Now there's nothing in the way.
And in your eyes, I think I saw
The future taking shape.

He can even hear the growl before the snap.

"Rodi. You're spewing bullshit." Her seafoam tentacles fall out of her impromptu hair-do. She turned rather abruptly to face the pomegranate inkling and glare some common sense into him.

Now, there's no way he could properly explain himself for fervently believing that Beryl Barresi would, in fact, be fine with selling an entire bar to someone with little to no experience in bartending. Frankly, he's got no clue how he even reached the conclusion. It just happened. Isandro was rather convinced of it, he believes self-suggestion served him a bit too well.

"A few weeks ago you weren't so against handing Myrtle over to me," his slightly nasal voice rings less sure than usual. And yet, it still resonates from the bar to the empty dance floor.

The pomegranate inkling dropped by Treasure, this very nightclub, a few hours earlier than its opening hours. The illumination would usually be dimmed out, the undersides of the counter lit up by sleek strip lights, however, its owner is currently doing some more thorough preparations for the night.

Barresi’s left no choice but to clear the fog in his brain. She’s tying her hair back up, then re-tying her trusty half-apron around her waist. "Let me tell you how it actually went. I doubt you remember, you were stinking of cheap vodka at every word. Nothing that I would ever serve you, you little traitor."

His ass slides lower on the aluminium bar stool, from a potent twinge of shame. Now that he thinks about it, his memory is garbage for three very specific days. Those three days, the ones without the phone and all. He forgot big chunks of them, he'd fallen into the sad temptation of downing shots from every bar in his teetering, confused way.

Rodi's rubbing his temples and keeping a fixed stare on one of the cleaned glasses Beryl had just put down. He insists on the matter. "I'm getting a damn headache trying to recall, but we definitely made a deal. I even paid you something.”

“Aha. You mean this?” She takes a wad of wrinkled cash, tied with a worn elastic band, out of one of the bar’s drawers and drops it where Rodi’s been resting his arms. "I haven’t even started my story. First, you step in with your big mouth of yours, calling my name from the opposite end, and the next second you flap stacks on cash while screaming ‘I’ll buy Myrtle if nobody else fucking wants to!’ right when there were enough patrons to notice, which was..." Beryl winces at the rest of his unnamed, though just as tasteless gestures. “Whatever you had made you even more obnoxious than usual."

Rodi being Rodi, he finds a gotcha in anything, even when he’s hunched from embarrassment. "But you still took my cash.”

“More like, I had to pull it out of everyone’s sight before you flashed it four more times. Honestly, Rodi, that was the most half-assed attempt at a deal I’ve seen. I counted it later on, out of curiosity. It looked more impressive before I realised it’s full of ones and tens. Have you disinfected any before you graced me with them?"

“Fuck off, I’ve left bigger notes in there as well, don’t sell me short. Those ones should be clean...er,” he hesitates at the end of the sentence.

However, his fumbles weren’t convincing enough for Barresi. “In any case, I never actually agreed to your made-up offers. Please take this back. I wanted to give your money back when you were more sober," she insistently pushes the wad in his direction. "You weren’t answering any of my calls though.”

With his ears turned downwards, Rodi takes his money and stashes it securely in one of his jacket’s inner pockets, disappointed that his convictions weren’t entirely true. “I wasn’t answering anyone’s.”

“I know. One of your friends was also looking for you around here.”

The red-inked man groans quietly and narrows his eyes at the deep turquoise ones. "What friend..." he asks with reticence, as if he'd consider any of his acquaintances that use him for their benefit friends .

“You brought him along recently. The one with the big eye mask.”

Rodi's heart backflips. "Olive!?"

Beryl takes a second, then nods. "Olive."

He didn’t think Olive would go the length of looking for him even here.

“Made an enemy of him as well?” she jabs.

He collects his thoughts before coming up with a suitable, subtle answer. “I don’t usually hear of people kindly hosting their enemies at home.”

The sea-green inkling rolls her eyes with her back slightly turned to him, still manoeuvring syrup bottles and liqueurs. “You might not know this, but letting a guy stay the night isn’t exactly hosting.”

“How about more than a month?”

Rarely does Rodi utter something that makes Beryl stop her ongoing background activities. “You can’t be serious.”

This is the first instance for the day when the red inkling gets to flash his fangs from ear to ear. He curiously tilts his head in his long nod, convinced that the subject has reached a satisfying conclusion.

Though, Barresi’s speculations aren’t heaved. “That poor boy was looking for you in broad daylight, you still did something dirty.”

“Well, yeah, it’s related to my drunk barge-ins. I’m not going into all of that, I basically left him alone in my apartment.”

“For how long?”

“...Four, five days?” It’s still really hard to accurately tell how many, because they’ve all blended together in the end.

Beryl’s got a somewhat disgusted face at this point, from the connections she always makes in her head. She goes back to setting up the farther sides of the bar.

“It’s not what you think,” Rodi tilts his chest on top of the freshly-wiped counter, following her trajectory. “After you, uh, presumably kicked me out, I crashed at a Karaoke place.”

“Out of all places...” Beryl half-scorns.

“It’s actually convenient. There’s food, couches... I napped a bit, I can at least remember that. Then got up, enjoyed a bit of the morning air, to ease my hangover. Then there was a hotel. I just entered the first one I saw and booked a room, I couldn’t give a fuck at that point. I had a proper shower and some night’s sleep, which wasn’t as proper, it felt more like I passed out, but it was better than the Karaoke couches. That was the second night. Then I went back home sometime around the three day mark. And then, I left again. Ah, I was a bit more lucid by then, I’d stopped flipping over cheap shots. Anyway, I stayed at a bed and breakfast, which I made sure was cheaper ‘cause I had my phone by then. I also remembered I left my heels and outfit back at the club, so I tried working a few more nights there, squeezed the last coin out of it before I called it quits. And, now that I know my incredibly elaborate business plans were done after a dozen shots, I feel kinda stupid about it. I even told Olive I’ve struck the deal, already planning the revival of the place, the makeover it deserves. Imagine that for a sec. Besides, you know, I don’t want to be dancing my entire life. I genuinely needed this Myrtle thing,” he deflates once more, and notices how Beryl has been reorganising the back storage for the past minute or so.

This sort of scene happens quite often with the pair. Rodi’s left to his devices to chirp his voice away for Beryl, who’s half-listening through all of his monologues while working. It’s inevitable she ends up losing interest around the middle of it. As soon as Rodi finishes, she walks back in the main area with a raised eyebrow.

“Give me at least a warning, I’ve been talking to the walls like an asshole this whole time!”

She pinches his lips shut, making him pucker. “Hell, I wish you’d yap just the interesting bits louder.”

Confident. Ecstatic. Apprehensive. He thought he’d be over with these cocktails of emotions, though Beryl managed to serve a new one today.

He opens the apartment door with his mind found in a very different place, fixated on his conversation back in Treasure . He picks various points from it and replays them, to see which starting statement would work best. His lover will be the first to know the one he ends up choosing.

However, he soon forgets all of that, after seeing Olive’s current state. Hunched over himself, seated at the kitchen table with a mountain of crumpled up napkins, Olive babbles at his phone. From the door’s creak, the green-inked man jumps a little, his neck snaps precisely in its direction. With his line of sight right through his partner, his mouth hangs slightly open.

