One of the worst things about gaining a grudge against Spike was that he worked in a theme park full of Spike imagery. Spike merchandise. Spike fences. Spike himself. It was still Starr Park and not Spike Park, but when you hate something, every instance of it seems to stick out like a sore thumb.

And boy, was Edgar in a forest of sore thumbs.

Every time a customer bought any Spike-related merchandise, he liked to smile at them in a special way. A special, hate-filled smile full of teeth and loathing.

"Thank you for coming!"

"Thank you!" The customers smile back, blissfully unaware. The gift shop door closes.

"You're awfully nice today Edgar," Colette teases him. She, too, is blissfully unaware.

"Yeah," he says. "Sometimes I just randomly feel the urge to be a nicer person."

"Cute!" He frowns. Why does she always have to ruin everything?

Anyway.

Edgar had woken up angry today. He was probably angry every day, but he had a nightmare about running away from a hideous green face that stretched and grew until it consumed everything in sight.

That face being Spike, of course.

But he's not going to let that bring him down. Sure, he wasn't being totally truthful about the urge to be a nicer person, but he still decided to put the joy in it. A smile is a smile, right?

Besides, every customer that bought a Spike item was only taking it away from Edgar's vicinity. Something to be a little thankful for.

He'd still prefer it if they stayed in the gift shop to rot and fester, unwanted.

"I think the new Squeak merch is cute," Edgar says.

"Aww, I know right?" Colette agrees. "Really a fun addition to our stuff. I'm glad the customers like it too."

"Squeaky funny."

Squeak is a funny face. That's one good thing.

At some point, Colette had to use the restroom and he was left alone for a few minutes. Just in time, a family came to the counter.

The transaction was alright. A bunch of the usual t-shirts and trinkets. A young boy rested his chin on the counter and cheered when Edgar scanned the Squeak tumbler.

"You like Squeak, little man?" The boy nods.

"Yes! He's cool!" Edgar smiles.

"That's right! I think so too!" Thank god it's not a Spike fan. This boy deserves a wholesome smile.

Colette makes her way back to the counter as he thanks the family before they leave the store.

"Aww."

"I was just doing my job."

To be fair, he doesn't think he would actually go sarcastic on the kid if he were a Spike fan. Even that has its limits.

Maybe he's just a little nice.

Probably the most awkward part of Edgar's day was walking out the gift shop for lunch then chancing upon Spike himself a few turns later.

At the other end of the path stood the green rival. In the flesh. Or the plantflesh. Smiling.

Edgar always feels weird looking at Spike. How could he know where he's looking? He doesn't have eyeballs! Just to be safe, Edgar waves at him. Spike must see him too, since he waves back. That's his cue to leave. Turning around, he lets his sneakers take him away faster and faster.

"Loser," he curses.

-

The day ends with Edgar approaching the employee locker room, overhearing soft echoes of Colette's bubbly voice.

"And that customer acted like such a dummy, but I guess they're just the rotten people of this world!"

"Talking to Spike again?" Edgar asks as he walks in.

"Mhm." She turns to him and pulls the Spike plushie from her locker. "Say hi!" He stares.

The plushie stares back.

"Psh. I don't think Spike wants to say hi to me."

"Yes he does!" Colette puffs out her cheeks. She makes plushie Spike do a little wave.

"Eh, nah. I don't."

"So mean... he does this every time... it's okay Spike..." Edgar fixes the stuff in his locker.

"So tragic. I don't want to interrupt you telling him about your day. Why don't you ever tell me about your day?" He realizes just how stupid that sounds after the words leave his mouth. Colette giggles.

"'Cause you're already there for most of my day, silly!"

"Maybe you should bring Spike to the counter too, so he could be there for most of your day."

"Hmmm..." Not that he was trying to sound extra bitter or anything. "Nope. Spike is very happy here. Right here in my locker, and in my room when I go home." She walks right up beside him, leaning into his face. "Why do you say that?"

"Hm?"

"Are you jealous?" He slams the locker door shut and she flinches.

"No! I mean, no, sorry, ugh..." Edgar scratches his head. "I'm not. And don't get all close to me like that, that's weird."

"Aw. If you say so. Sorry..." Frick, he didn't want her to be sorry.

"No, it's okay." He bites the back of his lip. He looks at plushie Spike in her arms and bends down a little. "Hello, little Spike! Did I scare you too? I'm sorry..."

"Ahh, you said hello to Spike!" She softly exclaims. She holds it out in front of him before he can process it. "Huggie?" Edgar pouts.

"Yeah, sure." He wraps his arms around the small plushie. He gives it a gentle stroke too. That plushie better be feeling loved and special.

Just a bit, he wishes he could be hugging Colette too, but it would be awkward after what just happened.

He gives back the plushie and Colette smiles widely, shuddering with excitement.

"Yaaaayyyy!"

"Yeah, whatever," he mumbles, zipping his bag closed.

"Thank you Edgar!"

"It's cool. Don't mention it. Literally." His face feels warm.

"Anyway — if you really wanna know about my day so bad — I'm kinda tired right now. Think I'm craving something sweet. Wanna come with me to Moonbucks?"

