Chapter Text
If there was one thing to know about Tenna, it was that he was affectionate. The minute he latched onto someone, he was like an excitable puppy, and everyone in the general vicinity knew it—shouting their name from the rooftop of the studio, trailing just inches behind them wherever they went, bringing plenty of small gifts like a cat sharing its spoils…
Spamton was more than used to it. He couldn’t even remember how long it’d been since Tenna set his sights on him; it was simply the way it’d been during his tenure. What he wasn’t used to, though, was just how affectionate the CRT had become over the last short while.
Granted, Valentine’s Day was drawing near, and Tenna loved his holidays—always decorating the studio, airing themed specials that went all-out, the works. It was apt to say he got a bit too invested in the holidays, but this… was something else. Tenna was not usually so handsy around the studio; he (usually) had the tact to keep it all behind closed doors, where no one could judge them for their workplace affair and were all left to speculate. Recently, though, it seemed like he’d lost that self-restraint, and Spamton hadn’t a clue what to make of it.
Spamton’s day had started relatively normally—brewing a half-assed cup of black coffee for breakfast, throwing on his suit haphazardly after waking up past his alarm by mistake, barely finding the time to brush his teeth and hair before rushing out the door and breaking a speed limit or two in order to make it to work on time. Despite being a naturally early riser, he always needed some form of caffeine to get him going in the mornings; black coffee was his go-to, but he didn’t mind alternatives, so long as it wasn’t that horrible energy drink Queen got him to try once upon a time. So acidic, and strangely fruity…? Nothing that belonged in his mouth, that was for sure.
It was once he stepped through the back doorway of the studio, having arrived within minutes of his shift even despite the snow on the highway, that the script flipped on him entirely. As if staked out for his arrival in particular, Spamton was immediately met with Tenna’s looming stature, who picked him up and squeezed him in a hug as he spun in place. Guy was lucky he didn't end up with a trail of sick on his suit; how many times now had he been told not to do that…?
“Goooooood morning, Spammy!” Tenna beamed with a slight giggle.
Spamton couldn’t help but sigh, unamused in a way that barely veiled the warmth he felt; Tenna was also lucky he had special hug privileges, to say the least.
“Up and at ‘em early, I see! That’s what we in the business call good work ethic.”
“[Yeah], yeah, now put me down,” Spamton flatly muttered under his breath, of which was clearly restricted. Damn CRT never seemed to realize the extent of his strength. “Mornin’, Tens.”
Obliging rather hesitantly, Tenna slowly dropped Spamton back to the ground, the Addison’s feet grazing the tile floor before the grip on him was lifted. For a moment, he could almost swear he heard some sort of static whine from his partner; jeez, would it kill the guy to keep his hands off the merchandise for a few seconds? How needy…
“C’mon, it [Ain’t] gonna kill ya to keep your hands to [Yourself],” Spamton snarked, unable to hide the smirk growing on his face.
“But what good is a product if you don’t try before you buy?” Tenna pouted in response. “You know I’m a… kinesthetic learner, Spammy.”
“Yeah, and I’m not. Does [Everythin’] gotta be about you?”
“N-No, of course not!”
Deciding he’d spent too long wasting time at the entrance, Spamton began to stroll toward his office to settle his belongings and get his work started for the day; Tenna followed shortly behind, perhaps a bit too close for comfort.
With Valentine’s Day on the horizon, the studio was done up to match the upcoming event—the walls, usually seafoam and teal, were now a bubblegum pink that faded into a rich red hue. Faint white silhouettes of hearts danced along the surface, tessellating seamlessly in a diagonal fashion, and regal ribbons adorned each door, of which were coloured in various shades of chocolate. Even the air was different, a hint of perfume wafting throughout the studio’s halls; Spamton could tell it was going to get on his nerves quickly, but at least Tenna picked a pleasant scent.
It was all so sickly sweet and lovey-dovey. It wasn’t Spamton’s style at all! Tenna had always been one for the typical Valentine’s traditions, giving out cheap TV Time-branded cards to his employees and offering candygrams for folks who wanted it—boy, did a lot of them go to Lanino and Elnina—but Spamton didn’t find the same joy in that. He was much more lowkey, preferring to keep his affections private despite Tenna’s pleas for PDA on the silver screen; he and the cathode had clashed in that regard multiple times before, but this was the first time it felt like it truly mattered.
It was going to be their first Valentine’s Day since entering a relationship together. A business partnership, Spamton called it, so as to keep the internal criticism at bay. That was obviously going to be special, wasn’t it? Especially so for Tenna, who finally, finally had someone to shower in love on the big day. Shouldn’t he at least try to humour his partner’s indulgence? Shouldn’t he play along with the all-too-familiar capitalistic ploy that was Valentine’s Day?
…Bah, he didn’t have time to think about this. He had work to do. He needed to look at the ad reads he was supposed to do for the upcoming special, maybe even get closed captions up and running; of course, it went against everything he’d just contemplated to drown his feelings by focussing on the ad money, but it was easier this way.
Money didn’t feel. Money didn’t love the way he did.