Rodi averts his gaze. He clearly disturbed whatever was going on, so he silently hangs his jacket and keys, and sidesteps around the area Olive’s in. Right as he passes him, he can hear a language he hasn’t heard in very long.

“ Sygnómi, mamá ,” Anthos turns his head the other way, to recite his sorries. He was about to finish the conversation, having his free hand hovering around the phone, ready to hang up.

However, it never happens that he hangs up exactly when he wants and needs to. The call lingers on for a few more minutes. Isandro can’t understand more than a handful of disjointed words from it, though he can guess its context.

Holding his phone between his ear and shoulder, Olive’s blowing his final sniffle. From the tone of his voice, it sounds like he’s coaxing the other end to hang up first. It gets a bit ridiculous, Rodi can tell by the way the green eyes glance upwards with slight fatigueness. In sympathy, Rodi comes closer and crouches by Olive’s chair, softly laying his arms across his knees, waiting patiently like a loyal dog.

When it’s finally over, the younger inkling blindly places the phone behind him, squishing one of the used napkins. He drags his palms across his entire face.

“Was it your mum?”

“She sounded so sad,” Olive mutters with such vulnerability to the figure below him. “I couldn’t even be bothered to call her once, she had to call me.”

Isandro rubs his thumbs in circles on the legs, stroking some warmth and happiness back into his partner. “It doesn’t matter, you’d get to catch up anyway. You’ve sure cried a lot these days, honey. How is there any water left in you?”

Anthos laughs, albeit weakly. “I’ve told her everything, about my ex, my old apartment, you... I was avoiding telling her any of this for so long, so she wouldn’t worry. I also promised her some time back I’d drop by her house, but I never got around to it. I’ll do that today. It’s a long bus ride, but there’s nothing else that directly goes there. ...I’ll have to leave now to catch it.”

“Babe, I can just drive you up there. If that works better.”

“Oh, a hundred times better,” Olive sighs in relief.

He had just escaped the evil clutches of the capital’s rush hour, though he’d endure it a second time if it meant seeing Olive happier.

The calendar’s entering September, and yet, summer is not giving up. It might’ve been briefly chased away by the storms, however, the warmth returns ever so determined. The whizzing air that hits them while driving isn’t too bothersome. The tyre’s rubber adheres to the sun-bleached asphalt just the right amount. The city’s skyscrapers get tinier and left behind the myriad of suburban houses. Rodi tilts his bike at the ninety degree corners, making Olive dig his nails into him every time. He’ll never get tired of it, he would lie if he said he wished Olive would grow out of it.

“Turn here,” his lover indicates by unsheathing his fingers out of his back, and pointing in said direction.

After lots more instructions akin to this one, necessary for navigating the spidery roads, Olive finds himself in front of his childhood home. Isandro makes an effort to arrive right by the gate in a silent, unassuming way. He stops the engine as soon as they’re parked, to keep it from needlessly rumbling. Compared to the heart of the city, this area is as peaceful as it can get.

Anthos swings his leg over, careful not to smack his driver with it. He makes a beeline to the modest house’s front door and rings its doorbell. Out of the single-floor home comes a figure that’s shorter than Olive, with tentacles arranged like a halo around her head. Her eyes are downturned, her unusually large eye mask is nearly identical to her son’s, besides the skin imperfections that are dotting across it.

Olive immediately wraps her in his arms. Rodi watches quietly from the gate’s entrance, without dismounting the fuchsia motorbike’s seat. He’s got a sort of peaceful gaze upon the scene, being so comfortably detached from it. It blows the dust off a long gone memory. Meanwhile, the two have unglued and are having a short, indiscernible exchange.

Just as Rodi was convincing himself to drive away, Olive and his mother gesture to him to come in as well.

Dammit .

He shuffles off the bike’s seat a tad uncomfortably, slowly inching himself to slide off. He didn’t anticipate today would also be a meet my parents sort of day, though he’s only got himself to blame: this was easy to predict, yet he still walked right into the beast’s maw. He’s definitely found on the wrong foot for this moment, at least on a first impressions side. His jeans are long overdue for a wash, his face was left bare this morning out of laziness, and his leather jacket has seen better days. All in all, as it’s universally known, he’s never been good with first impressions.

The Anthoses ( Anthi? ) remain put on the doorstep. Stubbornness runs in the family. He takes his strides towards them, taking notice of the small, though well maintained garden. There’s a few fruit trees and a miniature vineyard. Sprigs of spring onion and parsley are popping out of the soil in tidy rows. Closer to the house itself, there are decorative oleander bushes, with adorable wildflowers resting at their feet. Crates of herbs and aromatics are grown on the porch.

Well, it’s now clear from where Olive’s botany inclination took its roots.

“Call me Mia please.” Her son’s Hellenic accent is well concealed, yet she’s got a rather strong one.

“Rodi Isandro,” he shakes back her speckled hand.

“ Naí , a beautiful name, Rodi,” she smiles in such a way that her eyes smile as well, a trait he loves in Olive too. “Come in for something to eat, to drink.”

“Err... don’t bother just for me,” he persuades softly.

He already knows it’s futile. Similarly to how he had pushed Olive around his apartment the second time they’d met, Olive is now gently pushing between his shoulder blades.

The inside is reminiscent of an apothecary. There are shelves upon shelves of glass jars and containers, some filled with various dry flowers and herbs. The house itself smells a bit medicinal, though not sterile. Rodi remembers how unnatural a hospital can smell like, though this isn’t like that. It’s comforting after a while, and the traces of both fresh and dried lavender contribute to the feeling. When Mia Anthos opens the windows wide, the earthy tones of the recently watered garden join the scent ensemble.

Long accustomed to his childhood home, Olive doesn’t stand idly. He pulls chairs out for everyone to sit, sets the table neatly, and all else falls in place to his busy hands. It’s quite a shift from how Olive usually behaved in Rodi’s apartment, not knowing what to grab first, thinking twice about any of his actions.

On top of it all, he’s been having a back-and-forth with his mother while prepping. One curious observation Rodi can make is that his lover speaks louder in his mother tongue, to match the volume at which Mia speaks, and to compensate for the varying distance between them.

She wants to take a better look at Olive, though he’s been making trails non-stop, making sure Isandro’s welcomed well enough. At one point, Mia strategically places herself right in his way, catches him in passing, and sets him still.

She howls in surprise, after stepping back and seeing Olive’s figure properly. “ My baby...! You’re so frail! You haven’t taken a bit of care of yourself, I’m sure you haven’t taken the syrups I prescribed either! ”

“ Mama, let’s be real, they didn’t do much anyway. ”

“ They’re all natural, you already know it doesn’t happen overnight, Elia. ” She comes closer to inspect his hands, her hawkeye already spotting the scarring on them. “ These calluses are so dry, these won’t go away anytime soon without a lotion. Haven’t I given you one already? ”

“ Ma... I really didn’t come for a health check up. Let’s sit down together, all three of us. ”

“ Yes, of course, let me handle the rest. ”

Madame Anthos directs her son at the table, and briefly disappears in another room.

