Chapter Text
It all started in the form of a dangerously mundane realization. They’d been in Tenna’s office going over things for the upcoming shows, Tenna hunched over his desk, Spamton leaned back in his chair with his legs propped up on the exact same desk. When it happened, they were in the middle of going over some potential new set building projects for new physical challenges. Spamton lifted the pad of paper he was holding and slid it over to Tenna, who spun it to face him, revealing a hasty sketch of one of the concepts they’d been throwing around, a music-based physical challenge.
“How’s that?” Spamton asked. Tenna brought the pad closer to his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m shit at drawing, but you get the concept, yeah?”
“Language, Spamton.”
“We’re off-air, aren’t we?” Tenna shot him a disapproving look and Spamton just shrugged. “Well?”
“Oh! Yes, no, this looks wonderful!” Tenna said quickly. Spamton was constantly bemoaning his drawing abilities, but if you asked Tenna, it was a very well-done sketch. Everything was very clearly laid out. The vision was spectacular. He tapped his pen against part of the paper and Spamton leaned over slightly to see what he was pointing to. “We’ll be able to get this display lit?”
“Yeah. We just gotta hang it from the fly system and hook it up to the lightboard. Easy,” Spamton replied. “Makes the transition easy too, it’ll just drop down.”
“How much time do you think this is going to take to set up?” Tenna asked.
“Eh, not much. Week or two. It’s a pretty easy set,” Spamton said. “Getting the stuff made is the longest part, I can get everything hooked up in a day.” Tenna hummed appreciatively. “We’re gonna have to get the instruments synched though.”
“Hmm?”
“If you wanna have the points based on how well the song is played,” Spamton elaborated. “The biggest thing we’re gonna have to set up is censors for all the instruments.” He frowned, pulling his notepad back into his lap and flipping to another page. “Mic’s probably gonna be the hardest to calibrate, ‘specially with all the other music playing into it. Should be pretty doable though, just gonna take some finagling with the sound channels. What other instruments did you say you wanted?”
“Oh, definitely drums and guitar,” Tenna answered quickly. “Oh, and keyboard! Kris would love that!” Spamton rolled his eyes, a fond smile tugging the corners of his lips. Tenna’s gaze drifted down towards it for just a moment before awkwardly snapping back to meet Spamton’s eyes.
“Yeah, that’ll all work,” Spamton reported. “I’ll work out the budget and get those instruments ordered. I’m gonna need the studio for a day once everything comes in, preferably with someone on crew to test things. Ideally-”
As he spoke, he ran a hand over his slicked-back hair, drawing Tenna’s attention up to it. It was longer than Spamton usually let it grow, courtesy of how busy their schedule had been. It had been December after all, and viewership was always high around the holidays. Tenna had no doubt that Spamton would get it cut soon enough, now that New Years had passed and things were settling back down.
It was then that he made his crucial mistake. As he watched his business partner now, gaze tracing his face as he debated with himself on whether they should have fully functional instruments or more simplistic ‘gameified’ versions, Tenna spotted something. Spamton turned his head, gesturing up to his left as he explained how the separate sound commands would work, and Tenna saw the roots of his hair, just above his neck. They were white. He let out a small gasp. No way.
“You dye your hair?” he blurted inelegantly, interrupting Spamton’s discussion and derailing the other man completely. Spamton’s entire body came to a sudden halt, stopping in the middle of his sentence as if his voice had been physically snatched away from him. His neck snapped around to stare at Tenna.
“What?” he demanded.
“Sorry, sorry!” Tenna said quickly, holding up his hands placatingly. “I just- The roots of your hair, I thought I saw white.” Spamton’s eyes went wide for a split second before his smile slid back into place over the expression.
“My body’s white,” he reminded the TV. “You seeing things?” Tenna shrank back, tugging at his tie. Had he imagined it? Sure, it was possible, but he was pretty sure he could tell the difference. And he’d seen how shocked Spamton had gotten when he mentioned. That wasn’t simple surprise at an unexpected comment. That was someone who'd been caught.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of if you do,” Tenna told him. “It just surprised me, is all.” Spamton’s jaw clicked in irritation, the friendly air from before draining out of the room. He dropped his feet off the desk, straightening out the papers in his hands. “Lots of folks dye their hair! It’s fun!”
