Hey guys! This fic is kind of a valentine's Day special, and it will not be very long. Perhaps 3 chapters at most. I would also like to dedicate this fic to Dreamer1920, a dear friend of mine and an amazing writer :).

I hope everyone enjoys it! Thanks for reading!

"My name's SpongeBob."

Standing alone in the center of the stage as a white light from above covers his entire body, the yellow sponge raises his gaze and stares into the distance.

"Half sponge, half Bob..."

He snaps his fingers. The light fades and darkness engulfs him.

The light returns, twice as bright than before.

SpongeBob is holding a small black box in his hands. He opens it, revealing a wooden ring adorned with a gleaming acorn-shaped pearl.

"...all in love with Sandy Cheeks, the squirrel. The girl of my life, and also my wife. Or at least, that was the plan, but fate had something different in store for us."

SpongeBob holds the ring in his fingers. He stares at it with his blue eyes glistening with nostalgia.

He hugs it close to his heart with one hand before reaching his other arm toward Sandy. She is far away from him, ordering an ice cream, or frozen cow juice as she calls it, because apparently that's what people do in Texas.

It sounds like the biggest load of barnacles this narrator has heard in his entire life, but let's pretend I didn't just say that out loud for the sake of immersion and your suspense of disbelief—No, to hell with that!

Who would ever order something called 'frozen cow juice' in the first place?

Unless 'frozen cow juice' is an euphemism for some kind of adult entertainment, I'm sure this is something the squirrel made up right on the spot. And yes, by adult entertainment, I very much mean—

"CUT!"

The director, a hammerhead shark with silly glasses, stops the rehearsal. He seems angry, but the rage of a nerd is as threatening as Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy these days.

That is...not much.

"One more word and you are out of the play, Shelby."

"For the thousand time, my name's not Shelby, it's Sheldon!"

"Whatever, Chester. You ruined the rehearsal with your out of place comments about Texas cultural traditions! You are supposed to be the narrator! Narrators don't comment on the stupidities the characters do on stage! That's like Theatre 101, for Neptune's sake. You blew it...BLEW IT!" Gill Hammerstein threw the script on the floor and jumped on it in frustration as everyone around him, from his unimpressed assistant to all the actors on stage, stared at him.

"That never gets old." Muttered Patrick to SpongeBob. "He looks like he's having fun watching us act. We must be doing a great job, don't you think so, SpongeBob?"

"I'm not sure about that, Patrick." SpongeBob scratched his head. "More than having fun, to me it looks like he's about to have a mental breakdown."

Patrick arched an eyebrow and looked at Gill again. The shark was twitching and flailing on the floor as if he was stranded on dry land. Meanwhile, his assistant slapped him in the face without mercy to help him snap out of it.

"Come on, SpongeBob. Look at him." Patrick said with a silly smile on his lips. "That's obviously the look of the man that's having the time of his life."

"More like the look of a man who's pretty much regretting all his life choices so far." Sandy added, standing next to SpongeBob. "By the way, that was some pretty good acting there. Who knows? If you perform like that during tomorrow's premiere, you might catch the eye of an agent!"

"You really think so? Thanks, Sandy. I did as the director said and devoured my lines this morning, though I had to down them with some milk. They were very tasty!"

"I was talking to SpongeBob, Patrick." Sandy rolled her eyes as Patrick continued to imagine himself as a rising theatre star after his breakthrough as an actor. "But I guess you did a good job too. Not everyone can play the role of 'Tree number three'. I'm sure it requires a lot of commitment and... inspiration."

"I'm sure it does." SpongeBob laughed. "But now that you mention lines, I don't think you have any dialogue, Patrick. I mean, you play a tree."

"Of course I do! I just told you I devoured my script!" Offended, Patrick folded his arms and turned his back on his friends. The paper branches of his tree costume slapped them both in their faces, but Patrick didn't care. "If I didn't, then what were those sheets of paper with words I had for breakfast?"

"The newspaper?" Sandy guessed as she rubbed her nose right where a small scratch had appeared.

