Chapter Text
To say he was having a hard time adjusting would be an understatement.
Tenna had decided to move out of Ralsei’s castle early on and had taken up residence away from the center of Castle Town. When asked about the move, he had said he wanted to get away from the noise. After so much time in the spotlight, so he claimed, a little peace and quiet would do him well.
Tenna still came to town for work, of course. He hosted shows and made deals, meeting with the large swath of new potential business partners and viewers alike. The show went on.
But when the curtains closed, when the show was over, Tenna went home and stayed there. On his rare days off, he’d keep to himself. He only seemed to meet up with potential partners out of obligation, though when he arrived for meetings, he was all smiles and charm as usual. Regardless, his employees could see just how much paperwork he handed off to them and how much they were scheduling his appearances. As time went on, more and more shows were even starting to find new hosts.
Tenna was quietly starting to disappear.
A few months in, Tenna finds himself backstage just before a show with his stomach in slowly twisting knots. A PA is standing in front of him with a clipboard and headset, briefing him on the contestants, this night’s prizes, and a few potential twists he can throw in at his leisure now or at any time during the upcoming season. Tenna knows he’s nodding along, murmuring affirmatives, and even speaking here and there. But all he can think about is the silent panic filling his entire body as he experiences something he never thought he’d feel before a show.
He’s dreading going on.
In Tenna’s very first days performing, the anxiety he felt was always combined with eagerness. The overwhelming nerves mixed perfectly with pure excitement to get out there and put on a show. Over time, he learned to manage the nerves, and Tenna was left with only the rush of performing. Now and again, the anxiety would creep back in, but it was always paired with excitement. Nervous excitement at a very special guest, a particularly intense finale, or a daring twist in the plot.
This isn’t like that in the slightest.
Tenna doesn’t even want to step past the curtains.
This isn’t nerves. This is worse.
Work has never been a slog. Even when the budget was running into the negatives or a show’s premises became absurd (or worse, boring), Tenna’s never not been excited at the curtain call.
Tonight, he’s nearly late for it.
He barely makes it onstage on time. His usual bravado and his trademark smile are there, but any longtime viewer would see that he’s stilted, forcing it. He isn’t enjoying himself like usual. As the night wears on, he becomes visibly less enthusiastic. By the end, he’s practically running on empty, barely able to summon up enough energy to sign off.
The second the house lights come up, and someone yells, “Cut!” Tenna's smile falls off his face, his shoulders hunch, and his screen dims.
He’s always said performing is a sport in its own way, the effort it takes often leaving him running his cooling fans up to their highest setting. Despite the effort, he’s always loved it, always euphoric by the end.
Tonight, he feels none of that. He’s just exhausted.
‘I need a drink,’ Tenna thinks to himself as the crew begins to tear down. ‘Better yet, a cigarette.’
His stomach drops slightly at the thought. He quit smoking years ago.
Giving a literal shake of his head to discard the thought, Tenna forces a grin back onto his face, calling out, “Great work, everyone!” as he makes his way over to the contestants. He does his usual rounds, checking in, saying goodnight, and giving his thanks before heading home.
The second he closes the door to his car, he knows he has a stop to make.
He drives past his house, disappearing into the far reaches of the town to find what he’s looking for. The show he hosts ends around 11 PM, and after about a combined hour helping to wrap up on set plus the time spent driving, midnight is quickly approaching. Thankfully, the place he’s heading to is open 24/7.
On the drive over, Tenna’s taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, clad now in black pants, bright yellow shoes with a belt to match, and a white button-up shirt, his necktie loose around his collar. He steers his car into a brightly lit gas station, parking close to the entrance. After a long time thinking while he rolls his shirt sleeves up with a slow, practiced method, he makes up his mind, shuts off the ignition, and heads inside.
He steps inside with a bit of difficulty, having to duck to make it past the threshold.
“Welcome,” the cashier says off in the distance.
Tenna can’t help the wave of shame that follows him in. It’s been so many years now since he’s even craved a cigarette, much less had the urge to go out and buy one. It was a hard habit to kick, one he picked up ages ago from an old business partner and friend.
But that was a different time.
As he makes his way to the back corner where the cashier has inexplicably set up shop, Tenna lets himself think a little about that time. His old friend, or partner rather, was something special. They were never official, though. That was part of the reason they’d gone their separate ways. Their breakup, so to speak, had been messy. In the aftermath, to cope, Tenna picked up some bad habits, smoking included. It was only after a good amount of staff asked him to at least kick the smoking habit, after contestants mentioned that they could smell it on him, that it latched onto his clothes and followed him around, permeating past his cologne, that he made an effort to quit.
