Three will be the first to admit, she's got some flaws.

1: Three cannot and does not have many hobbies. Like, she's tried to have hobbies besides being sick of everyone's shit and turfing, but maintaining more than two (well, really one) interests is tiring. It's easier and more cost-efficient to just have one or two real interests, right?

2: Three uses her hobbies as a way to vent frustrations, which isn't too bad on its own, but her hobbies (hobby) are just so fucking expensive. Like, fucking hell, maybe Three just wants to whack someone with a roller for a few hours? But then her roller gets damaged because she flails it around like a baseball bat at times and now her roller's fucking broken and, yeah, she has an extra one, but it's not yellow.

And yellow is inherently better than purple.

Fuck purple.

3: She ignores her problems when they come up because it's worked for all of her deep-rooted emotional trauma so it's going to work here, dammit. Like right now, for example, when her roller let out a loud cracking noise towards the end of the match that she just had. And, yeah, the handle is metal, but it's not Sardinium and therefore unable to withstand being slammed into craniums fifty times a day. Which sucks, if you're wondering.

The crack in it is in the middle of the handle, which would snap clean in half if she swung it again. Which sucks, if you're wondering. And now Three is just even more pissed and stressed about fucking everything and she'd usually vent out her frustrations by flinging her roller around dangerously and a bit haphazardly but she can't do that now because it's fucking cracked. And, whatever, that's usually fine because Three can just go give it to Ammo Knights and Sheldon'll have it fixed by next week, but Three is stressed now, dammit, and if Four sees Three using the stupid, basic fucking Splat Roller she'd tease Three about it and then she'd get arrested for murder.

Three doesn't know why murder is illegal. Spawnpoints exist in the city, and, even if they didn't, a world without Four doesn't sound so bad. At least Three wouldn't have to hear that fucking shrill, nasally voice everywhere she went.

So. Yeah. Three has to go get her roller fixed and make up excuses as to why she's not turfing for the next week or so. Because fuck you, Four.

Maybe Three is antagonizing Four a bit too much. Four's not that bad, for Four, even if she teases Three a lot over fucking everything and has bad opinions on most things.

Like her fucking pizza toppings. She eats pineapple, but she gives Three shit for liking shrimp on hers? Pineapple is a fucking tropical fruit, and nothing tropical or fruit should be on a fucking pizza. "It's good, Three!" she'd insist, and in the same breath, give Three shit for some of the meals she's made before. Ketchup in ramen isn't even that bad. Three would rather eat literal shit than pineapple on pizza.

Four just doesn't have standards.

But… Ugh, Three's still more comfortable around Four. She might even call Four her friend, but that sounds really gross and mushy and feeling-y. Three refers to her as an acquaintance with benefits, which is a title Four hates because "It sounds like we're fucking, just say friends" but she doesn't get it.

Three thinks she has relationships on a level slightly below the acquaintanceship between her and Four with all the other Squidbeak Splatoon agents.

All the others, and then Agent 8 showed up.

Agent 8, or "Just Eight, please," is fucking weird. And not because she's an octoling and makes the occasional social blunder, but… Well, partially because of the social blunder thing, but she just makes Three feel fucking weird.

Like, floaty, happy, anxious, I'm-going-into-anaphylactic-shock kind of weird.

And Three doesn't know WHY!

Three's supposed to be cool and stoic and Agent-fucking-3. And then, when she's around Eight, she stops being cool and stoic. Or, as Four put it, "An emotionally-conflicted moron that ca-" but Three punched her in the gut before she finished her sentence.

And Three doesn't want to figure out why, she just wants to figure out how to make herself not like that. Because it's fucking dumb and stupid, fuck you.

So. That roller, huh? Yeah.

Three turns her phone on to go check Ammo Knight's hours, just to be sure. They closed in ten minutes, so she'd have to go tomorrow. The fee for a new handle was 10,000 C, but because Three used the Hero Roller Replica, there was another 5,000 C added to it because it's a "custom design" or some bullshit like that.

Which is stupid, by the way.

Her phone buzzes in her hand as she gets a text from Four.

Four, 5:50 PM: Hey, are you in the Square?

You, 5:50 PM: Yea I just finished a match but I'm done for the day

Four, 5:51 PM: Great! You wanna go get something to eat? There's a pizza place that's supposed to be pretty good

You, 5:51 PM: It can't be that good if you want to eat there

Four, 5:51 PM: Are you trying to judge my food choices? You put RELISH on NACHOS

You, 5:51 PM: Uh yea its because its good

Four, 5:51 PM: No? It ISN'T?

