(Sober dream, thought I buried you too deep
Yet...)

Cue the movie montage, where glitzy cuts that build up to a wild night out flash before your eyes. Or that's what he supposed it'd be. Life isn't the movies, it's a silent cab ride to the city centre, followed by a greasy seanwich to cure the early hunger pangs. And indecisiveness, loads of indecisiveness.

To put things in context, cast back to some time ago, when Rodi suggested to Olive to celebrate whatever achievement he had at work with a night out. He forgot what exactly made him so happy, but he didn’t forget how Olive postponed it for some stupid change in his work schedule. Nevermind that, they’re out in the wild now and unsure of where to go next.

"But you know the places better," Olive drawls out in the middle of the street.

Rodi wished there was more cooperation. "Dammit, I don't know where you’d like it more. Do me a favour and choose."

"Give me anything, I'll be happy with it.”

The very next second, Rodi approaches this poorly kept pub they were just passing. "Okay, come in here! You’ll love it!" He does some overblown gestures with his hands to make Olive come closer. From the musty music playing inside to the age median of the patrons loitering outside the pub, the two inklings could probably fit in only if they were maybe 40 years older.

"Obviously not that!"

Rodi pulls his cheeks down so hard, he might've wrinkled and aged his face a few good years. "...Then just pick!"

Anthos grumbles under his breath, for being forced to take decisions out of his scope. He better pick quick before Rodi wrinkles his face enough to get on the fast track of entering the Dirty Chums Pub. Then again, if he picks something bad, Rodi'll bitch about it the whole time.

His pointy ears perk a little from someone's laughter, and the white earrings softly dangle as he turns his head to the noise source. Music and chatter seep out of a nightclub, where he recognises the nameplate. He points towards it more sure of himself.

"There."

"You'd like it there?" The red inkling's taken off guard.

"I know you do, you told me about that place."

"Okay, but you do want that?"

"Let's just fucking go."

While Olive storms forwards with no holdback, bored of being a sitting duck for the pushing pedestrians, Rodi's starting and retracting his step for a few tries, until the distance between the two flatmates' grown too much. Olive figures he's left him behind, so he turns with one eyebrow raised.

"You're sure you want there too?" His flatmate's indecisiveness makes him second-guess himself.

"Whatever, keep going."

Instead of passing questions back and forth, they quietly head for the local's entrance. Compared to most places on this pedestrian street, his retina doesn't bleed from the illumination they've chosen. Anthos takes it as a good sign, he'll entertain his tastebuds with a properly made cocktail if he's lucky. He's looking forwards it. Not only him, but the dozen other people waiting in queue, hollered at by an overworked bouncer, a typical white shark.

Olive's the good child of the bunch, queueing patiently and not disturbing anyone's existence. He's pleasantly invisible. Then take Rodi. Rodi’s having none of this lousy queue. He huffs, he rolls his eyes, he makes his rules.

Slippery and swift, he slithers in between the creatures waiting for their turn to enter. After getting the award for biggest asshole of the queue, he's face-to-face with the towering bouncer. He drags his fingers over one of his beefy fins, which firmly block the way inside.

Here comes his honeyed speech. “Friend, my priority pass still applies, ain’t it so?”

“Who was you? What pass?”

Rodi pulls out his ID and aforementioned pass, irritated that his face isn’t enough.

The shark turns his head to see it better. “That pass was for one night only. Shoo back to the line.”

“Huh. Strange? Can't you make it two?” he slips a crisp banknote in the shark’s back pocket while distracting him with rhetorical questions. The bouncer flinches when the red inkling’s fingers and cash wiggle along his butt. Rodi takes this opportunity to call Olive forward and grab his wrist as they rush for the entrance.

Trying not to step on anyone in their scramble, Olive blurts out. “For fuck's sake, don't make people stare!” Olive hates the sudden influx of attention they've attracted.

“One night only my ass! I'm still getting in!"

The cloakroom staff didn't expect to see two men galloping while hooked by their arms through the hallway, they drop whatever hangers they were sorting to look at the dust they've lifted in their run. They're already gone, they've reached the main area of the nightclub in record time.

They stop before the bar. Disregarding any queues, Rodi goes for the old push and shove. There goes another queue's respect for them. Once at the counter, he orders something in a breath for both him and Olive. The bartender's unfazed, she follows through the order, with a groan.

“Rodi. You're back already.”

And he makes his presence known. To others’ annoyance, he’s taking up counter space with his elbows, leaning fully on it. He smirks while pushing his fists on his cheeks. “You’re never getting rid of me.” He gestures to Olive to come closer.

It feels kind of wrong to cut the queue once already, now they've done it twice, and he gets more stares from strangers when he comes closer to his partner. He doesn’t like this at all, these pairs of eyes are burning the back of his neck. As if Rodi's aware of the physical manifestations of his feelings, he briefly runs his palm from Olive's nape to his shoulder blades. It helps, though it's no cure for embarrassment.

The bartender's avoidant of the two until she finishes serving those who properly queued, however, first thing off her list is to slip three shot glasses in front of them. One’s for Rodi, one’s for him, who’s got the third one? Every time she passes by the glasses, she pours in them without looking and without stopping in her tracks. This sea green inkling handles the bottles effortlessly, works through everyone's orders swiftly and is easy to see she's the leader of the pack around the other workers. Rodi went straight for her, not for any other bartender, and from what can be seen, they know each other well. She might've not liked how untactful Rodi was, but Olive can tell there's some sort of special treatment between the two.

“Stop bribing my bouncers, they should’ve kept you out,” she chuckles.

Olive gasps and turns his head in alert. “Rodi, don’t tell me you’re on a blacklist...?”

“Dear, I wasn’t the one who smashed glasses that night! That’s so unfair of you,” he's getting wound up.

“Tonight you can keep some thoughts to yourself,” she places two of the three shots closer to them. “I’m not giving you the boot. You’re one of mine. Just no more insulting anyone,” she holds up the third shot and cheers with Isandro.

"As you say."

They seem to be waiting on the second shot to be picked up, Olive’s sheepishly joining.

Bottoms up. Rodi flinches for a brief moment, though keeps going as if it was nothing. “Keep in mind, I'm still not used to your new place, with the new people,” he looks around, aware of how ill-fitted his gestures might be here. “I promise no more trouble tonight, I’ll be quiet, I’m not looking for something."

"Fair, I see you brought someone, which brings me to... Have I seen you before?" The bartender squints in Anthos' direction.

"Me? Uh, I don't think so."

"He picked the bar, not me," Rodi grins while sucking out of his complementary lemon slice, held between his thumb and middle finger. "I wouldn't put myself in awkward spots alone."

"Oh come on, I asked if it's alright with you too," Olive whines.

"It's a good choice, don't fret," she murmurs while refilling Olive's shot glass. "If you come by again, feel free to call for Beryl."

"Thank you...? Oh god, don't give me two in a row," he nervously laughs, since he can already feel his cheeks heating up from the previous shot.

"Babe, you're getting the VIP treatment with me."

Beryl promptly shuts his cocky ass down. "Shh Rodi, if you knew better you'd figure out I'm replacing you for a better regular."

He laughs and settles his gaze on Olive. "Ah shit, I can't even be mad!"

"Uh oh, sounds bad," Beryl chuckles back.

As soon as she said that, Rodi sizzled out his laugh and cleared his throat. He changes the subject quickly. "Are you still going to Myrtle?”

