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“This episode was an absolute FLOP! A massive disaster, a CATASTROPHE..! Oh, Mike, you're the only one who understands me… Tell me I'm not a disappointment… Let me know I'm a good host and none of this was my fault…”
Tenna's cowardly figure shakes wildly on the barstool as his hands grip his arms like a freezing cartoon character. Jongler stutters a second trying to find the right words. What could he possibly say that won't put this guy of all Darkners in a bad mood?
“Boss—uh—It wassnts your fault the episode was…Bad…?” Jongler leans closer to the TV with an arm awkwardly wrapping itself around Tenna's shoulder. “Youse know—eh, not every show’s gon be perfect, right? We’s got tomorrow to make it all up, don't we?” Jongler has never been good with words, even just letting the words roll off his tongue is just as uncomfortable as biting his cheek... As if he even has one. Nevertheless, trying to comfort someone who could tamper his paycheck—Mike’s paycheck—at any moment is a gamble he's sure a Pippins would take. Out of all the Mikes that could've had the shift today, it's the one who can't even form good enough words to at least turn Tenna's screen back on.
“Oh, Mr. Tenna, I think today's episode was just fine,” Ramb announces calmly with a cup wrapped in his fingers and the other pressing down on the drink tap. “If you keep having so much doubt in yourself, you'll never see—”
“Romb, I like you but I was talking to Mike,” Tenna's tone instantly goes cold opposing his once shivering poster, and Jongler gets scared enough to pull back his arm.
Ramb snickers awkwardly. “It—It’s Ramb. With an ‘A?’ And the ‘B’ is silent…”
“Romb, Ram-buh, I don't care, where's my ACID?! If you knew me just as good as Mike then you'd know how much that cup in your hand means to me!” The TV host yanks the glass from the plug’s hands, spilling a good amount of acidic liquor on the bar. Neither of the Darkners expected Tenna not to come up for a single breath as the entire glass was emptied. With a downward slam just barely breaking the cup, he hides his screen between his arms and shrinks just a tad to let the outsiders know he is feeling glooby…
“Oh, Mike… I don't understand. I put all my effort into these things and you know what I get? Not even a handshake! You know, if it weren't for that scum of a mailman—” Tenna trails off into yet another endless ramble Jongler can't even pay attention to as the host swirls his arms around attempting to let the others visualize the situation.
…It's not working.
Jongler rests his head in his hand, observing the manic movements that are scaring away the other workers in the Green Room… Yet, he does see a Shuttah snap a photo of Tenna's bad side before scurrying away giggling into a nearby hallway. The Mike room is down that hallway.
Oh, Jongler would give anything to be in there right now instead of this bar. Away from the moving wallpaper, gone from the chattering between everyone in the studio, and resting quietly alongside his two—
Could he even call them coworkers anymore? Every costume change is like the calm before the storm, being able to discuss regular work business and the occasional outside life. He's learned about Battat's hobbies, Pluey’s pastimes; he even stays late in the studio when everyone else has gone home just to talk with them about seemingly everything. When it's just the three of them on the couch, it's like all his troubles fade away. He can't focus on anything else besides the soft tones of the Shadowguy to his right and the tenacious speech of the Pippins to his left. They don't linger too close, but not enough to have their own bubble. Envisioning them just a bit closer embarrasses him slightly, and he can feel his fists tense at the thought.
So, no, they're definitely not just coworkers. Jongler can't find a way to describe their relationship that wouldn't seem awkward… Acquaintances? Absolutely not. Friends? No, he'd say they're much closer than that.
He’s seen Pluey's secret stash of yarn; Battat even told Jongler how he likes to make his coffee. All the little things he'd watch about them are all so suddenly flooding his mind; like how Battat sticks the pins to the corkboard with his palm, and how Pluey's tail starts swerving when he's anxious. The way Battat bites his cheeks as he concentrates, and how Pluey plays an adagio string of notes every time he settles into their couch. Jongler has practically mastered their schedules and personalities in this long period of time they've known each other. Could he be proud? Ashamed?
Could he even say he's attracted to—
A piercing shout interrupts his train of thought and he noticeably jumps in his seat. Tenna's tantrum hasn't slowed down one bit, and he can especially tell with the concerned look on Ramb’s face.
