Chapter Text
1.
Of all times for his stutter to start playing up, why now????
Spamton somehow already knows before he even opens his mouth. It's his turn to make a pitch, sat at the writer's table in one of TV Time studios' many meeting rooms. At the table are some fellow colleagues, all looking less than enthusiastic to be working on tomorrow's script. Along with the big man Mr. Tenna himself, who's sat at Spamton's right.
It's a big deal for Spamton to be partaking in this meeting. He's fresh out of the mailroom so for him to be able to work on TV Time's script is a huge opportunity. But while his stutter sometimes seems to magically vanish while he's doing his salesman talk, today it's stubbornly consistent. If not worse than usual!
"Fo-for this p-part I-I was thi-thinking o-of i-including La-Lanino a-and Eln-nina." Spamton points to an empty space in the concept script, tries desperately to ignore the way his face starts to grow hot in embarrassment. There's a few micro expressions consisting of raised eyebrows and barely suppressed smiles but Spamton tries not to let his gaze linger on anyone for too long.
He continues, adamant to share his idea no matter how long it takes to get the damn words out. "There ha-asn't been any ro-romantic s-storyline yet i-in the sc-script so I-I think it'd b-be good to-" The young man loses some of his steam upon looking around to see a growing disinterest among the writing crew. People are starting to look elsewhere, clearly not listening anymore. "-to, uh....."
Spamton trails off, disappointment and shame settling in his gut, thick like tar. Cheeks blazing, he stares at the blank script before him. Fucking assholes. He's got good ideas, damn it!! It's not his fault that trying to verbalize those ideas is like trying to navigate a minefield of word vomit.
"I'm listening." Spamton is abruptly startled out of his stewing by a voice coming from beside him. He looks up to meet Tenna's gaze (from behind his sunglasses, but well), finds his boss looking down at him with an encouraging smile. More importantly, with his undivided attention. "Please, go on!"
It takes Spamton a second to gather his wits, stupidly blinking at the older man before finding his train of thought again. "O-oh, uhm, yeah! A-as I was saying, I think it'd be a g-good idea because....."
It takes a few more minutes, but eventually Spamton is able to more or less coherently communicate his idea to the boss. To his surprise, Tenna maintains eyecontact throughout the whole explanation, seemingly genuinely interested in what the newest employee has to say. Spamton half expects the concept to be rejected anyways, rendering all his efforts useless, but after taking a moment to consider it, Tenna says:
"Brilliant!! I think it's a GREAT idea to include a romantic storyline in this segment! Those two lovebirds are popular with the viewers, so I'm sure it'll be a SUCCESS!" Tenna praises as he quickly scribbles down on his notepad. Once done writing, he turns towards the rest of the crew with a wide but weirdly eerie smile. "You all agree that this HAS to be in the segment, yes??"
The other writers nod frantically, not oblivious to the threatening undertone to Tenna's question. Spamton is finally able to relax a little, tension easing from his body. He's still left with a lingering sense of embarrassment but it's gone down significantly as a result of Tenna listening to him.
He can't help but sneak a glance at his boss, smiling a little once he's sure the man isn't looking.
2.
It's time for rehearsals, and Spamton is pretty damn excited.
He stands on the huge stage, dress shoes planted firmly on the floor, clad in a red suit nearly identical to Tenna's. He's finally worked his way to the position of co-host. It was a long and grueling process but somehow, along with the advice of his benefactor, Spamton made it to the top. The young man feels like he's on cloud nine, no, even HIGHER than that!!!
Mic in hand, hair slicked back, Spamton is ready to take on the world.
Except-
"He-ey, everybody!! I'm Sp-Spamton G. Spamton! C-Co-host to M-Mr. A-Ant Tenna and YOUR n-new c-celebrity crush!" Goddamn it.
Spamton immediately slumps in defeat when giggling breaks out among the handful of TV Time crew that are still lingering around in the audience area. Though he doesn't outwardly show it, on the inside, Spamton is pissed the hell off. He's memorized his lines perfectly, practiced them in the mirror without issue earlier, and now here he is stammering and getting laughed at!!! Becoming the people's new celebrity crush now sounds sickeningly satirical. What a joke.
