The Chamomile Carillon

"Are you afraid, Mister Tenna?"

Your request for sincerity breaks through the shuffle of the walk, of his nervous humming as you ride his shoulder, taller than a tree. You keep looking forward towards the warm and fiery maple leaves that line the fences, that match the decay of a real world you're slowly starting to forget. What time of year was it? Fall, surely, but when in fall? What day of the month was it, the night darker than dark? You've never been good at keeping track of time, have you? Rough moments will do that.

"Afraid?!" Tenna answers boisterously, vibrating you as the source of his laugh is so close. "Ha! Ha ha!"

…He has such a strange profile, a long cone for a nose and lovely round lips, cheeks that are simultaneously apples but still blend into the smoothness of a TV screen seamlessly. It's mesmerizing; it takes away a bit of the sting to the actual answer he provides. The smile's strain lessens, and he uses his other hand (the one not supporting you) to rub his chin. "I'd be lying if I wasn't at least a teeny bit, ya know," because he doesn't think it'd be a lie he'd get away with. "Like I said, big place with a whole lot of nobody!"

There's another aspect though, you think. "And that it's…outside?"

"Well of course! It's terrifying outside! I'm an indoor TV and not made for this! Why, it's like taking a late night host and putting them on morning broad—"

Sniffle.

"…Casting."

Oh dear. You're crying. Why are you crying? His nose disappears as darkness blinks onto his screen as he turns his head towards you, a big toothy frown curving down. "Starshine…?"

"I did this to you…" you finally admit. "I took you outside and I hurt you…and now you're stuck with me…"

"Hey, hey! Stuck with you?! No, never! Listen, pal."

In one swift but smooth motion, Tenna picks you up from under the arms, heightening your pathetic-looking state so you can be in front of him.

"I could be in a junkyard with my face broken in and my arms torn off, and I'd be happy as long as I had you." …His mouth is curved up now but with guilt. "But both there and here, I can't help but feel terrible for dragging you into this mess, seeing me at anything less than my biggest and best. That's what you deserve, you know? My best."

…

You weakly reach up to rub your eye.

"Aw, hey, are those tears? Well…that's okay. It's okay to cry," Tenna knows from all the shows you liked to share with him.

So you do. He takes you to his chest, and you cry for the fates of you both.

 ─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ*.☆.* ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

At some point the rustling of dead leaves is filtered into the sigh of water. You look up and see how it flows. Like the drainage pipes of the old barn roof, a machine is in motion entirely fueled by the easy and constant downpour of rain. It comes in from above the tiles, way up high, and falls from one container to another, sliding down metal routes to dump into buckets, and then those buckets zipline slowly down at an angle to spread rainwater like a gentle cascade. Your eyes follow it further and see that it begins to pool, a stream in the distance level with where you and Tenna stand.

You both have stood in this spot for a while, just where the orange path has ended with no clear line of sight to its continuation. Tenna rocks on his heels with his hands behind his back. After everything that just happened, it hurts for you to admit you were wrong about this "yellow brick road" of sorts…but you must. That's the responsible thing to do. It was a stupid idea anyways.

"Tenna, I…"

You gasp at a sound. An interruption. The man you speak to reflexively lowers to a crouch and moves an arm to guard your front. The movement in green brush up ahead gets more and more evident.

Rustle.

You see Tenna spike up, almost like a cat.

Rustle.

And a snarl bares his fangs.

Rustle. Shaking the grass more and more until—!

—Out pops a darkner, the first one clearly visible in the land of dark and discarded things. The longer you stare, the more unusual it is. A heron? It's certainly shaped like one, but there's something about it—

Before you can narrow it down, it becomes abruptly apparent that Tenna's stance was all for show. A boss darkner terrified deep down raises a knee, puts his gloves to his face, and shrieks.

He's afraid. Something about that makes you do something you've never thought of in your whole life: fight.

SHING!

