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Tenna walked out of the studio with a wide smile, flipping over the day’s script in his hands. Today’s shoot was going swimmingly, and he had a break before the next segment. Humming a jingle, Tenna thought he’d turn this good day into a great one by spending some time with his favorite mailman. The TV host headed towards Spamton’s dressing room with a skip in his step. As Tenna got closer, he heard Spamton talking from inside the room. He slowed down, putting away his script and listening carefully. Maybe he’d finally get to hear one of those mysterious phone calls.
“…Stupid. Stupid! What the hell is wrong with you!?”
Tenna flinched, immediately shrinking a little. He never heard Spamton speak so harshly before, not even when a Pippins misplaced an ad segment or when Tenna accidentally scratched his precious cungadero. He leaned towards the door, worrying about the poor soul on the receiving end of Spamton’s wrath. I should go inside and try to calm him down, Tenna thought.
“God, you— you’re such a wreck. Can’t do anything right, can you?” Spamton’s voice twisted, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears.
Something was terribly wrong. Spamton despised crying in front of others. Tenna had only seen him cry once before when he was completely wasted after a round of shots. When Tenna tried to bring it up the next day, Spamton pretended he had no idea what he was talking about.
Who was he talking to? Tenna stretched out an antenna, straining to hear a second voice. He only heard the faint sound of sniffling.
“You have one good thing going for you. One good thing. Just— just don’t fuck it up this time…” Spamton breathed shakily before letting out a broken laugh. “Who am I kidding… he deserves better…”
Just then, Tenna felt his soul shattering into a million little pieces.
Spamton was talking to himself.
The TV host jumped as he heard the sound of hands slamming on a desk.
“Get it together, idiot!!” Spamton snarled, tears dripping down his face. “Just get it together! Fuck!”
Torn, Tenna put one hand on his heart and the other on the door. He started shrinking, his face flickering to a dark screen.
I can’t go inside, Tenna thought. He would hate that.
But… oh, Spamton…
As if on cue, Tenna heard Spamton start to shuffle towards the door. He stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over himself. Panicking, the TV host scrambled behind a wall as the doorknob started to turn. He tapped the side of his head, making his screen light up again.
Spamton exited his dressing room and shut the door behind him with a sigh. Tenna awkwardly walked out from behind the wall, exaggerating the swing of his arms as if he was going for a casual stroll throughout the Green Room.
However Tenna imagined Spamton looked like while he was talking to himself, he looked far worse in reality. The mailman’s hair was disheveled, his eyes were red with dark circles under them, and his hands were shaking. If you looked closely, he also seemed like he lost some weight. Tenna forced a smile and concentrated so he wouldn’t start shrinking.
“S-Spamton!! Just the person I wanted to see!” Tenna blurted out, his voice wobbling. Spamton would have noticed Tenna’s tone right away if he wasn’t busy trying to control his own.
“Hey, Tens,” Spamton said gruffly while avoiding eye contact.
“You, um, don’t look too good…” Tenna confessed, wringing his hands. The mailman’s bloodshot eyes widened.
“Sh-shit, I—“ Spamton frantically smoothed out his hair and straightened his suit. “I’ll go see hair and makeup before we’re live—“
“That’s— Sorry, that’s not what I meant!” Tenna quickly waved his hands in front of him, as if doing so would chase away his cohost’s insecurities. “I mean, you look like you could use a break! Heck, the whole studio can! Let’s all take the day off,” Tenna added nervously with forced enthusiasm.
“Day off?” Spamton asked, arching an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Tenna?” He laughed weakly, shaking his head.
“I-I’m serious!” Tenna protested, but his heart gave a little squeeze at seeing his mailman smile again.
“Okay big guy, don’t get your wires in a twist,” Spamton joked, elbowing Tenna. His smile faded. “A… A break sounds nice,” he sighed, combing a hand through his hair.
Tenna stopped focusing on trying not to shrink and beamed at Spamton. “Right! Doesn’t it just?” He touched the side of his head and straightened his antennas, sending sound waves into the air. “Mike! Tell everyone we’re taking the rest of the day off, starting now!” He looked down and gave Spamton a bright smile. “Doctor Tennaville is prescribing a court-mandated break!”
Despite himself, Spamton chuckled. “Are you a doctor or a judge? Make up your mind, cathode.”
“Both! The king of TV can do any role!” Tenna put his hands on his hips proudly and waggled his antennas.
“Hah, don’t I know it.”
“But nevermind me! You are today’s star, Mr. Spamton! The day’s all yours. What do you want to do?” Tenna effused.
“What do I want to do,” Spamton echoed blankly.
“Yes! How about a drive in the cungadero? Or, or a spa day! Dinner reservations! Whatever your heart desires!” Tenna threw up his arms in excitement.
“I…” Spamton started. He looked down and swallowed before speaking quietly. “I think I just want to go home. With you.” He lowered his head as if he just confessed to a grave crime.
Tenna stared at him, feeling his enthusiasm give way to something softer. Concern. Care. Heartache.
Love.
“Let’s go home,” Tenna replied softly, taking Spamton’s hand.
…
“Can you drive?” Spamton asked, loosening his tie and tossing Tenna the keys before he could answer. Surprised, Tenna fumbled with the jingling keys before securing them in his large hands.
“O-of course! Leave it to me!” Tenna replied, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. Spamton never let him drive. He thought back to an argument they had a few months ago.
“Why are you being like this?! It’s easier if I drive us!” Tenna cried out in exasperation.
“I don’t care! No one drives the cungadero but ME!” Spamton yelled, his face almost as red as the car.