"Oh." Patrick turned around, this time slapping SpongeBob and Sandy again with another branch. "Well, that would explain why my script had silly headlines and so many photos of the city on it. I thought the director had put them in so I would get bored while reading it. I guess that means I really don't have any lines at all. Now I'm a sad, sad tree. A weeping willow."

Patrick let himself drop on the floor. The vibration caused by his heavy weight made Plankton fall from his spot on the upper part of the stage together with his microphone.

"Cheer up, Pat. Tree number three may be mute, but it still plays a vital role in this play!" SpongeBob said, cheerfully placing an arm around Patrick's shoulders. "It represents the themes of nature, hope and renewal! Without Tree number three, this play would have no meaning at all."

Patrick's eyes regained some of their childish energy. Sandy wondered what in the name of barbeque sauce SpongeBob was talking about, but when Patrick looked at her for reassurance, she decided to play along.

She gave her friend two thumbs up together with an optimistic nod.

"Nature? Hope? Renew—Hey Sandy, forget about what I said about frozen cow juice being the biggest load of barnacles I've heard in my life!" Plankton said to them with a mocking grin. He picked up his narrator microphone and turned it off. He looked at Gill Hammerstein, who was starting to gain a hold of himself. "The play that barnacle head wrote has nothing to do with those themes!"

"Barnacle head? I could have sworn mister director was a hammerhead." Patrick whispered to SpongeBob.

He had no time to correct his friend, all thanks to Plankton, who decided to keep talking even though no one had real interest in what he was saying.

"In fact," Plankton continued, "this play has no themes or purpose at all. It's just some cheesy love story with no more quality than one episode of those shows that Karen watches every day during dinner. Bad writing, bad acting, bad direction, bad production, bad props..."

"Bingo!" Patrick screamed.

"For once, you are correct, dimwitted star. This play is really the bingo of a disaster."

"If it is so awful, why did you accept to take part on it, Plankton?" asked Sandy.

Plankton folded his arms and puffed his chest.

"Because as the only citizen with a brain in this damn city," he said with his eye closed, "I felt responsible of safekeeping as much as possible the cultural richness of —"

"You did it for the money, didn't you?" Sandy finished the sentence for him.

Plankton whole pedantic act shattered. He glared at Sandy and SpongeBob with uncontained rage.

Why is he glaring at me? I wasn't even taking part in this conversation! SpongeBob gave him and apologetic smile with the hope it would calm him down.

Director Hammerstein was already a lost cause when it came to meltdowns, and only Neptune knew what would happen if Plankton decided to throw a tantrum too.

"Well, excuse me for trying to make ends meet, Sandy." Plankton threw the microphone to the floor. "The Chum Bucket has been on a bad streak lately, okay? I'm doing my best to stay afloat!"

Hasn't it been on a bad streak since it opened? SpongeBob thought with curiosity, but he was prudent enough to keep the question to himself.

"Hold your horses, I wasn't judging. We all have our different reasons for accepting being part of this play and I respect it." Sandy said while she patted Plankton on the head, which only made him fume and rage more. "Just look at Squidward. He joined because he wanted to be the director, but he stayed because he realized that being a stagehand was his true passion."

"Actually, he stayed because he plans to take over director Hammerstein's role with a machiavellian plan that includes a rope, a bucket of clams and an eel chick that goes by the name of Sharona."

SpongeBob, Sandy and Plankton looked at Patrick.

"Patrick, what the heck?" Sandy and SpongeBob said at the same time.

"It's true! I heard him saying it out loud when he was in the bathroom." Patrick exclaimed.

"So much for privacy in this place. Good thing I've learned to internalize my evil schemes! Uhm, not that I have any planned for this occasion. Neptune! What even gave you that idea?" Plankton laughed as he rubbed his hands together and refused to make eye contact with the others. "A-anyway, you were saying, Sandy?"

"What? Now...what was I saying? Sorry, but my brain's still recovering from Patrick's insightful contribution to the conversation."