"Oh." Moonbucks is always cool. And he still has payday cash. And it's Colette. "Sure, I'm down."

The twilight sky was charred black by the time they made their way to the Moonbucks doors. The sound of cars whizzing past fades into the scent of coffee as they enter.

"So who were you complaining about earlier?" Edgar asks. "I mean, when you were talking to Spike. Was it Vomit Guy or Miss Seven O'Clock?"

"Oh no, I actually felt sorry for Vomit Guy," Colette says, "And Seven O'Clock wasn't that bad. I was talking about the lady who kept yelling at her kids."

"Oh. Sad."

"Hello! I'd like a regular caramel frappe please," Colette tells the barista.

"Uh, one dark forest, regular, please."

The barista nods and tells them their total. Edgar opens his wallet, only to notice Colette taking out a larger bill.

"Hey no, let me pay for mine."

"Too late!" She smiles. "My treat."

"Wow." The transaction happens all too fast. "I have cash too, y'know," Edgar grumbles as she pockets the change.

"I know. Keep it."

"You keep it," he says, holding his money out.

"No thank you!"

They walk over to where the orders are given and he drops the cash on the counter.

"Well, too bad. It's not mine anymore."

Colette takes it with an eye roll.

"Okay, drama queen."

"Oh, I'm the drama queen?"

"Yeah."

Drinks in hand, they sit across each other. Edgar sips his frappe quietly, looking out the window as the flavor blooms in his mouth.

"I've been having fun in Clans of Clash," Colette says.

"Oh— for real?"

"Yup!" She says proudly. She takes out her phone and shows off her base. "Look! I have a base." Edgar smiles. It's a baby base.

"Cute! Add me as a friend. We can be in the same clan."

"Oh, sure. What's your username?"

"Uhm, xX_MonsterManiac_Xx." Colette snickers, a crackly sound. "Stop laughing."

"Okay, xX_MonsterManiac_Xx! It's just never not funny!" Edgar peeks at her username at the corner of the screen.

"Yeah, real rich coming from you, craziegurl89." She shrugs with a knowing smile.

"I'm crazy, what can I say?" He sighs deeply.

"Yes, you are. It's the biggest pain to work with you." He brushes his bangs with his hand, looking away. "Just kidding, kinda," he adds softly.

"Well that's really too bad! I'm staying here. I might even stick here forever. Forever and ever and ever." Colette leans back, slightly unruly hair fraying from her low ponytail. She takes a slow, dragging sip of her drink.

"Really a living hell." Edgar deadpans. Then a cold trace of something runs through him, and he says, "Actually, you're not the worst to work with. I couldn't imagine stocking the store and dealing with all those people by myself."

"Aw, thanks," Colette says. She laughs slightly. "Though you could do it with someone who wasn't so noisy, or talked about the same things over and over again."

"Excuse me?" He puts his drink on the table. "You freaking weirdo. I don't want to work with some random other lame-o. I don't care if you keep a scrapbook or talk to your plushie or talk to me, heck." He'd have hated this job a lot more without her, for sure. "You're like. Okay."

"Deemed 'okay' by Monster Maniac Edgar. Thanks." She stares into her drink before breaking into a sheepish smile again. "That means a lot." It's not enough.

"Hey. If you weren't there earlier, I would have just decided to vomit back at Vomit Guy myself."

"Nooooo!" Colette screeches.

"And I wouldn't even bother bagging people's items," he says. "Oh? You bought all this? Well," he points his palms upward, "you have hands."

"You're the worst," she says, but her face is lighting up again. He scowls. He is mean, and he's only making himself look even worse, but it's for a good cause.

"Yeah. I am. And you're cool." Fun. Nice. Interesting. Special. So good to be with. Edgar looks down at the wooden table, then back at her face, then down again. "You're cool, just take my word for it," he says, the words feeling strange in his mouth.

"Awww. Thanks Edgar." She rests her arms on the table. "You're a real sweetheart." He fidgets with the end of his scarf.

"Shut up. We weren't even talking about me. Anyway," he looks back up at her shiny eyes. "There's this song that's been stuck in my head. Super annoying."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Chopin's Revolutionary Etude. You know how Gramps is like." Edgar sighs. He very slightly dreads the thought of going back home now. It's still way better than work though, what the heck? He loves being at home. But he could stay with Colette a little longer.

"Oh, I do know," she says. "But I can't believe you just named it! Never thought you'd finally turn into a fancy proper guy."

"Shut it," he rolls his eyes. "I'm not. But I was bored and looked at his phone — that's how I know — and looked up if it would sound cooler with an electric guitar. And you know what. It does. It actually sounds so sick." She raises her eyebrows.

"No way?"

"Seriously! I mean, the guy had to change the rhythm a bit, but it works. I don't know if Chopin would've been this sick if he were born in the age of all this modern stuff, but yeah, it's bearable. I'll send you the link later." He's smiling a little too much. He tones it down a bit and sips his frappe again.

"Do send," Colette agrees, "I wanna hear it."