“Sure,” Spamton muttered. Tenna wilted at the cold tone. Was it really such a sore subject? Lots of people dyed their hair! Dess’s hair color practically changed every time she came over! Sure, some people were prudes about it, but Spamton didn’t seem like the kind of guy to concern himself with that.
“You know I’m not judging you,” Tenna huffed. “It’s fine if you want to dye your hair! I was just curious.” Spamton’s forced smile slowly withered down into a small frown. He grabbed a loose strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger, spinning it in his grip. Tenna crossed his arms expectantly as he watched Spamton mull over how he wanted to respond. He really didn’t see what the big deal was.
“Fine, yeah, I dye it,” Spamton admitted finally. He gestured at his hair with his free hand. “Gotta have a signature style.”
“Oh,” Tenna said. “Oh, yes, of course!” He laughed to himself. “I’m all for it! It does rather suit your brand!”
“...Right,” Spamton said dully. Tenna’s attention snapped back to him instantly at the tonal shift.
“Spamton?” he prodded. Spamton shook his head wearily, dropping down from the chair and tucking his papers under his arm. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?” Spamton turned to look at him.
“Nah,” he said finally. “Don’t worry about it, Ten. Just tired.”
“I promise I don’t think any less of you,” Tenna insisted. “It’s not a big deal, I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subj-”
“Tenna,” Spamton cut him off. “It’s fine. Just caught me off guard is all.” He tugged at his tie, his hand lingering on his chest just below his collarbone.
“Are you sure?” Tenna asked nervously. He didn’t want to have pushed him too far, he’d thought it was harmless! If something was wrong, shouldn’t he know?
“Ten, it’s really not a big deal,” Spamton said again. “I just…” He trailed off, looking up at Tenna uncertainly. His eyes flickered across Tenna’s face, some kind of calculation taking place behind them that Tenna couldn’t parse. Spamton bit his lip and his brow furrowed slightly.
And then, just as abruptly, he turned away and continued on his way to the door.
“Wait, Spam-”
“Geez, Tenna, what’s got you so worked up?” Spamton teased, shooting him a grin over his shoulder.
“I just… I didn’t mean to bring up something you don’t wanna talk about,” he said. Spamton sighed, one hand still holding the door open.
“You’re overthinking again,” he said easily. “S’all good, ‘kay?” Tenna met his gaze, tracing the shape of his teasing smile. He certainly… seemed okay. Maybe he was right and Tenna was just overthinking. He’d just surprised him is all. Spamton was cagey at the best of times, of course the question would’ve made him a little uncomfortable.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Tenna grumbled finally. Spamton barked out a laugh.
“Good. Glad we got that sorted,” he said. “I’ll see you for revisions later, yeah?”
“Yes!” Tenna replied easily, snapping his fingers as he remembered the scripts he’d completely forgotten about early into Spamton’s visit to his office. “Revisions! Of course! See you there!” Spamton rolled his eyes before finally escaping the office. The door clicked closed behind him, leaving Tenna alone yet again.
He returned to his desk, pulling the scripts out of his drawer and spreading them out on the desk. He managed to read through a grand total of two lines before his mind was forcibly dragged back to his co-host. Sure, maybe Spamton was right and he was overthinking. Maybe he had just caught the man by surprise. But somehow, he doubted it. Spamton’s reaction had seemed too disproportionate. When Tenna had first said it, he couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like Spamton had been scared for a second there.
His business partner was a puzzle at the best of times. Normally, Tenna would leave him to his devices. He did his work and he did it well, so why would Tenna care about his personal matters? But something in him refused to let it go. Something about Spamton that made it impossible not to worry. That made him wish Spamton would trust him and open up to him and made him want to tell Spamton everything in turn.
He shook his head, hunching back over his papers. It was probably nothing at all.