“I left it in one of my men’s care, but that’s closing soon. How much you want to talk about that now? I really don't...”

“Fuck no, not now,” he rubs his suddenly tired eyes. “Don't start it yet, give me more time... I was curious, don't even know why I brought the whole damn thing up.”

"So, you're still out on the field. I can tell from how enthusiastic you are. Right?"

Rodi doesn't give any answers, he sighs with his eyes to the side, getting on track for offending some strangers from how much he stares at them.

Finally able to say something through the two, Olive gets his puny turn. "Sorry for our entrance."

"You don't need to apologise for Rodi. I'd much more like it from his own mouth." Since Isandro's on timeout, Beryl squeezes in small talk with Olive. "How did you meet him?"

"Some Turf tournament."

She laughs out like one of those rich housewives he sees on TV. "You're joking! Boy, you actually started caring about the battlefield," she cries out to Rodi, who seems to have retreated in the obscure depths of his mind. "I gave him a book on the brief history of battles and how it ties into inkling culture, while he was in hospital. I thought he'd use it as a paperweight for his bills or something."

"You know him quite well, I see," Olive's amused at this new fresh look he can get on his flatmate, so much so that he shifts his weight more onto the counter and his forearms to hear more.

"Three months ago he stumbled into my old bar. He's the lost sheep and I'm the shepherd."

"You're the fucking big bad wolf," Rodi interjects, but has no intentions to join in. He's listening from the sidelines, and he'll keep himself from any further comments.

"Don't act ungrateful, boy. You would've been eaten alive by the real wolves if I wasn't here to keep an eye out. Rodi went up to any man he saw first, you can imagine how it usually unfolded. But you're a good kid when you want to play nice," she says sweeter, though the red inkling stays disgruntled. "Too bad your friends taught you only foul play. He went to other clubs and met some folk, lest I can say I wouldn't be too happy to serve them. Hence, I'm relieved he finally brought in someone who's not giving me the itches. What was your name?"

He didn't actually get a chance to introduce himself, he should now. He's getting comfy with this bartender's friendly bearing, and the hilarious coddling of his red-inked partner.

"Olive, Olive... got it. Want me to make you something proper?"

His expression turns sunny, he starts talking immediately. "Yes please! I've seen you do some drinks earlier, you're great to watch. How long did it take for you to learn?" He refers to all the spins and twirls she does with the bottles in between her fingers, he poorly replicates the movements with his hands to get the point across.

"I've been a waitress for two years, bartended for another two... I'm not sure when I picked up all these things. You get into the flow when it gets crowded and your hands start having minds of their own," Beryl keeps smiling and gets on with making Olive a Daiquiri. "How good are you with cocktails?"

The difference between the two is from the ground to the sky. "I haven't properly dabbled into it. If you count putting a premade mix in a paper cup, that's how far my skill goes. The highest standard for a student house party..." he grins.

"I had my fair share," she continues with good humour. "I believe that's how everyone started out. Are you looking to get more into it?"

"I never thought about it," he stops mid-way through his answer, though he breathes in and shakes it off. "I'm working for Kelp Dome. If I'm in university, I should at least work around my expertise."

"Some years ago I believed the same thing, I was studying Physics. Finished my studies with honours, yet I'm still behind the bar. I'm not saying I regret it, but I don't know to this day if I made the best choice, I might've lost some good opportunities staying here."

He gets flustered, he wasn't considerate enough with his answers. "W-whatever it is, I can see you enjoy your job."

"Yes, I get to meet nutjobs like Rodi. Is he still with us?"

Somehow, Rodi surpasses the settled level of sass. He slowly turns his head towards the two, and he goes from a neutral frown to a grin forced beyond looking natural. He's straining his face muscles to the point that it's too goofy for Olive, he lets out a well heard snort. Rodi then stops to tell everyone: "Honey, I've been with you the whole time. I followed your advice to stop insulting people, so I shut it."

"I'm fully convinced," Beryl mocks his lazy excuse.

She's off to do her job, and the two flatmates get to bring up some domestic matters, such as "when are we taking the clothes off the line" and "who's turn is it for the trash". It's an awfully dull conversation for an eavesdropper, though the reality is that they don't often get the chance to sort out these housekeeping matters. Olive's less and less active at home thanks to his work.

It would've been a pretty laidback evening if it weren't for something unplanned to arise. Swift and discreet, a pig-tailed girl zips through the club and hands out a bunch of flyers to the people sitting at the bar, including our duo. She's purposefully avoiding Beryl's sight, and you aren't given much of an option when being handed the flyer. She leaves it on you, whether you want it or not. Olive looks for her to give it back, since he can just look on Rodi's, however, she's already blended with the crowd.

It's hard to read in this light, though Olive gives it a skim. It says something about a music event tonight. It's for a warehouse dance party more specifically. Tickets are on the door and the price of a nice coffee. The freshest underground DJs can entertain them until sunrise. Olive doesn't give it two more thoughts, he slides the flyer folded in half in his back pocket. However, Rodi toys incessantly with the corner of its budget printed paper, looks up the address of the event and says something more fun.

"Let's go."

"Already?"

"What do you mean already?"

It's getting harder to hear each other, with all the blaring conversations around and music getting turned up. As the exchange progresses, the two speak louder and louder. "You want to go home already?"

"No, dipshit, you just got one of these," he flaps the A5 mono printer paper, "Have you ever been to one?"

"Not really, no."

"And aren't you curious?" This expecting, slightly devilish smile flowers on Rodi's face. It's difficult to say no, Olive could be genuinely curious about it, however...

Only a weird, squeaky whimper sounds out of him.

He'll have to dance. It's not that he doesn't want to dance, it's the fact that he doesn't want to look like a twat. He's always fearful of going someplace completely unfamiliar, because he doesn't know the sort of behaviour that's expected from him. He knows he's not a natural when it comes to this, so he can spare the sight of everyone by simply not going.

Rodi, on this rare occasion, decides to be patient. "So?"

"Sounds like something for the cool kids, I can't dance for shit."

"I get it, but trust me, nobody can see you there. It's only you, the music, and smoke machines. No judging, no borders, great atmosphere..." he could go on forever.

"How safe will it be anyway?" The dreamier it gets, Anthos links it to getting seedier.

"As safe as you make it be," of course Isandro wouldn't give a proper answer. Olive needs to reinforce that false feeling of safety in new situations with this firecracker man somehow, and he never makes it easy. "But, we won't do anything crazy. Nobody's gonna ruin our fun, 'cause everyone's there for fun. From past experience, the people are quite cool, I wouldn't be worried about stabbings, maybe pickpockets. You see, if you keep moving, they can't actually reach your pockets, so I wouldn't care about those either."

"Dancing though," Olive says it as if getting robbed is less detrimental than moving your bod.

"Look. Did anyone ever tell you that you're shit at it?"

"Not to my face, I believe?"

"That's a sign that you're not as shit as you think. Shall we?"

If his partner weren't so blunt about every single thing, Olive might've skipped a lot of his proposals. There's a positive corelation between him meeting Isandro and coming to terms with something he wouldn't have seen himself doing. It's c_arpe diem_ with hair-pulling. He quietly laughs for himself and calls out for his new acquaintance.

"Beryl, happy to have met you. Good luck."

She turns with a comforting smile, while tidying up the opposite part of the counter.