"You were, for some reason, telling me of the others' reasons to join this mess of a play. You know, a perfectly natural and common topic for a normal chat between two acquaintances."

"Oh, right. Forget about Squidward, but how about Mr. Krabs? He joined as one of the producers because he wanted to make sure he would make a huge profit out of the ticket sales! And then there's Patrick, who...huh, Patrick, why are you even here again?" Sandy asked after a futile attempt at figuring out her friend's motives.

Patrick cleared his throat.

"You see Sandy, one day many years ago, my mom and my dad were feeling very loving—"

"No, not that!" Sandy slapped him on the back of the head. "I meant why did you accept to be here? I didn't know you liked acting until now!"

"I don't. I came here because the director offered me the role of tree number three. I was hanging outside my rock, doing nothing as usual, when he suddenly approached me and said, 'son, you are just what I need for my play', and I said, 'I'm not your son, my dad is pink!', and he said, 'Calm down, I was only—', but then I flipped and—"

"For the love of Neptune, can either of you shut this idiot up before he continues to kill my brain cells?" Plankton pressed his head with both hands. "Forget this, I've realized I don't really care about why any of you morons are here, not if it means listening to one of Patrick's anecdotes. So long losers, you better not mess up things tomorrow, or else..."

Plankton left his eye half-closed. Sandy returned the menacing stare in the same way two cowboys did before a duel to the death.

"Or else what, Plankton?"

"Or else the play will fail." Plankton shrugged with complete innocence. "That's pretty obvious."

"Well, you're not wrong." Sandy agreed, relaxing her muscles.

"Come on guys, don't be like this!" SpongeBob added with his usual optimism. "We'll do fine tomorrow, you'll see! As long as we trust ourselves and each other, everything will turn out fine."

Plankton rolled his eye and stuck his tongue out in disgust.

"Ugh, you sound like a cheap fortune cookie."

"Fortune cookie? Where? Save one for Tree number Three!" Patrick started to run around the stage, looking for the promised snacks as if his life depended on it. "Oh, there they are!"

"Patrick, wait! That's not a fortune cookie, that's—!" SpongeBob looked away just before he could witness Patrick devouring a yellow coral prop. "Never mind."

"Oh boy, Patrick is up for one hell of a night in the toilet." Sandy observed with a playful smirk on her face. "That little metallic coral is going to give more of a fight getting out than it did getting in."

"Barnacles, I sure don't hope so, Sandy." SpongeBob gulped and bit his nails. "A sleepless night for Patrick also means a sleepless night for me and Squidward. Have you ever heard his screams when he is constipated? It's like a mixture of a whale, a seabear and a truck horn! I mean, I would help Patrick out if he needs to, but I don't want to come to the premiere all tired and distracted."

"Don't worry Bob, if Patrick gives you trouble later, give me call and I'll be there to help you faster than a bull charges at a rodeo clown!" Sandy rested her arm on top of SpongeBob's head.

"But Sandy, if you don't get a good night of sleep either, the play will definitely be—"

"A DISASTER!"

Gill Hammerstein's nasal voice brought order to the stage. Sandy and SpongeBob turned around and faced the hysterical director, but not before they managed to subdue Patrick before he ate the whole scenography.

"That's what this play will be...a complete, unsalvageable disaster without any redeemable qualities about it! I can see it, the critics panning it harder than my bossed panned me after the whole fiasco that was the The wedding of SpongeBob Squarepants play!" Gill hid his eyes behind his fins and started to weep. "I've tried so hard to make actors out of all of you, but you're just too, too..."

"Stupid?" Sandy ventured, unamused.

"Incompetent?" SpongeBob added, disheartened but already used to this sort of berating.

"Oh, I know, I know!" Patrick raised his hand. "Ugly!"

"UNTALENTED!" the director screamed at the actors, making all of them look down in shame. All except for Plankton, who was not even an actor in the first place and was more interested in what he would have for dinner that night than in listening to another of the shark's dramatic speeches.

And Squidward, who was having an internal debate of whether to drop a sack of sand on the director's head or wait for a better chance to put him into a coma so he could take over as the director of the play.