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After their conversation in his office, Tenna tried to push the hair dye matter out of his mind. It was a stupid thing to fixate on, especially with Spamton insisting it was fine, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something deeper there. As much as he wanted to let it go, he couldn’t quite put it out of his mind. Or maybe it was just that he couldn’t put Spamton out of his mind in general. It was strange and unnerving, frankly.
Despite all this, it wasn’t with the intention of prying that Tenna came to Spamton’s door. It was just to drop off some papers the other man had asked for. Normally, Tenna would have just had one of his employees bring them up, but he could use the walk. And if doing so just happened to give him an excuse to steal a few more minutes of Spamton’s time, then was that really so wrong? Was he not allowed to want to spend time with his co-host? His… friend, even. Maybe. Regardless, there was nothing wrong with a guy hanging out with his pal and there was absolutely no reason why he felt almost scandalous doing this. He was just overthinking again. He did that a lot.
He knocked crisply on the door, three quick raps. In reply, he heard what sounded like a muffled swear word, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.
“I’m busy! Whaddaya want!?” Spamton snarled from somewhere in his room. Tenna winced.
“I, uh… I’m bringing by those papers you asked for?” he called back. There was silence on the other end for a moment. Then, hesitantly:
“Tenna?”
“Yup! That’s me! Mr. Ant Tenna, at your service!” His voice came out far higher than he would have liked it to, and the sentence it produced was embarrassingly awkward. He was a TV host for heaven’s sake, what was he doing? Spamton didn’t respond for what felt like ages. Tenna couldn’t hear anything else from his room, as if the other man was standing perfectly still. “I, um… You want me to slide them under the door or something?” Tenna asked.
“No!” Spamton said quickly. Tenna heard a quiet cough. “No, uh, you’re…” He fell silent again, seemingly mulling something over. Tenna waited impatiently, fidgeting with the papers in his hands. What was going on? Was something wrong? He almost considered just barging in anyway to make sure Spamton was okay, but was halted from that train of thought by the soft, almost inaudible through the door, “you can, uh… you can come in.”
“Oh! Um, okay!” Tenna said. He heard shuffling behind the door and then the click of the lock, but the door didn’t open. Footsteps moved back away from the door as Spamton returned to deeper in the room. With a momentary hesitation, Tenna took the handle and opened the door.
He stepped into Spamton’s room and locked the door behind him quietly. He’d been up here a couple of times, when their late-night scripting sessions had gone on longer than either anticipated and they’d needed to lock up the studio. The best descriptor Tenna had for the room was that it was comfortable but barren. It felt less like someone’s home and more like a long-term hotel room. Which it was, Tenna supposed.
It wasn’t an unpleasant room, so to speak. The bed was large and comfortable, with a fluffy red blanket and perfectly soft yellow pillows. An armchair and a couch off to the side, a door to a kitchen area across the room, some paintings on the walls. It wasn’t a bad living space, but it felt so… empty. There were no personal touches here. Everything was just how it had been when Tenna first offered Spamton a place to stay, early on in their partnership.
No pictures on the wall besides whatever standard fair decor the room had come with. No personal effects lying around. The whole thing screamed of impermanence. Of course it did, this wasn’t Spamton’s home. His room back in Cyber World was probably full of fun knick-knacks and personally selected paintings and actual personality. That was his real home. This was just… where he worked. And Tenna knew that. It shouldn’t make him feel so rotten.
“Spamton?” Tenna called, glancing around the room and finding them empty.
“In ‘ere,” Spamton replied. Tenna turned and found the door to the bathroom hanging slightly open, a thin sliver of light escaping into the main room. “You can leave the papers on the desk.” Tenna nodded even though Spamton couldn’t see him and dropped the papers on his desk as requested.
He returned to the bathroom door, hesitating outside it. He knew he should just leave. He’d delivered the papers he set out to deliver. But he couldn’t deny that it was disappointing. He’d hoped to find Spamton out and about, working or lounging. He’d deliver the papers and casually ask about his co-host’s day, and then Spamton would tease that they’d been together for most of it and Tenna would reply that he was just trying to make polite conversation. And then they’d laugh and Tenna would sit down on Spamton’s couch and Spamton would slink over to the cabinet and find some awful booze for them to drink. He’d kinda had it all planned out, he realized. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with seeking this kind of company from his co-host who may or may not also count as his friend now.