And now here he is, walking up to the counter, asking the cashier for a box of cigarettes.
“That’s all?” the monster behind the counter asks.
Tenna nods. “Sure is,” he says, trying to smile as he places down some money.
The sliding doors open with a chime. Automatically, the cashier says, “Welcome in,” while they count up Tenna’s change. “There you are,” they say to Tenna, giving him back a few coins and bills. “Have a nice night, sir.”
“Thank you very much,” Tenna says, taking his change and stuffing it into his pocket. He grabs the box of cigarettes, praying he has a lighter somewhere in his car.
With vague, passing interest, Tenna looks over at the other person who walked in and nearly short-circuits. Time seems to stop as their gazes meet in mutual bewilderment, tinged with both a slight ache of longing and a definite aura of contempt.
After a beat of silence that stretches on far too long, the other monster speaks.
“[[What do you know?!]] . . . If it isn’t Mr. [[BIG SHOT]] Ant Tenna himself.”
Tenna says nothing, staring down at a puppet he never thought he’d see again.
“Not even gonna say [[HELLO THERE]] to me?” Spamton asks with a subtle, disappointed raise of his brow, his hands on his hips. “After [[all that time and all these]] years [[OLD “FRIEND”]]?”
“. . . Spamton,” Tenna says slowly. “. . . What are you doing here?”
With that expression of disdain still aimed towards Tenna, Spamton makes his way up to the register with a drink, barely able to set it up on the counter along with some cash. “What’s it [[LOOK]] like I’m doing?” he says plainly. “Grabbing a [[Get ‘em while they’re cold!]] drink. And a [[FRESH]] pack of cigarettes, if you wouldn’t mind, [[sweetheart]],” he says to the cashier.
“Don’t bother,” Tenna says. He crouches down low, handing Spamton the pack he picked up. “On me.”
Spamton’s eyes light up. “You still [[SMOKE]]?” he asks, gladly taking the cigarettes.
Tenna sighs, rising back up to his full height. “. . . I don’t . . . know.”
“Your change,” the cashier says, handing it to Spamton. “Have a nice night.”
“Thanks [[A LOT, DOLL]],” he says in return, taking his change and putting it away in a pocket before looking back up at Tenna.
Tenna’s staring right back at him.
Spamton’s changed. He’s recognizable, but still noticeably different from how he used to look. His hair is all black, slicked back nicely, and Tenna noticed immediately he has glasses now, albeit slightly crooked ones with lenses tinted pink and yellow. He wears a black suit jacket over a white turtleneck and slightly worn-out pants. His shoes are dull. His body is no longer stark white, faded from the long years. He still only comes up to Tenna’s waist.
Spamton grabs his drink. “If you wanna stare, it’s [[gonna cost you premium prices]],” he says. “Starting rate’s [[$19.99 plus shipping and tax]].”
Tenna frowns. “What . . . Why are you doing that?”
Spamton gives Tenna a look. “Doing what, [[BIG SHOT]]?” he asks.
“Doing that. With your voice.”
Spamton’s posture suddenly turns tense, his gaze so intense that Tenna briefly thinks for a moment Spamton’s about to yell at him. Spamton only ever yelled at him once, right before they split, holding that exact same expression of intensity on his face.
But upon seeing Tenna unconsciously brace himself, Spamton immediately turns his gaze to the ground, forcing a few calming breaths. He glances behind himself at the cashier who’s been watching them with wide, anxious eyes the whole time. With an eye roll, Spamton sighs. “Grab a [[ICE COLD]] drink,” he says to Tenna. “On me. I’ll [[explain yourself]].”
Tenna lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. After a long moment of stillness, he shrugs. With a sigh, he says, “Can’t argue with a free drink,” and finds his way to a cooler to grab something. Spamton pays, and they head out.
As they’re leaving, Tenna accidentally knocks the top of his head on the door frame, his plastic casing making a very audible thud. He winces, quickly stepping fully outside. Almost immediately, he realizes that his screen’s display has split, one half giving off a slightly darker tone than the other. “Dammit all,” he murmurs, giving his head a sturdy knock. It seems to do the trick, thankfully, his display returning to normal at the impact.
He sighs, glancing at Spamton. Spamton has stopped in his tracks to watch.
“What?” Tenna asks.
