Archive of Our Own

Castle Town is comfortable.

Tenna rarely finds himself able to believe such a statement, but he can manage to sit down once in a while and breathe in the fresh air the Dark World has to offer. 

It's all so new, and yet familiar in the comfort offered. Tenna is still on the hunt for a new Lightner to entertain, with his faithful Susie and diligent Kris on the case. He's sure they'll find someone soon enough. But he's not wanting for much around here (except for the virtually impossible) with a brand-new studio to manage and host live shows. 

Though ‘manage’ would be an overstatement of the decade. Mike has wonderfully taken to the mantle of boss around TV Studio and even designed a new line of minigames featuring a pleasant plethora of cats. Instead, Tenna gets to continue being the face of TV and host the shows, along with reading out the rules and hyping up the audience. No more days of back-and-forth running from set-to-set, and running back to his office afterwards to handle paperwork. Or paying Darkners to stand in the audience, donned in heavy disguises, clapping and laughing at every single quip, line, or catchphrase spoken. Even with a considerably less amount of Pippins and Shadowguys in the workforce, Mike and the handful of Zappers, plus Tenna himself, all manage to keep the show running.

Being unincluded from the usual side of management does leave room for surprises in his schedule. Tenna doesn't think anything can rock, spill, shock, or thrill him these days. That's why when he steps into the Green Room of the new studio, much smaller than the previous beaut in TV World, he finds himself surprised by his own surprise. Next to Coffeemachine, wooing them into dispensing some coffee into a brown and white paper cup, stands an all-too familiar silhouette. Dolled up in his stunning, iconic red business suit and yellow true tie, with white slacks and pointed slip-on loafers, looking as if he had never left the studio.

“[Thank yous] FOR THE [Javascript], I'M [[sure as !@$%]] ITS AS LOVELY AS URSELF.” Spamton G. Spamton flirts up Coffeemachine, smile as bright and white as his plumage. He pulls the cup from under their spout, and places a friendly pat on their shoulder.

Coffeemachine flushes before evacuating the premises. They are well-known for being flighty when receiving affection directly, so no one's shocked by their hurried escape.

Tenna can't help his legs from breaking into a mad dash for the Darkner still standing in the same spot for one millisecond. Spamton only has three milliseconds to turn around after the stomping starts, on which he fails to react in time, before 440 pounds of CRT is launching himself at him. His coffee cup is dropped and instantly deemed a casualty as it hits the floor.

“SPAMMY!! YOU'RE BACK! OH, YOU'RE BACK!" Tenna squeals with delight, holding onto the Addison clutched tightly in his arms and rubbing every inch of his screen against the softness of white, fluffy feathers.

“I MISSED YOU SOOOOOO MUCH!!” The tears start to flood the room. Coming from the TV that at one point was ten feet tall, but now fills half the room with his uncontrollable overexcitement, a pool starts to form underfoot. Tenna doesn't care as his coworkers relaxing in the new Green Room grumble and make to leave, only focusing on the Darkner secure in his grip.

He pauses the tears channel to switch to the hyperfocus channel, as he presses his hands tighter and notes the lacking weight and pronounced bones under skin. He feels the uncontrolled shudder of a body not used to another's touch.

Spamton, fur and feathers completely mussed with the previous attention, squawks and flails in the grip of huge hands. “HEY. HEY! WHAT DO YOU [Think tank] THIS IS, HUH ?! FREE ‘GRAB YOUR EX-BUSINESS PARTNER [And squeeze until it pops]’ SAMPLES? U [[Can't Believe It's Not Margarine]] BE WILLING TO PAY UP, [Cathode.]”

“I really missed you, y'know.” Tenna pushes his screen to the pulled taut cheek that has yet to relinquish that handsome smile. He rubs himself languishly against the plumage and musses the feathers up impossibly more so with static and pressure, and the enunciated feeling of malnutrition is felt there too.

Spamton sighs, and Tenna refamiliarizes himself with the chest and lungs of his mailman as it inhales and exhales under his palms.

“I NO. I [Don't Know]. CAN YOU PUT ME [[Down payment]] NOW?” The Addison asks, pulling his face away from Tenna's screen to raise his chin and offer a cutieful, pleading look.

“Spamton.” Tenna lets a flower bloom at the tip of his nose as he absorbs the power of cuteness aimed at him.

“[Verification complete] THAT'S ME. [The King of Only].”

“Spamton.” Tenna repeats, as the flower falls from his face. His voice turns serious, screen dimming.

“YEP,” Spamton confirms again. “[What’s up? The sky!] TEN [Cent]? TELL ME, I'M [[they're killing me out here!]] TO KNOW!” He struggles again, either from impatience or trying to open his arms to relieve the heat building up.

Tenna smiles as another flower blooms and his light returns. “Oh, nothing. I just missed you.”

Spamton nods. “IT'S GRATE THAT WE'VE [Fine Establishmen] THAT. SO GR3AT. YOU KNOW WHAT I'VE REALLY [404: not found]?”

Tenna hums with curiosity, impossibly growing taller. He accidentally kicks and shoves one of his feet into the Mike door, bursting apart the lock and sending wood flying. He doesn't seem to notice, focus fixed on the Darkner still in his hands.

“THE FLOOR! THE [[Bust a move on the dancefloor tonight]]/!! PUT! ME! DOWN!!” Spamton struggles and kicks his feet, grimacing as he gets nowhere. 

“What the - ack! Who did this?” Mike scurries out from under the rubble of the demolished Mike door and wades through the pool of tears. Motormouth Mike gasps at the sight of the giant, oversized TV in the room. “Tenna!”