“What are you doing in there?” Tenna asked, unable to help himself.
“It’s a bathroom?” Spamton deadpanned. Tenna balked at the implication before his logical reasoning kicked in and remembered that a) Spamton had been able to interrupt whatever he was doing and then return to it unbothered, and b) he wouldn’t have left the door unlocked in that case.
“Just curious,” Tenna said glumly, attempt at conversation foiled. He heard a quiet laugh from the bathroom.
“You, uh…” Spamton trailed off, hesitating. Instead of continuing his sentence, Tenna saw a shoe peek out of the bathroom, pushing the door open further.
“Oh,” Tenna said softly. Spamton was hunched over the sink, staring intently at the mirror. He was wearing blue latex gloves, holding a brush of some kind in one hand and lifting a chunk of his hair with the other. A tub of black goop, for lack of a better word, rested on the counter next to him, and an abandoned, now empty box lay on the floor at his feet, the brand of the dye on clear display. He carefully brushed over the hair he was holding before letting it fall back over his head. He placed the brush in the tub and turned around, raising his eyebrows.
“What? You knew I dyed it,” he reminded his co-star. Tenna reddened, pulling back and tugging at the collar of his shirt. He’d been staring, hadn’t he?
“Sorry,” he said meekly. “I’ve just never… seen it?” That wasn’t the reason he’d been staring, but he’d be damned if he admitted the truth. That it wasn’t the dye he was looking at but the adorable focused expression on Spamton’s face, the methodical way he worked, like he’d done this so many times that it was second nature. Spamton wouldn’t take kindly to being called adorable. Even though that was a completely normal thing to think about his male co-star, business partner, probably friend.
“It’s dye,” Spamton said blandly. Tenna shrugged helplessly and Spamton rolled his eyes, returning to his work.
“How often do you have to do this?” Tenna asked curiously.
“Eh, every week or so. My hair grows fast,” Spamton informed him. “Roots start showin’ after a bit.” He lifted another chunk of hair and slathered a generous helping of the dye onto it. “‘Sides, it starts fadin’ too.”
“Oh,” was Tenna’s eloquent reply. He watched Spamton in the mirror, utterly entranced. He’d never seen the Addison’s hair down. It was always impeccably slicked back, hardly a strand out of place unless it was the very end of a particularly grueling show. The parts of his hair that hadn’t been slathered by the dye yet looked impossibly soft, drifting around his face gently. It was handsome, Tenna decided. The thought made his chest curl in on itself uncomfortably.
“Geez,” Spamton muttered, picking at a particular chunk of hair with thinly veiled disgust. He dragged the brush through it. The movement seemed almost angry. Tenna coudn’t even see whatever it was that he’d noticed. The roots hadn’t even looked grown-out.
“You could always let it grow out,” Tenna suggested. Spamton stalled, looking over his shoulder uncertainly.
“Haha. Funny,” he said. “Why?”
“Well, this just seems like a lot of work to constantly be touching it up,” Tenna said. “I don’t think it would hurt to let it grow out a bit.” Spamton gave no clear reaction, save for a slight tightening of his jaw. He jerked his head away and grabbed another chunk of hair, this one far more forcefully than the others.
“No can do, big guy,” he said simply. “I’ve got a brand to uphold!” Tenna snorted.
“Whatever you say, Spam.” He let the bathroom door click shut behind him and crossed his arms as he leaned against it. Spamton seemed to relax once Tenna dropped the subject, returning to methodically touching up his hair. Tenna watched him silently, just letting himself enjoy the other man’s quiet company. It was such a bizarre thing to do. To sit there and watch his co-star dye his hair. But something about it was inexplicably perfect. A gentle mundanity. Almost domestic.
And Spamton… He was always eyecatching, he was an advertiser, that was his whole thing, but it was different now. He wasn’t putting on a show. No perfectly pressed suit and gelled back hair. Just a dress shirt with the collar popped and the sleeves rolled up. A pair of disposable gloves stained black and messy, hair wet with fresh dye hanging around his face. It was mesmerizing. Tenna’s chest seized again, an uncertain, unfamiliar feeling curling through his body.