“Nothing [[HOT STUFF]],” Spamton says. Almost immediately, he clasps a hand over his mouth, shutting his eyes tight and letting out an audibly frustrated breath through his nose. Slowly, he opens his eyes and takes his hand off his mouth. “Sorry . . . about [[all that]].”
“It’s fine," Tenna assures. "Where exactly are we, uh . . . Where are we going here, Spams?”
Spamton shrugs, taking a swig of his drink. “I don’t [[LIVE LAUGH LOVE]] far. Just a [[short walk]] away.”
“I don’t live far either,” Tenna says. “It’s a drive, but it’s not far.” He grins when he says, “I’ll betcha my place is bigger though.”
Spamton scoffs, smiling nonetheless. “Your [[palace]] place then?”
Tenna nods, only just processing what he’s agreed to. “My place then.”
When they get to the car, out of habit, Tenna gets the car door for Spamton, earning a little nod of appreciation from the puppet. “Still [[OH, SUCH A GENTLEMAN]],” Spamton notes.
Tenna shrugs, watching Spamton struggle briefly to get into the passenger’s seat. “What can I say?”
As they drive out of the parking lot, making the short trip over to Tenna’s house, Spamton decides to press a question of his own.
“So, do you [[smoke]] still?” he decides to ask. “Or are you just buying [[SUSPICIOUS PURCHASES DETECTED]] for fun?”
Tenna rolls to a stop at a red light, staring straight ahead towards the dark road. He sighs, visibly shrinking a few inches. Spamton recognizes immediately that something’s wrong with his old business partner. “No,” Tenna says simply. “I quit years ago.”
A long beat of silence passes them by. The light remains red.
“How long ago?” Spamton asks.
“A few years after we split,” Tenna answers. “. . . A long time ago, that is.”
“But you were [[buying a pack]] anyway?”
Tenna’s shoulders tense. “Yes,” he says, sounding more defensive than intended. “I was.”
The light finally turns green.
To Tenna’s surprise, Spamton just sighs, leaning back against the massive passenger seat. “Rough day, huh, Ant?” he asks, his voice free of glitches.
Tenna rolls up to another red light. He nods, sighing heavily. “A rough month, my friend,” he says. “A few rough months in a row, actually. Few more and we can call the whole year rough.”
As the light continues to stay red, Tenna gives a glance over to Spamton. Spamton’s gaze is cast down to the floorboards of the car. He takes a swig of his drink before pulling out the carton of cigarettes. “Do you [[WANT, NEED]] any of these?” he asks.
“. . . No,” Tenna decides as the light turns green. “I quit. One rough day’s not stopping me now. Neither's a rough few months . . . And, hey, if you run into me trying to buy cigarettes again, don’t let me leave the store with them, ya hear?”
“[[Loud and clear]],” Spamton confirms. With a grin, he adds. “Hey, I’m always happy to [[BUM]] a cig [[off ya]], Tenna. But, uh, that said. Would you [[SOUL BODY AND]] mind if I smoke around [[you]]?”
“Just not in the car,” Tenna says. “Or in my house. Porch and balcony are all yours, my friend.”
“Thanks [[a million]].”
Tenna slows to a stop in front of his home, shutting off the car. In the darkness, they both sit still, neither making any moves to get out.
“So,” Tenna says with a sigh. “Your . . . voice?”
Spamton sighs. “[[YES, SIR]],” he begins. “You said I could [[smoke one]] on the porch?”
Tenna nods, finally opening the car door and getting out, rushing to the passenger's side to get the door for Spamton again. They both go to the front steps of the porch, sitting next to each other, tense now that they’re so close again. Spamton’s glasses emit a faint glow of yellow and pink, respectively, the light from Tenna’s screen almost immediately attracting a few bugs. They don’t go inside just yet.
Spamton lights a cigarette, taking a long drag. With another sigh, he begins.
“After we [[CUT IT OFF]],” Spamton says, “and I got that [[super massive]] deal, things were [[LOOKING UP AND LOOKING GOOD]] for me, Tenna. I was on top of the [[world]].”
“So . . . then what happened?” Tenna asks.
Spamton takes another drag. “Things went [[SOUTH FOR THE WINTER]],” he admits. “Like you said it would. And I lost it all. Took a [[NICE HOT BATH]] in some acid and ended up [[talking]] like this. Got [[kicked to the curb]] to boot. Eventually I ended up [[living large!]] in the trash . . . Went a bit crazy for a while there too.”
“My god,” Tenna whispers. “Spams, had I known . . . I’m so sorry.”