Finally, Tenna manages to tear his attention away from the mailman in his grasp, and only then does he take in the damage he's accidentally caused. “Mike?”

“You gotta control yourself pal. I know it can be hard to do so, but please don't destroy the studio.” Mike offers a smile as he nervously wrings his hands. Tenna is quick to resituate Spamton in one hand while he offers a salute with the other.

The ground comes quickly with a whoosh of air and TV magic. Spamton yelps and digs his fingers into the hand holding him up, as Tenna shrinks back to his usual, casual height. Noting the Addison isn't letting up his grip, Tenna turns to him and adds the other hand back for support. 

“I promised I would never drop you. I wouldn't lie about that.” Tenna reminds him of promises made a decade ago. He rushes to forget the empty ones.

“[Easy mode] TO NOT DROP ME WHEN I'M ON THE [below Mount Ebott].” Spamton is quick to quip back.

But letting go means giving him an opportunity to escape. Tenna might be able to throw a mystery ball to entrap him in if he sets him down quickly enough.

Mike interrupts his train of thought. “Can you set Spamton down? I just hired the guy and I'd like to see him stick around.”

It's not ideal, but if the new boss says so. Tenna locates a spot on the couch that's not flooded and sets Spamton down. Who instantly sighs in relief and ruffles his own feathers around.

Spamton fixes his feathers and tie, and clears his throat. “WELL WELL WELL. I FEEL [lukewarm] WELCOMED BACK TO SEE OLD [Partners-in-Crimes].” His smile bright as ever. “JUST WANTED TO DROP IN. I'M HEADING OUT FOR THE [common opening narrative setting]. GREAT SEEING U GUYS.”

The Addison jumps down into the pool below. Just before his loafers reach the water, Tenna shoots out a hand to catch him. Spamton grits his teeth at being manhandled again, though only by the bottom of his shoes.

“I wouldn't want you to get wet. Let me take you to the door.” At the low grumble at his suggestion, Tenna puts on a pleading pout. “Please Spammy, I'll be quick.” 

“ALRIGHT, [[okidoki]]. TO THE DOOR. [No entry past this point].” Spamton crosses his arms and points up his chin in frustrated agreement. 

Tenna does what he asks and diligently carries Spamton down the entryway and to the door. The pool spills out the front doors as Tenna opens them, but he manages to find an untouched spot to set his ex-business partner down.

“I'LL BE [working hard] HERE STARTING TOMORROW. HOPE TO C U AROUND, [ants go marching].” Spamton offers a wave, his smile never fading.

Tenna nods, feeling numb. He really is back, after all this time. “See you tomorrow.” His own voice sounds far away.

“HAVE A GOOD [[nighty-night]].” 

Tenna whispers a ‘you too,’ losing the confidence in his voice suddenly. He feels the ground come a little closer.

“Hey, don't be so glooby.” Mike says behind Tenna, which makes the TV jump. The front door slams shut as he spins to face the other Darkner. “I hired him today and he's already got you charmed. Don't be shocked, he did the same with me. He'll be a great addition to the show, don't you agree?”

“Of course! He'll be lovely!” Tenna lets out another flower as he clasps his hands over his chestplate. He falls back into his star role perfectly.

“Glad to hear! Now, let's start fixing up the mess you made, pal!” Mike laughs, almost nervous.

Tenna laughs along with him, giddy with the high of something he hasn't felt in a long time. “No problem-o! Where do we start?”

The next day, Spamton keeps his word and shows up. Tenna finds himself pleasantly surprised to see the Addison again, though he's not complaining.

Mike delegates Tenna as host for tonight's show, and Spamton gets stuck haunting the backstage. It's a shame, because Tenna's sure the Addison could easily go back to wrangling in the crowd like he used to, but Mike's word is law around here.

Tenna finds himself stepping back easily into the role - of being just one half of a duo. He accidentally slips a few times during the show, motioning out to the other side of the stage that remains empty, but fully expecting a presence to be there and matching his banter. When there's no familiar Darkner to quip back, Tenna corrects himself and keeps rolling despite his, sometimes wide, missteps.

The crowd roars all the same, the steady sound of an audience that's been stable for a week's time in Darkner space. Some contestants lose, one wins something to at least take home, and the show wraps up. 

Tenna ambles into the Green Room, and his starry-heart flutters at the sight of Spamton, reclining into the couch and taking incredibly small sips at another coffee he likely flirted up Coffeemachine for.

“HEY, NICE WORK OUT THERE [Big Shot] [Now's your chance].” Spamton compliments as his attention turns to Tenna. He raises his coffee in a silent offer. 

Tenna scoops up the cup, screen brightening to the max. “Oh, thank you! How thoughtful.” He spins the cup in his palm to face where Spamton drank from, and presses his lips over the indented spot. It's a lot sweeter than he prefers, but Spamton offered to share and he's not going to decline a gift.

If Spamton notices the indirect kiss, he says nothing. A small shift of his posture, loosening up, reveals even less. 

Tenna returns the cup, but is met with a raised hand. 

“I HAD e-NUFF. ALL URS, [Cathode].” The Addison gestures with his hands, returning them to the arm of the couch to resume reclining.

The CRT takes the open spot next to Spamton on the cushions. He finishes the coffee after a large gulp, before cramming the paper cup whole into his mouth. The taste of familiar hands on the outside of the cup is foreign to his tongue.

“Did you have anything planned for tonight, Spammy? Any late night specials you're tuning into?” Tenna asks as he turns to his mailman of a decade ago. Unable to let go of the wrongness of the taste, he sucks on his tongue in his mouth to replace it. Or maybe process and savor it better. Tenna doesn't care to distinguish the difference.