…Tenna stops whimpering and stares at you, dumbfounded. You acknowledge it; you finally acknowledge it. The broken dagger at your hip is pointed forward, a beautiful bleeding red that reflects in order across it's length from tip to base: the rusty heron. The lord of the screens. And you.

The thing blinks at you. It's like an animal, you realize the longer you shakily guard against it past your chipped blade. It looks as if it's staring back, tilting it's head to bounce slender and thin feathers that resemble dyed sheet metal.

It lifts up a leg high enough out of the brush that you see that like a real bird, it has happened to be marked: an orange ziptie is tightened around its ankle. As soon as you register it, the darkner leaves just as quickly as it came. Left standing at the edge of your trail, your gut tells you a silly thing, and confidently:

"We're following it," you say, more resolute than you've ever been in years. Too bad Tenna has a fear to match.

"NO!" Tenna coughs to regain his composure, putting both feet firmly on the ground before placing hands on his hips. "I mean…why trust it!" the TV argues, gesturing towards the pathless swamp ahead. God, it makes him shiver just thinking about, getting his trousers all slimy, you in the depths of whatever parasites might be out there. He can't admit that, though, so logic is spoken instead: "It's just a coincidence!"

"Tenna…"

Oh, he's done for. As you sheath your bizarre, gem-like weapon into your plain-colored tool belt, he knows he's done for. He'll do anything for you, and you haven't even made the argument back yet.

"I'm starting to believe in those less and less. And if you're nice…why can't this one be?"

…

He sighs. "You've always been the better person between us."

"Don't say that," your soft voice speaks back in all seriousness, "Okay?"

You take his hand and follow the birdlike darkner made of bolts and wire.

The floor gets muddier and muddier, like the foundation is ending and you're at the edge of an old shed standing on dirt. Weeds grow where tidy vines used to be, and you look over your shoulder and see the maze long gone, not but a shape far behind. Have you really been walking that long? For it to be so small?You look down at your legs. Why are you dressed like this? You're in overalls, gloves, and you even glance up to see the rim of a sunhat. It's like you're playing dress-up as a gardener.

Maybe Tenna isn't the only one of you two that looks different when your eyes struggle to see without light. It scares you, but…

But…

…

You look around now that you're no longer captured in the fortress. It's more like…a picture book, really. Wind in the Willows but without the sunshine. Peter Rabbit but there's as much old human junk as there is nature.

"Ah!" You gasp as you nearly trip, reaching instinctively to your side and grabbing a red sleeve. You brace yourself against it before coming to your senses. But just as you turn up to apologize, he's turned down to see you, too.

A look of surprise he has quickly melts into a wobbly-grinned adoration.

Pop!

…A red flower emerges from the tip of his nose. He giggles. "Wow! Uh. I guess it only comes out different in the light world!" he remarks, remembering the moonflowers.

"Why does that happen…?" Because it's so strange that an electronic man is part plant, too.

"Couldn't say the how!" he begins to explain, tugging you back up to the next stepping stone (an overturned broken piece of a kayak your parents bought long before you came around). "But the why is, well…"

He still has his palm over his face, as if feeling the petals between his fingers for the first time in a long time. You gradually see the tint of his face change to something faintly resembling the rainbow "no signal" you've become familiar with in the light world. You gain your own blush, blinking softly at him and choosing not to pry.

The journey goes on, the bird always out of reach but never not far. It walks with a bob in its neck that makes you wonder if it really is just minding its own business as you two foreigners stalk it through strange-colored reeds and stranger-looking trees and bushes. You swear you saw grapevines growing bright plastic beach toys; an old sandpit in the shape of a turtle raised its head and acknowledged you. The longer you're in this place, the more…full it feels. Is this what Tenna was talking about, a dark world needing to be full?

You come across another of these birds.

Then another.

And then you begin to follow the orange zip tie through a small crowd, boots deep and rippling the murk as the creatures caw and the buckets overhead tip and topple and glide like a Rube Goldberg machine.