He brings out his wallet to pay for his drinks, though Rodi's always a step ahead. He paid it all and left a fat tip earlier. Fatter than what Olive could've ever provided. Slightly intimidated, he puts his wallet back in his pocket. This might explain why they were so well treated, turbulent entrance and all.

The exterior is so deceiving, if it weren't for the echoing music, Olive would think this place still is the abandoned industrial area that it used to be once. The warehouse stands tall and wide, built on cold, unmovable steel pylons and covered in sheets of aluminium. Regardless of how lifeless the building seems, the population flocking towards and inside it are vessels of pure energy. On the path the light sources feel scarce, as the moonlight can't cut through the clouds. The public lighting has become so dim over the years. The entrance is oversized, purposefully made to let trucks in and out of the building, though it nowadays allows masses of party people to make their way. Blacklight is creeping out of it, reflecting the high intensity of the pigments in their clothes, their makeup and their ink colours.

To Rodi's disappointment, this queue can't be cheated. There's just too many people coming from all directions. A shrimpy fellow sits on the door, getting multiple entrance payments at once with his many appendages. He's dressed as crazy as the people coming in, Olive wonders how he can see through his ridiculous sunglasses. They're oversized, the lenses are in chevrons and they can't help much with this lack of light.

After getting continuously brushed on by the masses, Olive's eyes are wide open in anticipation. He goes in first, and in an instant, his lungs shake from how intense the subwoofers resonate. He flinched so hard, his partner has to give him a push from behind.

The party's just warming up, yet whatever dance floor formed currently moves along the hypnotic beat, bopping to the ever stubborn drum samples and synths floating around them. The partygoers all encapsulate their own style, both from a fashion perspective and from their movements. If you spontaneously put hundreds of Inkopolis' young adults in one abandoned warehouse, brought some speakers and turned them up to 11, it would somehow turn into a symbiosis of culture and lack thereof, that both fascinates and becomes hard to understand. Some might try to describe this whole deal as irresponsible, other see the spirit of an entire generation in such moments. There's some peculiar creatures from the Deep Sea Press going around, taking photos and bite-sized interviews of the attendees. They can bring back home some impressions about Inkopolis' nightlife enthusiasts, which are, solely from this venue, self-obsessed but sociable, trend oriented but straying from the norms, fully in control of their lives though aimlessly navigating through it. These are pretty standard traits for inklings. Since they're the majority of the capital's population, it makes sense for their lifestyle to show up everywhere.

They find a corner to hang in. People're moving here, but not as hectically. The makeshift stage can be barely seen, though they keep an eye on the current artist. The stuff she's playing is more on the minimalist side, at least on the first impression. Rodi covers his wide yawn, crosses his arms and taps his foot on the beat. Olive appreciates how barebones the visuals are: nothing fancy, just some colourful lights made to traverse the spectrum and strobe at a steady rate. The budget clearly went into the less modest sound system. It sort of feels like a home-cooked show. Despite this, the event attracted an unbelievable amount of people.

He feels a nagging poke on his sides, which calls for his attention. Rodi's been trying say something and he's been talking by himself this entire time. Olive would've listened if he heard. He crouches a little to bring his ears closer to his partner.

"Don't do that crouchy shit with me, I'm not that small."

"What were you saying?" Olive shouts as loud as he can.

"I said: do you wanna dance with me?"

Olive's back upright and with his lips slightly parted. He's getting a case of sweaty palms. Nobody, especially not Rodi, is going to hold these hands, they're icky. Instead of bringing the flirt out of him, he's bringing the dork out. He clumsily wipes his palms on his pants and breathes in to scream his yes, because he sure as hell won't say it twice. By bittersweet coincidence, the crowd started screaming, whistling and clapping exactly when he said it. Nothing could be made out of it, and Olive looks around to figure out what the big deal is.

The opening act has just finished, and the crowd applauds as the artist takes her headphones off. She passes them on to an octoling, which causes a divide in the audience. Many stare in shock. Inkopolis rarely got octolings around, considering the eternal quarrel between species. The octolings that dribble in the city have escaped their world beneath the ground and keep a low profile while making a living, hence these very unofficial gigs. While some scrunch their elitist noses at them, others jump in excitement, as octolings are said to be the best producers out there.

Out of the blue, Olive giggles for himself, as he realises this is literally an underground DJ. He tells Rodi his tiny pun, which makes him smirk then sigh.

This DJ doesn't waste any more time, he begins his show with no fanfare. He starts with an uncommon time signature that throws some dancers off. Some of his song's elements are scratchy, unattractive and too abstract. A small chunk of the crowd is making its way to the exit, likely due to their speciesism or the music being a tad too weird. Once he weeded some of them out, the dissonance morphs into a sublime melody, and the night truly starts its course.

When the crowd gets more and more excited, the pomegranate inkling raises a waving hand and whistles to cheer on the artist. It's hard to stand still, as the dance fever is quite contagious. Isandro's legs are springy, he spins and hops freely and wishes to come closer to the stage. He gestures with his head the direction he wants to go to and waits for Anthos to nod and follow. Talking isn't effective anymore, and his smile clearly describes what he wants.

The rhythm's seeping in his bloodstream, he's taking encouragement from Rodi's moves. Olive leaves his spot, and approaches his partner with floaty steps. It feels as if there are strings tied to where he was standing that are pulling back, though he’s ripping them with more steps. In the midst of the crowd, he can dissolve with no worries, he leans forwards a little so that the other can reach to hold onto his shoulders and start swaying.

Everything comes way more easily, there's no hesitations or afterthoughts dangling behind. The comfort found in how Rodi hangs off his shoulders, and how he taps his fingers in time to reinforce the beat through their skin puts Olive’s veins back in motion. They're in sync, they briefly close their eyes to check if the alcohol’s doing its job. It’s working its way up their ink alright, and gives them a chance to stop thinking about each move, and simply let it happen.

What seem to be ten minutes are actually an hour. Hours slip in between your fingers like sand when you're in the dark and the music switches up seamlessly. There's no beginning or end to any song, they're so well merged that they're indistinguishable. You can't estimate that you've stayed for 5 songs, let's say, but you know you've been there for some chunk of time.

Rodi can figure Olive's grown more comfortable. The handholding can pause for a bit, the two men distance themselves and are left to move in freedom. Olive keeps it somewhat subdued and nods in time. Though, it just isn't enough to feel like he's completely enjoying himself. Only after he keeps his eyes shut and blocks off all inhibiting distractions, he begins to understand why it's easy to get addicted to these parties.

A body's no longer a rigid husk, it can undulate with the mind's desires. It's not about how you move, it's about how you feel when you move. The rhythm calls for imposing, he firmly pushes the concrete beneath him. The motion doesn't stop at his feet, he lets the pressure run through his torso and reach his neck, which pulls back from it and falls slightly forwards in its absence. His hair keeps falling over his eye, thus he holds it away with his hands. No limb stays isolated, it all becomes part of his dance. It won't matter if he bumps into anyone, his entire attention is inwards, where all the sparks happen.

Suddenly, with absolutely no warning, it gets quiet. The only things to hear are a high-hat that keeps the beat from dying out, and Olive's throbbing heart. He didn't even notice how much energy he put in his moves, and how hard his heart works to keep up. He curiously opens his eyes and everything looks to be moving in slow motion. A chill runs down his spine. He remained suspended in his hop, his feet don't seem to touch the ground any soon. His entire body is stuck, left to the messed up gravity's will. It's kind of freaking Olive out, though he doesn't want to leave this newfound state yet. He's admittedly curious of a new feeling every once in a while.