“I can't handle that guy! I HATE him! If he ever shows his face in here again asking for forgiveness, saying some shit like ‘Oh Ant, I'm sorry I left! I realized we were meant for each other and I'll never sell you out again!’ it's complete BULLSHIT!” Tenna takes his presumably fourth shot to his lips, pursing them a bit before knocking it down with the rest of the glasses.
He stays still for a second in the now quiet room, hyperventilating and wiping the drool from his mouth in a lazy effort.
“Tell everyone they have the day off tomorrow. The Dreemurrs can handle a day without television. I'm going home.” Tenna slips out of the seat and stumbles once his feet reach the tiled floors, yet he manages to slip his car keys from his pocket and waddle himself to the exit. The front doors shut with a cold breeze following his departure, then silence. Jongler taps his fingers on the bar as Ramb sighs in ease, grabbing the slightly fractured glasses. It’s not the first time he’ll have to replace his set for reasons they just experienced.
“You think he should drive like ‘dat?” Jongler sits up, shoving the thoughts of his… close coworkers out of his head for the safety of his boss.
“Hmm? Of course not, but it’s not like we can do anything about it. We risk everything just being in his presence.” Ramb wipes down the counter, politely asking Jongler to lift his hand to do a quick sweep across the counter. “You thirsty?” Ramb adds.
Jongler’s head darts up and nods quickly, and Ramb returns the answer with a heartfelt smile and soon enough, a pint of acid. He’s sure Battat and Pluey would love to have a drink as well, no matter what they’re doing. Jongler has probably spent as much time here at the bar as in the Mike room. Pluey loves his shots even if he’s a lightweight. Jongler has had to walk him back to the Mike room more times than he can count. Battat, ever since getting hooked on battery acid, sips slowly to let the drink last as long as he can. Or, maybe it’s because it still burns his mouth, Jongler isn’t entirely sure yet.
“What’s on your mind? You've been quiet tonight,” Ramb interrupts, now leaning on the counter with curiosity.
“What? I mean—there’s nothin’ goin’ on in here—Well—I—What makes ya say that?” He feels sweat drip down his head, and he begins tugging his shirt collar unconsciously as Ramb chuckles.
“You seemed pretty out of it during Tenna’s outburst. Don’t think I’ve ever heard a Mike so quiet.”
Jongler can’t pinpoint any words during his turn to reply.
“It’s—Oh, where do I begin… It’s the—It’s about.”
Jongler takes a minute of silence to consider whether or not he should spill his mind. Though, for one, he’d break himself free of the strings keeping his mouth fastened. On second thought, he’d put himself in a vulnerable situation. Could Ramb really be all that trustworthy? What if word gets out one way or another? What if there’s a sneaky Pippins behind the corner somewhere? Despite not having a mouth, he feels himself frown along with his sight-band curling downward. These notions make him feel… unusual. It’s unlike any embarrassment or discomfort he’s ever felt before—it actually makes him feel quite… flustered; to get nearer to his coworkers, to be closer than ever before. He can imagine himself pleased, almost satisfied and complete to hold this bond together. Even so, the pathway to reaching this seems unreachable and absurd. In what kind of scenario could open the gate to this bliss? His face feels foolishly hot with incomprehensible emotion, not to mention his stomach dropping with every new thought of their faces.
A part of him doesn’t want to believe it’s love.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Ramb appears as the calming sunlight sneaking in through heavy clouds. If this could be his only opportunity to get some advice, then he can’t risk letting anything stay hidden.
“I do!” Jongler blurts, almost desperately. “I guess I’m just… considering some things right now.”
“Like what?”
He fiddles with his thumbs, a cartoonish blush appearing on where his cheeks would be. “Do youse know anything about… love?” God, Jongler shuts his eyes at the statement. He knows well Ramb won’t criticize him or anything like that, but he can’t help but hide himself in his gloves.
“Love, ey?” Ramb sighs in relief knowing it’s not a worrying topic. “Don’t feel ashamed about it; almost everyone wants to find that special someone in their lives.” He pushes the drink closer to Jongler, and at the sound, he peeks out and wraps his hand around the handle before bringing the edge of the glass to his false mouth.