Tenna jumps to his feet from where he'd been seated on his little host sofa and marches over to the front of the stage to address his employees. "HEY!!! Don't you people have any work to do?? I don't pay you guys to SLACK, you know!!"
The remaining crew members shuffle along, all of them very busy all of a sudden. Spamton sighs from where he's standing while Tenna whips around with a grin as if nothing happened. The guy's mood swings are truly impressive. "Spamton!! Let's run that back again, shall we?"
The two of them make it through rehearsals, Spamton's stuttering becoming less frequent as he finds his confidence while playing off of Tenna. Still, the experience has left him somewhat demotivated. He goes to sit at the edge of the stage, resting his chin in his palm as he stares into nothing. Tenna goes to sit beside him and Spamton is unable to fight the urge to defend himself.
"I-I promise I'll be a much sm-smoother talker once we're l-live....." Contrary to popular belief, Spamton is actually able to stop stuttering sometimes. He was talking smooth as butter during his initial job interview with Tenna. And when he had to make the final pitch to prove himself worthy of being a co-host, he'd stuttered only once, at the very end.
Spamton doesn't know how it happens but he chalks it up to the pressure of needing to deliver his lines smoothly during those crucial moments.
"Spamton.....it's okay, you know?" Tenna doesn't seem to understand the weight of the issue, slightly kicking his legs back and forth against the stage. "So what if you stammer?? It's about WHAT you say, not HOW you say it!"
"Ha! Easy for you to say!" Spamton rolls his eyes, averting his gaze again to glare at the ceiling instead. Leave it to Tenna, the smoothest talker Spamton has ever met, to tell him it's no big deal..... "A-A TV host with a st-stutter? Impossible...."
"Hey, for the longest time, a black TV host seemed impossible too!" A hand reaches out to gently squeeze Spamton's shoulder, coaxing his attention back to Tenna. Spamton's expression softens slightly at how earnest the stupidly big guy is looking at him. "What I'm trying to say is.....I know you'll do great out there, Spammy. I didn't choose you to be my co-host just for your pretty face!"
That finally coaxes a smile out of Spamton. A laugh bubbles from his throat as he playfully pushes Tenna. "D-don't make me go to HR!"
"I am HR!!" Tenna retaliates, causing Spamton to hiccup with laughter.
3.
Queen's parties sure are.....prestigious.
The music, which Spamton would hear at literally every sleazy Cyber City nightclub, feels almost ill fitting with the beautiful decor. Everyone is gathered in the ballroom of Queen's mansion, swaying to the music under the blue disco lights. Spamton is having a pretty good time tonight. He's brought Tenna along, the obvious choice for a plus one. Their relationship has been.....different as of late. It's subtle, not something either of them have acknowledged yet, but Spamton can feel the shift.
Maybe if he had any freaking time outside of work, he'd unpack the way Tenna's hand always lingers on his arm a few seconds too long or how the TV host tends to get abnormally sad whenever Spamton has business to do in Cyber City. Maybe he'd unpack his own behavior too, the way he's become less focused on capturing the audience's attention as much as he just wants Tenna to look at him.
But for the time being, Spamton is happy with the way things are right now. He's at a kick-ass party with his business partner by his side and his career at an all time high. What more could a guy want???
Another rum, that's what!!!
Spamton takes a look at his empty glass before looking around to flag down one of Queen's colorful staff. The uniforms are pretty cute, Spamton must admit, though not as stylish as the way Swatch presents themselves.
"W-waiter, 'scuse me....." Spamton pipes up once he's successfully called over a waitress. It's a woman in a red uniform this time, notepad already in hand as she smiles at Spamton. "Can I please get a r-r-"
Fuck. Spamton tries to concentrate on getting the word out, but the waitress has already interrupted him with a tilt of her head. "A Root Beer, sir?"