Meanwhile, Gill Hammerstein, blissfully unaware of octopus's scheme, went on and on about the very tragic story of his life and his ruined career.

"...I knew I shouldn't have insisted in producing the sequel of a failed play, but I just couldn't let my boss and the other producers think I'm an utter failure! I may be a literal money-hungry shark, but I have artistic necessities to fulfill!" Gill raised his arms and looked up to the sky. "Do you understand now why my heart pains me so when I see you all acting like a bunch of kindergartners in a spring festival?"

"Sir, they are all gone. They left like an hour ago." Said Gill's assistant, sitting in the first sit of a row. He didn't know why he had stayed behind even when everyone else had left, but of one thing he was sure. If it hadn't been for his cellphone, he probably would have died.

Of boredom.

"What?!" Gill exclaimed. "Then who the heck is that guy on the stage?"

"The tormented ghost of an actor that perished here many years ago." The assistant replied, making Gill's gray skin turn white. "Oh wait, it's just the janitor."

"Hi!" the janitor waved his hand at them. The assistant replied to the greeting, but Gill ignored him completely, but not out of rudeness.

His mind was simply too focused on the inevitable disaster that waited for him tomorrow to focus on anything else.

What he had said before was true. He had tried so hard to try to make his amateur actors deliver a decent performance, but the task proved to be more difficult and futile than fighting a band of nematodes armed only with a sword made of toilet paper rolls.

The sponge's delivery was genuine, but his range of emotions seemed to be limited to happy and happier.

The squirrel was surprisingly convincing, but she had a knack for solving the play's conflicts with a display of karate, regardless if the script demanded it or not.

And the starfish was just... well, he didn't matter so much. He was just Tree number three, the most irrelevant extra in the history of extras.

As for the miniscule green narrator, Gill didn't want to think about him. It was more probable that sirens covered in fire would start raining down from the sky than Sherbert or whatever his name was would keep his comments and quips to himself.

"Oh my dear assistant, you naïve, unexperienced intern." Gill lamented with the back of one of his fins resting on the broad gap between his eyes. "You know not the woes that a director must endure for his art."

"Neptune, if you're going to start with another of your eternal monologues, can I go to the bathroom first? Otherwise, the poor janitor will have to clean quite a mess around here." The assistant got up without really waiting for an answer. A moment after, his cellphone rang, and on its screen, appeared the image of a goblin shark. "Uhm, director Hammerstein? The boss is calling."

"What? Now? Why does he always call when I'm in the middle of opening my heart to people?"

"I don't know, maybe he's just a jerk. But to be sure, why don't you ask him yourself?" the assistant shrugged before accepting the call and throwing the phone at the director. "I'm going to the bathroom now. Good luck!"

"You little prick, don't you- Oh...hi, sir." Gill straightened his back and smiled until all his sharp teeth were exposed even if he had no real reason to do so. It wasn't as if his boss could see him through the phone.

Or was it?

Gill closed his eyes and brushed the creepy thought off his mind.

"You better have good news for me, Gill." Said his boss with his characteristic hollow voice. "Your new play opens tomorrow and I'm not accepting another failure like that other play of yours. What was the name of that train wreck? The Divorce of SpongeBob SquarePants?"

"The Wedding of SpongeBob SquarePants, sir. The divorce was the planned sequel but I had to cancel it after the play wasn't quite as well received as I expected." A nervous laugh he didn't know was stuck in his throat escaped Gill.

"Not as well received? Are you serious, Hammerstein? It is one of the worst reviewed plays in the history of Bikini Bottom, and it's on the top five list of biggest box office bombs of all time! No one liked it, not even your mother! I should know, she told me!"

"My mother talks to you, sir?" asked Gill with great concern and some disgust.

"Not as much I'd like, but that's not the point. All I'm saying is that your play was hated by spectators and critics alike! It's one thing that critics shredded your play to pieces, but when your own audience turned on you, you hit a new low, Gill. One of them even claimed that the play was so awful, that he walked out of it. He was watching a recorded performance while on a plane, Gill."