You, 5:52 PM: You put pineapple on pizza like some kind of fucking animal

You, 5:52 PM: Pineapple and tofu

You, 5:52 PM: Just who do you think you are

Four, 5:52 PM: It's not that BAD 3! You're just grumpy because I have working tastebuds

You, 5:52 PM: Oh YOU have working tastebuds? Ok

Four, 5:52 PM: :( Whatever! Anyways

Four, 5:52 PM: Are you going? We can meet you outside Deca

You, 5:53 PM: We? Who's we

Four, 5:53 PM: Me and 8

Three's face heats up and she gets a surge of butterflies when she reads that for some goddamn reason. She didn't… Ugh. Three likes hanging out with Eight, which is more than she can say about most people. Except Three also hates hanging out with Eight. Because of the anaphylactic shock feelings. The ones that she has right now. And she still doesn't know why but FUCK IT, she'll say yes.

You, 5:54 PM: Sure

Four, 5:54 PM: Great! Can't wait to deal with thirty minutes of you being an emotionally constipated moron

You, 5:54 PM: Why do you say that?

Three slings her pretty fucked roller over her shoulder. She'd have to stop by her car and drop it off there.

Four, 5:54 PM: Nevermind

Four, 5:54 PM: We don't have time to get into all of that

You, 5:54 PM: ? Ok

You, 5:54 PM: I have to stop by my car. Roller

Four, 5:54 PM: Sure, sure

Four, 5:54 PM: We'll be here!

Three slams the car door shut and sighs. Briefly, she checks her reflection in the side-view mirror and dryly laughs. She shouldn't be so worried over fucking PIZZA. With Four, of all people. The Queen of Bad Opinions and Always Being Wrong. The person who thinks Wetallica is a bad band. The person who willingly eats cucumbers because they're "healthy" and "I want to live to twenty-five, Three."

And Eight. Just Eight. Just Agent 8. Three doesn't talk to Eight much because she doesn't like feeling like a moron. Three's not even sure they've had a proper conversation in a month, because that was when Three started feeling like she was going to die of cardiac arrest whenever she was around Eight, and that was weird and not fun and it's STILL weird and not fun.

They'd text from time-to-time, though, but it was never about anything super important.

You, 6:01 PM: Hey 8

Eight, 6:01 PM: Three! Hi

You, 6:01 PM: What's up

Eight, 6:01 PM: We're waiting by Deca Tower, Four said you had to put your weapon away

You, 6:02 PM: Yeah I'm on my way back

You, 6:02 PM: Have you had pizza before?

Eight, 6:02 PM: Four took me for some last week! There was a lot to choose from but I ate pretty much everything

You, 6:02 PM: Do you have a favorite topping?

Eight, 6:02 PM: Ooooh IDK! They're all really good, except for tofu. IDK how Four eats that, it's so squishy and sad.

Eight, 6:02 PM: Don't be mad but I think pineapple is kinda good

You, 6:02 PM: Why would I be mad? We all have different tastes

Eight, 6:02 PM: Four says you threatened her with murder the last time you talked about pizza toppings, so…

You, 6:03 PM: Oh that? Yea I was just joking lol

Three has never used 'lol' before in her life.

She spends the rest of her walk back being stupid and anxious. Which she shouldn't be, but she is.

You, 6:05 PM: I'm at Deca where are you guys?

Eight, 6:05 PM: Is that you there?

Three looks around. Fucking Deca Tower's always crowded as shit. How people dealt with this all the time is beyond her. Cod, working at Deca must be a hell unlike any other. Customer service already sucked major ass, but having to deal with cocky teenagers all day… She shudders at the thought.

"Oi, Three!" That shrillness. That pretentious accent. That volume.

Three turns around towards the voice with a sigh.

"Hey, Four."

Four waves at Three, pushing up her sunglasses with her other hand. She got her tentacles styled the other day, and they're in pigtails, crammed into a beret. Her jacket's either new or she's owned it for months and never wore it. It also looks way too warm, but what does Three know? The pair of khakis that she's wearing aren't new, nor are they exceptionally old, but Four stained them with various paints the other week "for the aesthetic," whatever the hell that means. She's also wearing the exact same pair of Shark Moccasins that she always wears, and they're a bit worn but also ridiculously clean. Besides the fact that she looks like she's going to praise modern art for two hours, she doesn't look too bad.

Beside her is Eight, who waves with much more gusto than Four. Three immediately feels all of her ink rush to her face, because Eight normally wore the most eye-burning and patchwork clothes that she could find. They were usually baggy and comfortable, if not tacky.

And apparently today isn't normal.

Eight is, for some fucking reason, wearing some of the Off the Hook sponsored gear. Specifically the Marinated Top that Three saw ads for everywhere. With that, Eight wears a pair of black leggings that a pair of Punk Whites and a Takoroka Visor, her ponytail popping out the top of it. And exactly none of those are clothes Three's seen Eight wear before.

"Three! It's good to see you!" She smiles brightly, and it then fades when Three doesn't respond. "Are you okay?"

"You. I, um. Hey." Three has to tear her eyes away from Eight's shirt to meet her gaze. "Yeah, I'm. I'm fine. You just, uh, look different."

"Like, um, in a bad way..?" Eight bites her lip. "I, um, didn't pi-"

"NO," Three says a little too quickly. "It. You look good. Not that you, uh. Don't. Normally. Like. It's. It's new. Is all. Yeah. I'm. I'm gonna shut up now."