Just as you finally catch up to it, the creature pauses on a curved perch to groom tin feathers. Your hand cautiously raises to greet it…and then it lifts its wings and flies away. Your eyes follow as it glides into a smaller and smaller speck over the length of the stream you once noticed so distantly. Indeed, where the creature had perched now moves a bit on its own: a boat in the river anchored with an extension cord to a cracked dock. About as obvious of a sign as fate can allow without being too on the nose.

Tenna lifts you into the rowboat and unties it, magically able to sit on the other tiny seat without sending it sinking to the riverbed with his weight. He rows with one paddle while you use the other, his back to the world coming up and yours to the world left behind.

More darkners appear, different kinds, too. It seems you've come through a town, finally where everyone like Tenna lives. You glance into their lives upon the shore, idyllic and slow-paced. There are people shaped like the discarded lampposts your dad took out of the driveway when the bulbs started blinking, tall and tipping their pointed tops like hats. There are spiders that weave old jewelry for webs among bicycle spokes, and there's a cat made of solid wood that can still bend its spine in the way only felines can in a big stretch. A woman made of gardening mesh enters a door with a spoon for a handle, greeted by a bull whose rusty links resemble locks of fur.

Everything— everyone— is just…existing. Tenna warned himself before that you could get attached, but it goes over his head now that he could use that advice, too. You both, after all, are homesick for a peace you've never had.

"Holy moly…" he swears under his breath. At this point you're coasting, oars over your laps as the stream leisurely moseys you down the way you saw the bird go. There is no rush; the sense of danger no longer tenses his shoulders and gives you goosebumps. A fish catches his stare, jumping through the water with something glowing in its mouth. Before he can do anything about it, the submerged kite flips out of the surface and flies between the two of you, its papery tail fins sputtering in the air before sinking back down. Tenna looks over the side of the boat to try to follow sight of it, but what it leaves behind is what you pay attention to.

"Stained glass…"

You pick it up. A cerulean sheet, two sides smooth and two sides rugged as if broken with force. You remember the glow from your own stained glass dagger, and you pull it out.

Click.

Pits aren't as bottomless as they look, turns out.

"WOAH!"

"WOAW!"

"WA-AHHH!"

With each bounce upon outstretched, taunt tarps, Tenna's voice rings out. Past his smothering arms and the blinding rush of passing colors arranged like massive strings of a clown's handkerchiefs, you somehow do manage to notice this about him. He's so…goofy sounding. It's the same voice that spoke to you so softly, lovingly…but it's even more than you expected, too. But how so…?

—Reality hits you again as you and him are swung face-down and you get a good view of the approaching ground. There's one last hit upon a tented tarp— resembling the one you used to use for gardening— and then he rolls onto his back, slithering gradually towards the last half-foot to earth. An "oof" accommodates the sound of his monitor bonking the ground.

You lay there for a second, awkwardly wrapped into his chest, dangling half upside-down thanks to the angle he makes on this makeshift hammock. Eventually, he exhales.

"Hoo!" Tenna says much the same way you might after a rollercoaster ends, breathlessness to match. "THAT was quite the ride, huh!"

The stunning nature of the situation fades, and you pry yourself up— down?— to look at his face. "Tenna! Are you alright?!"

Something about the way his brows wiggle and his head bobs gives you the idea that if he did have eyes, then they'd be swirls right now. "N-not any worse for wear than usual, starshine…!" he replies, feigning confidence. Abruptly, his antennas twist and untwist as if to snap himself out of his state, and he tilts his chin down— up?— to examine you. "Oh my stars and garters, are YOU okay?!"

"Yeah…" you say first before really examining yourself. You do, however, soon realize it's true; a small smile reaches your eyes as relief sets in. "I'm fine."