“NOT REALLY,” Spamton dismisses. His stomach grumbles loudly then, and he has the mind to sigh emphatically. “WELL, I GUESS I [one overdue fee] NOW.”

Tenna hums, leaning his screen in as close as he can guesstimate will be far enough to not get yelled at for. It's true they haven't seen each other in a decade, but Tenna is more than willing to pick up exactly where they left off. Minus the contract signing, of course!

Spamton allows the arm around the back of his shoulders and the weight of Tenna against his side without fuss. His stomach grumbling out again seems to be the only one complaining.

“What about takeout and we hang at my place?” Tenna asks, hopeful. He knows he's already pushing an extreme limit of PDA, and is silently shocked to have not heard the screeching of an Addison yet.

“ONLY IF YOU [use cash or card]. AND I GET MY OWN. NOT SH//A\\RING!!”

“Okay! But, we can share a little.” Tenna nuzzles at a face of feathers. He fully anticipates the paws of thin hands to push and beat on his screen. Tenna relents, but presses a palm on either side of Spamton to cage him in. The bird squawks under his looming stature.

Tenna finds his hand searching flat against the side of Spamton’s stomach, deducing even through his suit that the weight underneath is lacking and thin. He backs off a bit after that, though nothing is said between them to mention the fact.

Spamton stays outside while Tenna collects their order from the Café. In the bag he sports around his arm, there are takeout boxes full of spaghetti code, graphic knots, and a packet-tossed salad. The top box contains two static s'mores that supposedly are shaped like cats. Tenna didn't care to look and check as he touts the food back to his awaiting ex-partner. 

They walk together through Castle Town, Spamton switching which side of Tenna’s he stands on occasionally, while also clinging to his pant leg and ducking at one point. Tenna doesn't comment or complain, only readjusts to not step on his much smaller companion underfoot. 

They reach the castle gates and head in, Tenna offering a hand as a platform when they reach the rather tall steps in the stairwell. Spamton nods along as he steps onto the free ride given. Even after making the final step up and heading down the hall to Tenna’s room, he doesn't move to let Spamton down. It's obvious from the rapid breathing and panting Spamton is doing why the complaints are nonexistent.

The couch in Tenna's living room hosts their dinner. As Tenna sets Spamton down on the couch to give him some space to catch his breath and recuperate, Tenna begins setting the food out in a vast array buffet-style. He retrieves from the kitchen a stack of two plates, two cups, two forks, and two cans of Pipsi. Bringing it all out balanced on his CRT head manages a chuckle from Spamton - music to his speakers. With a perfectly executed hop, the dishes land in their places and sodas fall into open hands.

Spamton sets his can on the table in front of him.

“LOOKS DELICIS [Ant-sized]. THANK YOU.” Spamton says. He scoops up a serving of spaghetti onto his plate, then another. Two graphic knots steal the edge of his dish. The salad, if it were a Darkner, would likely be offended at the lack of attention.

Tenna nods, clasping his hands together. “Of course, Spammy. It's important to me that you eat tasty food.” 

Spamton nods. He looks down to the food on his plate, then up at Tenna. His fingers are tight around the fork, curled up in the pasta. But Spamton’s not making the effort to eat.

Tenna realizes later than he would like that Spamton is nervous to eat around him. He wonders what could be causing such a strain, but says nothing aloud. Instead, he makes himself a plate and sits at Spamton's side. 

The first bite of spaghetti code that Tenna takes seems to shatter the hesitancy Spamton had. The CRT hums at the rich taste of tomato and binary, and Spamton digs in beside him. Tenna takes another bite out of showmanship, but his vision watches intently at the rigidness of his ex-partner's jaw opening. It shuts quickly after the food goes in, snapping like a loaded spring trap. He tries to not show his awareness by eating some more.

“SO GOOD! [Eye spy] HAVEN'T HAD THAT PLACE IN [[A century ago]].” Spamton sighs in relief. He whistles low, nibbling on a graphic knot.

“A century? It hasn't been that long, has it? I remember you used to love Swatch's food.” Tenna breaks pretending to look over. 

Spamton shakes his head. “NO NO, [Nose knows], I MENT A [point decimal] [hot, fiery decals] [fresh decaffeinated coffee].” He grunts a frustrated noise with the turmoil of his words. “DECKADE. IT'S BEEN A DECADE.”

“Wow, that long huh?” Tenna stifles his own questions with more food in his mouth. He decides to leave his curiosity behind, if it means Spamton won't run away so fast. So far, it seems like he's doing okay on that front.

Spamton pops open the can of soda and pours it into his glass. He takes a small sip before offering it out to Tenna again. 

Feeling like he wants to hear that laugh once more, if only forever, Tenna takes the cup and sticks his proboscis in. He sucks up the drink, and delights at Spamton’s cackle to his utter nonsense. A flower exploding into the soda and sending it spraying across them both has Spamton howling with laughter.

“Ah! Sorry!” Tenna apologizes quickly. He goes to pull his proboscis out of the drink, but the flower has expanded too much and he finds himself stuck with a temporary nose accessory. 

Spamton sucks in lungfuls of air, wheezing a bit too hard. Tenna moves to help - even if he's not sure how yet - when Spamton reigns his composure back in and settles back down.

“STILL A CLUTZ AFTER A [Decillion years].” The Addison comments.

Tenna blushes, embarrassed but no less endeared. He manages to finally tug the cup off, and he sets it on the table next to their plates. 