“You should wear your hair down sometimes,” he mumbled, only half-listening to his own voice. Spamton stiffened, and the brush clattered out of his hand and down into the sink.
“Branding, Ten,” he said again. There was a waver to his voice.
“Come on, it can’t hurt to shake it up a bit!” Tenna said. “It looks good. Down. It’s… nice.” In the mirror, he could see Spamton grit his teeth.
“Gets everywhere,” Spamton muttered. “First rule of show-biz: keep your hair outta your eyes.” Oh. Tenna hadn’t considered that. Most Darkners didn’t have hair like that so it wasn’t something he thought of. But he supposed Spamton had a point, having his hair down could give him trouble during some of the more physically intensive segments.
“Darn,” Tenna said. Spamton’s hand clenched on the sink. What was going on? It was just like when Tenna had first noticed the dye. Something seemingly mundane, yet it came with that just slightly disproportionate reaction. Barely concealed discomfort at… something. “Nevermind,” Tenna said quickly. “You’re right, it was silly.”
“Ha! Yeah. Like I said, Ten, I’ve got an image to keep up!” He grabbed the brush out of the sink, forcibly returning his energy to full force. “Gotta stand out!”
“You do,” Tenna said, far more softly than he was supposed to. It sounded too gentle. Too… reverent. Spamton clearly noticed it too, because his cheeks gained a slight pink tint. Tenna cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, I mean, you do a good job of it. Is all.”
“Riiiiight,” Spamton said. Tenna averted his gaze, analyzing the tile pattern on the bathroom floor instead. It wasn’t particularly intricate.
“Why do you need to dye your hair for that, though?” Tenna’s stupid mouth asked before his brain could catch up and remind him that this was definitely going to hit against whatever sore subject Spamton kept dodging around. Sure enough, his hold on the brush tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Just! You already stand out anyway, don’t you?” Spamton finished his work and tossed his ruined gloves in the trash. He grabbed the empty tub and the brush and threw them in the sink, running the tap to rinse them off.
“What’re you talking about?” Spamton muttered.
“Well, uh… I’ve never… seen another white Addison. When we go to Cyber City, there’s only the colorful ones. So aren’t you unique already?” Spamton’s face contorted into something deeply unpleasant. Some kind of directionless snarl that he had to fight to get back under control. Probably due to being compared to an Addison. It had taken months for Tenna to learn what Darkner species Spamton was, that’s how much he hated to associate with his species. Tenna didn’t know why, but he knew better than to pry.
“I like the black better,” he said tersely.
“Of course!” Tenna squeaked. “Of course, it’s up to you! Your hair! Sorry, I didn’t mean- I just- Sorry. Nevermind.” He was royally bungling this all up, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he just let things lie? He knew this stuff bothered Spamton, why did he keep prying? Spamton didn’t owe him any explanations. No matter how much he might wish that Spamton felt safe enough to offer them anyway.
“You’re makin’ a big deal out of nothin’,” Spamton told him wearily, scrubbing the remaining dye out of the tub with just his fingers. He pulled the newly cleaned items out of the water and set them on the counter. He opened the cabinet underneath the sink, swearing under his breath.
“What is it?” Tenna asked, kicking himself as soon as he said it. Spamton didn’t call him on it.
“Almost out,” he said, one hand hovering by his dyed hair but not quite touching. He closed the cabinet with a bit more force than was probably necessary. He turned to look up at Tenna, hands fidgeting with each other as he stood there. “Uh. Thanks for dropping off those papers, Ten. ‘Preciate it.”
“No problem at all!” Tenna replied, smiling warmly.
“Yeah,” Spamton agreed awkwardly. He glanced down at the floor and Tenna belatedly realized that he was trying to kick him out. He didn’t catch it at first, mostly because of how… strangely polite it was. Usually, Spamton had no qualms kicking him out. ‘Alright, enough of that,’ he’d say, practically pushing Tenna out the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Tenna wasn’t used to this kind of subtlety. Spamton wasn’t the type to try and conceal his real opinions on things.