Olive settles next to his partner, exhales in relief, and sends a short and simple smile. Rodi’s been sitting cross-armed and cross-legged the whole time, leaning back on the rattan chair. With only them in the room, he shuffles into a more natural position.

“How far apart can my legs go before it’s not acceptable anymore?”

“I don’t think anyone cares,” the green-inked figure shrugs.

His mother’s got other priorities anyway. Mia has just emerged out of hiding with a huge wooden platter on her forearms, of what appears to be a dozen different types of appetizers. Olive rubs his hands in anticipation, and Rodi’s face stretches in surprise.

Isandro already felt a little humbled by the large platter, though there’s even more coming. As Mia brings in various plates and bowls, she passes them over to Olive to set them on the table, who will also sneakily help himself from them, before they actually start eating. The two get an entire table of meze up in a few minutes. Along the array of plates, Rodi can spot bite-sized garden vegetables, homemade pickles, tofu cubes, an entire plate of multicoloured olives, a sizable selection of spreads, and oblong slices of warm bread to go alongside them. As if it weren’t already enough, Madame Anthos brings a basket of fruits that are in season, possibly also from her garden.

He thought he’d not eat much, out of his general lack of appetite. Though, whenever he eats with Olive, his lover’s undying affection for food, and the way he enjoys every single bite rubs onto Rodi as well. This is also the sort of finger food that you can mindlessly eat, though it feels way healthier. Rodi hasn’t gotten many chances to eat like this, except for the very few holidays his parents would’ve made back in the Aegean region.

Olive’s been grazing on one of the plates more often than the others. It’s got thin slices of a vegetable akin to the ancient cucumber, though deeper in colour, and with darker seeds. It looks like something that Olive would’ve grown in Kelp Dome. Out of curiosity, Rodi gives it a taste as well. It’s bitter as hell, his tongue feels tart from just one bite. However, well aware of how he might be under the careful watch of both his boyfriend and his mother, he chews up the entire piece.

The two-piece family is particularly chatty at the table. Besides just asking Olive about his fresh new experiences at University and at his first job, Mia pokes at Rodi too with a bunch of small, insignificant questions. Rodi answers them, as plainly as he can, though he knows this is just a warm-up, before the more personal questions he always dreads.

“Rodi, you’re not a student, so I heard on the phone from Elia. Olive.” She corrects before her son sends a glower. “How do you make your living then?”

He pats his lips with a napkin, and announces as if in passing: “I’m a bartender in training.”

Well, this is news for someone. The sudden look on Olive’s face is priceless. He shortly chokes on his own spit, and turns hot flushed from the impending coughs. He suppresses them as much as he can, but it’s in vain. An awkward wheeze makes its way out, and he tries to drown it with a gulp of water. It makes it worse. His spine bends in his struggle for air.

Suddenly, Mia and Rodi’s worried eyes are on him. He gestures with his index finger: one second . With the most desperate grasp, he holds onto his glass and drinks it to its last drop. He then gets up to fill it to the lip. “Keep going, though,” he says between coughs.

“ What’s wrong Elia? ” The motherly concern instantly surfaces.

“Ah, Ms Anthos, I’ve only started my training today,” Isandro clumsily explains through the croaks in the background. “I’ve had some other jobs before, short-lived or one-offs.”

Olive returns soon after, his eyes still slightly watery from the sudden lack of breath. He sits back forcefully, and picks on his partner with a voice still strained. “Are you making this up Rodi, just so you won’t say...?!”

His brows lower in annoyance, and he talks in the other’s way. “I just talked to Barresi about this, I didn’t get the chance to tell you. And if I kept working my old job I would’ve just said that. You know what? Since we’re already here, I might as well,” he turns to the eldest inkling in the room. “It’s only fair your mother gets the full disclosure.”

“Elia, don’t speak over him.”

Olive ignores the cookie-cutter scold. “Yes, true, true, but... N-not today,” he awkwardly chuckles. “We didn’t come for this, so please mum, don’t tire him with too many questions.”

However, Rodi can’t keep himself from a hint. “Let’s say Olive’s bar is set kinda low,” a fang pokes out in his half smirk.

Olive’s hand instantly goes over said smirk. “He’s making fun of me, don’t listen to him,” he reassures, and then feels a lick over his palm. He retracts it in disgust, and the smirk he was trying to repress is even wider.

Olive is struggling to keep a straight face while wiping his hand onto Rodi’s shirt. The red inkling is acting innocent, unfazed by any direction or force Olive might exert with his hand. Mia cracks up at the two, at their youthful playfulness.

She laces her hands together, looking at the younger inklings with fondness. Her smile has a trace of bittersweetness though, of being reminded that Olive has very much left his nest and is nuzzling into a new chest. Nevertheless, she’s coming to terms with it. “I’m very happy to have you both. Keep taking care of each other.”

The fact will never leave them, for as long as they will be strung together. Isandro nods, looking straight into her eyes.

Highlight moment aside, the three spend a few more hours with their platters and Olive’s stories. As cozy as it is, the living room has gradually gotten darker, signaling an early wrap-up.

Although it’s still warm, the days aren’t as absurdly long as they used to be. As soon as autumn rolls, the dusk eats away at the sunlit evenings even faster. With this pretence, the two excuse themselves from the table and set off on their journey back to their apartment.

The mellow house returns to its quiet state. As they make their way out of the garden, Olive finally gets the chance to talk to Rodi in private.

“ Bartender in training , huh?”

He couldn’t say it back there, but Rodi’s not particularly impressed with Olive’s reactions to it. “Is that a problem?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be a bartender, period?”

Ah... “Things got lost in translation, one thing got to another, so...” he’s been twirling his fingers in loops while making up reasons, “a change of plans was needed. I’ll be working for the rest of the year for Beryl.”

“Alright, that makes a grain of sense, considering you’ve been probably annoying her for a while,” he scoffs.

“I’m a new man, she knows my worth! Why do you think she still talks to me?” He pokes the center of his chest repeatedly. “She also needs the help, with all the festivities. There’s at least four big Fests coming up, and bars will be over capacity.”

Indeed, that infamous fax machine that sends messages from the heavens does get more active during the last months of the year. It prints excuses for celebrations like nothing, to the joy of the city dwellers.

Before Rodi flings himself over the driver’s seat, he turns to his lover to say something he might get excited about.

“Hey, she also told me she’s lookin’ for even more crew, so I miiight have dropped your name, you know, if you ever wanna jump in-“

“What? No!” Olive refuses with a pitch higher than he expected. The exact opposite happened. The mere mention of getting involved suddenly agitated him. “I have nothing to do with this! God’s sake Rodi, I’m starting University again in just a few days, have you forgotten already?”

“Whoa, easy, I just mentioned you, I didn’t sign a contract with the devil.”

“Don’t get me involved... I- I just need some recovery time. I’m only taking care of myself, the house, and my studies. I don’t even want to think about another job. Not now, at least.”

“Alright. Cool.” Rodi shuts up before he upsets the other more.

The table’s entirely textbooks, fluorescent markers and sticky notes. The tabs from his main book keep flying away, though he’s cramming so hard, it doesn’t matter where they end up anymore. Later on, he finds a tab stuck on his pillow as he readies to get into bed.