“Oh, you know little ol’ me.” Tenna turns away as another flower appears. He turns back after it's already fallen. He moves to intercept Spamton going for another helping of food, boxing him in against the couch.

“Hey Spammy?” Tenna asks after he's pushed Spamton down flat on the couch cushions and pressed some weight to restrain the struggle of limbs to a minimum.

The Addison gives up after a minute of fighting valiantly, back to focusing on breathing and panting. Another minute passes before he gets that under control too.

“YES [Tennant]?”

“What do you say to spending the night? We could watch a movie, cuddle, and sleep in tomorrow. How does that sound?” Tenna quizzes.

“AREN'T WE GOING AT A [Rabbit foot]S [pacemaker] HERE?” Spamton says under the weight of the world's largest (at times) CRT.

“Do you want me to slow down?” Tenna asks, voice somewhat honest in his disappointment. “I will! I can slow down if I'm being too much!” He's quick to add, desperate to hide the tone of his question.

Lithe paws press on opposite sides of his screen. Spamton huffs a sigh. “IT'S FINE. JUST CURIOUS."

Tenna offers a soft smile. He freezes as hands find the side of his casing, and the grip tightens to fasten their hold. Spamton pulls himself up an inch closer to Tenna’s screen, but pauses just before they touch. The edges of his smile tighten and purse, but it remains. 

Spamton drops back down, his hands slowly, hesitantly releasing their grip. He turns his head away, and his vision redirects to the forgotten food on the table.

Tenna remains still, his screen flushed with color bars. He's sure they almost just kissed again, after a decade ago, and being reunited for only a day. But Spamton had obviously thought better of it. His face, despite unmoving, is all too clear on intent. Tenna finds the strength to retreat to his side of the couch when Spamton protests that their food is getting cold. 

They finish eating dinner with the static s’mores, indeed cat-shaped, as a chaser, sweet and delicate on their tongues. Tenna gathers the garbage in a neat ball form, before tossing it across the room, right into the open garbage can. The lid shuts after with a satisfying click, and Tenna magics up a brightly colored ‘SCORE!’ above the can.

“So, I just wanted to ask. Is everything okay with your face?” Tenna flashes a technical support screen briefly, realizing what exactly he just said. “I mean your mouth! Nothing wrong with your face! It just seems like you're always smiling and I noticed your cheeks keep flinching.” He overcorrects.

“Wait, no, what I really mean is nothing bad! I'm just worried. You look like you're in pain, and smiling through it. No, ugh, that's not it either!” Tenna squirms, clutching his casing.

Spamton motions with his hand a dismissal. “I [gashapon]. DOESN'T HURT, BUT I DID HAVE AN [Ask your dentist].” 

“I would, but I don't have one,” Tenna answers.

“AN ACCI[dente]. MAKES MY MOUTH HARD TO [stop motion picture].”

“Ohh,” Tenna says in response. He is quick to press his hands to Spamton’s face, feeling at the bony prominences of his cheeks. He earns an elated sigh and a click of purrs in return for the five minutes he spends slowly and methodically massaging Spamton’s mouth. 

His jaw loosens with the careful pressure, and eventually falls open. Spamton quickly pushes it shut manually and darts out from under Tenna’s grasp. 

“ALLRIGHT, I'M USING THE BATHROOM AND THEN [Bed and breakfast].” Spamton crosses into the bathroom and slams the door shut before Tenna has a chance to say a peep. 

The CRT listens to the sound of clothes shuffling and a bathroom in-use before he heads into the bedroom. He rustles and picks through his wardrobe before finding a dusty but matching set of red pajamas, with twinkling yellow stars and bright blue hearts. The comfiest, softest set of pajamas he owns. Tenna slips into his large set, and dusts off the much smaller set.

“Here ya go, Spammy. I have some pajamas for you to wear.” Tenna knocks, then stands by the door. He knows he could leave them on the floor, but would derive no joy in missing the reaction intended.

More frenzied shuffling of clothes before Spamton pops open the bathroom door and peeks at the offered sleepwear. 

“REALLY? HAD TO BE [missmatched] [[applesauce]]?” The bird Darkner scoffs, though he does grab up the clothing.

“Of course! We're part of a set, and we certainly should look it!” Tenna beams.

Spamton shakes his head, waving around the pajama set in his hand as he gestures. “WHO IS GONNA SEE? IT'S JUST [Me and you and a dog named Sue].” 

“That's just how I like it.” Tenna hints. Seeing as he isn't winning any battles anytime soon, as Spamton’s smiling face still flashes mild irritation, he relents. “Okay, fine. If I go change, will you wear your set at least? Would that be better?”

“YES NOW GO AWAY.” Spamton shooes out as he closes the door again.

Tenna does peek through his wardrobe for another set of pajamas, but his heart is set on matching and it's really not that big of a deal like Spamton pretends it is. 

He slips into bed without changing, hoping that shuffling under the covers will be enough to hide his attire. Spamton enters the bedroom, clad in his set of pajamas, takes one look at Tenna bundled tightly under the blankets, and relinquishes a heavy sigh. 

“I KNOW YOU DIDN'T CHANGE [Boob tube].” Spamton crawls up the bed, until he's sitting on the edge. He picks at the fabric of old, dusty clothing. “DON'T KNOW Y U WOULD [Self-inflicted torture methods] URSELF WITH THESE MOTH-CHEWED [damaged goods].”

Tenna scoops Spamton into his arms, hugging him close. The flailing is kept to a minimum.