“I met someone a long time ago before Kris took me from the library. Every time we were apart, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about her. It wasn’t just about her looks, although she was absolutely stunning. The way she treated me and the ways we got to know each other brought butterflies in this old plug’s stomach.” Ramb reminisces on the topic, smiling gracefully amidst the quiet. It makes Jongler put down his glass and reach a hand to his own abdomen.
“Eh—If that’s what I’m feeling right now, it ain’t feel so good.”
“Heh, you’ve never had them before, have ya? They only come around when you’re in love with someone, so consider yourself lucky.”
“Huh? Are—Do ya think I’m in love?” Jongler tucks his head into his shoulders, because simply, it shouldn’t be! These are his coworkers for Queen’s sake!
“Well, let's make a checklist!” Ramb exclaims with a burst of quick energy. “We can already check off butterflies; do you think about them often?”
“...Yes,” Jongler recalls the past hour, and the hours before that, and the days before that…
“Do you care about them? More than you would a regular friend?”
Jongler nods his head. His heart races. He’d do anything to make Battat and Pluey comfortable and carefree. He couldn’t dare to put either of them aside for his own sake.
“Do you wish you could be, in your own interpretation, closer?”
Goddamnit, he can’t hide his own feelings anymore!
“Awh, shucks! I’m in love with them, aren’t I?!” Jongler slams his hat on the counter in disbelief, but of course he is! It all connects just like the strings on Battat’s corkboard; all of it comes back to love! “Doh, I can’t believe it, dis is so embarrassing…” If only he had a tail like Pluey, he’d twist himself into the soft fur and never free himself, but instead he only has his arms and hat to hide how red his face has become.
“Hey, hey! Don’t be like that! I mean, it’s normal to feel this way, but don’t think you’re all alone in it!” Ramb darts his hand to Jongler’s arm—it’s thicker than he thought. Yet he does so with friendly affection and a question for later.
“It feels so weird, Rambs. It ain’t feel right to feel like this for ‘em.”
“That’s the thing about limerence; it eats away at you. Yet, we all have our ways to deal with it.” Jongler lifts his head accompanied by light drops that had formed where his eyes would be.
“How’d youse go about it then?”
Ramb leans in real close, a grimace forming as his face dims under the bar lights. “I went in for the catch.”
Jongler forgot how sinister this guy can get, and it takes him out of the storm real quick. “As in…?”
“Invited her to a hotel in Cyber World. The rest is history.” Ramb snickers as he backs away, putting back on that sweet face of his. “But not every interaction has to go down like that. You will find your own way sooner or later.”
“Yeah… I don’t think bringin’ either one of ‘em to a hotel is gonna work.”
Ramb has his hidden question answered. “Oh, so there are two of them. Let me guess: Ba—”
“Ah—Shush! Shh!” Jongler practically jumps out of his seat to grip Ramb’s shoulders and shake him around. “How’d youse find out so easily?!”
“If you let me go, I’ll tell you.” Jongler follows through with his request and sits back down on his stool solemnly.
“You kept using ‘them’ in your sentences. I questioned if it was plural or not, but you gave it away when you said ‘either one of ‘em.’ Plus, the only duo I can think of close enough to you is Greenie and Plues.”
“Ugh, youse a smart one ain’t ya? No way I could’ve been that revealing. Look at the clothes I’m wearing!”
“There’s a difference between Mr. Tenna and me: he has bad eyesight, and it’s my job to look over the Green Room.”
“I guess ‘dat is a good point, ya got me.” Jongler takes back his glass and chugs the rest of it, and unlike his higher-up, slides it kindly to the bartender for cleaning. Ramb takes it in his hands and leaves Jongler alone for a minute as he scrubs the inside of the glass.
Jongler lets out a painstaking breath, one that frees him of the ignorance of his painful love and the discomfort of his confession. Not just to Ramb, but to himself. Love, something he'd never think he'd ever experience, has finally broken down his door and fills him with an itching warmth. Literally. He wants to scratch away his blue skin until he finally reaches his soul. He'll hold it in his hands and pump his own veins with light pulses from his fingers. He doesn't hate what it's making him feel—aside from the embarrassment—but that's why he won't destroy it. His soul chose Battat and Pluey for a reason he can't pinpoint. If he's stuck loving them for who knows how long, so be it. If it's not meant to be, then it'll just be another memory. If it is…
Then he wants to hold them close for as long as he can.