That’s how a choice evening would look for Olive.

On the other side of the city, he’s sure he’s beating the world record for the number of crates his stature can ever carry. The bottles of watered-down, alcoholic fizzy drinks rattle festively, as if it were Squidmas in the middle of October. The reactions are the same nonetheless, the sound is always a reason to celebrate for a busy bar, with fridges that are emptying every quarter hour.

That’s how a choice evening would look for Rodi.

Their lives have been fairly busy, as it can be told from these snapshots. Even if things for them are better, from any perspective you may look, they’re not straightforward.

Stuck in the labyrinth of early adulthood, Olive’s often feeling like they’ve been bumping into the same walls and dead-ends for days on end. Faith makes you believe there’s a reward at the end of it, it makes you persevere. At times, he’s not even sure if there’s a reward to begin with. Intuition would hint in its favour. Lack of foresight would say it’s for naught. Some of these dilemmas reflect in the ebb and flow of his relationship. However, at the end of the day, in his lover’s arms, all of the labyrinth’s walls fall apart. And they both dare to peer into what’s left. There is infinite, and there is nothing, as they would discuss in their pillowtalk. The statement may not have much substance yet, but, in time, they will figure it out.

However, it’s twofold. Things can also be incredibly simple. It’s as simple as their weekends, when they escape into familiar nightclubs. It’s as simple as their late weekday evenings, takeaways, and the ashtray in the balcony.

Even when the days themselves felt long, and the grind endless, time flew like nothing when they stepped back to see the bigger picture. No saying related to time could be truer, by the shock they both felt on the first snowfall of the year.

The rumours spread right after. The almighty fax machine has spoken.

Inkopolis’ population is instantly put into a festive mood. Crowds gather in the Plaza for a long string of their favourite festivities, which end up culminating on New Year’s Eve.

And it’s already the thirty-first of December.

For the final day of the year, the events are plentiful, including expositions, live art performances, special Turf War matches and incredible street food. The couple gawks at all of these offerings. Performances from the best bands and idols are also a must-see, for their flashy and uplifting shows. Most importantly, the year’s most recognised acts are the last ones to play, for the longest show of the night. They also have the privilege to scream the countdown displayed on the Plaza screens along with the crowd.

This year, like the previous and the one before the previous, the famed Squid Sisters have taken the headline. Frankly, their relentless popularity is due to the high numbers of youth in the region’s biggest city, brought in to become professional battlers. The capital will put on the stage whatever will stick with the masses, and these two cousins from the Calamari county sure stuck. High schoolers covered in glow sticks and glitter from neck to ankle rush closer to the stage to get better views of the idols. The comparatively beaten-down twenty year olds and above hang out around the back. By definition, Olive should sit somewhere in the middle, though it was getting too crammed and chaotic for him. Together with Rodi, they’ve decided on returning and spending the beginning of the year in the comfort of their own home.

Any public transport has been paused until later in the morning, so they’ll have to walk from the Plaza. It reminds them of how they were walking back from their usual nights of clubbing, though the sunrise is nowhere to be seen. Their interlocked hands swing with their steps, the snow crunches under their boots. They have been together for the hottest days of the year, and are, still, for the coldest days.

A while into their walk, a burst of fireworks explodes on a visible slice of the sky, which initially gets brushed off by the two. However, its echoing boom is joined by subsequent, similar ones. The two inklings are still on their way, and the colourful flashes don’t stop, to their concern.

“Midnight?!” Olive’s surprise comes through the chilled crack of his otherwise warm voice.

The other’s nose points towards the fireworks’ direction. “Damn, already?”

Olive’s the first to tell the time, since he’s been checking the clock more often than his partner. “It’s ten to. Can’t you guys wait for a bit more,” he turns to say the latter part, knowing nobody would hear his mumbles.

Swirly clouds of breath have been forming around Rodi’s slightly flushed face. Even more are conjured when he puffs out in amusement. “We hate it when it’s premature.”

Olive would’ve snorted, but there’s a pressing matter. “Wait a bit,” he turns with a furrowed brow, “we’re not making it back before the year turns, are we?”

Rodi stops walking. His partner follows suit. They both stop in the middle of a commercial street. It looks pretty deserted. All the shops are left barren and unlit. The parked cars on the sidewalk haven’t been moved for a while, judging by the piles of snow built up on them.

“I had a feeling we were undershooting our distance. ...Alright, should we just pop this on the streets then?” He raises his shopping bag with the sole prosecco bottle they’ve bought earlier. All the champagne was already sold out.

“I mean, why not,” Olive awkwardly grins. They envisioned a more ceremonious way to open it, even their brand new flute glasses were ready on their balcony. Sadly, they’re not quite anywhere close to Blackbelly Street.

“Yeah. It’s just us on here. Nobody to hit with the cork.”

“Except me,” Anthos deadpans.

“I won’t be pointing it towards you,” Rodi states, although he’s not turning away from him. He’s concentrating a bit too hard on the cork to actually act on the things he says.

He needs his other hand as well, he passes the recyclable bag to Olive, who wordlessly holds it for him. He checks the contents briefly, and finds out that Isandro made sure to buy some paper cups as well. It’s not their shiny flutes, but works way better than swigs straight from the bottle.

A groan steals his attention.

“Oh man, I can’t do it. I’m not even out of practice,” Rodi fumbles about with the bottle, squeezing the cork to no avail.

“Wait, you’re not twisting it around as you do it?”

“I wouldn’t, urngh , need to twist. Just a bloody cork. I open these all day at work with one nudge. Maybe... It needs more pressure,” he applies his idea as soon as he says it. He begins shaking the bottle violently.

“Um. Careful with it Rodi, it’s gonna-“

Olive doesn’t get to finish. He sees the sly cork slide ever so slightly, for a fraction of a second. The bottle’s neck then shoots a very fizzy stream. It rains prosecco for a second. Startled, Rodi directs the stream away from them and towards the parked cars, giving them a short shower as well.

Both saw it coming. The pavement gives off an effervescent sound, drowned by the occasional explosions. Isandro bursts out in hysterical laughter, while Anthos rushes to push some the alcohol off his waterproof jacket.

“Great, you wasted half of it now,” Olive wants to pout, but his lips curl into an amused smile.

His partner contains his howls for a second in order to retaliate. “You wanted your mouth dry at midnight, watching me fondle the bottle for another hour?”

“Honestly? No. Thank you for your heroic service.” Anthos separates the paper cups, and holds one out for himself, waiting to have whatever’s left of the prosecco in there.

“You don’t have to thank me, it’s only a hero’s duty,” Rodi references a cliché line from a movie they watched earlier, which was inspired by Squidbeak Splatoon’s recent reemergence. Of course, he was laughing all the way through saying it, spilling even more of the drink while pouring outside the cup.

“Oh my god, let me do it,” Olive dramatically exhales and takes the bottle.

He struggles a bit as well, because his partner’s cup was constantly swaying in his giggles. With that set aside, all they have to do is sit back with their puny cups, with their pretend champagne and watch the sky.

“Have you got a wish ready?” Anthos asks to fill in the remaining minutes.