Spamton shakes his head. “It’s [[A-OK]],” he assures with a smile. “‘Cause then, we all get [[relocation initiated]] here. And [[YOUR FAVORITE]] former [[NUMBER ONE RATED SALESMAN]] got back to it.” He leans back slightly, crossing one leg overtop the other. “I got [[PICK ‘EM OUT]] of the garbage, got my [[ACT]] together. I even got a nice little [[highly average]] sales gig around here. Weekends off and everything.” He smiles at Tenna. “I’m doing [[better]], Ant. [[LOADS]] better.”
Tenna smiles. “That’s great.”
Spamton shrugs. “Just got [[lucky]],” he says.
A thought passes through Tenna’s mind. “Do you still work with the Addisons?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter.
At that, Spamton’s smile dims slightly. “Not [[so much]] anymore,” he says. “You weren’t the only one I [[THREW IN THE TRASH]] . . . No.” He shakes his head, taking a slow breath. “Sorry . . . You weren’t . . . the only one I . . . [[left]] . . . [[behind]] . . . when I took that [[SWEET SWEET]] deal.”
Tenna nods slowly, his gaze falling.
“And you?”
Tenna looks up. “Me?”
“Yeah,” Spamton says. “How’ve [[you]] been?”
“Oh, well, you know, I . . ." He sighs. "Who am I kiddin'? I’ve been better, I’ll tell you that,” Tenna admits. He brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I don’t get it,” he begins, shrinking a few more inches in size. “I mean, our ratings have never been higher! We’ve never had this much budget or this many ad partners, and yet I’m . . . You know what it is? I’m glooby.”
“Oh, [[YIKES]].”
“Ha, you’re tellin’ me! . . . I didn’t even want to go out to host tonight. Can you believe it?”
When Tenna glances over at Spamton, he realizes he’s shrunk considerably, barely taller than the puppet now. Spamton takes a swig of his drink. Tenna hasn’t touched his yet. “I [[can’t]],” Spamton says simply. “[[BELIEVE IT]], that is.”
Tenna frowns slightly. “You think I’m lying?”
“[[Aw, hell no!]],” Spamton assures. “I just can’t imagine you [[NOT]] wanting to go on. You [[LIVE AND BREATHE]] hosting.”
“I know,” Tenna says, finally reaching over for his drink. He only just notices they both chose the same one. “I can hardly believe it myself.”
“What’s [[GOING ON]]?” Spamton asks as Tenna pops the cap off his drink, releasing the carbonation with a satisfying sizzle.
Tenna takes a long drink. He sighs, setting down the glass on the steps. “No idea,” he admits. “I just don’t know, Spams. I guess it’s been going on since I moved here, but that doesn’t make any damn sense. Pardon my language.”
“[[PARDONED]],” Spamton assures. He leans back against one of the massive steps, staring into the dark street. After a beat, he sets down his drink and puts his cigarette between his teeth, reaching up to take off his glasses. The light from Tenna’s screen shifts as he watches Spamton fold his glasses neatly, tucking them into a breast pocket on his jacket.
“. . . You think maybe you haven’t [[moved up and moved on]] yet?”
“. . . I thought I did . . . Now that you mention it, though, I’m not sure.”
Neither of them speaks for a long time. Spamton’s just about done with his cigarette when Tenna clears his throat.
“Spamton?” he begins. “I know it’s been a long time and I don't mean to dim the mood, but can we, uh, talk . . . about us?”
Spamton’s gaze darkens, his shoulders tensing. “What about [[us]]?”
“About how we left things,” Tenna continues. “I didn’t want it to end like that, you know?”
Spamton rolls his eyes. “Knew this was a [[FUCKING TERRIBLE]], no, sorry, no, this was a [[bad]] idea,” he says. He takes a quick drag of his cigarette before extinguishing it against the concrete steps. “Well, [[that’s all folks!]]”
“Hey,” Tenna says quickly. “C’mon now. You’re telling me you don’t even wanna talk about it?” Spamton grumbles something under his breath, starting to get up to go. Tenna scoffs, rising back up to his full height as he stands. “You don’t have anything left to say to me?” he asks, his screen illuminating Spamton where he stands. “After all these years, you got nothing? Talk to me, Spamton.”
Spamton stares right back up at Tenna. Without his glasses, his eyes are small, but his glare is unmistakable.
