long. Did Jelfanzo recognize Eight as an Octoling? Three held his breath, waiting for a response, but eventually he just continued, "For what are ye looking?"
"Just... the usual. Here with a friend today."
"Very well. If thou hast any question, hesitate not to inquire."
Thou hast. Three had been in Jelfonzo's store enough times to pick up on his Old-Inkling lingo. Thou was singular. Jelfonzo was ignoring Eight. It was just because Eight wasn't fresh enough yet, right? He wasn't ignoring Eight just because he was an Octoling, right?
There were worse reactions.
Still, Three felt an ugly feeling bubbling up inside him, and he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
Eight wasn't helping, though. He almost seemed to be stalling, thumbing through the clothing racks but not picking anything out. Just as Three's irritation neared a breaking point, Eight walked up to him meekly. "What?" Three asked, trying not to snap.
Slowly, carefully, Eight murmured, "I just want to wear this..." he shoved his hands in the pocket of the Gray Hoodie Three had lent him.
Three's irritation faltered, but he didn't go as far as to smile. "C'mon, between the hoodie and the beanie? You're gonna be burning up. You can keep the Gray Hoodie, all right? But you're gonna have to get something else too. How about... this?" Three scanned the rack and grabbed the first one that caught his eye. "This is an Octoling HK Jersey, it's got special charge up." He held it up in front of Eight. It was a V-neck made of jersey material, with short sleeves and a loose hem. It'd look adorable on him.
"Why do... why are there clothings named Octoling?"
Three studied the jersey. "I don't know, I always thought it was..." then Three trailed off as he realized he couldn't say what he had been about to. He had thought it had been named that way along the lines of "Octoling Hunter" or something like that... or maybe like a spoil of war, a symbol of triumph. But now he realized how awful that thought was.
He could hardly believe that only a few months ago he had thought the whole race of Octolings were enemies and needed to be extinguished. As they sometimes did, all Three's adventures in Octo Valley replayed before him—every Octarian he'd splatted, over and over. This feeling sometimes creeped up on him, and he usually tried to push it away. But he couldn't help but wonder... how could Eight ever trust an Inkling like Three? He didn't deserve Eight's trust. He knew that already, but the thought that terrified him was whether he might fall back to his old ways and betray that trust. Wouldn't it be better just to cut it off now, before Three could hurt him?
Ugh, this shopping trip was turning out to be way more than Three had signed up for.
As he always did, he pushed the feelings away, trying to focus on the present.
And presently, Eight was still waiting for his answer. "I always thought it was... a cool gear item," Three finished tentatively. "It'd look good on you."
Eight gave him a half-smile, knowing well that Three was avoiding something but willing to play along. Did he even... blush a bit? "Th-thank you."
"Now, one last stop before we look at weapons! You need some shoes. C'mon, Bisk's store is right over here."
Three entered Shella Fresh determined not to have any further existential crises. In fact, he decided to cave to his impulses and let himself walk a little closer to Eight, their shoulders brushing every few steps—and even, once, their hands, although they both flinched away. "The shoes aren't quite as exciting as the clothes and headgear, but they can have a lot of important gear abilities," Three explained. "Stealth jump, drop roller, and object shredder all only come on shoes. You won't need drop-roller or stealth jump if you're using Dualies since you'll already be able to roll out of a Super Jump. Also not quite as necessary if you're maining a Brella or a weapon with Splashdown. Otherwise, Slayers will want drop-roller, but stealth jump is better for Anchors. It all depends on the type of weapon you use, really. What do you main? I mean—I'm betting you used a bunch of different weapons down in the Metro, so... which one's your favorite?"
"I don't know..." Eight started. The rest of his sentence was in such a low whisper that Three barely caught it: "I don't really like using weapons..."
"I know what you mean. I'm sure the Metro sucks the fun out of just about everything. It's the same with Octo Valley."
Eight started to respond, but instead he faltered and muttered something that sounded like Ishikazo... "different." Or maybe it was nishikaso—"Never mind." That one made more sense.
Now Three's brain hurt.
He picked up the nearest pair of shoes—Red Power Stripes with run speed up. They'd do for now. He grabbed Eight, not realizing until afterward that he'd interrupted him from looking at a different pair and made him drop them. Whatever. Bisk could pick them up. He had plenty of claws for that.
These were the kinds of things that he hardly thought about in the moment but would later regret—the kinds of the things that made people dislike him, he was sure. He half expected Eight to pull away with an uncomfortable expression and maybe complain about him being bossy or aggressive. But when he looked back, all he saw was a smile. A little confused, but still a smile.
So Eight had been socially isolated for so long that he didn't even know when someone was being rude to him. How shucking adorable, Three thought to himself drily.
But it was too late to go back now, so Three quickly paid for the shoes and dragged Eight back outside.
Eight tugged on Three's hand, and he let Eight lead him across the Square. They passed by Murch, who gave them a wave and a mischievous smirk, and Three caught a glimpse of Spyke in the café as they approached their destination. The boys were finally halted in their tracks by a low metal barrier.
Three turned to watch Eight. The Octoling was staring straight out, his gaze trained somewhere on the floor, but likely not seeing it. He let out a breath that made his whole body tremble.
Seeing him like that, everything left Three's mind except his concern for Eight. Sucking in a breath, Three mustered the courage to slip his arm around Eight's waist. He was so thin... Three thought he could feel Eight's bony endoskeleton right through the hoodie. The Octoling flinched at first, but then he relaxed into Three's body. Three pulled him closer, and the two stood in a half-embrace, staring out at the vast nothingness before them. Time seemed to fade away as they stood there.
Three jumped as he heard a voice—a male voice from behind them: "Hey, look at that, a pair of crossbreeder fags! You don't see that every day."
Three's expression clouded over in rage, his fists clenching, ready to connect with someone's skull.
But then he noticed: Eight didn't even turn his head.
So Three didn't, either.
Everything faded into the background, and he just kept staring right on ahead, unwavering and unaware.
~
Wild that after two years of working on this project, I only just now came to realize that this is the shortest chapter in the fic. Huh.
Anyway, Chapter #4 -1 will be up soon, and we'll be back into Eight's perspective. And we'll get to see our first Turf War of the fic!