“It's so cute on the both of us! How could I possibly resist?” He settles the Addison on his chestplate, hands clasping around his feathery back, careful not to touch too low. Tenna gets a peek of the suit still being worn underneath the sleepwear, but plays ignorant.

“Any requests for the movie tonight? We have quite the backlog if I may say so.” Tenna asks, screen flipping through different channels and landing on a black screen, devoid of input.

“DON'T CARE 2 MUCH. PLAY SOMETHING WE [[Condition: Used]] TO WATCH.” Spamton answers. He does his best impression of an octopus and tightly hugs his limbs to Tenna underneath him.

Tenna flips through his recorded movies before settling for a classic romantic comedy. Despite the romance being extremely cheesy and cliche, the laughs they both shared over every rewatch more than made up for it. 

The lack of care in choice becomes obvious only a few minutes into the film, when Spamton seems to think Tenna has slipped into dreamland and kept his screen subconsciously on. He clutches impossibly tighter at the CRT's chest and turns his face from the movie to lay flat against the other. Spamton seems to tune in instead to the rhythmic pulse of Tenna's starbeat.

It's only then that Tenna realizes that whoever is in this parody of his business partner, and presumably dead husband, is just as lonely as him.

Tenna wakes to a heavy, suffocating feeling. He gasps and sucks in air desperately, rattled by the familiar wisps of panic due to dreams that he can only vaguely recall. A beautiful, white silhouette that will always run away and haunt his cathode dreams, out of reach for all eternity.

Chasing and trying to plant his hands into a stock of white plumage never works in the darkest of rooms or in the fantasy of a dreamworld. But now, he digs his fingers into what is trying to kill him in his sleep, and his digits find soft feathers.

“Mm,” a voice vibrates and hums against his collar and throat. “Tenna. Good morning.”

Tenna flips on his screen and angles himself to look down, hand sinking into feathers and skin to get a solid grip. No dream could replicate this.

He pulls himself up to a sitting position and cradles the figure who has dropped from their spot on his neck into the crook of his arm. Spamton stirs sluggishly to wakefulness. Spamton, that Tenna holds carefully while he does so, despite knowing they're an homage at best. He can't convince himself to let go.

The Addison stretches with a resounding crack and several pops. He sighs at the refreshed feeling that follows, then slides a hand against the arm keeping him swaddled. 

“Hey big guy. HoW did MY fAvORITE [Tony Sinitron PVM-4300] SLEEP?” Spamton releases a deep hiss as his voice flips between volumes. He grabs at his neck and massages at the spot, groaning in pain.

Tenna dwarfs his hand and takes over the motions, applying a gentle, slow sweep of his thumb over a delicate throat. He earns a quiet purr of clicks and drowsy nuzzling into his chest for his efforts.

“I slept well, thank you for asking! And yourself, my little mailman?” Tenna preens.

Spamton nods. “YEEEH IT WAS GOOD. [Sold out!] MUCH BETTER WITH U AROUND.”

“How wonderful! I'm so glad I could be of service.” He pulls his hand away from petting at feathers to hold his head up in a show of admiration.

Their morning routine manages to return somewhat. It's probably made easier by the fact Tenna never changed his as he attempted to hold onto any and every memory possible. He gets up out of bed, immediately starts preparing coffee and breakfast for two, uses the bathroom to shower and freshen up while he waits for the breakfast to finish cooking and the coffee to finish brewing, and slides into his typical showman's attire just in time to catch the hex waffles from burning up in the waffle maker.

Tenna makes two plates of scrambled pipis (ethically sourced), strips of USBacon, and hex waffles loaded up with whipped cream and strawberries. He pours two steaming cups of coffee, adds triple the recommended amount of sugar and creamer into the smaller cup, and adds just a splash of each into his own.

His morning ritual is perfectly timed with Spamton’s so that a mussed-up, freshly showered and drying mop of black feathers walks out of the bathroom with, at most, a tang top and sweatpants on at the same time Tenna is sitting down the bottle of creamer. The fact Spamton is wearing anything might be the most shocking part, considering he's known for not being a morning Darkner even if morning was the only time that existed. But no, today he walks out wearing yesterday's suit and slacks, though they already appear ragged with the dried stain of Pipsi from last night and accumulating dirt.

Tenna tosses his train of thought off the rails and tears up the tracks. He pulls the smaller chair away from the table to offer Spamton a spot, and the Addison whistles in appreciation. Spamton hops up into the wooden chair, and clutches the table tightly as he's pushed in closer.

“THANKS ANT. BREAKFAST [[Look and See]] AMAZING.” Spamton pulls his plate and mug closer to himself.

Tenna nods and takes his own seat. “You're very welcome! I made everything just the way you like it.” 

It's entirely true. He made the meal with Spamton's preferences in mind, and he didn't have to think too hard to remember them either. Considering this has been his breakfast every day for a decade, it's hard to forget. The second plate he always made out of habit and had to throw away, or eat it himself if he could stomach it, is even harder to banish from his cathode.

Spamton sips at his coffee, and lights up at the sugar rush flooding his tongue. He then approaches the waffles ravenously, as if turned a sugar-sucker, and desperate to feed. Tenna watches with bemusement as he keeps his decorum and uses silverware, unlike Spamton bare-fisting the sticky mess of food. It wasn't like the fork or knife weren't there either. They just sit, unnoticed and ignored at the sides of his plate.

They finish with enough spare time before the studio opens that Tenna manages to convince Spamton to watch some morning TV with him. The Addison dutifully does try to escape, but Tenna's sweet words and alluring charm reel him back in. They lay chest-to-chest on the living room couch as Tenna plays an older re-run of sitcoms for them. They share easy laughs and latch on tight to each other.