“Well, I’ll, uh… See you tomorrow?” Tenna said uncertainly. Spamton’s shoulders slumped in relief, ever-so-slightly, and Tenna just barely stopped himself from losing a few inches at the sight. He really wanted him gone. No playful ‘get outta here, I needa sleep.’ Just a genuine desire for Tenna to leave. He’d pushed too far, hadn’t he? “Right. Yeah. Um, have a good night.”
“Yeah. See ya, Ten.”
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Spamton was precisely where Tenna had expected to find him. He leaned against the bar casually, head propped up on one hand while the other held his drink. He wasn’t talking to anybody, but he did keep shooting smug grins in Ramb’s direction, just to rile the barkeep up. Tenna had never been a huge fan of the Plugboy, but Spamton seemed to enjoy his company. Why, Tenna couldn’t say, but Ramb did his work well so he set aside his own personal distaste in favor of cool professionalism.
Spamton heard him approaching and lifted his head so he could give him a small wave with his propped hand. The lights in the greenroom were low and warm, matching the current quiet atmosphere. It cast Spamton’s face in warm yellow, reflecting off white feathers and making it almost seem like he was glowing. He was almost ethereal. That was a normal word to use to describe your friend, right? Friends thought friends were ethereal all the time. It was a load of garbage, but it was easier to just ignore it all.
“Spamton!” Tenna greeted cheerfully, shoving the observation as far down as he could manage. “Just the man I was looking for!” He forced himself to shrink down, struggling far more than usual, so that he could take the seat at Spamton’s side.
“Hey, big guy,” Spamton greeted. He took a sip of his drink, eyeing Tenna over the glass. “What’s up?” Tenna gave him a nervous smile, fingers tapping on the bar. He should drink something. That usually helped, right? Damn it, why was he so nervous about this in the first place? It wasn’t like he was proposing or something. This was just a friendly gift between friendly partners. Business partners. Obviously. He ignored the flutter in his chest as Spamton raised an eyebrow curiously.
“Everything okay, bud?”
“Peachy!” Tenna squeaked. “I just wanted to, uh, talk to you about something.” Spamton tilted his head and knocked back the rest of his drink. He dropped the glass back onto the bar and turned, fully, to give Tenna his full attention. Was his screen getting warmer?
“Is this about the new physical challenge?” Spamton asked. “I’ve got it handled. Put in the order this morning, everything should be here by the end of the week.”
“Oh, perfect! You’re wonderful, Spam!” Tenna beamed. “Wait, no- I mean that’s not- I-”
“Woah, woah, slow your roll, pal,” Spamton cut in. He leaned closer. Please don’t do that. The closeness was too much, too much when he knew that Spamton thought nothing of it. He didn’t think whatever this was would get this far. Sure, he’d always felt a little strange around Spamton, but that’s just because Spamton was a peculiar guy! And sure, it had been kinda getting progressively worse and worse, but he’d assumed it would plateau eventually. Instead, it seemed to have suddenly skyrocketed into something nigh unmanageable. This sucked.
“You okay, Ten?” Spamton asked. “Lookin’ a little… green around the gills, there.” Tenna choked on air, turning away sharply.
“I’m good!” he said. He cleared his throat harshly. “Sorry. Sorry! I, um, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” Spamton asked. He leaned even closer, hand planted firmly on the bar to give himself purchase. “Well, c’mon, Ten. Don’t leave a guy hanging!”
“Right! Um…” Tenna leaned back slightly as his screen heated even further. Spamton seemed to notice, because he drew back just a bit to give the CRT some space to breathe. Tenna scanned his face, gaze flicking up to his hairline. He was embarrassed about it for some reason, right? Tenna glanced over to where Ramb was behind the bar wiping some things down, then over to a Pippins sitting in the corner. “Can we go to my dressing room, actually?” Spamton tilted his head curiously.
“What for? Gonna tear me a new one?” he teased.
“No!” Tenna practically shouted. “Heavens, no! No, no, you’re doing great, it’s not that, I didn’t mean to-”
“Relax, buddy. I’m kidding.” Spamton said. He leaned back lazily, so much so that Tenna worried he was going to tip off the stool.