“This begs the question, Jon. How do you want to go about it? What do you want to do to ‘catch’ them?” Ramb keeps his head fixed on the sink, but speaks loud enough to overcome the swishes of running water.
“It feels wrong when ya put it that way.”
“Then how ‘bout this.” Ramb shuts off the sink before grabbing a cloth during his turn to face Jongler. “How do you want to show them your love?”
Jongler runs through his options; he could compliment them more often, or even sit a little closer than normal. He could bash them with gifts or stay around the Mike room a little while longer. On the other hand, he could stay hidden—he’s not even sure he could get enough courage to look them in the eyes anymore. If he could, it wouldn't be without freezing up straight and stuttering every sentence he says from the sounds of their voices. He could come across as a wimp! And then they'll never want to be associated with him again!
“Gah! I don't know… I know I'll mess everythin’ up with bein’ flustered, but that'll make me look distant!”
“Thaaat’s the unfortunate joy you can't control. But trust me, they'll understand. I know Greenie would figure out what's botherin’ ya, and Plues already can't get off of you. That's two birds with one stone right there!”
“Ya mean I just gots to put my trust in ‘em?”
“Mhm.”
“You think they'll catch on?”
“Not unless you show a sign first.”
“But come on! It's already hard enough talkin’ ‘bout it!”
“Then you just want them to feel pity? Come on, have a lil confidence and they'll be sticking to you in no time!” Ramb backhands Jongler's arm with a joking smile.
“Confidence, huh? Ya know, I may be a security guard in my free time but I totally lack it when it comes to this.”
“It's a new experience; you'll figure out what's most best for you in future.”
“But I can't wait ‘dat long Ramb! I wants to get this over with before I'm completely swallowed…”
“Then how about you get back to the Mike Room before you get digested?”
Jongler's eye strip widens at the declaration. He gazes to the side, deciding to remain oblivious to Ramb's facial expression and to consider his choices. Should he, or should he not go. Is he, or is he not ready to face them?
Will he do something?
Will he do anything?
“Jon? S—Sorry if that was too sudden. There's no pressure with anything, luv. I mean, nothin’ has to be decided toni—”
Jongler rises, repositioning the hat back on his head and casting his eyes into Ramb's puzzled stance.
“I'll do it.”
He points his body into the direction of the hallway, his heart pounding through his chest and vision. He glances back at Ramb, managing an indebted look. “Thanks for this. Didn't think I'd need it that much.”
Ramb's lips wobble to his cheeks, and his shoulders relax for him to rest his head.
“Let me know how it goes next time you're here. I'd love to hear if anything happens.”
Jongler tilts his hat down in utter respect, soon taking his first steps into the seemingly endless hallway.
<•>
It's still so eye blinding, they must've forgotten to turn the lights down for the night. What's for sure is that they aren't helping this walk of, hopefully won't be, humiliation. Each step echoes against the walls yet not enough to out-sound the ventilation. The moving wallpaper trips his eyes, but he must stay determined to keep moving forward in this moment of silence. His padded gloves rub together in anxious movements—maybe he's not as prepared for this as he thought. Maybe he doesn't need any interaction, hell, maybe they've gone home already! But that thought makes him sad, then again, scenarios of the near future are really making his butterflies trickle again. A potential face to face conversation with either Battat or Pluey. Yeah, he's done this everyday ever since he was offered the Mike position, it ain't anything to be worried about…!
The lock stares him dead in the face as he approaches the purple door. 6-4-5-3, he punches in with creeping caution. It's silent behind the door, unusual for this time of night as odd as it may seem. There's not a saxophone in audibility, nor the murmurs of a conspiracy theorist. Maybe they have gone home…
Feeling he's missed his chance, Jongler slides the doors open expecting to be met with pitch black.
Except there is no complete darkness, only a flickering light scattered across the ceiling, walls, and the couch holding two familiar figures nestled together.
…Together?