It's been a few days of Spamton being 'back.' Tenna's delighted to have someone to hold again, even if they're being paid off. He wonders if this is the doing of small Mike - just another on his list.

He should expose these callous recasts, as if they are only made to mock him.

But Tenna can't. He wants there to be a Mike. He wants there to be a Spamton. If he rips off their costumes and yells and screams and thrashes and crashes, there will be no more Mike - quit after his best friend was betrayed.

No more Spamton - surely dead the moment he fled TV World, alone. Betrayed.

The recast actors, exposed and defamed, will run and hide, and no one will offer to replace them after that. 

Tenna drags his claws, accidentally unsheathed while deep in thought, delicately through the coat of white that rests snuggled against his head. He's laying down in bed, on his side, head on a pillow, with Spamton’s hip and cheek pressed up against his screen. The same smile he never sees leave his face, though Tenna guesses it's sewn on. Just like the red suit and white slacks that are stitched to skin. Or the zipper he occasionally fidgets with near the small of Spamton's back. He doubts the costume even has eyes, or if the creator even knew Spamton had eyes in the first place. He's certainly yet to see the flash of unmistakable, beautiful, pipis blue. 

He retracts his claws and presses sweetly on the exposed feathers of Spamton's chin, and caresses down until he finds the collar of his shirt, petting. The Addison sleepily mumbles and even lets out a quiet coo as he shifts in his sleep.

“Heya Tens,” Spamton mutters, as his breathing hitches and awareness slowly ebbs in. He turns to look at the dimly lit screen staring a hole through him. 

“Spammy.” Tenna breathes, snuggling his screen against soft plumage. “Sorry for waking you.” His hand dances down to the hip line, where the layers of a pajama top and the fabric of the suit can be felt, and the faintest feeling of real fur underneath it all pokes through.

“ ‘s okay. It's niCEEE.” Spamton coughs. He pulls away, though the grip on his hip tightens and restricts how far he gets, before he starts to shake his head rapidly. After a moment passes, he stops and lets out a heavy sigh. 

“You okay?” Tenna is quick to check. He relinquishes the hold he kept through the fit, only to repeat the motions he's been practicing every morning. His hand gingerly applies pressure to Spamton’s throat and kneads out a massage. It seems to make Spamton feel better, indicated by his purring noises and relaxing posture. The Addison falls back easily into their shared pillow, though not touching Tenna's screen.

“YESS MUCH BETTER. [Thank tank] YOU [CRT].” Spamton hums, and Tenna takes it as his cue to let his hand drop back to a clothed hip. He briefly wonders what color the fur of the Darkner underneath the pajamas and costume has.

He pulls them back to his screen, vying for the closeness of touch. Spamton relaxes further into his grip, as Tenna dispenses light caresses.

Spamton dozes back off under his ministrations. Tenna can tell by the way he watches and feels under his palm the slowing of his lungs and deeper breaths. He can't look away, only seeing through his screen his partner's inhale and exhale. It's beautiful. It's everything.

It's not really Spamton.

His claws almost pop out again, but the reawakening of Spamton by tell of a low grunt gives him enough focus to reel it in. He realizes, in his haste, that his grip had turned tight. Tenna relaxes his palm only slightly.

“You oKAY?” The Addison sleepily nuzzles into the screen. His hands pet Tenna’s face, almost pawing at him in their tired, sluggish motions. 

“I'm wonderful when you're here with me, Spammy.” Tenna answers, returning the reassuring petting. 

Spamton moves his head slightly closer, ducking a little more into the pillow. Then, one hand reaches across for the tall side of Tenna’s bezel, and Spamton pulls himself up to Tenna's lips.

And Tenna quickly pulls away. The motion scrambles Spamton only momentarily as he loses his support and means to topple, but the large hand on his hip saves him from a fall onto his face. The tiredness still in his brain flies out, and something akin to sheer panic seems to replace it.

“Sorry. I'm so sorry, but I can't do that.” Tenna says from the pillow he retreated to. He keeps his hand uncertainly on Spamton’s hip. 

“[[Can of Chicken Noodle Soup]]?? IT WAS A [Kiss and Tell] ONLY.” Spamton elaborates. He squirms against the hand still holding him down. “HAY LET ME UP FOR A [[deals on sectional sofas]].”

Tenna reluctantly lets go. He can't hold too tight, he knows.

“Well, I can't. I just can't. Okay?” He tries to reason. The distance created might as well be physical as they both tense up.

“WOULD YOU AT LEAST [Tell a Tall Tale] WHY? I THOUGHTTHOUGHTTHOUGHT U MISSED ME.” Spamton speaks slowly, voice tight as it glitches. Tenna knows from the tone alone he's fighting tears, though the costume gives no physical indication.

“I do! I really do. I miss you everyday. Any time my arms are empty and my screen collects dust. I miss you even now, when you're so far away.” The CRT sniffles through his own tears. He pauses to breathe, the thoughts racing through his cathode crushing without being spoken. “I won't be able to ever hold you again.” He admits.

“Y [Tie the knot]? I'M RIGHT HERE, AREN'T I?” Spamton opens his arms wide in offer, tilting his head.

Tenna sniffles again, before lunging into the invitation. He burrows his screen back into a fluffy cheek and crinkled pajamas. Hands tender at the creases of Spamton's spine. 

“I know you're here. And I'm grateful. I am.” Tenna ensures he's got a decent grip to not let the other Darkner slip out and away. “But I only want to kiss Spamton. And you,” Tenna tightens his hold, “Are not him.”