"Sir, I've told you. It wasn't my fault. People these days just don't understand the theatre anymore!"

"I don't want another one of your excuses, Hammerstein. That's not what I called your for." His boss made a dramatic pause. For a moment, Gill thought he had passed out from the other side of the line. He was about to hang up when his boss' voice rung inside his ear again. "A fellow producer told me the play is not looking too promising, Gill. He is scared, and so am I. Neither of us would like to see the money we entrusted to you being flushed down the toilet. He wouldn't take that mishap kindly, and neither would I."

"Who squealed?!" Gill exclaimed in rage. Realizing his mistake, he covered his mouth with his fin, but the damage was already done. "I mean...oh, barnacles."

"I see. So, what Eugene Krabs said was true. Did I say Eugene Krabs? I meant to say my anonymous double-agent...oh forget it, the truth is out, I don't really care." His boss said. "Besides, you shouldn't worry about who the ratted you out, my dear Gill. All you should care about right now is making sure that you make that cursed play profitable. You have twelve hours to make it happen. Do not fail me again, because if you do... I'll make sure you end up in the electric chair!"

"Neptune, no!"

"Just kidding. I'm trying to break the tension here." His boss laughed, but Gill only wanted to cry. "Seriously now, if this play bombs, you better say bye-bye to your career, Gill, and the only thing you'll be producing from now on is one of those awful shows that desperate housewives watch during dinner. "

"When you put it like that, the electric chair doesn't sound so bad at all."

"That's the spirit! See? I motivated you. Go out there and make sure to earn me some of that green stuff! By the way, tell your mother to return my calls, I miss her."

"Sir, I—"

The call ended.

Gill's arm fell to his side.

"I am done for." He said, curling into a ball on the floor. "Can my situation get any worse?"

"I don't think so." The janitor said from up the stage. "But don't be sad. Remember that it's best to have tried and failed than to never have tried at all."

Gill looked at the old man with hopeful eyes.

"I guess I hadn't thought about it that way. Thank you, kind sir. It seems wisdom can really be found in the most unexpected—"

"Yeah, trying is all that matters! Unless you fail so miserably that you become a national laughingstock, and have to change cities, name, face, profession and you end up becoming the filthy janitor of a stinky theater!" The janitor tensed his hands until the broom he was holding snapped in half. "Sorry, I projected myself for a moment there. In any case, I'm sure your play will do fine tomorrow! And if it doesn't...well, the morning shift hasn't been taken yet."

Gill sunk again into a deep depression, but luckily for him, his dear assistant returned not long after and comforted him with a hug and warm words of encouragement.

True, the hug was more of small kick in the ribs and his encouraging words were limited to 'Sir, can I have my cellphone back?', but if Gill was doomed to fail, then he at least could pretend for a second that not everyone around him was a complete barnacle head.

SpongeBob looked at the empty and dark road.

The bus was taking longer than usual. Patrick, still dressed as a tree, was starting to get impatient.

"We could walk back home, SpongeBob. It's not that far." He suggested after swallowing another paper leaf of his costume as if it was candy.

"I know, Pat, but we can't leave Sandy alone. Let's wait for her bus to arrive and then we'll go, okay?"

"Don't worry, SpongeBob. You and Pat can go, I'll be fine."

"But...what if the Flying Dutchman appears and tries to take away your soul?" SpongeBob exclaimed, digging his nails into his cheeks.

Sandy laughed at his reaction, and Patrick imitated her, even when he had no idea what she was laughing at.

"Come on, SpongeBob! The Flying Dutchman stopped being scary years ago! Besides, you know he is more focused on his TV show these days. Have you watched it? It's so bad yet so good. We could watch some episodes together after the presentation tomorrow, what do you say?"

"Uhm...sure." SpongeBob said with a worried expression in his face. "Gee, Sandy. I wish I was as relaxed about tomorrow as you are. I can't even sleep two hours in a row at night without waking up while reciting my lines!"

"Same." Patrick agreed with a solemn nod.