Eight looks relieved and Three thinks she catches Four mumble "I told you so" beneath her breath.

"So!" Four punctuates it with a clap. "Are you all ready?"

Eight nods.

"Yeah, sure," Three mumbles, feeling a bit underdressed. This morning, she threw on a somewhat-clean shirt, a hoodie that's probably clean-ish, some shorts, a beat-up pair of flip-flops, and then whatever hat she found lying around first. So, no, her clothes don't even match but at least they have pockets, which is where she shoves her hands as she walks. "Where are we going, exactly?"

"Sand Dollar Pizzeria. It's been open for a few months, but I haven't gone yet. If two of us can agree on pizza toppings, we might get a couple's discount."

"You're so fucking cheap." Three rolls her eyes. "Aren't you, like, a professional turfer or something? I don't think money's a huge worry for you."

A sea-green blush forms on her face. "I… Well, I spend most of my money on clothes."

"I mean, um, I could give you some money for that?" Eight offers. "Pearl gives me money every month, but it's always way too much. I don't think she understands how much 100,000 C is…"

"She gives you what," Three deadpans. Fucking rich people.

"Yeah, she said it's a small allowance. But I don't have anything to spend it on…" Eight laughs a bit to herself. "I can buy lunch, if you want? Or, um, is it dinner..?"

"Dinner, probably." 6:00 PM (or 6:30 to 7:00, whenever they get there and eat) is pretty early for Three, but it's way too late to be lunch. Then again, Three usually ate around 11:00 PM (if at all) and then passed out at 2:00 in the morning. Or whenever her eyes physically couldn't keep themselves open anymore, and she'd usually just collapse on the couch, so her bed was rarely used. "And, uh, you don't have to buy. If you. Don't want to."

"No, it's fine!" Eight gives Three a smile. Which. She. Guh. "I'd like to buy it! We're friends, after all, right?"

"Yeah. We, uh. We are." Three feels warm and stupid is it possible for her head to explode from the amount of ink that's in it right now because she think it might be possible and haha there's only one way to find out! "Um. Friends, that is. Yeah."

Four rolls her eyes. "Oh, so you can call Eight a friend, but not me? Four, your best friend that you've known since the second grade? I'm offended, Three."

"Die mad about it."

"Wow, okay," she scoffs.

A few pigeons land on a nearby bike rack. Eight makes a soft happy noise (oof) and pulls out her phone to take a picture of them.

While she's distracted, Four elbows Three in the arm.

"What?" she mumbles.

There's a certain look in Four's orange eyes. It's a look that Three is very familiar with. The fucking matchmaker look.

"You gotta ask her out."

What?

"Excuse me?" Three says, a little more than shocked. "I don't- I don't even-"

"Oh, don't lie to me," Four snaps. "Come on. I see how you look at her. And you look like a shitty cheese stick, with how orange your face is." Three blushes a little more. "See?"

Well. It'd make sense that those anaphylactic shock feelings are vaguely romantic but there's no reason for Eight to return them. She got to the surface two months ago, or something like that. Eight's still adjusting to being on the surface, right? Three glances over at Eight, currently fawning over the pigeons. Yep, still adjusting.

"I- Okay, first of all, my ink is golden, not orange. And… Fuck, maybe I kind of like her, but-"

"Don't 'but' me, Three. She was freaking out earlier because she was worried you weren't going to like her outfit." … Was she? That's not very Eight-ish.

"She could just look up to me?"

"Don't be a narcissist, Three. Look at her." Three looks over at Eight again. Yeah, still gushing over birds. Four waves her hands in the shape of a rainbow, arms hovering a bit above Three's shoulders. "Do you see her? Does that look like someone who doesn't want to fuck you?"

"DON'T SAY THAT," Three yells.

Eight looks away from the birds because they flew away. Because Three was loud. Because fuck you, Four.

They make eye contact. Three feels her soul shrivel up and die.

"Are you okay?" Eight asks after a few moments of silence.

"One day I am going to kill Four," Three states calmly, "And it will be a joyous day. The heavens will open up and sing. Tatzelwurm herself will rise from the oceans and congratulate me. 'Thank you so much, Three. You finally removed that shitstain.' She will be so happy that I will be gifted immortality, and I will join the Pantheon of the Gods. All hail Agent 3, goddess of fucking killing Agent 4. Shrines will be made in my honor. I'll even become the prime minister for my contributions."

"Um… Okay." Eight gives Four a look. Three doesn't know what the look means, but she can guess. She rejoins the two, quickly looking over her pigeon pictures, then turns her phone off.

"So... Are you guys ready?" Four checks her phone for the time. "It's 6:10, I wanna get there before 7:00."

"Yeah," Three mumbles while Eight nods enthusiastically.

As they start walking, Three thinks she catches Eight staring at her, but Eight looks away before she can really be sure. But, unless Three's imagining it, Eight's blushing a little..?

Ugh.

Feelings are dumb.