He shakes his head, tries again. "N-no, I mean a r-r-"
"A Rooibos Tea?" Much to Spamton's frustration, the woman guesses again. He suppresses an annoyed sigh. He knows she's just trying to help, but it's making this entire interaction a lot longer and embarrassing than it needs to be.
"No, I-I want a r-"
"Red wine?" Spamton is just about to snap but, unexpectedly, Tenna beats him to it.
Next to him, Tenna places a hand against Spamton's back, leaning forward slightly as he fixes the waitress with a friendly but visibly strained smile. "Hey, maybe we should let the man speak for himself!! I'm sure he knows what he wants, haha!!"
It's delivered as a cheeky joke, though the message behind it is crystal clear. The server's cheeks flush slightly in shame as she seems to realize her attempts to help him weren't helping at all. Spamton kinda feels for her. She bows her head in apology, undoubtedly a result of Swatch's employee training.
"My apologies, sir..... That was rude of me." To the woman's credit, she does genuinely look remorseful. "May I take your order?"
"A rum, please." The young man says smoothly now that he's not rushing to get the words out.
The woman scribbles the order down before heading off to grab the drink. Tenna seems more agitated about the whole ordeal than Spamton is, a pout on his face as he mumbles: "Some people!"
"Tens, it's fine." Spamton pats the bigger man on the chest before shrugging. "Ha-happens all the time. I-It's not a big deal."
Tenna doesn't agree, looking down at Spamton with his eyebrows knitted together. "It is a big deal, Spamton."
The reaction makes Spamton raise his eyebrows. He carefully studies Tenna for a moment, then breaks into a smirk. "A-alright, then. Didn't know I had my own bodyguard."
Tenna chuckles at that, surprisingly bashful as he looks away. "Hah, I'm no bodyguard! If you want someone with some REAL muscles, you should get Jongler to protect you."
Maybe it's the alcohol, or the way Spamton just really wants to show Tenna the appreciation he feels for him, but tonight he decides to forego his usual need for plausible deniability. Spamton slips his fingers around Tenna's tie, bold as he tugs his boss down to his eye level. Tenna, in a real turn of events, is the one that starts stammering like an idiot.
"I-I, uh, wh-"
"I only want you to protect me." Just to add fuel to the fire, Spamton decides to wink, hopes it comes across as intended. Two agonizing seconds pass before a wobbly smile makes its way onto Tenna's cute face.
"Heehee!!! Well....." Tenna puts his hand over Spamton's holding his tie. "That can....be arranged."
4.
Arranging the meeting with the CEO had been surprisingly easy. Spamton had, yet again, worked his magic in order to pitch a collaboration with a famous shoe brand. Featuring those shoes on TV Time was a must. A guaranteed success and beneficial for both parties.
Both Tenna and Spamton have put in their A-game to partake in the meeting. Dressed in matching blue suits, though Tenna had stubbornly insisted on red up until an hour before they were supposed to leave, they sit at the table with the CEO among with other members of the board.
Tenna has just finished telling his part of the deal, seamlessly following the rehearsed script he and Spamton cooked up. The two of them make eyecontact, no words exchanged between them, but clearly conveying the message. Good job. Thank you.
The rest of the members seem to be in equally high spirits, noting down Tenna's points before redirecting their attention to Spamton. The young bigshot adjusts his tie and clears his throat, ready to make the pitch of a lifetime.
"L-ladies and gentleman, I-I'd like to tell you a-all about TV Time's p-positive history with hi-high end companies su-such as yours." Damn it. And Spamton wasn't even nervous this time.
Well, he is now. Spamton feels himself getting sweaty and prays to all his might that he doesn't start blushing as he continues. "Fo-for example, the Queen P-Perfume ads were a b-big hit! W-we saw a f-fifty percent r-rise in sales for an a-a-already famous product!"
