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The show was over, and the sky had long turned onyx black- the only light coming from the dim moon and the twinkling stars across the landscape.
Two TV stars sat in the studio, not uttering a single word or daring to look in the other’s direction. The silence was palpable- and Tenna was far more aware of it than Spamton was. An argument had taken place just about a half hour ago between Spamton and Tenna- the gameshow host remembered it very clearly.
“Not everything is about you, TV head!”
“Do you have static in your head or what?”
“It’s like- ugh, god, you’re unbearable..”
He wasn’t sure if he was remembering some of those right, but it was clear enough to sting. Tenna’s movements— from his twitchy fingers to his uncrossing and crossing legs— were nothing short of fidgety and nervous. He had no idea what he had done wrong. But now Spamton was mad at him, and he had to fix it. Had to.
“..Spam?” The words came out more meek than Tenna would’ve liked them to be.
“What.” Spamton responded shortly, not looking over at his business partner- instead acknowledging him.
He paused at that. The one time that Tenna actually wanted to talk after a heated argument, his throat felt all.. dry and closed up. God, it made him want to punch himself right in the throat to force the words out. The pain would be deserved as well, he’d say. After all, Spamton was clearly upset because of something he’d done, right? Why else would he have yelled at him like that? They were good.. friends, otherwise.
“Are you going to talk or are you gonna chicken out?”
Spamton’s voice made the antenna on Tenna’s head perk up, and he awkwardly laughed, as if to play off his sudden silence. “H-Haha— right! Sorry.”
“..Are you mad at me?” Tenna almost hesitated to ask.
“What does it look like?” Spamton simply answered, which frankly, didn’t help Tenna’s case at all.
He slowly turned his head to look at the salesman and his posture, tilting his head to the side in mild curiosity. His shoulders were tense, eyes locked onto the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the room, and Tenna could only catch a glimpse of his lightly furrowed eyebrows. It was no surprise to either of them that Spamton was, in fact, mad at him.
“I- well, whatever I did, I’m sorry-“
Spamton cut Tenna off with a raised hand before he could start the whole ‘I’m sorry’ ramble. “I feel like you know what you did. God, you do this every time, Tenna.”
If it were possible, Tenna’s expression dropped into a more dejected expression. The phrase ‘you always do this’ made Tenna’s artificial heart ache in the worst ways possible- an all too familiar feeling of guilt.
“..What?”
“Every single time after we argue, you go into the whole self loathing schpeel about how it’s ’all your fault’ and that you’ll ’be better’.”
When Tenna didn’t reply, Spamton continued, now turning in his chair to face the other with narrowed eyes.
“If you’re gonna be better like you say, start- I don’t know, actually hearing me out? Instead of getting defensive the moment I try and give you criticism? I think that would help.” The words were spat out with such venom that Tenna could practically feel it surging in his wires.
“I don’t-“
“Just shut up and go. I can’t be in the same room as you right now.”
That last sentence, those last damned eleven words, made Tenna feel like his arms were sliced off. That was the last thing he wanted. No, no- he had to stay. Even if it hurt. He couldn’t be alone. Not without a proper reassurance that this won’t affect anything in their acquaintanceship. Or whatever it was. Tenna really couldn’t tell anymore, and he was too scared to ask the question ‘What are we?’ because he feared the answer.
“..You still- you still love me, right?”
“Go.”
“Spam—“
“Go.”
Like a dog obeying its owner, Tenna quickly nodded his CRT head and forced himself to stand, despite feeling a little shaky in the limbs by now. He wasted no time in rushing out of the room and right to his personal dressing room- the door making a loud slamming sound as he shut it.
Slumping down onto the floor, back against the door, his screen flickered to static as his hands clutched the side of his head. His knees were brought up to his chest, staring down at both them and the bright red flooring.
Well. He really messed up, didn’t he?
All he wanted was to be the best he could, but even then, it wasn’t enough.
He was flawed.
A hindrance to Spamton’s happiness.
…
“What did I do wrong?” Tenna muttered out to himself, shakily and quietly, like a little kid about to burst into tears. What did he do wrong? Why was Spamton mad at him? How could he fix this?
While all these questions engulfed his thoughts, he could conjure up no answers. No matter how hard he tried, he just.. couldn’t.
The static flickered and buzzed even louder than before, and while Tenna wanted so desperately to just cry his eyes out, he couldn’t really.. do that. A TV like him didn’t even have eyes to cry with. And that made his chest ache even more than it already was.
Subconsciously, Tenna brought one of his hands further up to his antenna— grabbing onto it and yanking it forwards. He tensed at the pain that surged through him as a result, shivering lightly with a jolt of electricity, but he repeated the action anyways. Tenna always did that when he was breaking down and needing something to drown out the constant buzz of painful memories and questions.
Pain was a flower that needed to bloom for him to disregard the weeds of his mind.
This is what he deserved, was it not?
…
Yes. Surely, he deserved this.
After a minute of this electric self-torture, Tenna hesitantly let go of the antenna and stared at his gloved and shaky hands. That had to be the worst of it, right? Maybe he should just.. go back to Spamton. Yeah. He didn’t know how long it had been, but surely Spam was ready now, right?
Or maybe he was going to abandon him?
Tenna immediately froze up at the thought of abandonment. Spamton? Abandon him? No. No way. They had a contract— they had a bond that no other duo had on television. It would always be ‘Spamton and Tenna’s TV Time’!
Always.
Always, always, always.
Tenna didn’t know what he’d do if that changed. Could he even handle being alone every day? Who would make him laugh before recordings to ensure his smile was genuine? Who would remind him to iron his suit? Who would spend late nights forcefully dragging him to bed, because he downed too many drinks?
Spamton. It would always be Spamton. Right?
Right?
“I don’t want you to leave me.”
Tenna whispered to break the agonizing silence, even despite no one being there to hear the words.
Just then, two knocks on the door startled him up to full height; very quickly putting on his usual demeanor, as if he wasn’t in the process of spiraling down a rabbit hole he didn’t truly want to go down.
“Yeesss?”
“Uh- Mr. Tenna?” The familiar voice of Elnina sounded from beyond the door. She sounded mildly concerned.
“Oh, Elnina, sweetie- I’m sort of, uh..” He paused, before speaking once again.
“..Busy, so I can’t see you face to face, but what’s up?”
“Are you.. okay? I heard a lot of static and you mumbling to yourself. Well, Lanino did, and I wanted to check in..”
Tenna froze up a little at that. Shit. So his.. little breakdown wasn’t exactly ‘little’, if someone else had heard it. Well that was just dandy.
“Ah, I’m fine! Just a rough patch, is all- nothing I can’t handle!”
“I heard you mumble ‘I don’t want you to leave me’—“
“I am fine. Now shoo.”
The mildly snappy tone to Tenna’s voice made Elnina pause in her tracks, seeming to stay for a moment before the sound of her heels against the floor could be heard— gradually getting quieter until there was nothing to be heard once more.
Tenna’s hand felt for the dial on the side of his TV head, gently turning it so the volume bars gradually decreased. Once his volume was quiet enough that he was certain no one could hear it, he sighed, and grabbed his head again with both hands.
“Just tell me what to do, Spam. I want to be better. You know I want to be.”
While the words fell into nothing but air, Tenna said them anyways.
“Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry.”