…

Tenna beams, but it's cut off by a distance screech. He begins to kick his legs off the elevated plastic fabric, careful not to knee you in the process. "Come on," he whispers harshly. "We gotta keep moving."

"B-but…" You look around at the unfamiliar, warped surroundings. "To…where?"

…

…

You don't like how long it takes for Tenna to answer. His smile is strained and so is his laugh. "We'll figure it out!" But then, more sincerely: "We always do."

Because that's right. You always do.

─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ*.☆.* ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

The longer you stare, the more you notice. The metal coils act as walls, like a hedge maze but with wire. It's massive, big for even your TV at his full height. There's plants, fake ones maybe; they're vines that look too matte in some places and too shiny in others. He bounces you ever so slightly in each step. Everything's been crazy for a while, and your brain is finally slowing down. Exhaustion, you know from experience, hits so hard after panic. It's like a hard shut down, protecting you until you're capable of appreciating these supernatural circumstances. Who knows? Maybe you've been dreaming this all along.

Rock, rock.

You hear his shuffling, banana-colored shoes, scuffling against debris that resembles dead leaves. That makes sense. You did use the tarps to carry autumn leaves away. First you fell on the tarps, and now you walk through the leaves.

…Yeah. It really is just your memories of this place, huh? More of what the barn represents to you than what it physically was.

Rock, rock.

It's so soothing. He's made of metal underneath the suit, but…he's so soft, too. Rubber? Silicone? It'd be rude to ask, wouldn't it, as you're snug against his chest? You're just about to close your eyes as you stare past the wire fence when you notice…something. A color. The significance of that color wakes you right up.

Tenna's in his own pensive world until he feels a few tugs on his lapel, each more frantic than the last. He stops where he stands, nose pointed down at the precious bundle near his heart. "Star…?" Not as talkative now, thanks to serious thoughts of his own. But he is curious to the point you make; at first he assumes it's towards the vines. Tenna chuckles, thinking he understands. "They look just like yours," he answers, patient but tired. You shake your head.

"Look through them!"

"Mmm…?"

Careful not to smother you against the fence, he leans against the wire wall he nearly passed by, tilting his "head" by the neck so a gap in the metal and green is level with where you'd expect his eye to be. It's hard to see what you're talking about at first, and he says so, but you insist.

"Do you see the orange?"

"Orange? Now why on earth…?"

He leans back out and then back in as if it'll help him refocus. This time, Tenna can sparse through the layers of surrounding walls, and that color in the distance appears. It's such a distinct shade…so familiar.

Wait!

He presses into the mesh with enough force that it begins to bend. "That's my extension cord!"

Indeed it is— er, well, a version of it. In the light world, it's strung across the back yard from the barn to the house. In the dark world, apparently that translates to something a little more literal about it's purpose: a path.

"That's it! If we get out of here and follow the orange cord, that'll take us to the fountain! I'm certain of it!" Tenna cheers.

"Fountain?"

…The grin on his face becomes dampened, but only for the briefest second. "I'll explain that later," he says, because he wants to explain it never. It wasn't on purpose you opened the fountain up. Why lay the guilt on your feet when it all goes away? He knows how attached you get, after all.

"Alrighty!" he continues, renewed with hope. "We'll keep moseying through this wannabe hedge maze, and then we'll be on our way home!"

You like the sound of home. You both like it enough that you ignore the scrambling of stubby feet nearby underneath the shuffle of Tenna through the dead leaves.

─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ*.☆.* ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

"Geez… I'm not used to a place like this."

He's been babbling off and on, trying to shake off nerves, but this is the first real statement in a while that you can respond to with more than just a hum of agreement or sympathy. This, in contrast, brings you confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, where I come from— the TV World straight from your house— it's a lot more shall we say…populated." His free hand flicks the air; he seems to be utterly full of such gestures, performer he is. "I mean, you can't turn a corner without seeing another fella! And I'm not just saying that 'cause I'm big!"