Now the mailman sat quietly in the passenger seat, looking out the window as they drove out of the studio. Tenna couldn’t help but think about how small Spamton seemed when he wasn’t behind the wheel. He would never say that out loud, of course. Spamton hated being called small more than anything.
The drive continued in comfortable silence, save for the radio playing softly. Before long, Tenna pulled the car into the driveway of his mansion. He glanced over at Spamton and gasped.
His little mailman was asleep!
Spamton’s chest rose up and down slowly, and he let out the occasional breathy sound not unlike an email notification or a bird’s chirp. Tenna smiled sweetly, briefly wondering if it was possible to die of cuteness overload.
“Spammy… we’re home,” Tenna spoke softly, putting a hand on his partner’s shoulder and shaking him gently.
“Guhh… gimme five minutes…” Spamton mumbled under his breath.
“I’ll do you one better,” Tenna replied before scooping up Spamton into his arms. He heard the mailman protest weakly before relaxing against his body.
“Spamton…” Tenna sighed.
You're so cute. I love you. He knew better than to say these things out loud.
No, he didn’t.
“You’re so cute. I love you,” Tenna spoke fondly, nuzzling his nose into Spamton’s hair. He smelled like expensive cologne and stress.
“Not cute,” Spamton muttered sleepily. He was too tired to pull away from Tenna's affection.
“Sure, sure,” Tenna giggled. “You’re so handsome.”
Spamton groaned in disagreement and buried his face into Tenna’s arms. The TV host carried him past the front door, into the house, and up the velveted stairs into the master bedroom.
"Down… lemme down…" The mailman murmured. Reluctantly, Tenna allowed Spamton to drop out of his arms.
Usually Spamton always made a show of taking his clothes off, unbuttoning his shirt slowly and stripping away his layers seductively. Tenna still wasn’t sure if he did this on purpose to get him in the mood or if he was just a natural flirt. Now, Spamton shuffled out of his business attire with the energy of a newborn baby bird crawling out of its shell. Down to a tank top and boxers, he kicked away his blazer, dress shirt, and slacks. Tenna plucked the clothes off the floor and folded them neatly before setting them down again. By the time he was done folding away his own clothes, Spamton had already collapsed onto the king-sized bed. Tenna moved closer, sitting next to him. The plush red blanket sunk under the TV host's weight, shifting Spamton slightly.
“Have you eaten yet?” Tenna asked carefully.
“…I don’t wanna eat right now,” Spamton grunted.
Tenna bit his lip. He was worried, but he knew better than to push it.
“Okay, then.” Tenna gently put a hand on the back of Spamton’s head and started petting his hair. Spamton sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. The two of them stayed like that for a while, Spamton enjoying the sensation and Tenna watching him tenderly.
“Can I give you a massage?” Tenna blurted out. Spamton looked at him warily and lifted an eyebrow.
“I, uh, I’m not really in the mood for—“
“Nothing— nothing else! Just a massage!!” Tenna added hastily, waving his hands. "You know what, nevermind!" His antennas dropped slightly.
"You can, uh. We can… you can h…hold…" Spamton struggled to get the words out.
"You want to cuddle?" Tenna suggested, his antennas perking up. Spamton nodded, looking away with embarrassment.
"Hehe… okay!" Smiling, Tenna settled down and curled up close to Spamton, wrapping his arms around his mailman. The CRT struggled to get his goofy grin under control so he wouldn't scare off his partner, but Spamton paid him no mind and just leaned in closer.
He's so quiet today. He must be so tired.
My poor love letter, Tenna thought to himself as he gave Spamton an affectionate squeeze.
Minutes passed by, the two of them holding each other on the large bed. Tenna's screen was starting to flicker on and off with sleepiness when he felt Spamton shaking in his arms.
"S-Spamton? Are you okay? Am I hurting you?" Tenna asked worriedly and pulled away to get a better look. Spamton turned away, burying his face in the sheets and curling into himself as if he was trying to hide. It would have been cute if it wasn't so heartbreaking.
"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" Tenna's voice cracked. He'd done something wrong, he was sure of it, Spamton was going to leave him—
No, stop. This wasn't about him. His mailman needed him right now!
"Spamton, please tell me…"
Spamton let out a shuddering breath and sniffled, the sound muffled by the blanket. He barely allowed himself to peek out from the covers, a watery eye looking back at Tenna.
Tenna hurriedly opened the nightstand drawer next to the bed and produced a TV-Time branded handkerchief.
A handkerchief? Really Tens, what are you, a damsel from the 1800s? Tenna knew that that’s what Spamton would have said if he was in a better mood.
Instead, the mailman snatched the handkerchief out of his hands and used it to cover his face, rubbing his tears into the silk cloth. Tenna hesitated before putting a hand on Spamton's shoulder, gently caressing him there. His partner's body shook with quiet sobs.
"It's okay, it's okay… I'm here…" Tenna whispered words of comfort, practiced lines he'd seen on countless movies and shows. It only seemed to make Spamton shake harder.
It felt like an eternity had passed before the mailman's breathing slowed. Tenna leaned in, his drooping antennas brushing Spamton's hair.
“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"
Spamton opened his mouth and then closed it soundlessly, shaking his head.
"Is it because of me?"
Spamton shook his head harder, making his partner's antennas sway.
"Do you want me to stay?"
Spamton nodded and grabbed Tenna with shaking hands.
"I'm not going anywhere… I love you, Spamton." Tenna held Spamton close to his chest, listening to him breathe softly until they both fell asleep.