Dust's been risen from every corner, it joined the currents and it dully shines whatever light reaches from the reflectors. In his surroundings, there're strangers stuck in their poses, and their silhouettes are enough to make out who's where. A little to the side, he sees the shining star of the floor. Similar to himself, Rodi's floating in thin air. He's been left stuck with his back slightly arching, and arms placed behind his head in a carefree manner. The biggest treat is his face. It's ecstatic, his most genuine smile is painted all over it. He's wholeheartedly feeling the music and the atmosphere. He's radiating the sort of happiness that makes Olive's heart go nuts.

Rodi's eyes almost open up in this lethargic timeline. Though, he seems to have known where to look from the start, his half-shut sight points exactly in Olive's direction. Those eternally unimpressed eyes seem to sparkle more than ever. His smile curls as he tries to say something. But, damn it, things are still moving too slow, and Olive's not good with lip reading. Besides, all he can think about is his infatuation making the rounds again. He's terrible, he really can't keep it locked down. The truth can't be ignored anymore.

He wants to love. The walls are cracking, and holding back feels very unattractive. His desire is colourful, it's full of life, it brings him to changing the flow of time. He's got this entire moment to think of his lover. Mind, body, soul, he wants to keep it all, it's his glimmer that comes with healthy doses of hope and doubt. This is more than infatuation, to his despair.

His heartbeat goes louder, it overtakes the DJ's samples. He could reach to grab his lover, to not lose sight or hold of him in this mass of people. As soon as he tries it, he instead feels his toes taking in his weight again. The magic's ended. Time comes back to its regular course, as so does the song. If he'd ignore this peculiar event, it's as if absolutely nothing has changed. He stays somewhat shaken from how he'd felt, so he goes back to his subdued moves.

This was yet another night spent in the city. Once the show ends, the two are walking back home, traversing sleeping streets on their tired feet. They’ve started walking shoulder to shoulder, though they eventually trail off to their own trajectories. Most of the times, it’s Rodi who leaves the other’s side, just to kick that random rock or soda can on the side of the street. The sunrise’s peeking from the buildings. Olive’s a little bit ahead of Rodi, as his gait is bigger.

It strikes him as odd, it came from nowhere, though he’s letting himself be completely captivated by the sun. It feels even more special, after so many hours of forgetting what natural light is. The city that never sleeps is finally at rest. Golden glow floods the sky, while leaving the streets stuck in nighttime. He’s been walking for all this time with his chin tilted above, savouring the first streaks of pure warmth of the day. The air's still a little crisper, and it hits his warmed up lungs differently.

Every tree they pass, Olive mindlessly extends his hand to it and brushes his palm on the bark. For the first two times, Rodi wouldn't pay mind, but he figures the pattern soon. Olive would reach his hand out to brush against tree trunks, and not streetlights or signposts. He keeps the hand to himself for anything that's not organic in his trail. In all honesty, it's quite endearing and a bit hilarious for Rodi.

"Now I have a reason to call you a tree hugger."

The way that honeyed voice mixes with some hoarseness, Olive gets that refreshing feeling in his lungs also in his heart. Since his flatmate broke off the silence, he asks: "Say, Rodi, how did you find it?"

"Sweet. You always take a gamble with these parties, since you don't know how good the guy is. The DJ was solid."

"Mm, it was worth the shot." What he wants to say is a bit weird, so he pauses before bringing it up. "At one point, I swear, I think I had the weirdest feeling in my life."

"Hm?"

"What's it called, an out of body experience? No, it wasn't that, I was very much in my body..." the cogs in his mind turn restlessly.

"Babe, you didn't take anything," Rodi snickers under his breath.

Cabbage, carrots, potatoes, turnips - the kitchen smells a treat. The earthy scent of veggies comes with the steam that's bundled up at the stove, and the steady noise of bubbling water. Olive's stepping up his cooking game. He's been thinking of doing this since the middle of the week, when he finally got the chance to harvest some of Kelp Dome's own vegetables. Finally, with some time on his hands, he can get on it. He's inspired enough to make a creamy soup, not only for himself, but for Rodi as well. They're so going to have this typical cheesy dinner date. The croutons are off in the oven, and a scented candle is waiting on the kitchen table. Anthos' got a lot of praise for himself, for how ingenious he is and thoughtful for his partner, and he's at last able to navigate through the kitchen with no fear of setting the house on fire. He made sure to keep the whole dinner thing a surprise, Isandro has no idea of any of this.

All's fine and dandy, he's stirring peacefully at his pot. He keeps his phone close by for the recipe, though he's taking some liberties with his cooking. He started by doing it by the book, and progressed to trust his measurements by taste. He's so immersed in the culinary world, that he doesn't realise his phone's been ringing for a whole minute. He lets a tiny sound of surprise and answers without looking at the screen. He places his phone in between his shoulder and ear.

"Olive here."

"Honey darling, how's your evening looking?" Rodi seems to be chirping at the other side of the line.

"Ah..." he turns down the heat, as the water inside the pot is spilling over. "I'm waiting for you to come back."

"Is it so... I'm nearly done with helping my buddy here, he wants to do an afterparty sort of thing right here..."

"The one with the band?" Olive roughly understood that his flatmate's out for another oddjob, which involves aiding his acquaintance's rising star band with their equipment.

"Yeah, we're just wrapping things up here..." He consistently trails his attention away from the phone call. "There's still two amps in the back to load up, don't close that shit off! Anyway, gotta make it quick. Want to meet up there tonight? Just get a cab, I'll pay for it."

"Right now??" Olive anxiously looks at the stove, as his hands don't know what to grab first. "Any chance you might know when you're back...?"

Rodi's now taking his time to reach his answers. "No. Morning probs. Mm, wait, no, you're leaving for work early... Should you stay?"

It worked, Olive strategically asked that to win some time to regain control over the stove and ponder if he should ditch the dinner. It's no fun if he does it alone, the whole point was to share with Rodi and to show off. He reached the point where he'd drop anything in favour of Rodi. "Actually my evening's free I'm coming send me the address," he says in one breath.

"Hah, okay. In a second, I gotta carry a speaker on stairs. See ya there."

"See you," he meekly says back.

"Muah," and so ends their call.

The kissy noise got stuck in his brain, Olive hangs a while with the phone still to his ear. Then he jumps, he tosses it wherever it lands. No time to waste. He scurries to clean up and put the cooking aside for later, though he did a pretty bad job of it. Putting all your utensils in a corner and wiping the counter with a paper towel doesn't cut it. Rodi hopefully won't be too bothered about it if he knows this was supposed to be a pleasant surprise, not a messy one.

He also needs to hide the soup stink from his clothes, quick. While scurrying around the house for some pants, he reaches for a random perfume. It's not his, it's Rodi's, but he can get away with this. Rodi's also using his own perfumes without asking. They'll be even now.

The taxi leaves him in front of the venue, a local live music club. Olive quickly texts flatmate that he’s here and he looks around for him. The inside is full of music memorabilia, like posters and records. The two reunite shortly.

“I made it,” Olive announces with his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks for coming,” his lover drawls with a smile. “This whole thing was an on-the-spot decision for the band, I thought you might like to hang. How was your ride?”

“Perfect, the driver didn’t say anything. How about the show?”

“Haha. I can’t believe these guys are building a name for themselves. It’s early days for them, but it’s cool to see it.”