They don’t have to say anything. Both blame the other. Spamton wanted to go big, and Tenna had concerns about him leaving. After all, aside from knowing it was dangerous, Tenna wanted them to be together. And if Spamton had just stayed, then they could’ve had that. But Tenna didn’t want the burden of making it public without knowing that Spamton would still be by his side. Spamton would only stay if they went ahead and made it official first. He was tired of loving someone in secret. The rest of their lives were spent in a spotlight; why couldn’t this be illuminated too? But when Tenna wouldn’t budge, when he urged Spamton to just stay, and then they could figure it out, and despite his warnings that things could end badly, Spamton left.
Neither of them are conflicted about what happened. The story is straight. Spamton didn’t heed Tenna’s warning when Tenna wouldn’t just admit they were together. Spamton took the risk, knowing it would almost certainly end badly, and he paid for it. Meanwhile, Tenna couldn’t commit to Spamton as they were. He couldn’t bring himself to just make it official until he knew Spamton was staying. And so they both lost their other half. Spamton had been stubborn. He wanted the same thing Tenna did: a relationship, even just an admission that they were more than just business partners and good friends. But he wasn't willing to stay until Tenna took that step. And when it came down to it, Tenna wouldn't do it. He'd been just as stubborn as Spamton had been.
“It’s [[NOT]] my fault we [[ENDED IT ALL]] like that,” Spamton says.
“You didn’t listen to me,” Tenna insists. “I told you it was dangerous to-”
“If [[you’d’ve]] just [[PICK ME!!]]” Spamton insists, “I would have [[STAYED WITH YOU FOREVER]]!”
“I know!” Tenna says, his voice raised to a yell. A window across the street lights up, and a neighbor pokes their head out to listen. Neither of them notices.
“I’m sorry, Spamton,” Tenna declares. “But if you could’ve just promised me you were staying first! If you just listened to me for once, if I knew you wouldn’t run off, then I would’ve-! . . . I . . . I’m sorry.” Tenna suddenly starts shrinking, his gaze stuck on the ground. “I’m sorry.” Spamton watches with wide eyes as Tenna starts to shrink down to his size. “Look, if I could do it all again, I-”
“[[ENOUGH]].”
Tenna stops shrinking down, his gaze shifting to Spamton. Spamton’s shoulders are slumped. Without his glasses, he looks so much like he did when they were together. But behind his eyes, there’s an unmistakable glint of something else, something forever broken by everything he went through. Tenna silently curses himself for what he lost, what he could’ve prevented, if Spamton had just agreed to stay.
Spamton takes a drink, swallowing down as much as he can until the bottle is empty. He all but throws the glass into the dying shrubs. Miraculously, the bottle doesn’t shatter.
“I lived in the [[GARBAGE]]!” Spamton says, scorned. “I should’ve [[YOU’RE LISTENING TO]] you, but you didn’t [[LOVE ME PLEASE]].” All at once, Spamton lets out a frustrated yell, grabbing the sides of his head and closing his eyes tight. Tenna gasps, suddenly rising back to his full height in an attempt to almost get away from Spamton, listening helplessly as he tries to go on.
“You didn’t [[LOVE YOU]], Tenna!” Spamton shouts. “You couldn’t [[PLEASE LOVE ME]] enough! You couldn’t just [[SAY YOU LOVE ME]] [[PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE]], you let me [[LEAVE ME ALONE]], let me [[LEAVE WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE]] you-!” He yells again, trying to straighten out his words.
With his hands still pressing into the sides of his head, letting out another frustrated, distressed sound, Spamton gives up trying to be coherent and turns his eyes to Tenna, making sure he hears every garbled, glitched word. “[[TENNA]],” Spamton insists. “Tenna, [[YOU COULDN’T]] [[please]] why couldn’t you just [[SAY IT SAY IT SAY IT SAY IT]] to me?! You didn’t [[SAY IT TO ME]] before I [[LEAVING OUR SHELVES FOREVER]] and ended up in the [[where I belong]] [[TRASH]].”
Tenna’s jaw is clenched, the plastic of his brow bent in a furrow. He doesn’t know what to do, barely able to bear listening as Spamton begins to demand, “Was I [[NEVER]], was I-I ever [[Enough]] [[HAD ENOUGH, BIG SHOT??]] Was I?! [[HAD ENOUGH OF ME]] yet?! Done with [[DIGGING IN THE]] [[garbage]]?! Say something to me! Say something, [[ANTHONY]]!”
“Spamton-”
“[[SAY SOMETHING]]!”
“You aren’t trash, Spamton!”