What a jovial man, able to make a joke like that in these circumstances. Doesn't stop his smile from looking nervous though, nor his anxious fiddling with his necktie.

"It's too…quiet here!" Tenna complains, a shiver down his spine that reaches you, too, as he carries you about. "Too empty! Sure there's THINGS but not darkner things! Just things!" …Tenna sees your perplexed expression and coughs into his fist awkwardly. "…Nonliving things," he corrects.

The more you try to visualize, the less clear things feel. "You mean more things tend to be alive? More than we've met?" Any thing being alive, after all, is a doozy to accept. You can't imagine more creeping in the shadows; the thought gives you goosebumps.

"Well, yeah! Or at least the living things are more plentiful. I had enough of a crew for a whole studio, after all. Here, in this big old place?"

Tenna gestures to the expanse. It echoes his voice and smothers his presence at the same time.

"Makes a guy wonder what happened to everyone."

Makes you wonder, too. The feeling in your gut flips your stomach over, and you realize you can't ignore it anymore.

"I…don't remember entering this maze in the first place," you finally admit. You've been in and out of sorts the whole time, but you'd have remembered the outside of something so distinct, so lavish, right? You nearly jump with how sharply he reacts, his laughter nearly a cough as he barks his relief.

"Ha! You too?! Thank Channel 3!" he exhales as if swearing to a god. Relief, however, quickly turns to dread. But dread, when he looks down and sees your face, simmers down to something more stable; he has to be, after all. He has to be stable for you, no matter how much he'd love to fall to his knees and yank on his antennas. "Now don't look so glum, star!" the giant comforts, and he adjusts his hold of you in the crook of his arm so you're more like a sleepy kid or a baby than a desperate adult clinging to him for dear life. "Everything in the dark is always going to be strange! Even if it's a strangeness I'm not personally used to, it IS a strange kind of strange that in itself isn't so strange! Does that make sense, stranger?"

You can't tell if he hears himself or not, but you understand regardless (of how strange it is). You'd forgive him anyway, with how comforting that smile is. It's a talent to be able to have humor when you'd be terrified in his bright shoes. How does he do it?

"…That's all to say," he continues with a finger wag to the striped sky, "That we're safe."

"…Safe?" you repeat. Tenna knows with your history why you're always skeptical of the word; he nods.

"Safe."

…

"Come on, star," he says again at your hesitation. He makes a few more steps until you both hit what appears to be the center of the maze, large arches opening to structures unseen before. It's like some sort of fanciful garden, vines crawling even along the floor so the living leaves are among the deceased. He gasps in excitement. "Look! They're all fiery sunshine orange over there!" Tenna points out, seeing that one path out of this circular clearing is distinctly lined with a forest floor of more freshly fallen, differently toned plants. "Just like you said!"

You're set down on a garden bench, a familiar painted white that you recall used to be in your backyard sometime before until for whatever reason it was put away. Tenna takes a step back, hands on his hips, and hums to himself.

"Hmm… It's not quite right. May I?"

You nod at his approaching fingers, though unsure what they're about to do. Turns out, they wanted to untie the quilt from your shoulders. Hell, you forgot it was even there, but as soon as it's off, you feel cold and stagnant air of a moist place locked down and deserted.

It doesn't last long, thankfully. The man's gloves pass through one sleeve of his red coat and then the next, balancing the grip of your blanket in one hand and then the other until he ends up with both your outer layer and his own in either grasp. Humming pleasantly to himself, his jacket is laid across the wiry bottom of your seat, the clothing so big that the thickness makes the uncomfortable texture of metal an afterthought. "Okie dokie!" Tenna says after. "Time for you to lay down!"

…You blink. "Why?" Is something wrong with you? You look over yourself and find no, there's no injuries you've missed, even if your mind is foggy on details right now. "I can keep going. You've been carrying me! I—"

A gentle finger taps against your lips. "As your TV," the showman says, "I got an innate sense of when it's just about time to change the program. And it says that YOU!" …He quiets, tone helpful and serene. "…Need your sleep."