“Wish?” Rodi lowers his cup after a quick sip. “Like a resolution?”

“Not quite. You have to make one wish at midnight. But we’re not allowed to reveal our wishes, otherwise they won’t become true.”

The scoff slips Rodi’s lips. “Who made this rule up?”

“It’s not...” made up . It is, Olive slaps some sense into it. “My mum. She definitely picked it up from somewhere. But, I swear, I noticed they happen more often if you keep them secret.”

Rodi will play along. He shuts his eyes while crafting a wish. And he settles on one at just the right time.

Waves of cheers sound from every corner of the city. The sky looks about to break with all these sudden explosions of colour and smoke, all sent at the same second. The stars are chased away and replaced with gunpowder-born ones, joyously sparkling, fizzling and dancing.

Another year has passed.

Rodi woos and whistles to join the commotion. Olive’s grin goes from one ear to another, and his childlike wonder is brought back to life. His green eyes sparkle under the fireworks. If he could count each little ember in the sky, that lives for a mere second, he would be able to estimate the amount of kisses he’d wish to give his boyfriend right now.

Though, he isn’t that good with numbers.

One really good one will be worth a hundred. He sets his cup down and scoops Rodi’s smaller figure off the ground. He presses his lips against his warm cheek, and Rodi in turn kisses back his chilly nose. This makes Olive so happy, that he spins the smaller inkling around a few turns. At Rodi’s squeaky and shrill requests, he places him back on the ground, and lets him neaten his coat back in place.

Olive’s eyes haven’t stopped sparkling. “So, did you wish for anything?”

“Am I allowed to say that? Doesn’t it ruin the magic effect?”

“Well, as long as you keep it vague... I’m just really curious. Here, I’ll say first,” the younger inkling eagerly announces, “I wished for something related to us.”

The red inkling brings a hand to his nose to hide his imminent snort. “...I didn’t.”

Olive’s jaw drops a little, then follows with a whiny cry: “ Rooodi !”

“I don’t need a stupid wish for my relationship!” He so confidently admits. “I know it’s going to be fine. It can hold its own without the charms. I trust it more than whatever I wished for,” he hasn’t wiped his smirk since his crass confession.

How the hell do you always turn things around for you?

“I was about to take back my kiss.” His mask pinches at the corners of his eyes in his expression, though it remains his most noticeable landmark.

“I’d be very sad if you did,” the other gives a low hum, with a more settled smile.

Then, he raises his cup for a toast, for the year that has just started. Anthos joins in. It’s not a clink, but it does the job.

Olive Elia Anthos, nearly nineteen, an aspiring botanist in his second year of University, born under the sign of Taurus. As a man of few words, if he were to outline his entire being, it would most likely sound like that. Nevertheless, five months’ worth of time interlaced his being into another’s. Little bits and pieces of their souls scattered around and shaped a better version of him. He should add to that short description that he’s grown on someone, and it’s not one-sided this time.

The ivy’s overgrown on Rodi’s walls. The linen bed sheets are always fresh. They nap like kittens under the houseplants’ shade. The whole idea of each living in their own nest has crumbled long ago. Nobody formally agreed on still living together, though nobody will protest. Having found a bit more stability, Olive’s been paying a fair share of the rent, and he can write this apartment's address with confidence on any other future forms.

Blackbelly Street is his home.

Other than that, found back into libraries and lecture halls, he’s very much living his same life for the majority of time.

Rodi is still Beryl’s underling, though his number of shifts per week has started to diminish. He has dug back into his handful of books, and has been particularly drawn to ones about entrepreneurship. Yet, he also mocks them often.

Olive had a mild case of January blues. It wasn’t serious, he had gotten over it with a bit of encouragement. It might have been caused by one of his plants, which sagged down by the lack of sunlight. As if he was made of chlorophyll, he also felt like sagging from the gloomy skies. He would’ve blended next to his dying plant. In hindsight, it’s one of his funnier low points.

Things have changed in the Ludmila household too. As much as she hates it, Pepper has been staying more at home, with her mother and brother. Battles are less active during the year’s first months. She spends the days hidden in her bedroom, picking at her weapons with a flat-head screwdriver.

The quiet period does eventually come to an end. The sunlight is gaining its power back. The beams cut through the crisped up snow like nothing, and from the droplets, verdant blades of grass and sprouts are spawned.

With such nice weather, Olive decides to check their closest market. He wants to do some groceries, and bulk up on notebooks from any stationery shop in the way. He burns through notebooks quite quickly, thanks to his demanding courses.

The market stalls are lively, and he’s been hovering around the fruit stalls the longest. He’s been eyeing some honeydew of a gorgeous, sunny colour. He doesn’t really need it. Though, he leans an inch closer to feel its fragrance, its mouth-watering sweetness. Now, he needs it.

At a soft wind’s blow, its scent gets faded by one that carries a stronger perfume: crisp, leafy, floral. A few stalls to the left, he discovers there’s a small flower shop hidden between its many rows of cut flowers and ferns. Its gazebo-like structure is made only of glass and white beams. Through the glass walls, an explosion of leaves and coloured petals in tall, white vases invite you inside the shop.

This would turn out to be Olive’s next stop, right after handing some coins to the rosy-cheeked seller. Swinging the melon inside its plastic bag, which sports an absolutely classic design of ‘thank you’s boldly smacked across many rows, Olive comes closer to the flowers on sale.

The shop’s outside flowers are held together in bunches with ribbons. Their roses are gorgeous, and not that expensive either. He hasn’t gifted Rodi any flowers yet, so he might as well nab the opportunity. He politely asks the bearded shopkeeper to make an arrangement with a few cuts. He’s brought inside the shop.

Right next to the card reader and money box, there’s a loose sheet of notebook paper, stuck to the glass wall with a strip of tape, the same kind that’s used in arrangements. The paper’s adorned with pristine handwriting, more fitting for poetry than what the card actually says: “ Hiring part-time staff ”.

Whilst the florist wrapped up his bouquet, Olive kept staring at the plain, yet ornate piece of paper. He then looks at the florist, this seahorse shopkeeper looked less prickly and more wrinkled up, maybe close to retirement. He might wish to relieve some of the burden on someone more youthful.

Once he finishes up the arrangement, Olive gives his kind thanks and hugs the bouquet to carry it. And then, he spots another thing in this lovely shop.

Houseplants .

He tries to be as casual as possible about it. “Are these for sale as well?”

“Of course, of course,” the seahorse steadily moves towards the small selection of houseplants, and rearranges some to be more visible.

Olive’s hands are pretty full right now, so he can’t pick up any of them. No matter, he still eyes his next crush swiftly, precisely. “I was thinking of getting that emerald palm.”

“No problem, do you want it wrapped up?”

“...Does it fit my shopping bag? Would it be okay to just stuff it in here?” he sheepishly grins.

“Said and done,” the shopkeeper lightly chuckles.

The way Olive is handling the cash is also amusing for the old man. To make it work, Olive’s now hanging all of his bags from one arm: the plastic one is in his hand, the one with the palm over his shoulder, and the bouquet sits under his armpit, just to have a free hand.

He ends the shopping spree early, as he’s looking somewhat ridiculous already. He imagines his trip back home will be quick, for the sake of his arm, though on the way, a familiar voice emerges from his right.