“So, they're not with the big names yet.”

“It depends, they’ve had opening gigs with some bigger bands, but I wasn’t helping back then.”

"Imagine if they sat with Hightide Era... What would the chances be?” Olive had a puppy crush on them back in early high school, and the influence still shows.

"I'm gonna ask."

"Nooo..." Olive pulls on the other's hem, "I don't want them to know I asked. Imagine if my first impression was fanboy."

"Who cares? I'm asking for myself."

Right then, the band's guitarist passes through, and Rodi darts to him. Olive struggles to keep up with him since the place is kind of crammed, he's left to slalom through cliques.

"Hey hey," Rodi holds his forearm up to bump into the guitarist's.

"We meet again. Cheers for helping."

"No prob. Quick one, have you ever met Hightide Era?"

"Ehh, they're on the jazzy side. We saw them backstage at one festival."

"That's sick! Oh, say it again for my friend here, he'll scream."

Olive joins in just as he says it. "...Rodi!!" It all backfired, as predicted. He hadn't reached his partner in time to cover his mouth.

Thankfully, the guitarist didn't catch on. "They're cool cats, but look busy all the time, don't even got time to talk."

"I heard they've signed to a huge label, that sounds like the reason why."

"How'd you know?"

"My shitty tabloids," Isandro gives a wry grin.

"You're so fucking nasty," the guitarist blurts out. "Don't read those. Anyway... You can sit pretty much anywhere, we've got the whole place and bar, help yourselves. The band’s got the table over that end."

Olive goes straight for a table with a sofa. The two get cozy with their complimentary drinks and chill out. Rodi describes the new book he's delving into and Olive happily listens to him go off with passion. Once his spiel is done, the pomegranate inkling meticulously crafts his new Inkstagram post. He takes a photo of their drinks, as they've come in pretty glassware. Olive watches over his shoulder how he struggles with picking filters and, worst of all, writing a description. He deleted about 5 attempts, in fear of coming off too fake deep. Ultimately, he publishes it along the words of "living my best life", which in Olive's humble opinion is a little cliché. Then again, he doesn't want to watch the struggle all over again. With a serene expression, Olive softly pats Rodi's head for trying his best, which makes Rodi in turn fluff up his feathers.

Around half an hour after posting that, Isandro gets an unexpected call. He answers the unknown number.

"Hello? ...Oh hell no. Where did you get my number from?!" He's visibly unhappy about whoever's on the other end. "...What do you mean you need me to let you in?"

He looks up from the table and sees a peculiar group by the entrance accompanied by a guard. They scream out for Rodi to come, and Rodi pops a fuse. He slams his phone on the table and hurries to see what they want from him.

"Were they invited by you?" the security guard asks him as he approaches.

Rodi needs to damage control before all the attention's on him and these obnoxious strangers. "Yes, they're mine," he groans.

Happy with the answer, the guard dumps the three individuals on him. He's about to explode.

"How the fuck did you know I'm here?!"

The cyan-inked woman of the group is blind to Rodi's frustration. "I saw your post and thought oh my god, we HAVE to come!"

"You forgot to turn off your location on Inkstagram," a yellow-inked man scoffs.

"I always wanted to meet a band," the dimmer magenta member exclaims.

He frowns at them all. "What are you, groupies?"

"Ooohoho! If the band's happy with it!" the cyan inkling howls. "What were they called anyway?"

"Get in before I get questioned," he hisses.

"Do you have a table? You'll let us sit at yours, right honeeeeey?"

Before Rodi's able to say anything, the woman who posed the question sits at his table regardless, as she has spotted a lone Anthos.

"What a cutie! Why are you sitting by yourself?"

Olive scrunches up into himself, and tilts away from the cyan-inked stranger. "Who are you even?"

"How 'bout you tell me your name first?" She slides closer and runs her fingers over his arm. It makes him shudder.

Besides her, the other two strangers join in and sit down with no shame. They're irksome, they started talking between themselves, as if Olive suddenly disappeared. He won't bother showing any friendliness and won't ask their names, but he'll reference them in his mind as Magenta, Cyan and Yellow, after their ink colours respectively.

"Move, I was sitting there," Rodi shuffles them to sit next to Olive again.

Anthos needs a clarification on what the hell is happening, though Isandro can't say anything with this presence around. One thing is certain, and that is he didn't want this to happen. All they can do now is watch three troglodytes entertain themselves with cheap drinking games, to profit off the unlimited bar. The three want to invite the flatmates in their games and tricks as well, but Rodi plainly refuses. As Olive's bored enough, he joins in only to get ridiculed because he can't make a straw fall into a cup without touching it. They're losing braincells at this rate. As the group focuses on balancing glasses on their heads and getting drunker, Rodi sneaks in a whisper in Olive's direction.

"I'm getting one more drink and we're outtie."

Filled with relief, Olive strongly nods. He keeps a dreamy eye on Rodi as he walks off. However, as soon as he focuses on the present table, everyone's inching closer to him and with creepy interest. It's uncomfortable to have 3 pairs of eyes on you, and he has no clue what's happening.

"Wroow tigerfish, you got Rodi tonight?" Cyan pokes him.

"Sorry?" Anthos blinks.

“You're too much of a good kid," Magenta interjects. "You'd end up here only through him.”

“Am I that much of an outlier? I think I’m pretty average.”

“Next to Rodi, you’re sticking out. Besides,” Yellow snorts, “we saw you two. You’re obvious.”

Olive crosses his arms, he’s not too excited for the direction this is taking.

"Sneaking in sips from his drink? Rodi's hand on your thigh?" Magenta brings incriminating evidence.

The strangers holler in laughter. Seeing how tense and stone-like Olive turned, Yellow hisses through his teeth. “Friend, no need to be shy! Around here, people're talking 'bout who fucks what like it’s the news!”

“Are you kidding...? I keep these things to myself! I’m not dating him, just so I make it clear!"

“Course you ain’t!” He gives the most condescending grin ever. “Rodi never dates!”

More cackles. Anthos was about to drop the “what happens in my bed is my business” card, though it’s not even his bed... It only goes downhill from here. The three strangers yap even more, and it’s hard to tell who says what.

"Nothing new! You know him, he takes guys home all the time!"

"Yeah, but look at this guy! Lame!"

"Girl, keep up, he changed! He ain't even sleeping around anymore."

"Wha-, how do you know, huh?"

"He ain't even dancing anymore!"

Then it got too noisy to understand anything besides blind bickering. Olive raises his hands as a barricade. "Stop this, I'm only his flatmate," he makes it well known he's getting irritated.

Suddenly, there’s horrified gasps all around. ...The fuck did he say?

"I! Can't! Believe! He settled down?!"

"Naaaww, get out! Haha!"

"Tell us everything! For how long? Why? Did he tell you...?" The cyan woman is really close to his face, he has to back off a bit.

"Bitch, calm down, he can't keep up with you!"

"He won't even say anything! He's lying, you don't want to admit to having a one night stand with this hoe. I said it already, nothing new! He does it all the time!"

"Word! Rodi's a player. Nobody's staying in that house for more than a day."

"Yeesh, I'm calling it lies too!"

It’s uncalled for, Olive screams over all three. “Shut up!! What’s your fucking problem?!”

If he knew his parter is such a rumour mill, he would've stayed home. Besides getting overwhelmed and insulted by them, he’s also moderately pissed they’re only talking about Rodi. He leaves for one minute and they’re suddenly aching to know where his dick has been lately. Everything converges to Rodi! Who cares what this other bloke's deal is? He’s alone at this table and they could start showing some interest for his persona, but no, let’s gargle Rodi’s balls, that’s the top choice.