Thankfully, before long, the two arrived at Spamton’s office, newly done up in mauve lace and a bitter chocolate door. Hell, it even smelled like chocolate; where was Tenna getting this stuff? The beautified office entrance made Spamton groan, but he was relieved to see the room had been mostly untouched otherwise, save for the walls and flooring like the rest of the place (even if it completely killed the atmosphere). Stacks of papers towered over the Addison’s desk—normal day at the studio, frankly—and pens were strewn everywhere, even on the sofa he had put in for impromptu late nights. He really ought to clean it up at some point, but he just couldn’t be assed to. That, of course, left no guesses as to why Spamton didn’t ever have Tenna over at his place, as opposed to the opposite.
“So, whatcha workin’ on today, Spammy?” Tenna asked with a childish grin as the two stepped inside, fists pulled up to his chin while he peered around the room. “You’ve always got something keeping you busy; I'm sure today isn't much different.”
“Ah, y’know, [The] usual,” Spamton nonchalantly replied with a shrug that turned into ticcing, moving to his desk and landing in his chair with a hearty fwump. “Got some shit t’do for the Olympic [Broadcasts], make sure [Those] are up to speed…”
A noncommittal answer, and an equally noncommittal gaze at the nearest page of broadcasting terms, but it would have to do. It wasn't entirely a lie; it was the more pressing of the tasks he could choose from. The special wasn't for another few days, while the Olympics were already airing.
“Aaaaaand you'll be looking at those ad reads for the special, riiiiiight…?”
If Tenna had eyes, they’d be the most pathetic puppy dog eyes Spamton had ever seen, certainly. That look the cathode was giving him was all too familiar—say the right things, and a flower would sprout from his nose; probably earn himself a bear hug, too. Things like this made Spamton’s heart flutter—but to be honest, he really wasn't feeling another air-tight embrace right now.
“[Of] course I’ll be, Tens. The [Olympics] are just a bit more pressin’,” Spamton replied while waving his hand dismissively. Hopefully, that answer would be enough, but—
“Oh, I knew I brought you on for a reason!” Tenna exclaimed, twirling in place with his arms outstretched. What a showoff… “Your knack for setting priorities is top of the game!”
“Jesus, [It’s] just business sense,” Spamton scoffed, although unable to hide the smirk creeping on. “You’re only [Sayin’] this ‘cause it’s [Me].”
“And what if I am?”
Tenna’s screen flickered briefly, but it didn’t deter his award-winning smile; grinning from bezel to bezel, the CRT approached Spamton at his desk and clasped his hands together, leaning over the tabletop to get a closer look at his partner. Spamton instinctively recoiled, leaning as far back as his seat would let him.
“Do you mind?” Spamton asked, sighing. Tenna backed away, shrinking just a tad.
“Sorry…” Tenna mumbled in reply, averting his gaze. The way he was acting, it was like a raincloud had appeared specifically to douse him in this moment. Completely and utterly unnecessary, frankly, but it was just how Tenna rolled.
Hoping to avoid getting buttered up further, Spamton began to idly bury himself in his work, retrieving his laptop from his bag and placing it on the desk to power it on. Thinkpads were common, but they were the standard in the workplace for a reason; they were compact and had plenty of processing power for the tasks they were needed for. Of course, the studio had a more powerful desktop computer meant for video editing and CGI, but for Spamton’s particular job, a Thinkpad was more than enough.
As the hard drive whirred to life and the screen lit up, Spamton looked up from his distraction to see Tenna back at full size, screen flushed in pink as he thought to himself. So it seemed, anyway; who knew what the cathode was truly up to? He was completely unpredictable, but Spamton was used to it by now. He just hoped that whatever this was leading up to wasn’t…
“You know, Spammy,” Tenna began after a deep breath, “I love you so much.”
“Don’t [Need] to tell me twice,” Spamton bantered, shrugging involuntarily. “You’re sayin’ that [Every] day.”
“Yeah, and…”
Tenna approached the desk once more—but this time, he gently grabbed Spamton’s right hand and pulled it up to his screen, planting a gentle, near-silent kiss onto the back of it.
What?
“Hello—excuse me?” Spamton squeaked out, lightheaded and blushing profusely. He would’ve loved to ignore the visible sign of his embarrassment, but alas, the raspberry glow could be seen in the reflection of his laptop’s screen and on its keyboard. Fuck!
“[You’re] just gonna do that [And] not elaborate, huh?!”
“What’s there to elaborate on?” Tenna sang teasingly, a chrysanthemum blooming from the tip of his nose as he swooned. “I gave you a kiss. You know, for good luck!”
“Good luck with [What], asshole?!” Spamton half-shouted, groaning as he covered his face. The giggling from just in front of him told him exactly what Tenna thought of that.
“Your work, dummy,” Tenna explained. Footsteps followed the statement that grew more distant with time, and before long, the doorknob squeaked, signalling the CRT was about to leave.
“I love you. See you soon.”
“Hey, [Wait], ya can’t—”
Before Spamton could finish, the door to his office clicked shut, and he was left alone with nothing but his work and the scent of perfume in the air. God damn it! Cathode really thought he could get away with that, huh…
If he could do something about this stupid fuckin’ blush on his cheeks, he’d be prowling the halls for payback. But alas, he was too flustered to leave the office looking like this; he had appearances to keep up! He was a man, and nothing short of one! Men didn’t go completely red at being kissed, and they sure as hell didn’t get kissed by another man!
…That’s what he told himself, anyway, but he knew the whole studio knew what they were. No point in trying to act tough when the whole building could see right through him.
Maybe, just this once, he’d let himself swoon just a little.