“Aye, my man, Anthos!”

It’s Pepper’s tomboyish voice. There she is, perched on a rail, swinging her legs as carefree as usual. She’s next to someone else, a pink-haired inkling, who glows even under the gentle sun from her pale skin tone. She has a Skalop-branded snapback worn backwards, with its brim hanging low, and her upper body’s silhouette is curiously chunky for her thin legs. The huge, thick jumper she’s wearing has enough extra material to fit all three inside of it.

“I can finally introduce you! Donna, Olive. Olive, Donna,” she points at them vice-versa.

The bubblegum pink inkling opts to raise her hand in a peace sign, which barely pokes out of her oversized jumper.

Olive waves back, in a sort of shy manner. “Nice to meet you! I didn’t expect to meet you here, now, like this... haha...”

It feels like this’ll only go downhill, that half-laugh was tough to bear even for Olive. He waits for some sort of response. Talking isn’t really Donna’s thing. So far, she hasn’t said anything, her stamped-on smile hasn’t changed a bit. Neither her distant gaze...

Pepper grins widely. “Yeah! We’ve been skating ‘round here.”

“Wow...! What a coincidence, you, skating here. It’s right on my way back home.” As if Blackbelly Skatepark isn’t one of the biggest landmarks around his apartment.

Pepper twirls her skateboard a few times, while Olive’s social ineptness lingers on. This always happens with new people. Though this situation baffles Anthos, as the pink inkling doesn’t seem to be an active part of their conversation. Nevertheless, appearances can deceive. On a second check, Donna radiates a certain vibe. She might look like she’s stuck in a daydream, however, her ears still twitch attentively at anything said.

“Whatcha got there?” Pepper tilts her nose at his bags.

“Not much...” He doesn’t want to keep the small talk going, with how ridiculous he looks and sounds, though he’s got no valid excuses to start rushing.

She presses on. “Did you buy yourself flowers again?”

“Pepper, you know I’m still living with someone, and we’re very much dating.”

“Look atcha! Lovey-dovey! But you’ll still keep ‘em for yourself,” she gives a devilish grin.

Her ex-teammate wryly blinks and smiles. She didn’t seem to notice yet... It’s a good thing he’s wearing a beanie, to partially hide his new ink colour. Pepper hasn’t ever seen him outside his characteristic mucky green range of ink, at least not out of battles. Ink colours are a huge part of an inkling’s individuality, they can also open the floodgates for lots of invasive questions. She would’ve definitely included some in her banter, though she’s not paying enough attention to the two tuffs that are so blatantly red-inked.

“That big one’s for him too?” She points at the larger houseplant, sticking out from one of the bags.

He’s very aware that was yet another ironic comment from her. Fine, he admits, that one was a treat. “Do not make fun of a man riddled by his addictions.”

Her mandarin eyes shut in her laugh. “Hahaha, whatever you say, pops!”

Donna then utters her first words. “Nobody should feel ashamed for owning things that make them happy.” And ends her nugget of wisdom with grace. “Looks dope.”

“Y-Yeah. You get me,” Anthos points with his free hand to her and himself, and then looks at the lime inkling. “Learn some stuff from her, Pep. Anyway. I gotta be going, I need to set this guy into its new home,” he pats one of his guy’s leaves.

Pepper gets her feet back on the ground and bumps into her friend’s shoulder, in place of a hug. Olive continues his last stretch of the road, and hears the girls from behind getting onto their skateboards, zooming away. In this moment, he senses how a new page in his and Pepper’s book has just turned. Though it shall keep turning. Pepper might hang out more with her pink-inked friend, though she still enjoys Olive’s presence just like when they were teammates.

They keep bumping around the skatepark, and she eventually gets welcomed into Olive’s shared apartment. She doesn’t get any spare keys for this one however. She’s a dangerous fridge raider.

Olive also makes it a habit, after tedious study sessions, to drop by the flower shop and check if they have something new. What a morbid curiosity. The shop switches up its assortment of houseplants every week or so. As he alluded to Pepper, like an addict needing his hit, he can’t keep himself from buying one per visit.

And each time, he doesn’t fail to notice that piece of paper, still hanging there, still waiting for someone to take up the part-time job.

He gives it a thought.

The deal has been struck, albeit some months late. That’s no matter. Rodi Isandro is, finally, a business owner. He shook hands with his boss yesterday, to become the owner of the bar in which they first met. He admits, it’s somewhat concerning that nobody did it earlier. To give the benefit of doubt, Barresi wasn’t bothering too much with it either, not since it became defunct. Her new location was so much more profitable, the extra cash and hassle from the old one wouldn’t have really mattered.

Nevertheless, this is exciting news for the couple. Olive claps in celebration for his boyfriend. He is also curious enough to join him for their first visit there.

It’s not too glamorous.

Rodi drives them up to the place. A brick building, slightly worn by time, stands on the street’s corner, imposing its presence over the other locales. Contrary to Olive’s initial expectations, the way towards the bar isn’t up, but down some stairs, in a hallway that’s oddly tall and somewhat narrow. Even though the sun is still up, not much light can reach down there, up to the locked metallic door for the basement.

A blunt, metallic sound is heard over and over from the keyhole. Rodi’s been trying to poke the key into it for an abnormal amount of time. Olive offers to help with his phone’s torch.

“There’s some lights supposed to be here, right?”

“Mhmm,” the pomegranate inkling doesn’t pull his eyes away from the door. “Some of the electrical stuff is fucked. Those heavy rainfalls back in August chewed away at some walls, and over winter the whole place flooded, I heard from Beryl.’’

“It’s a shame it’s been left empty for so long,” Olive echoes the disappointment in the other’s voice, “it sounds like something that could’ve been avoided.”

“Eh, thing’s been standing up for years by now. I’m not shocked. Could’ve happened with me in there too.”

Indeed, the place is looking kind of musty. Rodi flicks random switches until he hits the ones for the fans, to get rid of the stale air.

He paces around with his hands over his head. “Ah, shit, there’s so much to do. They’ve stripped down everything from here.”

Literally. There’s raw concrete in place of the old flooring. Rodi remembers it to have been a tiled floor, which at one point got shattered near the entrance ...for some unknown reason. All that’s left is the paint on the walls, the bar counter, the slots in the walls used as shelves, and the dust bunnies.

“This looks like a lot of work,” Anthos echoes the other’s thoughts, leaning on one of the blank walls. “When are the handymen coming?”

Rodi stops right in the middle of the empty space, and raises his hand to the sides of his body. “It’s just me, baby.”

“...No way.”

Olive’s not going to leave him to do everything alone. His concerns are from both a safety perspective, and an emotional one. He agrees to help Isandro with the renovations, until he finds someone to hire. Even if Rodi will be able to work here pretty much the entire day, he won’t be able to do much. Olive will only have his free evenings to lend in a hand.

Rodi knows a guy with a van. Of course he does. So at least that was easy to solve. He also thinks he’s capable enough to do most of the renovations himself. Olive can’t contest him on that, the pomegranate inkling is a rather good example of a jack of all trades .

