Work Text:
Eight did not understand inklings.
She was beginning to understand the surface, sure. She knew the language, she knew which stores sold what, she knew how to play Turf War, she knew to look both ways before crossing the street - and she was learning more comfortably with every day. But she did not understand inklings.
They were clingy, she knew that. None of the ones she’d met were strangers to physical contact, with the exception of Agent 3, but they seemed to be the outlier. But this…
Perhaps it was more accurate to say that, right now, it was not an issue with understanding inklings, but with understanding Agent 4. Her roommate was practically locked around her arm, her grip as tight as ever despite being soundly asleep. Eight, on the other hand, was very much struggling to reach that level of peace.
They didn’t usually share a bed, but Four’s anxiety was particularly bad that night. Initially, the plan was for her to just stay close for a little while, for them to talk about nothing in particular, and then for her to go back to her own bed. But apparently Four had gotten so comfortable that she forgot that last part, because she’d wrapped around Eight’s arm, snuggled up to her, and then immediately passed out.
And it didn’t seem like she was going to let go anytime soon. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable . It was warm, certainly, and she felt heat pricking at her cheeks whenever she looked down at the sleeping inkling, a different kind of warmth that still felt so alien to her, despite Four’s seemingly magical ability to inflict it upon her by doing even the simplest of things.
She really did not understand Agent 4. She didn’t understand why her face seemed to light up even brighter than usual whenever they spent time together, or why she was so comfortable around someone who she hadn’t known for all that long, and whose people she’d only known as enemies for the longest time. She didn’t understand, but it seemed like Four was just… like that.
She was like the sun, so bright and warm. Four took her hand and led her around the most wonderful places, places she could only dream of in that dark, unfeeling place. She was unflinchingly enthusiastic, and seemed to feel just as much joy as Eight did when she showed her something new.
But she knew Four wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. She knew the peppy front could fall away if even one thing went just a little too wrong, that even though she seemed to find it so easy to talk to people, she always felt so nervous that she almost compulsively put on a happy face. She knew she prioritised others over herself, and maybe that’s why she spent so much time ensuring Eight felt welcome and safe, even at the cost of her own health, because Eight knew that it was tiring for her sometimes.
And yet, all those vulnerabilities were just another part of her. And right now, with that peaceful smile on her face, it was easy to forget that just a while ago, she was only clinging to Eight as an anchor.
So then… why was she still clinging to her? Why was her grip so strong, even in her sleep? It couldn’t just be the safety, surely not. Eight had seen her sleeping before, and she’d never seen her look this comfortable. And the way she’d nestled herself up against her, that was definitely not necessary. Not that Eight was complaining, because it was… kind of adorable.
Four was, after all, kind of adorable. All the little gestures and smiles and the excited little noises she made when something good happened - they made Eight’s hearts flutter. And her being so much smaller than Eight meant it would be very easy to pick her up and carry her, if she ever needed to.
…why was she thinking about that?
“ ...pull it together, Eight, ” she mumbled to herself, resting her one free hand against her forehead. With Four asleep, she didn’t need to worry about speaking Inklish, so she easily slipped back into her natural tongue.
She did need to pull it together, but the harder she thought about it, the harder that got. Four really was just too cute. Distressingly cute.
Maybe the problem wasn’t that she couldn’t understand Four, but that she couldn’t understand herself. Why did she look at Four’s sleeping face and get the urge to squish her cheeks? Why did she always end up so pink in the face whenever Four’s smile popped into her head? Why did she daydream, sometimes, about watching the stars together on the roof of their apartment, and when it’s all quiet she reaches out and gently holds her hand, and Four turns to her, and she leans in and–
“ P-pull it together, ” she chides, her face alight.
Why, why, why? Why had she fallen for her so hard? What kind of magic spell did Four put her under? Is this entire situation just an elaborate plan to make her realise just how severe of a crush she had? Does Four know ? Is she laughing at her, in her sleep?
No. That would be silly. And Four calls her silly sometimes, in a joking way that makes her hearts get all twisted.
…maybe she does have it bad. But she doesn’t understand. Does Four feel the same way? Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she’ll find out, someday.
Maybe in the morning she’ll wake up and this will all come flooding back to her. Maybe tomorrow she’ll call Marina and ask for some advice. Maybe in a week or so, when Four’s not so busy, she’ll ask if she wants to go on a date. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll say yes.
But not today. Not while she looks so happy. To disturb her now would be selfish, and Four tells her sometimes that it’s okay to be selfish, to look out for what she wants, but not now. Not with how happy she looks, even with her eyes closed.
So Eight closes her eyes, too, and lets her mind go blank. She lets the softness of her bed carry her, and lets the friendly warmth of her roommate around her arm fill her with safety. And maybe she’s selfish enough to wrap her other arm around Four and pull her closer, and she’s okay with how fast her hearts are beating and how hot her face is. She’s close to Four and that’s enough, because she’s warm and bright and kind like the sun.
And Eight loved the sun.