“NOT SPAMTON.” The costumed Darkner breathes out stale, as if tasting the words. “I'M NOT SPAMTON. THAT'S WHAT YOU [tinker tot], IS IT?”

Tenna's silence seems to make him more hostile. Flailing and struggling in the sturdy grip to escape.

“U THINK I'M LYING. ABOUT BEING SPAMTON. TELL ME THE TRUTH [anteater]. TELL [[Men at Their Job]] I'M NOT REAL TO YOU.”

It's not that what they have isn't real. There's a natural chemistry that would be impossible to recreate between them. But the Darkner in his hands is simply not Spamton, despite their costumed attempt to imitate him.

He thinks voicing this might work to placate their straining relationship. “I really did enjoy what we had going on. I wouldn't mind if we kept it going. We make a good team, you and I.”

“YOU'RE TRYING TO DISTRACT ME. [Weekend Telethon] ME.”

“Of course you're not Spamton. No one else could be. Why did you think you could take his place?” 

“WHAT GAVE ME AWAY?” The Darkner parries instead of answering.

“Well, the first tell was your voice: it's far more intense than Spamton’s typical ad breaks. He usually only had a few lines inserted into a conversation, but yours are more like every sentence. Then it was your clothes: Spamton loved wearing pajamas, called them the comfiest outfit of the day. I even took out the best set on the first night, but you kept on the suit underneath. And yes, I saw the stitch work keeping your costume together. I found the zipper on your back two nights ago, but I was quiet enough to not wake you I guess.” Tenna finds the words won't stop, now that he's begun listing the discrepancies.

“You're a lot more willing to be affectionate, both in private and in public. Spamton would have yanked my antenna and berated me to the size of a pebble if I tried a fraction of cuddling him as much as I do you. Then, of course, I know you can't be Spamton, because he's gone. And never coming back.”

“A LOT HAS [flipping through the channels] SINCE THEN. IT'S BEEN A DECADE. THAT'S [Cathode] YEARS. HOW DO YOU KNOW FOR SURE HE WON'T [[Welcome Back!]]?”

Tenna pulls the other Darkner closer, holding him against his screen. 

“Because he's dead. I killed him.”

The tension he fully expects to feel on the body under the costume after saying such a thing out loud never comes. If anything, relaxation and pliability eases in.

“NOT DEAD. JUST CHANGED.” The Darkner sighs out. His hands find Tenna's palm across their side and give a reassuring stroke.

“WOULD YOU [do you mind?] IF I LAID WITH YOU TONIGHT? NOOO KISSING, I PROMISE. BUT [ask] ME. NOT SPAMTON.”

Tenna contemplates before nodding. He hesitantly lets go of the Darkner’s hip, and knows the chances of them fleeing immediately are rather high after being unearthed. He did try to reassure as much as possible, but now he's getting sidetracked. He watches their familiar, costumed silhouette turn on the light and disappear into the bathroom. And Tenna clicks off his screen.

He listens carefully to the slide of a zipper and the rustle of clothing being changed around. If the Darkner were planning to leave, they would've high-tailed it while still in costume. All he can do is wait patiently.

The bathroom door opens again, and the light switches back off. Tenna, though ever so tempted to take a peek, keeps his screen dark. He instead listens to the Darkner climbing back up his bed and huffing, out of breath. He really should get a set of stairs for them - given they stick around after tonight.

“OKAY CRT ALL [Completed].” They wheeze and suck in air, righting themselves moments later. “DON'T TELL ME YOU ALREADY FELL BACK [Sleeping with the fishies]!!”

“I'm not asleep. Just thinking.”

“[Get out of my mind~] AND [please hold] ME.”

“Okay, c'mere.” Tenna gestures with an open palm. The other Darkner shuffles across the mattress and into his awaiting hand. Tenna pads at the cold to the touch wooden skin of their neck and collar. Their chin reveals their head is likely made of wood too. He explores dipping his hand further, when a segmented wooden hand taps against his arm. 

“SEE. CHANGED.” The Darkner reiterates. Tenna nods solemnly. They're going to pretend they're still Spamton to keep the mood going, it seems. Tenna can't bring himself to refute.

“You are different, that's for sure.” Tenna finds the hem of their pajamas and toys with the edge. A small, appropriate amount of pressure reveals directly underneath the matching pajama set Tenna picked for them tonight is a portion of plush and soft fur. Arguably not as soft as Spamton’s own tummy, like arguing between faux fur or fleece, but still enough to fall easily into.

The other Darkner slides in close, pressing themselves into Tenna's screen same as before, barring the costume. 

“VVVERY WARM.” They hum, pleased, against his screen, wooden cheeks resting against glass. 

Tenna coils his arms around the other, vowing for tonight he will not let go. Even if he doesn't look at them, knows he won't see his mailman if he does, the weight on his screen and curled up with him can just be enough for the night.

“GOOD NIGHT, ANT.” They rumble against his face. 

“Good night, Spamton.” The tears that would fall don't exist on a powered off screen.

Dreams remain familiar in the sense that they know what the mind wants and what it can't have. Tenna dreams of hosting and dancing and snuggling with Spamton. Knowing when he's awake, there's only one-man shows to look forward to.

The fantasies leave his tube just before he wakes, and their frenzied escape that Tenna tries, and fails, to catch sabotages any chance of him redeeming the relationship he's built between himself and the Darkner playing house. He blinks awake and takes a good, solid raster scan over the puddle of Darkner still clutched in his hands. 