“I don’t care what you have to gossip about him or any of that shit!” Olive gets up before he escalates this out of anger. He can't leave the table since he's sitting in the middle of everyone.

They've made enough noise for Rodi to return in haste. Not knowing what went down, his red eyes check on Olive's for answers, which are terribly angry. Olive inhales to clarify, though he's got a feeling Rodi has a good idea of what's been going on.

Once he gets all eyes on him, Isandro speaks with a rather hostile and unimpressed voice. "Wow. Badmouthing me at my own table? Wish it was a first. Fuck off, all of you."

The yellow-inked man, the alpha male of the herd, snorts with complete disregard of what he hears. He rails up his pack, they all break out in spiteful laughter again. Olive and Rodi stand astonished with their mouths hanging open, with no idea how to stop them. The yellow-inked leader, content with getting his mates worked-up, delivers a foul reply.

"Ain't no hoe bossin' me around," he spat.

"Ha, you wish! Didn’t you know? Whores run this motherfucking world," Rodi enlightens the sad bunch. They're left stunned. "By the way, this is yours," he lifts the drink he went for in Olive's general direction. He pauses to see if the group gets moving, and when not, he roars: "Need me to repeat? The rest of you fuck off."

Upon seeing the general defiance and lack of respect, Olive gets filled with an arrogance that's worse than everyone's. Fuming from the situation, he decides it's time to blow some steam off. "Oh, they're sitting too well, let them stay. I'm fucking done here."

There's no need to leave the drink to waste, he leans over the table to reach for it and downs it right there. It drips over the corners of his lips and whatever's on the table, including the strangers' hands. They shake their hands off in disgust, while Olive uses his wrist as a wipe. Then, the younger inkling raises one foot on the table. Rodi soon realises what he's trying to do, and he loves the idea. He braces to help Olive over the table. The table leans and Olive's legs knock down all the glasses and bottles. Those fall into the strangers' laps, shatter on the floor, and spill everywhere. It goes as intended.

People stare, the bad guys shriek, and the chaos they cause for this table is priceless. The herd is wiping at their clothes vigorously and failing to catch the glasses that roll off. Once Olive’s off the table, Rodi releases his hold and trail blazes. The two promptly make their way out of the building, and keep powerwalking to shake off anyone who could be following them. They don’t want anyone nagging them for answers, because they definitely left a very poor impression back there.

Those who laugh at the end laugh the best, Rodi's been grinning for the entirety of their escape. He's been skipping and howling woos from the moment they went out of the door. Olive's glad that his partner revels in the victory, though he's unable to celebrate. Every time he gets furious, an aftermath made of headaches and regret follows. He forces himself to cool down while walking, and that means he's keeping his manifestations at a minimum.

With his arms over his head, Rodi exclaims something he's at peace with. "Ohh boy. I can kiss this job goodbye!"

Realisation hits. The entire venue was rented by the band, and they've left some proper damage. Besides, who knows what other disputes break out because Rodi has slipped people in. The band won't be excited to work with him again.

Headaches are over for Olive, and it's the time for regrets. "Argh, why did I do that?! it just went over my head. I got so mad, I couldn't stop..."

"You served it better than I could. Like, damn! I was waiting for one of these days!"

"It was too much, be honest."

Rodi beams. "The perfect amount of bark and bite! You're badass."

Predictably, Olive blushes. Nobody ever called him badass, his entire life revolved around growing up as a crybaby and talking to plants, nothing that ever inspires respect. He felt like an asshole for causing a mess, but on a second thought, the asshole back there wasn't him. Revenge is always served cold, this law makes any wimp impose in one way or another. Or he might not be a wimp at all, and he's unsheathing some scary beast that hibernates inside him. Time will tell.

Because they're a while away from home, they jump on a bus and ride in silence. They finally get a chance to recollect in the privacy of their minds. As they get closer to the apartment, Rodi suggests they get off at an earlier stop. There's a convenience store on the way, and since they've cut the outing short, both decide on bringing two bottles of wine back home. There's suddenly a lot to talk about.

Anthos is just sobering up on the morning ride to work. Why did he go through with that? Through the imminent headache pangs, he scolds himself for staying up, he was well aware he had to work today. The problem isn't even that he wanted to go out and spend the entire night with Rodi, he's like a happy seal puppy when he's dragged along his nocturnal shenanigans, but that he did it without giving much thought about the next day.

He can't hold his flatmate accountable for how long they stayed up, because whenever he asked if they should wrap up, Olive said he'd like to finish his glass, and if not, finish his cigarette. This was such a vicious cycle, because if he didn't have something to drink while smoking, he poured himself another glass, and the wine alone wouldn't be enough. By the second or third round, he wasn't fooling anyone anymore. These are pretences, no matter if they're honest and innocent, for him to lean on Rodi and hear his glazed voice spill more and more personal details. Rodi never talks about himself on that level, and last night was a godsend.

Flashbacks of the conversations unwind. There was one particular exchange that left a mark on both.

The two have nested on the balcony, as the night was still young. The cork popped off with a satisfying echo when Olive pulled it out. The sound travelled throughout the entire neighbourhood. Rodi held his mug up for the other to pour. Irony is that Rodi has a corkscrew, but no wine glasses, so they made do with some mugs. Enamoured of night snacking, Olive also got a bunch of salt crackers from the convenience store to last throughout the late hours.

"I've heard things about you," Olive spoke with a mouthful of crackers.

Rodi tapped off his ashes. "I figured."

"You have some reputation."

"Of course. I made it myself. But some really like to hold on some beat up rumours, you know. And rumours' what all of these dicks have."

“You don’t even like them. Why’re you still hanging out with some of them?”

“I’m not, we keep bumping into each other and they know I don't really turn people down. That’s how I ended up with most of ‘em.”

"If I didn't get to know you, I would've taken all they've said at face value."

"You see, I did sleep with a lot of guys," he confessed with a laugh. "It's all I would've known to do, it kept me happy for a while. It went stale by the time the word spread around and everyone started looking down on me. They would act all friendly with me until they heard the rumours and avoided me like the plague. ...The shit I've been called!"

"People can be so cruel, I don't think you did anyone harm."

"Yes, thank you! I wasn't sleeping with any taken guys, it was all in the interest of fun. I never asked for money or anything in return, and if I did, it would only be my business. And then there's killjoys like these that make a fuss out of everything."

"I remember one of them saying you stopped doing it," the green inkling mentioned in passing.

"...Did they?" the ink in Rodi's face paled up. "They know I stopped sleeping around?" He asked again to make sure he heard right. "Do they know more?"

"I'm as clueless as you are," Olive sympathetically glances at him.

Isandro got uneasy and looked away to think of any connections and dead giveaways. Olive anxiously lights another cigarette and hopes the other finds an answer. Visibly antsy, his lover picks up his phone.

"Olive. Did they say anything about this?"

Straight-faced, he hands his phone left on an Inkstagram page. Olive couldn't figure why he's looking at a strip club's social presence, but he soon recognises the unmistakable figure of his flatmate in their photos. He was in heels higher than his head, he floated above the stage while hanging from or straddling the pole, there were posts of him upside-down, legs as far apart as they could go, hanging his limbs from the chrome. Besides the adverts that depicted him, an array of the other dancers' dazzling bikinis, bodysuits and poses were met with details for the club's standout shows. The account has been inactive for a while.