Spamton feels the burning urge to smack himself for that terrible slip-up. Get it together, Spamton. Why can't you just talk normally??? He tries not to visibly react to the undeniably judgmental look on the CEO's face. One of the downsides to sometimes not stuttering is that he creates a false perception of being a smooth talker. When in reality-
"N-not to mention the K-King Toys line! I-it was a su-success with ki-kids and grown-ups a-alike." Spamton's stammering doesn't waver, but he does feel himself getting into that salesman flow state. He can still save this. "W-we saw a rise of t-thi-thirty-"
Crushing all of his confidence with one dismissive hand wave, the CEO interrupts him. "Right. You've made your point."
Cold, as if Spamton hadn't even said anything, the CEO turns towards one of his own employees. "Now, if you would present the points you've prepared-"
"Excuse me." Tenna interjects the man. He'd taken off his trademark dark-tinted glasses for the meeting, revealing his now uncharacteristically serious brown eyes. "My partner was speaking. I find it very unprofessional of you to interrupt him."
Tenna is professional but firm with his wording, making it abundantly clear that he didn't appreciate that. Spamton all but shrinks into his seat. Of course he's upset about being interrupted too-who does that asshole think he is?-but he'd been willing to face the humiliation if only to bag this deal.
But Tenna remarkably holds the CEO's sharp gaze, unflinching as the two engage in a silent stare-down. After a few seconds, the man nods in acknowledgement. "You are right."
The CEO redirects his gaze to Spamton, folding his hands together on top of the table and giving the salesman his attention. "I do apologize, Mr. Spamton. That was unprofessional of me."
No shit, it was. Spamton catches himself before he accidentally says it's fine, because it really isn't. But he does nod at the CEO's apology. "Thank you. A-as I was saying....."
The meeting wraps up with a few handshakes and a promise that they'll be letting the TV Time crew know their decision by next week. Though Spamton frankly suspects that they'll already be getting a call by tomorrow. They'd made excellent arguments in there. There was no reason not to take the deal.
Their drive back to the studio is silent, Spamton behind the wheel and Tenna in the passenger's seat. Despite a meeting well done, the boss looks awfully glooby. He's staring out the window with a pensive look on his face. Tenna's lack of his usual chattering slightly unsettles Spamton, though he supposes it's good to just have a moment of quiet sometimes.
Still, he reaches out to put a reassuring hand on Tenna's leg. When the Afro-haired man looks back at him, still wearing that by now familiar pout, Spamton smiles. Tenna offers a weak smile in response. But it's there, and that's more than enough to satisfy the younger man.
+1
As well as they get along most of the time, it's moments like these where Spamton is reminded about which areas they clash on.
Tenna's unyielding persistence (note: inability to accept no) mixed with Spamton's lack of a temper creates a rather unproductive cocktail of an argument. The same argument they've had at least three times before. Lately, Tenna has become more and more fixated on Spamton's so-called secret. His personal key to becoming a bigshot. Just knowing that Spamton has a benefactor isn't good enough for Tenna, no, he needs to be on the damn phone with the guy himself!
Any calm attempts made to explain why that couldn't happen fell on deaf ears. So, at last, Spamton had resorted to yelling.
"W-WHY DO YOU C-CARE SO MUCH???" Spamton throws his hands up in exasperation, collapsing back onto the couch in Tenna's office with a suffering groan.
"Why won't YOU just sign the contract??" Tenna expertly ignores Spamton's question, completely uninterested once the topic strays to anything that doesn't satisfy his immediate needs. It's fucking infuriating, and Spamton is finding it harder and harder to keep his cool. Not that he's got much left of it, anyways.
"I-I ALREADY TOLD YOU!!" He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, figures it's better than the alternative of pulling on it. "HO-HOW MANY TIMES HAVE WE H-HAD THIS SAME A-ARGUMENT???"
"I don't know!!!" With a strained grin, Tenna throws his arms in the air, unable to turn off his fucking showmanship for even five seconds. "REMIND me, dear Spamton!! How many times have you rejected my COMPLETELY REASONABLE offer by now???"