“It’s just… I think you’d rather discuss this in private,” Tenna tried again. That didn’t sound much better. Spamton clearly agreed, because his brow drew in and his easy smile twitched nervously.
“Ooookaaay?” he said slowly. “Whatever you say, big guy.” He hopped off his stool and gestured for Tenna to lead the way. Tenna awkwardly shuffled back to a standing position and nervously guided Spamton back to his dressing room. It felt so utterly scandalous, even though it wasn’t, he just wanted to be somewhere no one would hear them! Damn, that sounded even more scandalous, what was going on with him!? His hands were shaking so badly that his fingers slipped off the knob the first time he tried to open the door.
They stepped into the dressing room and Tenna locked the door behind them. Spamton stepped further into the room, glancing around nervously. Did he still think Tenna wanted to berate him for something?
“Sooooo…?” Spamton asked, crossing his arms and tapping his foot expectantly. Tenna just stared at him, his words dying in the back of his throat. This wasn’t that complicated. “Ten?”
“YES!” Tenna squeaked. “Yes, I, um-” He grimaced, tugging his gloves up. “I just wanted to- give you something.” Spamton frowned.
“Okay? And you’re panickin’ because…?”
“I am not panicking!” Tenna said indignantly. Spamton snorted.
“Coulda fooled me,” he replied.
“Oh can it,” Tenna said. “See what I get for trying to do something nice.” Spamton barked out a sharp laugh. It was the kind Tenna liked, the harsh, high-pitched one that was probably better described as a cackle. It felt so much more real than the practiced chuckle he used on stage. It warmed Tenna’s metaphorical heart every time he managed to coax out a snippet of it.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “What didja get me? You’ve got me curious now.” Tenna clasped his hands, wringing them together. There was no backing out now. No shoving the stupid impulse purchase into the bottom drawer of his closet and pretending it had never happened. It’s nothing, he tried to assure himself. This is just… me helping out a friend. Nothing to be nervous about.
“Um. It’s-” He yanked the little box out of his pocket before he could back out and shoved it into Spamton’s hands. It fit in his pocket easily, but thanks to their size difference, it took Spamton two hands to comfortably hold. “HERE!” Spamton stumbled back from the force of the thing being shoved into his arms.
“Thanks?” he said uncertainly. He brought the box closer to his face to examine it. “Geez, you really wanted to get this thing off your hands.” He shot Tenna a teasing smile. “There ain’t a bomb in here or something, is there?” Tenna pouted, turning his head away sharply. “C’mon, bud, ya know I’m messin’ with ya.” Tenna dropped his head into his hands in what he knew was going to be a failed attempt at concealing the embarrassed red of his screen. He didn’t even have blood to rush to his face! He mentally cursed whatever quirk of his design let him blush.
“Just open it,” he groaned.
“Okay, okay,” Spamton laughed. “You got it, boss.” He heard the sound of paper tearing and peeked through the gaps in his fingers to see. Spamton carefully pulled the red and gold wrapping paper off the box with lithe, steady fingers. He examined the box underneath curiously. He noticed Tenna looking and gave the box a teasing shake up by his ear. A slight thudding emanated from inside and Tenna buried his head again, the anticipation and embarrassment all mixing together in perhaps the most unpleasant emotion he’d ever experienced.
He knew the instant Spamton pulled the lid off the box, because he heard the man let out a soft gasp at what he saw. He refused to look back up, terrified of what he might see. He shouldn’t care as much as he did but… he wanted, more than anything, for Spamton to like this. To appreciate this gift and understand how much it meant. How much he meant. To Tenna. It felt like his entire life hinged on this and he didn’t know why. Well, that was a lie, he knew exactly why, but it wasn’t like there was anything he could damn well do about it. He shoved it down as far as it would go. This was just a friendly gift. It had nothing to do with… that.
“You…” Spamton breathed. Tenna heard him move, and then the sound of the box being set down on a surface. He slowly peeled his hands away from his face to find that Spamton had set the box on the floor. Any surface in Tenna’s dressing room was too high for him to reach, after all. He knelt on the floor by the box, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled an even smaller box from inside. It was the exact right brand. Tenna knew it was, because he’d committed the box on the floor of Spamton’s bathroom to memory.