"No... not the specifics," Olive murmured unsure of what to think.

"I get turned into the club's poster child and then it gets in the news for dodgy ties, no wonder everyone and their mum could find out."

He kept staring at the pictures in amazement. "I... I don't know what to say. You look unreal in these. Do you still work there?"

"I'm never stepping back in there," he rasped. "This account was the manager's stupid idea, I hope he rots in hell."

Just as Olive thought he knew everything about this man, this happens. He had his miscellaneous suspicions, firmly believed that Rodi was far from a prude, but his line of thinking hadn't gone further than that. Adult entertainment is an industry that made so much sense for his lover to be in. The curiosities and puzzle pieces he'd gathered in these weeks of living with him had come together to paint the full picture. And the knowledge put him at peace.

"It is what it is. Cat's already out of the bag. I was a stripper, it was great," he said in a tired, though sing-song way.

"In a way, I'm not surprised," Olive reckoned with a kind smile.

"I've never told the things I've told you to anyone ever. You don't realise the power you have over me."

Since he's been dumped some pretty sensitive information, Olive reassured. "You can trust me with this."

"Don't make me think I've done a huge mistake."

"This will stay your secret."

"That's not the point, it isn't even that much of a secret."

Olive failed to understand, he didn't get what Rodi was so anxious about, besides his supposed dirty secret getting out.

And that's where going through last night's recollections ends. Olive taps into work. He forgot how bland life actually is once the weekend's over. Though, if he were to live like Rodi everyday, his heart would much likely fail.

Today's schedule brings more harvesting, and he's in luck, he'll be harvesting somewhere close to his adoptive plant. As nobody was there for it over the weekend, it regressed and gave signs of drying again. It's as if Olive's taking care of a needy baby here, he'll stay overtime to sort it out.

The hangover isn't as impeding if all he does is to cut the stems off each fruit and put them in a basket. It's insufferable when all of his co-workers are in a chatty mood today, and can't keep it down. Debra, the sector doesn't need to know about the mediocre date you had Saturday. The guy sounds like a dick anyway. I want to rip my ears out please be quiet. His head is teetering close to self-destruction, so he retreats in a corner for a break. Certainly, the sector manager will see him and push him back to work. It's going to be such a long, long day... He swears on his mum to never drink again, or at least in the foreseeable future.

The next day, pandemonium ensures in the bedroom. Olive starts the morning none the wiser and well rested. He stretches out and lazily rolls towards his charging phone. It's giving off a measly buzzing sound. His heart full-on jumps out of him. He slept like a log through his alarms. It's nearly lunch break and he's not at work. He screams profanities and pulls at his tentacles in desperation. Rodi barrages through the bedroom door in seconds upon hearing Olive's meltdown.

"Babe! What's wrong?"

"Call me a cab! Fuck!"

Rodi tries his best to call one as fast as he can. Olive jumps in it and manages to arrive in the Dome just before the lunch break ends. He made up this whole script on the way, where he plays his oversleeping off as "forgetting" to tap his card in the morning and "getting noticed" only after he went for lunch, though he's not fooling anyone in the sorry state he's in. Like an unfortunate curse, it's not the first time he looks like this. His tentacles sit weird from being tied up wrong, he buttoned his shirt one row off, and he's in some random shorts rather the uniform ones. No action is taken against him, though the managers advise him to stop taking the morning shifts. Little do they know, Olive needs that sweet money ASAP.

After this disastrous day, he can't afford as many endless nights as he had in a row anymore. It's affecting his daytime duties, he's having a hard time keeping up. This day has been too traumatising for him to continue like this, so he puts an end to it. All it takes is a small conversation with his flatmate. It's civil, it's to the point, it sorted the issue out. Rodi understands, he doesn't insist on anything, he gives the other a break. He still keeps going on his personal nightly outings, though they've turned shorter. His sleeping schedule is undergoing some major changes, and soon enough his late-night shenanigans cease.

Moreover, when Olive's back, when he finally gets to lay in bed after standing for hours in that greenhouse, he's welcomed with wrapping hands. Rodi's developed a habit to scoot closer to him in his sleepiness. Those small cuddling session they're having each night are what makes Olive get up in time.

Anthos wakes up, to his surprise, next to Isandro. Which shouldn't be something as surprising for a normal couple. Alas...

This time, the pomegranate inkling didn't go spend his morning alone, he waited for his partner to wake up, faithfully reading his magazine for the time being, while keeping an eye on the sleepy figure.

And when Olive slowly opens his lids, Rodi peacefully smiles, his eyes brighten, and he leaves the magazine behind, because he's instantly lured to the other. He lets their skin brush once more, before planting small kisses on it. The unexpected affection warms up Olive's heart. He sleepily raises the other to lay on him. Heart next to heart, Olive strokes Rodi’s back, making sure to knead the spots that make the other nuzzle closer to his neck. They keep asking if they should actually get up and start their day, though none seem to budge from the comfort they’re in.

There’s no responsibility to keep track of in the weekend, they can afford staying lazy in bed and slobber cereal in front of Sunday morning’s stock of stale reality tv shows. They're throwing opinions around like real fashion influencers when they switch to the re-run of the Rockenberg catwalk, and hold each other on a rom-com's ending.

Wherever they’re sitting, they’re somehow still in contact. Legs laced, fingertips glued, heads resting on shoulders, there’s a constant point of touch. As much as they love doing nothing, especially doing nothing together, it grows stale after some hours. They should do something together.

Ideas run dry, and before any less innocuous thoughts arise, they're worn out of their bed.

A short walk around the neighbourhood was suggested by Rodi, since it's pleasantly sunny, not scorching, for a day in late August.

They keep a relaxed pace. Isandro often goes a few more steps ahead and asks about whatever flower or leaf he eyes. He then relies on Olive for answers. It's all done for charms, so the younger inkling tries his best, but he doesn't know everything, he only finished one year of his degree and there’s a lot of gaps in his memory. Though Rodi isn't showing any signs of disappointment, only more interest as he formulates his own explanations. They're always a joy for Olive, they're either ridiculous or surprisingly close to the truth, no in-betweens. Rodi, the funnyman he is, extends his palm out and mimics how Olive brushed hands on every tree, like when they were on their way back from the warehouse party. However, he admits after a while it feels nice.

In their walk, they reach a dense bush found in full bloom. The pomegranate inkling rattles its leaves in passing.

"Ah...! I should get one of those." Olive whines while he turns his head to look at it again.

Wordlessly, Rodi does a perfect U-turn and pulls at the bush. Even if Anthos advises him not to pluck the neighbours' plants, he gently separates a white flower out of it. Its centre is a lovely coral, that softly fades out into white. With a bright expression, he hands it to his lover and continues walking.

Anthos holds the flower safely in his palm. "You didn't have to."

"You can try growing your own out of it," he delivers with a smirk.

"...That's not how it works," Olive snorts, even if he's aware of how skittish Rodi is.

He neatly tucks it in the small pocket of his shirt, having it poke out a little, and lets his hands swing freely with his walk. However, they itch for a simple wish.

The street they're on seems empty. Olive appreciates that, he's not yet fully accustomed to initiating any signs of affection in the daylight, unlike in their clubbing nights. After thinking well about it, he reaches for Rodi's hand. His red eyes pin the other's hand in slight surprise. With visibly contained excitement, he laces his fingers around Olive's.