"You guys, there's nothing to be nervous about! If the play ends up being a total disaster...so what? It's not going to be the end of the world, no matter how much Hammerstein tries to make it sund as if it would. They play doesn't really matter at all!"

"Doesn't...matter?" repeated SpongeBob.

"Of course it doesn't! It's just some silly thing, you know? I mean, we are not even getting paid. Huh, did I sound a lot like Mr. Krabs?" Sandy asked, putting a hand under her chin.

"Make your voice a bit hoarser and you'll sound just like him." Patrick told her.

"That's not good, but it's true. Everything that happens tomorrow will be more irrelevant than beepers and faxes nowadays. Let's just try to have some fun while we are at it; and we should also try to stop Plankton's and Squidward's schemes if they have any...I swear, those two always complicate things. Oh, here's my bus!"

Sandy gave SpongeBob and Patrick a quick hug.

"See ya tomorrow!"

"Wait, Sandy!"

Just as Sandy had gotten one foot on the bus, SpongeBob held her hand. He did so just to catch her attention and he let her go immediately.

"What is it, Bob?"

"Back there with Plankton, do you remember we were talking about our reasons to accept taking part in this play?"

"Of course I remember. I don't have the memory span of a goldfish! Uhm, no offense, ma'am."

"A lot taken." The bus driver said with a glare. "Mammals...and hurry up! I cant' keep the bus stopped for too long, you know!"

"Sorry." SpongeBob said with a apologetic smile. He then looked back at Sandy as he rubbed his hands and his cheeks became redder. "Sandy, what was your reason for being in the play?"

"Huh? What's that all of a sudden?"

"I just want to know..."

"Oh SpongeBob, you are so silly sometimes!"

"Sandy, please. I know, if I tell you my reason, will you tell me yours?" SpongeBob ventured with flames of determination burning inside his eyes. "Because I have a good reason to have accepted, Sandy! And it's not because Hammerstein recruited me or because I wanted to make some money or because I have some stupid evil scheme on mind. Sandy, the real reason I joined this play is...is—"

"Okay, time's out, Romeo." the bus driver announced without emotion. She pulled a lever and shut the bus's door closed, trapping one of SpongeBob's arms. "Next time, go straight to the point."

"Stop! What's wrong with you?" Sandy exclaimed at her, but she had no time to said anything else because before she knew it, she slammed against the back of the bus after the driver stepped on the gas.

"Phew, I haven't seen something go so fast since the roller coaster in Glove World malfunctioned after I dropped my soda on the rails!" Patrick said with a hand above his eyes. He looked at the bus disappear into the distance before going to SpongeBob, who was lying down with his face against the road. He helped him back on his feet. "Are you okay, pal?"

"No." SpongeBob said. He grew up a new arm and dusted off his clothes. "Not now that I know that Sandy doesn't really care about the play, at least not in the same way I do."

"Should I teach her a lesson?" Patrick cracked his neck and knuckles.

"Neptune, no! Calm down, Patrick."

"Sorry, I'm still in-character. The emotions of Three number tree are too strong to keep in check."

"Forget it, Patrick. Let's just go home. We need to get some sleep."

"Okay."

With that, SpongeBob and Patrick went back home together.

Oh Sandy...if only you knew my reason.

SpongeBob thought while Patrick continued to devour his own costume.

But even if you did, would that make you care more about the play? I can't know for sure, but I'll still do my best tomorrow! If I'm not brave enough to tell you, then I'll prove my reason to you by giving my best performance. And then... maybe I'll be brave enough to—

"SpongeBob?"

"Not now, Patrick. I'm in the middle of an inspirational inner monologue."

"You just stepped on clam poop."

"What?" SpongeBob looked at his shoe only to discover that Patrick wasn't lying. "Oh barnacles."

"More like 'oh crap.'"

"Patrick, you aren't helping." SpongeBob said with some anger as he rubbed his foot on the sand.

He just wished the waste on his shoe wasn't a bad omen for the show tomorrow.

Then again, if that wasn't symbolic, he didn't know what was.