…

He wishes you didn't hesitate so much, but he accepts it, too. You've always a hard one to convince, at least when it comes to your own care. You see the TV get on his knees, his smile ever-present, patient and gentle.

"Trust me on this one, okay, star?" One giant hand guides your body to lay down on his coat while the other brings the quilt over your cold skin. "I'll keep watch. Just r-rest up! Okay?"

With your mind being the last thing you can trust right now, it becomes so easy to listen to Tenna. Your body…it does feel tired. And the time…yes, it has been long enough to warrant rest. But there's something you don't understand.

"Why should I rest and not you?"

There's a bob in his throat.

"It's different for me. I don't need it."

…

You opt to trust Tenna instead of your mind, eventually closing your eyes and leaving him to watch over you. But oh, how small he feels in this wilderness. As he hunches over your sleeping form, the cold seeps through his white shirt, and his back feels exposed in a way just right for a predator to come up and slash it open. He's tired. He doesn't know what time it is with no sun, no morning nor afternoon nor evening programming! What's he going to do?

He's so tired…

He looks at you and frowns so hard. He has no idea what he is going to do.

…As if to answer him, the vines in this chamber grow, shape, and change. They form buds, then blossoms, and then unfolded petals. The wire fence canopy is soon utterly lined with moonflowers, the very thing that infected his heart his last night in the world of light. His heart sinks at the thought that the environment itself could just be lying to him; an indoor appliance in an untamed outdoor world, it can't be put past a dark world to harbor resentment to an invader like him. But would you have had any in your heart, that moment you plunged the trowel? He wouldn't blame you. Tenna looks at you, so tranquil and innocent with your hands folded on your chest as you lay on his coat, and yet he doesn't know. You haven't even acknowledged the blade on your hip. There's no malice in you...but there is so, so much hurt. Is your compliance to him a forgiveness? Or is your silence on what happened last night a sign of harm?

Once upon a time, there was a marvelous sword. It was made of stained glass, intricate enough to tell the tale of the world around it— every machination of man both good and bad. The legend said that if you raised the blade up to the light, it would whisper to you the great truth of how there's no such thing as evil. There is simply suffering, and there is simply love, and both coexist the same way that children hold hands.

One fateful night, the weight of the truth grew too heavy for the palms that wielded it, and in grief, the sword was thrust into the ground, shattering to pieces and leaving but the hilt and feelings of regret.

The rain poured down, and the glass was swept away, dying the water like blood with each bolt of electricity.

This is the story of twofolds. Of love and suffering, and of light with dark.

Tenna, and you.

─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ*.☆.* ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

As prophesies fortold, at some point one's mind crosses the threshhold. It's like a spectrum, you see. On one end is light, and on the other— dark? Not quite. Our dark is the middle, the borderlands between the light and something else. Tenna has crossed this border many a time, but not like this.

Never like this.

One would think Tenna to be more like a long-worn scavenger of these lands rather than a newcomer to it. The quilt over his head looks so small with his size— tying over his head and shoulders like a hood. There's a shiver to his body, but it isn't from being cold. No, the moment he realized his head was his own and saw a line on his palm where a cut was some time ago…he knew he needed to find you.

Immediately.

A boss Darkner is still a large thing, especially with it being based on a large object, and yet he feels how much smaller he is than his usual; Tenna prays against his gut it's his own emotions and not a side effect of being outside of his own world. Jesus Christ…he didn't even KNOW dark worlds could be made outside! What does that mean?! Where the hell even ARE they?! Where are YOU?!

The quilt folds and unfolds with a breeze as he frantically looks side to side. It's NOTHING like TV World. These aren't rooms— these are fields. There's no spotlights. Just…broken ones. Scattered about. Flickering. Flick, flick, flick. Like fireflies? Like living things. The longer he looks, the more he spins. The more he spins, the dizzier he feels. The dizzier he feels, the more flashing lights begin to look like they're moving.