Battat's head is laid on the armrest, his open arm ignoring the name and falling off the couch instead. His other is rested on the back of Pluey, who lays flat against Battat's chest. He's situated his arms to completely hug the smaller’s torso while his legs stretch across the entire couch. His mouth holds a purrish smile, and he's seemingly asleep. Jongler can say the same for the man underneath whose mouth is wide open and drooling on the cushions.
They must be so warm like that.
Jongler shuts his eyes and the door at that thought, and quickly scurries to their designated dressing room. As the vanity light is switched on, he comes face to face with himself in the mirror.
He stares at himself, though there's nothing more to him than the Mike costume he and the other two made from scratch. He's taken back to when this jacket was nothing but detached sequins and a gray piece of fabric. He had to stand completely still, arms stretched out wide so Battat could measure him for that snug sleeve fit. Pluey had gotten ahold of the scraps of fabric in the corner and was waving them in the air like decorative streamers. Jongler had thought nothing of it at the time since business was business, but this business has led him to where he is now: reminiscing on endless days of sewing. He almost feels pathetic for it. What was a bitter time is now a passionate memory.
He slips off his red gloves, now undoing his sequenced jacket and puffy red bowtie. Later than never, he's returned to his blue stature and contemplation for his love. If he exits, it'll be the last time he'll see them tonight. Maybe he could plan an activity tomorrow outside the studio, yeah, that's something he can do to break the ice! What to do though, he wonders as he unlocks the dressing room door.
He's returned to the sight of the sleeping duo who haven't moved an inch. He looks at them a minute before forcing his glare to the exit. With subtle small steps, he's just about to grab the handle until realizing he can't leave them like this.
They need a blanket, don't they?
With a defeated sigh, he hurries to find the nearest blanket so he doesn't have to get red at their faces anymore. With it bunched in his hands, he tilts himself slightly to match their angle. What could they have said to each other to be okay with doing this? They've already had their wishes granted while bluesy over here is stuck over here questioning what he's done to make them not want to ask for anything more.
He unfolds the blanket and places it at the end of the couch, sliding it up to meet with Pluey's broad shoulders. As if he instantly feels the weight, he snuggles himself closer in between Battat's ripcage.
“Hmmph—Plues, you're too close…”
Jongler jumps at the voice—shit, he needs to get out of here! He spins himself in the direction of the door, but before he can grab the handle again—
“Jongler? That you?” Said name freezes, just like in his thoughts.
“N—No.”
It wasn't supposed to go down this way—his mind scrambles to find an opening, but he's stuck between wanting to hear him more and fleeing! He turns again, finding Battat rubbing his eyes and Pluey letting out a low string of notes as he nuzzles Battat's chest. Should he leave?! His arm keeps missing the door handle—and both of them are awake now—oh, this is exactly what he didn't want to happe—
“Quit playin' and get over here.” Pluey's ears fly up at the statement and quickly uses his legs to wrap around Battat's. He's created an opening at the end of the couch inviting Jongler's larger figure to lay down with them.
“Eh—you sure? It's gonna be a bit of a squeeze…” Jongler’s soul accepts without hesitation even if the rest of his body is still frozen in consideration.
“Ya got the whole night to decide, at least until we wake up” Battat's hand goes to Pluey's head, stroking it carefully and earning a low-hummed purr. “In the meantime, we're gonna—yaaawwwnnn—go back to sleep…”
Jongler looks at the door, then back at the duo. Maybe Ramb was right, he really is lucky.
His soul flickers along with the flutters of his stomach as he strolls closer to the couch. Neither of them open their eyes as he curls himself to the shape of Pluey's back, careful not to let him fall off. They all make slight adjustments to let Jongler curl in close, almost as if they share the same hope—which is definitely finding a comfortable enough position to sleep in for the rest of the night. Jongler's arm is outstretched to neighbor Battat's head and his other hand just barely touches Pluey's upper arm. Would Pluey be okay with a full grasp?
It seems he is as Jongler comes to a close between the skins. Straightaway, he's engulfed with pure warmth. Not from overheating or nerves, it's nothing like that. It's… protective. Safe. Blissful, if he could pin it. He doesn't want to leave it, afraid the winds of the studio will be burdened upon him. He wants to wrap them tight in this heat with him, knowing ecstasy could be shared throughout. Heaven.
He hopes he'll never have to leave.
He shuts his eyes without thinking about the day ahead.