Spamton still stares up at Tenna, his whole body heaving as he pants for breath. When he doesn’t say anything more, Tenna shifts down, his head and shoulders dropping forward slightly.
“You aren’t trash,” Tenna says again, his voice wavering slightly. “You’re a lot of things, I’ll admit it. You’re stubborn, you were when we were together, and when I met you, you could be selfish. And I was, too. You’re a lot of things, Spamton. But you’re not trash.” He gulps down a breath. “Look, I never would’ve let you go if . . . No . . . No, I shouldn’t have let you go at all, Spams. I’m sorry. I never should’ve let you go.”
Spamton doesn’t say anything, just staring up at Tenna. Without taking his eyes off him, Spamton reaches back into his breast pocket, pulls out his glasses, and settles them on his nose, making sure he’s seeing things right. Tenna can’t get a good read on Spamton, his expression giving up nothing.
Tenna shakes his head slightly, his gaze faltering. “Spamton,” he murmurs. “Please. Say something.”
Spamton doesn’t yield. If the light from Tenna’s screen were just a bit brighter, he could’ve seen Spamton’s jaw clenching and unclenching as he used to do when he was nervous.
Tenna visibly deflates, letting out a frustrated, desperate huff of breath. “Please,” he begs. “I was just scared to lose you. I wanted you to tell me that you’d stay. That's all I wanted.”
"I know, but . . . I’m [[here]],” Spamton finally says. His tone is neutral, quiet. Tenna can’t tell if he’s mad or calm, if that’s supposed to be a proposition or just a statement of fact. “You [[LOST]] me, I lost [[you]], because we couldn’t [[DO IT]]. I left because [[you]] couldn’t [[SAY IT]], Tenna.”
With a hard swallow, Tenna asks, “Then . . . Then if you’re here again now, how do I make sure I don’t lose you this time?” At that, Spamton finally shifts, his back straightening slightly. Tenna chases that slight reaction, the almost unnoticeable shift in posture, like it’s all he’s ever going to get again. “What do I need to do?” he asks, unable to stop his voice from shaking. “Tell me. Whatever you want, whatever you need to hear, it’s yours.”
“I don’t know!” Spamton says, suddenly, clearly. He turns his gaze from Tenna, trying to figure out what they should do. “I-I [[don’t know]], Tenna, I-"
Across the street, a neighbor turns on their porch light, grabbing both Spamton and Tenna’s attention. “Shit,” Tenna curses, the curse catching Spamton by surprise. He’s never heard Tenna say anything more explicit than the one time he murmured, ‘Oh dammit all to hell,’ after a contestant broke their set.
Tenna reaches into his pocket, pulling out keys and quickly finding the one to the house by the light of his own screen. “Come inside,” he says, unlocking the door.
“[[Gladly]],” Spamton says.
They both step past the threshold, Tenna quickly shutting the door behind them, switching on the light in his living room. Spamton blinks, then looks up at Tenna. Tenna looks down at Spamton. “Um . . . Sorry,” Tenna begins. “The neighbor across the street, never learned their name, but they get on my case for the smallest things, you know? Hah, much less than us yelling. And at this hour.”
Spamton glances around the room, quickly locating a clock. “It’s [[late]],” he notes. “You think they’ll [[alter the authorities]]?”
“No,” Tenna assures with a sigh. “Probably not. Might be getting a ‘friendly reminder’ letter from them in the mailbox tomorrow morning though.”
Spamton gives a huff of a laugh at that. Tenna smiles slightly.
But just as quickly as the tension was broken, it falls over them again quickly, blanketing them in silence.
Trying to relieve some of the tension, Spamton starts glancing around the house, taking in the modest living room and kitchen area, the retro decor making the space seem homey despite the fact that he probably couldn’t reach a single chair to sit in. Tenna watches Spamton as he takes in the space, now very unsure of what to do.
Tenna clears his throat. “Do you, uh, I mean, do you want a lift back to your place in a bit?” he asks. “Once the coast is clear?”
“When will [[the coast is clear]]?” Spamton asks, his vocal glitch mimicking Tenna’s voice surprisingly accurately.
Tenna doesn’t seem too phased by it. “When the porch light across the street goes off,” he explains. “Means the neighbor's stopped waiting for something to happen. We’ll be good to go then.”
Spamton nods, still looking around. “And in the [[DON’T BE MEAN]] time?”
With a sigh, Tenna finally pushes himself away from his door, leading the way inside his house. “In the meantime,” he begins, making his way over to his couch, “get comfortable. We're not done here.”