Work Text:
She's a beauty.
That's what Tink thinks.
His trailer is his world, his home, his wife. He cherisges her more than anything or anyone else in the world.
The first time they met was so long ago, yet he remembers it fondly, as if it happened just yesterday.
She looked terrible, had only two working wheels, rusting everywhere, probably would've been scrapped for parts sooner or later. No one wanted this useless piece of junk, except for him. He doesn't know exactly why that metal box was so compelling, all he knew was that he needed that thing in his life.
So he salvaged it, cleaned it, insulated it, gave it a new paint job, added windows, a bow, turned it into a her. Made her into something really beautiful. Something he's proud of.
She isn't alive, of course. She's an object. Inanimate, soulless. He knows she can't ever reciprocate his actions in the way a typical romantic partner would. Tink embraces her but she can't give the gesture back. Her skin is metal, hard and cold and unable to bend. She can't cook. Can't be taken anywhere. Can't talk to him. That doesn't make him feel less than. She cares for him in her own ways.
Such as on a hot summer day, when the sun is beaming its unforgiving heat down on the county, he takes solace in her shade.
Her form casts a shadow that lets him relax. When he sits against her, sometimes he talks, sometimes he asks her questions, like,
"How was your day?"
"It's hot out here."
"Good afternoon, honey!"
Etc.
Sometimes he doesn't speak at all. He enjoys her presence as is. Never have grown tired or bored.
When the day isn't outrageously hot, Tink likes to go around and trace over the seams and joints that connect her body. They keep her body together, sturdy. If he's really feeling brave, he'd climb up her roof and lie down to see the sky. Unfortunately he can't do this all the time, since, well, he wouldn't want his wifey having a huge hole in the middle, would he?
But when he does, when he goes up and feels her aluminum touch on his back? He's brought back to their wedding day. Yes, wedding day.
While it wasn't a typical wedding, since there was no priest, no best man, no best woman, no bridesmaid, no brides men, no- you get the point.
What matters is that he had the pinkest, most annoyingly dazzled up suit and she had a translucent white bed sheet as her veil and he said his vows and said "I do!" with the biggest damn smile on his face. He kissed her on the door, and then it was official. It was the happiest day of his life. The happiest night of his life was him stargazing at the moon-lit night sky on her roof and falling asleep on her.
Unfortunately, the next day started off as one of the worst days of his life. He fell off her in an incredibly embarrassing manner. Got his stupid sparkly pink suit all ruffed up as well. But that didn't stop him from going up her every once in a while.
However, he's just scratching the surface on why this rinky-dink trailer means as much as it does to him, quite literally, as the interior holds so much more to adore. She's where he lives after all.
The inside is well-insulated from his mediocre handy-work, making for a cozy place in his book. She's not big, but she's enough for him. Her walls are lined with baby pink and white paint stripes, the floor having a similar paint-job. His cat-pageant trophies, awards, and most evident of all, multiple framed photos of himself are hung on these pastel walls. One wouldn't be foolish to assume that all those photos of himself are because of his arrogance, because they are. It isn't the only reason why there's so many Tinks on the wall, though.
It's a very silly one, stemmed from the fact that he has to leave his wifey multiple times a day. He can't exactly bring her anywhere. She probably gets lonely, even if she is a trailer. Those picture frames are so his wife has company when he leaves for whatever reason. Among other things.
Speaking of departures, he's made sure to limit them by having a kitchenette in one corner, for cooking, and a tea table in the other. Often he sits at the table to talk to her, chatting a lot longer than one would expect. You'd think he'd tire of constantly talking to only himself, or get embarrassed at the fact he was speaking to a trailer, that's not the case. Far from it now.
Speaking to her at first was awkward- a joke that didn't land was what their early conversations were akin to. It's silly, talking to a trailer. Awkward as it was, he kept talking, something in his gut made him continue. He mentioned how his day went, what happened to him, who he met, all until it didn't feel odd.
Now it's as natural as talking to anybody else, if not more. He's so glad he kept at it.
And finally, the bed.
Crammed right in the corner near his window, it's where he gets his beauty sleep. He's right next to her that way. Technically, anywhere's next to her in the indoors of the trailer walls but he enjoys being directly against her. It's a comforting reminder that she's right against his back. It's like, "I'm here for you." in a way.
When night falls and he's lying in bed listening to the crickets and kat fights and other questionable noises that float around during that time, his focus is on how close he truly is to her.
He's not afraid to say it anymore.
He loves his trailer. He loves his wife.
Even if she isn't a real person, he loves her so much.
And when he's lulled to sleep, all he thinks about is how he's the luckiest man alive.