Spamton turned the box over, his expression inscrutable save for the fact that it looked bad. His mouth was pressed into a thin, wavering line. He was blinking rapidly. Tenna could hear his voice shake as he breathed.
“I’m sorry!” Tenna cried, unable to hold himself back any longer. “I’m sorry, I should’ve known this was stupid, I didn’t mean to overstep! It’s just, you said you were almost out and I saw the box and I thought maybe, y’know, if you didn’t really want people knowing you dyed your hair then it might be nice if someone else bought it so then you didn’t have to! I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, I just-”
“Tenna,” Spamton said. It was quiet, but it shut Tenna up anyway. “You, uh… you remembered the brand-”
“Of course I did!” Tenna said immediately. “I wouldn’t want to get you the wrong kind. You never know with these things! It might’ve irritated your skin or been bad for your feathers or- something,” he finished lamely. He watched as his vanity grew a little, his antennae drooping unhappily. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake.” Damn it. He’d messed this whole thing up, hadn’t he? Whatever ‘this’ even was.
“You really don’t- You’re fine with-” Spamton broke off, his voice crackling.
“Well, of course it’s fine. It’s just hair, Spam,” Tenna said quickly. “It’s not a big deal.” Spamton looked up at him, something unreadable in his dark eyes.
“R-right,” he said, uncharacteristically quiet. “Right, yeah. Yeah, of course you don’t. Cause it’s just… hair.” He shook his head, nestling the box he’d taken out back among the others and replacing the lid on the bigger box that contained them.
“I really didn’t mean anything by it,” Tenna said quietly. He was nearly eye-level with the other man now. “I just wanted to… do something nice for you. Because I really appreciate our… partnership.” Spamton got to his feet uncertainly and brushed off his slacks.
“You, uhm…” He stared at Tenna and he looked so desperately like he wanted to tell him something but couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. You can tell me. You can tell me anything. He didn’t. Instead, he leaned back down and lifted the box into his hands, cradling it like it was precious.
“I, uh, I know you can’t… You don’t understand…” Spamton began. He sounded so devastatingly uncertain. Spamton, who never stumbled over his words on stage. Spamton, whose entire body oozed with excess confidence. Spamton, who was never at a loss for what to say. “Thank you.”
Tenna’s antennae spring straight up. What? Spamton looked back up at him, a weak but genuine smile softening his face. He pulled the box closer, almost hugging it to his chest.
“This… I know it’s nothing to you, but, uh… it means. It means a lot to me, Ant.” For a moment, Tenna didn’t even process what had been said. Then, his height rocketed back up, chest bursting with joy.
“Oh, I’m so happy! I was so nervous to give it to you. Haha, how silly is that? Me. Nervous? I’m so, so glad you like it!” Relief washed through his entire body. He hadn’t completely bungled everything up. Spamton liked it, he appreciated it! It means a lot to me.
“Yeah, yeah,” Spamton said dismissively. The rare earnestness on his face fell away, replaced with the usual teasing smirk. But it had been there! He couldn’t wipe it away now, not now that Tenna had it permanently etched into his memory. A genuine, sweet smile. Gratitude given in earnest. A moment of vulnerability, fleeting but there, that he’d actually allowed Tenna to see.
His entire chest felt like it was alive all of a sudden. His body thrummed with happiness, Spamton’s smile burrowing its way into something deeper than long-term memory. It was like it was being written on his very soul. There was an excited fluttering in his stomach, like a swarm of butterflies had been unleashed there. He tried to smother the feeling, to no avail. Lord, he was hopeless.
“I, uh… I should head out,” Spamton said suddenly. His fingers tightened around the box as if he was afraid someone would take it. “I’ll let ya know when the instruments come in, yeah? Then we can get it all set up.”
“Yes!” Tenna said. “Yes, of course! Um, good. Great!” Spamton gave him an odd look but didn’t comment. “See you tomorrow?” Spamton’s smile returned, his eyes softening at the corners.
“See ya tomorrow, Ant.”