"C-Completely reasonable??" Spamton's volume lowers slightly as he laughs, only for it to rise again once he realizes Tenna is indeed not joking. "ARE YOU SERIOUS??? HEY, IF IT'S S-SO REASONABLE, WHY ARE YOU C-CRYING TO ME ABOUT IT L-LIKE A LITTLE BITCH?!?"
An admittedly immature response. Spamton doesn't want to stoop so low as to start name-calling Tenna, even if unintentional. But the other man just makes him so mad sometimes. Why won't he just take no for an answer???
"Because!!! You're!! Not!!! LISTENING!!!" Now Tenna has finally reached the yelling stage, that ridiculous smile slipping off his face as he seems to feel the weight of the argument. "It's a piece of PAPER, Spamton!! All I'm asking for is a SIGNATURE! That's ALL!!"
Spamton is about to tune out, gaze drifting towards the wall. This is going nowhere. And Tenna seems to realize it too, panicking upon noticing Spamton's rapidly decreasing attention. He does that stupid thing where he 'shrinks', slouching over as he looks to the floor with a pathetic expression.
"Spammy.....aren't we partners?" Unbelievable. "Don't you....don't you TRUST me?"
Steam damn near comes shooting out of Spamton's ears. He jumps up from where he'd been lounging on the couch, marching right over to the bigger man. Spamton can feel his face growing tomato red in rage at the sheer audacity.
"D-DON'T YOU PULL THAT PARTNER SHIT ON ME!!!" He jabs a finger into Tenna's chest, getting his lover to back up a little in surprise. "YOU'RE BEING A S-SHITTY PARTNER RIGHT NOW! NOT ME!!!"
Tenna slouches even more at the berating, looking so sad for a moment that Spamton steps back and face-palms in exasperation. "Fuck, Tens, a-all this over a c-c-c-"
Spamton starts to stutter, struggling to get the words out while he's so agitated. Weirdly, this seems to piss Tenna off, as his previously kicked puppy expression is replaced with a snarl.
"WHAT??? A c-c-c-c-contract?!? You can't even SAY it???" Tenna laughs in his face, frustrated and angry and mean.
Spamton isn't sure what the look on his face is right now. But whatever it is, it gives Tenna pause. Spamton knows. Knows that Tenna regrets it the moment he says it, can see it all over him. But it doesn't quite do anything to soothe the sense of betrayal that washes over him like a tidal wave. Tenna brings a gloved hand up to his mouth, immediately feels the crushing weight of the silence that falls between them.
"O-oh, Spamton, I-I....." The older man stammers out, at a loss for words. "God, I'm sorry, I-"
"T-Tens, it's......" Spamton grits his teeth at how wrecked the words sound coming out of his mouth. Get a hold of yourself. "It's.....fine."
Tenna sub-consciously shakes his head, takes a tentative step towards the bigshot. "No, no it's not, I-"
"Tenna." The salesman interjects, putting out a hand to stop Tenna from coming closer. "W-we've both had a lo-long night, okay? I-I'm just gonna go home....."
The TV host freezes in place, uselessly standing there with his hands still outstretched, twitching to hold Spamton. He's never looked more like a lost child.
Spamton aches to be held, but the desire to run is greater. He moves to fetch his car keys from Tenna's desk before walking right out the door. The bigshot stubbornly refuses to look back, shutting the door behind him with a click.
Once closed, he leans against it, buries his face into his hands.
"Fuck....." He mumbles under his breath.
Spamton knows Tenna didn't mean to. He knows. It's low hanging fruit, definitely not the first or last time anyone has ever done that to him. Spamton has pretty much become used to it by now. But it still fucking hurts. Somehow, just one stupid thing said during a petty argument has brought back years worth of frustration and humiliation.
Spamton knows it's not fair to Tenna. His partner has stood up for him more times than anyone else ever has. He's the only one that makes Spamton feel normal. Heard. But that's what makes it hurt more, doesn't it? The one person Spamton loves more than anything else, doing that to him.
He releases a shaky sigh, bites back the tears welling up in his eyes as he adjusts his crumpled suit jacket.
Get a hold of yourself.