They're a segmented, wooden puppet. With mangy black feathers, white paint on their wooden sections, and white fur on the plush. There are two dollops of scratched-up red paint across their cheeks, with visibly bared teeth. A long crack splits through their forehead and past the eyebrow, ending at the beady eye socket. They're outfitted in the pajamas only, and a quick, completely polite peek shows no sign of the sewn on suit.

The similarity, though truly changed, is striking.

“Mm, is it mornin’?” They speak with a husky rasp at the feeling of movement and bright screen in their face waking them.

Tenna knows then and there. Hearing that voice every morning, he's not sure how he didn't realize sooner.

He strikes before the puppet in his hands has any chance to conjure coherence. Tenna pulls Spamton underneath him, and presses a fat, wet kiss to wooden teeth.

Spamton jolts in his hold, fighting for a few seconds to get free and the panic of hindbrain taking over. But Tenna moves into gentle peppering kisses across the puppet's face, giving extra attention at the curl of his jaw and crease of his empty eye sockets. He feels Spamton relax gradually in his hands and grows more fevered, sure to cover every reachable inch.

After many minutes that no one cares to track, Spamton nudges away the screen that won't stop kissing. Tenna pouts, but stays hovering. His body remains over the puppet, keeping him in place and making it impossible to ever escape again.

“I THOUGHT YOU SAID THERE WOULD [our annual Spelling Bee] NO KISSES.” Spamton states. He tries to rub at his sore throat, but Tenna's threats of smothering him with affection keeps his hands on the screen.

“I said only my Spammy gets them.” His antennas curl into a heart, and he nudges past the palms keeping him at bay to steal a few more kisses. Some even get an additional sweep of his tongue, licking and grooming Spamton. The full grooming session will need to be scheduled immediately. He manages some self-control, though how is impossible to answer, as he pulls up and away. “And here you are!”

“[Facial Recognition Scan: Complete]?” Spamton asks, voice clip unusually quiet.

“Yes, of course! I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you earlier!” Tenna hums as his electronics buzz. He presses his screen into a wooden face again, threatening to smother as he leans all his body weight down. He tangles his arms and hands across where he can scoop up the puppet properly and squeezes. 

Spamton breathes an easy laugh in the tightly held embrace. “IT'S [K is for Kite] I DON’T RECOGNIZE [quality mulch] OF ME EITHER.”

He tests moving his hands off Tenna's screen, and continues to move when not immediately pounced back on. His wooden hands press at the bottom edge of empty eye sockets, where black abyss stares back. “SEEE? I DON'T! NOT ANY [More, More, More].”

Tenna gasps, and his own hands quickly release their hold to place them on Spamton's cheeks, resting his thumbs over the puppet's hands. He leans closer into Spamton's space, offering his static as a guide to where he is. 

“You're blind, Spammy? I'm so sorry, I didn't know.” Tenna frets. “Oh, how could I not know! I promise to help you, whatever you need. I'll be your seeing eye dog! You can use my shoulder to ride on, wherever you need to go!” 

“NOT THAT BLIND!! JUST A LIL.” Spamton scrunches his face under the touch of giant hands and laughs. “COULDN'T KEEP MY [pearly whites] BUT STILL CAN SEE [a sum of] [[Kromer]].”

“Oh,” Tenna breathes. He's still leaning impossibly close, and if his nose was on his display it'd surely be resting around Spamton's forehead, scrunched up. “Well, what can you see right now? Is it me, by chance?”

“YOUR BRIGHT [[$#@%&^*]] SCREEN. THAT'S ABOUT IT.” Spamton pulls a hand from under Tenna's own and presses the palm to the screen, which makes his vision turn entirely pink. That incites another laugh, and Spamton offers a tender caress. “DON'T NEED TO SEE [[what else is there?]]”

Tenna coils his arms back around his partner and flips them onto their sides again. 

“If I could burn-in your face on my screen, I would replace my sight with you forever.” Tenna lets his hands trace over Spamton's side and hips. He snuggles into the puppet, screen against wood and plush. Vowing in his mind to never, ever let go again.

Spamton offers a sigh at such an open proclamation. “THEN YOU'LL [[The Missus]] MY COMEBACK SPECIL.”

Tenna pulls himself upright, excitement of anticipation enough to make his screen pop with the reemergence of his nose, only for a flower to bloom. “A ‘Spammy Specil?’ Oh, do tell!” He says, intrigue broad as day.

“YOU'LL SEE IT WITH [[Everybody]] ELSE. WAIT YOUR TURN.” Spamton rights himself, jostled by the movement of his much larger partner. He settles back into the pillows, shortly joined by Tenna laying back down to encompass him in solid, metal arms. 

“NOW, WE CAN [[Diethyl Ether]] SLEEP IN OR GO TO WORK EARLY. [Watch it!] YOU WANT?” Spamton asks, though he's already curling into the warm screen of Tenna’s and getting comfortable.

“Hmm, let me think.” Tenna hums, feeling cheeky. He smiles and nuzzles languishly back into Spamton's motions. “Seems like an obvious choice.”

“MHMM NOW SHUSSHHHHH.” Spamton hisses between his visibly bared teeth. “YOU STAY QUIET AND I'LL LET YOU [Carry and cuddle a little] ME AROUND FOR THE [[Holy]] DAY. EVERY WHERE.”

When Tenna keeps quiet, Spamton presses closer where only a fraction of distance remains. He settles into the large hands holding him against the comforting hum of a warm screen, feeling at ease the most here.

Tenna slides the pixels of his lips across his screen and places a light peck against the cheek offered to him.

“Even in the bathroom?” He thinks to ask before they both fall back asleep.