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The moment the phone call came, Tenna assumed it was just a momentary distraction.
Surely he wouldn't take too long! He would be back in a jiffy— he was certain of it. Spamton always came back. Always.
After all, he ran out on him all of the time— even during some of their most intimate moments. This was nothing new. Spamton would rather harshly push himself away from Tenna with panic and bolt out the door while sputtering promises that he’ll be back; telling him he just needed to make a call.
One.
Single.
Call.
And he would come back! He always did. Just like he said, making promises he always obeyed. Well, at least from what Tenna understood.
The thunderous slam of the door would always cause Tenna to jolt, leaving him feeling utterly hurt and betrayed. And Tenna tried to pretend that being abandoned like this didn’t hurt him so much. Yet as much as he tried to deny it, inside the TV host couldn't reject the painful, aching feeling inside that persisted until he felt loved again. Appreciated again. Until he felt like he wasn’t someone— something that wasn’t easily discardable. Something that you could just toss away.
So when his pen clattered to the floor and the contract remained unsigned, he picked it back up like routine and placed it back down on his desk. As much as it pained him, this was standard protocol after all. It wasn’t something that he could easily avoid. He had learned to accept the nauseating ache that grew in his chest every single time he ran away like this.
Because without it that would mean he had nothing to fight for.
Because without it that would mean no Spamton. And he wasn’t sure if he could live without that.
The next thing that came was the sound of a phone receiver clattering to the floor, falling footsteps, and a door slamming.
And after that? The buzzing of a rotary dial phone left hanging off of its handle.
—
The day Spamton left, Tenna hardly knew what to do with himself.
He paced around the room, picking up the rotary phone in his hands, shaking while he held it close to his head.
Nothing but complete and utter garbage.
Tears began to form in his eyes, fangs gleaming sharp. Tenna pounded the wall with a slam and kicked the stool the rotary phone sat on in frustration. The black rotary dial Spamton obsessed over toppled to the floor with a hard thud, a brief ring sounding out before it went silent. Tenna glared at it briefly, blaming it for every single one of his problems. In a fit of anger, he punched the mirror with all his might, glass shattering and shards scattering across the room’s starkly contrasting checkered tiles. His pristine gloves were torn, and the black ichor of the oil that ran throughout his body dripped from the metallic frame of his fist. With extended claws, he ripped apart a poster hanging on the wall— a poster of “two smiling stars.”
He’ll be back, he promised himself. Why would today be any different from the rest?
But as much as he tried to reason with himself, that didn’t stop the thoughts of terror from overflowing.
All of his deepest, darkest worries began to echo throughout his mind. Tenna’s breathing quickened, his chest suddenly hurting as if he even had a heart to break. The room started spinning; He was going to be sick. Had he discovered he was just using him? Had he finally found someone bigger? Better? Sure, T.V. Time wasn’t as successful as he hoped it would be. But he was happy! He thought they were happy. But he supposed Spamton just had to run off, proving him wrong. He promised Spamton a life together. He was going to make him a star! The two of them? They were going to go on stage together! They were going to make it big. All he had to do was sign a little piece of paper— a formality, really!— and tell him his little secret to being a BIG SHOT.
But that paper was never signed.
And Spamton went away.
But Tenna knew he’d be back! He’d be back someday, he just had to wait. And wait. And wait. Wait for as long as he needed to, as long as it would take.
And so he did.
—
The day after Spamton left, Tenna convinced himself his loneliness was just something temporary. A phase.
Tenna returned to that room and started at his broken reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he didn’t care. Tears clouding his vision, within the mirror he saw the shattered memories both him and his mailman shared. Now broken and destroyed, remnants of a future that could never be.
With sudden remorse, he walked over to the toppled-over stool and gently placed it where it once stood. He set the rotary phone back on top of it and, for one last time, tried to pick up the receiver.
Praying, hoping, something would happen.
Praying that perhaps, just maybe, someone or something was on the other line— Spamton or otherwise.
But nothing came.
The receiver dropped from Tenna’s hands to the floor, and Tenna felt himself begin to cry. Staticky, electric tears finally started to fall from his face— where from, he had no idea, but the emotions he held in the moment felt extremely real. His screen dimmed and fogged over with static while he sat there, head in his hands as he sobbed.
Yet as much as he prayed and as much as he cried, he knew Spamton wasn’t coming back.
—
A week after Spamton left, Spamton’s presence started haunting the halls.
Everyone in the studio tried to move on, but they simply just couldn’t. Not when Spamton was everywhere. He was in the posters, in the plans. He somehow even engrained himself into the boards. Tenna simply could not just get rid of him, even if he tried. All of the boards were born from Spamton’s brilliant ideas, and Tenna couldn’t just abandon them, after all!
At least, that’s what Tenna tried to make himself believe.
They were making T.V. Time so successful! He couldn’t just give them up! He knew he would haunt the gameshow for years to come, whether he liked it or not. He might as well just use his ideas because he had no other choice but to live with the absence of his co-star. Spamton was in the set, in his dressing room— Hell, his scent was even stained into Tenna’s clothes. Pungent cologne that wreaked of fancy whiskey and sandalwood stuck to everything, and to Tenna every whiff was a constant reminder that Spamton was really, truly gone.
A deep, romantic scent that Tenna once adored felt oddly melancholic than anything now.
It disgusted him.
And even though everyone tried to say they were moving on, everyone in the studio knew it was a cruel, disgusting lie.
Regardless of how often Tenna would scream at his employees, telling them “GOSSIP doesn’t belong in a HEALTHY WORKPLACE!” (as if the studio was a “healthy workplace” to begin with— he knows what he writes in those contracts), they would talk regardless. They all talked. But Tenna couldn't stop them.
And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew he was just being a hypocrite.
Not even Tenna could move on.
Especially not him.
Tenna couldn’t move on, not when Spamton haunted the halls. Not when small footsteps echoing through the corridors sounded just like his—when in reality, it was just the Pippins rushing from one scene to the next. Yet Tenna perked up with anticipation and joy every single goddamn time, hoping that it was Spamton, regardless.
But it never was.
And Spamton never came.
—
Ten years after Spamton left, Tenna could no longer remember his face.
Cloudy memories filled his electric dreams. All that filled his mind was a face completely obscured and black messy hair that felt distantly familiar, yet too far for him to grasp. Tenna tried to reach for him time and time again.
Yet even when he returned, Spamton was too far away for him to remember.
And even when he returned, Spamton was still long, long gone.