Over the span of multiple days, the pair brings the place to its previous glory, and more, through sheer perseverance and nerves. The perseverance is needed just for trips to the hobby shop and back. The nerves are more important, for the countless cracks in the wall they would have to fill, for the sizable family of bugs they’d have to evacuate without sissying about it, and for figuring whether the electrician eels that were due to come five hours earlier would still be coming. Most of the days, it’s work that’s done in a single sitting, for hours and hours on end. A portable speaker keeps them company in a corner, and keeps them from going insane from the fresh paint fumes.

Some evenings, after getting sick of painting walls and lodging furniture, they would sit at the incomplete bar and muck around. Rodi would get to properly show off his new skills learned on the job, making ambitious drinks for Olive to taste. He feels them on his lips, his tongue, how they slide down on his neck. They’re great, there’s no denying, though there’s not enough depth and intrigue in them.

It’s no coincidence that as soon as the light bulbs got changed, light bulbs would appear over their heads more often. Olive knows exactly what’s missing, for his personal taste at least: any sort of spiced-up, bitter kick. And what better way to extract such a flavour, than through his good old plants?

Soon enough, he would start asking his mother to lend some of her pots of aromatic herbs, to give Rodi’s creations a dash of something else. By lend, he meant own permanently. In a moment of what the fuck am I doing , Olive finds himself at the complete opposite end of the city, in the middle of a specialist gardening shop, looking for a very specific type of aromatics seeds to grow. Mia’s somewhat confused, though delighted to see her son suddenly gaining interest in her homemade medicinal cures, including how to make them. Little does she know, he would cheekily dump dashes of them into alcoholic beverages. He doesn’t fully believe in their curing powers, but he knows they can cure a drink’s flavours.

Every day’s a new experiment. Rodi’s specifically bought new glass containers to fill them with different ratios and combinations of herbs, spices and spirits. As a treat for their labour, before leaving, the two test out the handcrafted bitters. It’s hit and miss, to their amusement, though lately it’s been more hit .

Then comes the big delivery day. They’re finally ready for their first stock-up. It’s mostly the things with the longest shelf-life, the must-have sortiments of spirits, sherries and liqueurs. Rodi loads up the bottles two or three at a time, his fingers webbing through them to maximise productivity. Beryl might’ve not trusted Isandro’s technique, and even witnessed him drop some bottles like this, though it works just fine while the pressure is low. The bar’s dignity feels renewed, as the complete rows of bottles felt like a missing piece for all this time.

Finally, Olive’s impulse purchases had to go somewhere. Too many plants got dumped into their increasingly crowded apartment, it was about time he halved their numbers. The ones that can withstand low light conditions have been carefully picked, and placed into the emptier corners of the bar. They have proved to be a great addition, they’ve really brought the look together. The new UV installation brushes its complex light over the leaves, creating an incredible sense of other-worldliness next to the cozy couches and low tables.

With his crafty hands on his hips, Isandro takes a long look at the final result. It doesn’t even resemble the same place it used to be some weeks ago, or months ago. It feels amazing to sit in now.

Anthos has also checked off his last point in his list, misting and wiping the dust off the leaves. He goes over his forehead with the back of his hand, which still holds the spray bottle.

They can let go of their tools at last.

Since morning, they haven’t taken a single cigarette break, so they’re taking their first one right before leaving. They sit on one of the entrance’s leading stairs, like urchins on the streets. There’s only taxis driving by, and the illuminated signs from the other locales begin to warm up and shine. It reminds the two that they’re still missing a neon sign. Nonetheless, they should feel proud of the milestone they’ve hit, neons or not.

“Well done, boys,” Rodi congratulates himself and Olive, as there’s no one else to. “Now... I gotta find someone to hire.”

Anthos puts off his cigarette, and keeps it in his hand. God forbid he litters in front of the fruit of their labour. “You’ve been saying you had some people on your mind already.”

“Well, I thought I could rely on some, but they’re all wankers, run off when you need something that’s not a cigarette or a drink. I thought things would change, but noo , I’m the only one making some real progress around here,” he stomps his own stub, irritated.

“It might be worth asking Beryl. She’s more connected.”

“Yeah, yeah, yada yada. She’s not saying shit. As if I’m fierce competition. I didn’t even fucking open.”

“Or, I dunno, maybe she’s busy,” Olive gives a more plausible reason.

The evening chill is settling. They’re done for the day. The taller inkling takes some steps towards the van. Suddenly, Rodi gently yanks him backwards, grabbing from his wrist.

“Love. Why not work with me on this?”

Olive didn’t quite catch that. “...Work with you?”

“Yeah. We’ve done this much so far. It doesn’t have to stop here. Bartend with me.”

His jaw unhinges the slightest, leaving his upper fangs exposed. He glances from the ground upwards, as Rodi stands up to bring their eye levels closer, as much as his height allows anyway.

Is this another joke of his? He’s not entirely sure, though if it’s not, it warrants at least an avoidant response. Olive resumes his walk back to the van, albeit slowly. “I’m sorry, Rodi...”

The pomegranate inkling prances next to him, slightly ahead, to stand in his way. “I can get you up to speed in no time, don’t worry about that,” he says in a sing-song way, but there’s a stone-like tension in his limbs.

”I can’t do anything full-time right now.”

“It shouldn’t be more than some hours a night. Just the weekends. I’m not going hard while it’s still new and underground. I’m keeping you in school, you thought I wouldn’t?”

“But, the flower shop. I already...”

“... That ? You got that gig already?”

Not exactly, but it’s close. “I talked to the owner, and he seemed up for it.”

“But, look at this !” he points to the brick building behind them. “It’s here already. It’s ours. I only need someone by my side.”

This puts Olive into an uncomfortable corner. Last year, Rodi had hinted at something similar to this, Olive briskly refused, and the memory comes back as a premonition.

“Please.”

He sharply sighs. “I’m not a bartender. It’s so out of my field. At least, for the flower shop, I’ll have an idea of what’s expected. But this? I really don’t know.”

The other’s arms fall to his sides, and he’s steadily nodding in agreement. The reasoning is acceptable. Though, it’s obvious Rodi ran out of arguments. His fired-up approach has fizzled out.

“I don’t know either. It’ll be something more than what I’ve been doing for Beryl. There’s a hundred more things I should know about.” The reality check ended up being self-induced.

Olive opens the door to the passenger’s seat. “Well, you’ve been doing your homework so far.”

He looks for a nod, a groan of agreement, any reaction of this sort. Though, Isandro snorts scornfully at himself, averts his gaze in slight shame. Olive’s eyebrows raise and tilt in worry.

He swears, he’s got no clue how someone can be so passionately up for something, yet navigating it so blindly.

And then it dawns on him. He’s the blindest of them all. How could he explain that he had willingly spent so much time in that basement, tirelessly helping his partner renovate it from top to bottom? Who spent the entire time scrubbing ceilings for nothing? Most of all, he suddenly started growing thyme and rosemary, gentian flowers and lemongrass, not for his home cooking, but for Rodi to include in his drinks and his next inventions. He’s well sure of one thing: he wouldn’t have done the same for that flower shop.