Oh, thank goodness. He's finally holding hands with him whilst walking. Not whilst running from the fuckshit they've caused, not for cutting through crowds, they're holding hands for no other purpose than love. The order of milestones in this relationship(?) is unconventional, but it doesn't ruin the magic. There's a surge of confidence now running in Olive's ink, he looks straight ahead and smiles for himself.

It keeps getting better. They wake up in each other’s arms the next morning, in a soft hold. Rodi’s no longer getting up after his shaky sleep, but rather stays glued to Olive until he also wakes up. He might’ve been a good influence on Rodi, who's no longer finicky in the night. His undereye mask wrinkles are starting to fade, and his face finally looks peaceful and content when in deep sleep.

Sunday can’t be as comfortable as yesterday. At Rodi’s insistence, they will go somewhere further than the comfort of their neighbourhood. The question is where. Both feel, once again, uninspired.

The two brainstorm during brunch. Olive's fidgeting with a funky straw to help him come up with ideas. He liked it so much, he saved it from some cocktail he had while going out. The straw's end resembles the typical lone palm tree imagery of a deserted island, just in a miniature papercraft form. It inspires Rodi to a better degree.

"The beach. What do you think?"

Olive lifts his head. "Hmm. You know how to swim?"

"'Course I do."

To the beach it is. Olive's glad he's found someone who is willing to stay in the sun for long periods of time, and who will risk some contact with the saltwater.

By now, the rides on the fuchsia bike don't seem as scary as before, but for good measure, Olive still holds onto the metal for the whole journey. The city is quieter than usual, since a lot of its residents are either travelling or enjoying the last stretch of summer break at home. It makes Anthos pretty pleased, he loves having the city to himself.

When they reach the destination, Rodi locks his hand with Olive's as soon as they get off the motorbike. His lover drags him to the colder sand on the shore line. Sand got inside their shoes, though they don’t pay mind. Rodi instantly gets attracted to sparkling things, hence the hurry in which he brought Olive to the source of his excitement. The shallow sea water is calm, inviting, and curling light on its surface in shapely waves and sparkles. Olive softly smiles at the sight.

Though Isandro can't focus much on one thing lately, because every time the green-eyed inkling briefly shifts his glance at him, his heart gets filled with the same sensations he gets from a holiday on a lush island. Rodi is captivated by Olive's little mannerisms and traits, by the way his eyes crystallise when he laughs, and when his large undereye mask squishes in his grins. He melts when Anthos stares back into the deep red pools of his eyes, just before he dives into his lips. He's his little vacation, in one tangible form.

Olive can say the same on his part. His lover can turn a weekend off from work into paradise. The two resonate so well, keeping their small talk humorous and stories intriguing and winding. From having a listen to their favourite songs, resting their heads on the other's chest, to piling small mounds of sand on the other when they’re unsuspecting, these two definitely look like in the prime of their relationship.

Before they sizzle out and turn into dried squid from excessive sun exposure, they get up for a swim. Rodi takes the lead. His sunkissed skin cuts through the waves, it sinks under the foamed up water. Compared to Olive, he tackles the water with no afterthoughts. Olive needs to gather all his nerves before making contact with the saltwater. All that concentration he harnesses goes to waste as Rodi slaps a wave to splash him in the face. At this point, he realises all this mental preparation isn't necessary anymore. It's only natural that Olive has to retaliate with a kick on the water's surface. It become a proper splashing battle, and Rodi retreats by swimming away. He won't escape that easily, Olive goes after him and grabs him by one leg, causing him to squeal. Finally, he's won one battle.

The flatmates catch their breath and let the saltwater do the floating for them. Olive looks out in the horizon, expecting to see only the infinite blue. One thing he didn't expect to spot is the blackened rock he always swims to. He can kinda see it in the distance, and an idea pops into his mind. He decides to make it into a joke.

"Did you know I have a private island?"

"No shit?" Rodi puffs out and smirks.

“Yes. That’s my private island,” the younger inkling points to that lone shitty rock where he gets harassed by seagulls.

"Ahh. So luxe of you. Take me there," his lover requests.

It’s a tad longer swim than from the neighbouring beach, from where he usually departs, but Rodi would definitely be up for the challenge. The two dart towards it, with no breaks. It turns into a race that they wordlessly agreed to, and Olive surprisingly overtakes his more athletic partner.

Just like last time he went on it, Olive pushes his arms up the rock and emerges from the waters like a sensible mermaid. Rodi needs some help with getting up, so Olive gently pulls him up next to him.

"Cool little private island you have here."

"I also have a back garden," Anthos keeps at his little joke.

He references the coral reef that can be seen from where they sit. He points to its direction and Isandro can see the colourful corals and moss reflecting from underneath. An entire chain of corals resides on top of an ancient ruin, speculated to have existed since the Human era. Whenever Olive looks at this sight, he feels humbled. He begins sharing his point of view.

“History is wild. ...As in, wilderness prevails it. Humans wiped their existence, but they couldn’t take nature with them. They believed they've eradicated nature before they ended their own species, but it took over again. We’re wonders of nature, Rodi, with all that we see and feel.”

"We will end up the same, it takes only one slip and we're gone."

"Yeah," you'd expect for them to feel more somber, though the impression ends up falling neutral for both. "In all honesty, it wouldn’t upset me. I already know I'll be outlived by some of my own plants. Those guys are really sturdy."

"Isn't that so? It's a great thing to think about when you're pissed at life and all of its troubles, that all we struggle for and hoard will end up under the sea growing some groovy moss,” he demonstrates by pointing at the ruins. “Really makes everything look meaningless in the greater picture."

"...True," Olive goes along with it, even if he raises an eyebrow for the peculiar direction Rodi took.

The sun's drying off the beads of water that were still hanging on their skin. They spent a while listening to the waves splashing against the rock, though Rodi ends their listening session with the sappiest thing he said so far. “Yet, I can’t help finding some meaning in you.”

The moment they find themselves in feels never-ending, as the horizon behind them. If only summer was this eternal. Olive can't contain himself and takes his lover in for a hug. It's given back, Rodi tenderly strokes his back.

"Have you ever dived down there?" his lover coos into his shoulder.

"I'm not too keen on diving... But that sounds amazing, seeing what's there with no waves."

"I'll guide you through it, what do you say?" Rodi unglues from the hug and excitedly proposes.

"God help me," Olive's amused and somewhat scared of the idea.

The red inkling slides off the stone, and Olive follows after. He can't believe they're doing this. They hold on their hands, and look in each other's eyes for full commitment to what they're about to do. It can go wrong, it might not be worth the risk, but they give up the security of staying afloat, they cease swimming and let themselves sink. They might reach the seafloor with both of their efforts. The dive was the scariest part for Olive, he closed his eyes just before submerging, even though inklings can see just fine underwater, without any discomfort. He still felt his lover's hands when he tried to squeeze it, he didn't lose him after diving for less than a meter. So he opens his eyes, and sees the ruins with no more ripples and waves to distort the sight.

All that's metal and glass is nowadays a home for the unique corals and algae of the Inkopolis bay. The corals' structures are clearly defined, and the way each grows can tell a story of how it's come to be. It's beautiful, it's alive. Olive's eyes would have watered if they weren't underwater already. The best part? He got to see all of this not alone, but with someone he's more than happy to share the sight with. These moments are worth sharing with your partner in crime.