He didn’t want to take the flower shop job to become a florist surrounded by mind boggling amounts of flowers, he just wanted to be surrounded by flowers, simple as that. He didn’t want to take the job to craft bouquets all day, he just wanted to craft something. This can go on and on. Point is, he can very well do all of this in any other place, as long as he’s motivated.

The common denominator for his motivation is already known.

The realisation sticks on him like a thistle for the rest of the evening. And courage always comes to him only in the darkest hours, when they’re already in bed.

“I’ve thought about it again.”

“Nah, don’t think about it,” Isandro mumbles with his back turned. “It’s fine if you don’t want to, I’ll find something. Don’t lose sleep.”

“I think I... I’ve changed my mind.”

Shocking, even for Olive.

If there was any suspicion that they’re dozing off, it’s confirmed. They’re suddenly wide awake. Rodi turns on his other side, to face Olive. There’s a trace of his initial eagerness back in his expression.

Truth is, Anthos isn’t having an easy time negotiating with his billowing thoughts. “Here’s my problem with it. We’ll make it ours, we can do anything with it, fine. But we’re still so clueless, and yet we’re doing this, and it feels wrong in some way. Like, we’re fucking it up sooner or later.”

Rodi nods into the pillow. “Yeah. But, guess what, how long you’ve been in the game doesn’t give you immunity to fuck ups. I’ve seen others at it. All I can do is not repeat their mistakes.” He pulls the sheets off of his shoulders, and raises himself on his elbow. “You gotta make some mistakes too, Olive.”

Anthos keeps his nose under the sheets. “So, we’re setting ourselves up for failure.”

“Exactly. But, let’s not fail in the first month or shit. That would be embarrassing.”

Olive pulls the sheets closer to his mouth, to muffle his words. His eyes are squinted by his raised cheeks. “Sounds like your thought process back when you met me.”

Rodi lets out a stirred up chuckle. He uses his arm as a perch. Taking it as a light taunt, he grabs a fistful of the sheets and pulls them away, to reveal Olive’s smug figure. “Did it not work out, or what?”

Anthos was so suddenly uncovered, he’s already getting chills. He latches on Rodi’s body and weights it down, so it’s closer to his. He buries his nose in the warmest spot, between his shoulder and neck. “You tell me. I’m still in awe,” he breathes more warmth into it.

And Isandro says it with a tighter squeeze in their hug.

“Should I write you down as the co-owner, then?” He briefly places some distance, to see any changes in Olive’s expression.

It softens considerably.

This man has pushed him to decisions he thought would never arise. He takes the labyrinth in Olive’s head, sets it on fire, and dances with him between the embers. Anthos was always scared of the hot ashes, though Isandro kicks them without a flinch. Ideally, in a day they’ve yet to know, Anthos will start lightly treading on fire, and Isandro will stop charring himself with the sparks he leaves behind.

A little sigh escapes.

“It’s strange, how I’m starting to see my future. I’ve got my choices laid out, and I’d rather want the ones which have you,” he muses.

Rodi’s face lights up between the sheets. His voice shrunk to a whisper. “I want them too.”

His lips press onto his lover’s forehead. “Well, let’s give this a shot.”

The familiar summer breeze is creeping on Inkopolis once more. The city’s truly delightful in the month of May, as shown by the influx of travellers flowing in, either for sightseeing or joining the new competitive season.

This is great news. These waves of battlers and tourists bring in some great business to the locales, including this small, incredibly personal one.

A bright orange-yellow neon hangs above the stairs leading to the basement. The first thing any potential customer is able to see is the name of the place. It was a subject of great debate for its owners, though they’ve settled on a name they both enjoy.

It’s a nod to their humble beginnings. Rodi had wanted to impress his newest acquaintance with every gesture, and yet, he failed in his very first attempt. It was the first drink he bought for Olive, who knew damn well what a Mimosa was and how the plant that inspired it behaved.

Rodi got many more chances to buy his lover Mimosas afterwards. Though, the biggest one he bought is the one they’re standing into.

Mimosa , found on 10 Eelskin Street, is a small-sized bar and lounge that attracts through its urban rainforest-like interior design and spruced up drinks, some of its signature cocktails being adorned with petals and infused with bitters. It was opened only two months ago, and is in business only on weekends, though it’s quickly building up its reputation.

Its two owners observe every single patron that enters their business, and make sure that they also leave pleased. Anthos especially has an eye for detail, pouring the spirits and mixers in distinct layers, and then cutting and placing garnishes in intricate patterns. Isandro’s still somewhat of a showman, who makes an easy job of the simpler drinks, but only through flairs, from start to serve.

The couple’s charisma also pulls its customers back inside. Rodi’s always striking up a conversation, and Olive can lend an ear to yours. They are their own uninhibited selves while working, and after the doors are closed, the two goof around with no care for the late hours. It makes the closing hours a bit more exciting.

Today, Olive hasn’t got much clue what his lover’s been up to. He was particularly skittish, even during busier hours. He hasn’t let Olive grab anything from storage, he kept insisting he’d help him. From the corner of his eye, he sees Rodi emerging from there, with his hands behind his back, and with a rather constrained way to walk. Olive stops wiping the tables, to giggle at the scene.

“You’ve got a pretty silly walk there.”

“Great eye. Can you come over? It kinda sucks to walk like this.”

Olive comes closer, as told. Found in front of Rodi, he briefly strokes his tentacles. He thought their colour would be unmatchable. They’re a brilliant, bright ruby, a workout for his chromatophores. And now, Olive is able to replicate the hue faithfully on his own tentacles. The verdure in his hair ignites upon the first contact with his lover, and turns the same jewel colour without even a thought spent on it. It became something natural.

Rodi’s smirk goes even wider at the sight of this seamless transition. Though, he pulls the true reason for his playful expression from behind his back.

A lush bouquet of white lilies stands between the two inklings.

“Happy birthday, darling,” he keeps his loving eyes on him, to make the moment remarkably saccharine.

It takes him by surprise, as the date had switched over to the 2nd of May without him realising. The space in his chest turns fuzzy and warm. The feeling’s as intense as ever. Olive lightly rests his hands under his lover’s jaw and takes him for a kiss. It never changes. Those lips are still velvety, their taste still his vital spark.

While he is distracted by the bouquet, Rodi reveals another gift from hiding, presented in a little bag. Olive shakes back to reality, sets the lilies on the counter, and eagerly checks its contents.

There’s only one square box, about his hand’s size. He tilts it out of the bag and lifts its lid with caution. Ow , he didn’t expect to get pricked. A small, round cactus is hugging the edges of the box, and is still found in its nursery pot.

“It’s so cute,” he squeals and admires his new plant baby. “Does it have a name?”

Rodi scratches behind his ear. “I mean, I know it’s a cactus, at least that.”

“...Not like that,” he snorts. “A pet name. I’ll let you give it one.”

Rodi blinks a few times, but he keeps playing it cool. “Its name’s Cactus. I can’t go back now.”

With a humoured tone, Olive sets it on one of the bar’s shelves, between two bottles. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you name them anymore. Ah, it fits perfectly.” He admires it from a few steps back.

...The further you step back, the more plants you can spot. On the other shelves. On the counter. On the floor. At the entrance. At the tables. In the corners. In their heads.

Foliage and love everywhere.