Flick. A still, like a polaroid, like a camera flash in the dark. Flick. Disjointed limbs crawl out of the shadows. He grips the quilt in the same way he saw you do, trying to hide no to avail.

"STOP IT! STOP IT!!! I'M THE BOSS HERE!"

But he's not, and they don't stop for anyone, it seems.

Imagined danger or not, he throws his arms and breaks free of the green, coily wires of forgotten Christmas bulbs. "Woah-oh!" Like vines, he staggers on his heel, and with a thud, he lands on the gritty, cracked, unforgiving concrete.

Groaning, his fingers blindly roam the side of his head for any cracks. Though none are to be found, he does find something else.

A gust of wind rattles the bones of this barn, the things that jingle and jangle from the ceiling like Damocles's sword, so precarious yet so constant. The double vision of hitting his head swings the world back…and forth…until Tenna sees a single bundle, lying on the ground, just like he is.

Your eyes are closed.

Oh god.

Oh GOD!

All of his willpower is more than enough to wrestle back the fear, the desire to keep his head down and pretend nothing has happened. A step up, a stagger, and then his once-polished heels click against the floor as he makes the rest of his way to your body, collapsing on his knees.

He says your name.

Your name…?

…

A trembling palm moves to cup your cheek, and like a fairy tale, you're gently woken up from the worst of slumbers.

You know immediately something is wrong, because Tenna couldn't shed tears before when he cried.

─── ⊹˙₊˚ ˚⋆˙･｡ﾟ*.☆.* ﾟ. ⋆˙₊˚ ₊˚⊹───

Flick.

Flick.

Woosh.

This place is so strange. You sit there, upon an object you don't recognize, next to a light source you can't identify, within a setting familiar yet not. It's like…the remnants of something. A memory of a memory, perhaps, of what the inside of your barn is like. Kind of like you're a little kid seeing it for the first time.

Your tired eyes glance up. It's like you're in a giant box— one so big it becomes the horizon and sky themselves. The texture of this box is rigid, scaffolding and sheets of metal that match the rusting rooftop you know from your view in the kitchen. Everything is so dark, but not like it's merely lacking light. It's dark just…inherently so. Inherently deep in its colors, like you closed your eyes and rubbed over your eyelids until you started seeing swirls and flashes of the rainbow.

You're lost in this thought until you gasp, a gentle sensation still so abrupt in a place so stagnant and cold. You look over your shoulder and he gasps too in reflex, his massive gloved fingers twitching the blanket off of your body just as soon as you felt its weight. The creature's screen gives a wobbly cartoon grin.

"I—er—…"

For such a massive thing, he really shrinks so easily.

Everything since you woke up has been so dreamlike. You woke up to arms around you, the smell of rain dribbling down your neck. And then the fuzz of a TV… One blink, then another, then another later…and now you're here.

…Wherever "here" is.

The giant lightbulb centered before you like a campfire has a gash in it, a space of broken glass where you can look inside and hurt your eyes for staring too long. Maybe Tenna had noticed you doing just that, and that's why he reached out to touch.

"Tenna…" His name, usually so easy on the tongue, is difficult now. He's somehow even more of a wonder than he was before. You study him as he shifts attentively in front of you, holding his knees and pointing the bobbed ends of his antennas towards you as if it helps him focus. Your eyes hurt, like you really have been crying as hard as you remember you did.

But it can't be real. It has to be a dream. You stare at him. His TV head is different— it isn't the one you know. It's purple, and in an asymmetrical shape. And his face…

…He wasn't nearly as expressive as before. He's not just an amalgamation of mechanics and imagination anymore. He's like…an action figure. He's like a doll. He's like an animation.

Tenna is real. Real in a way you've never seen before.

…Something is bothering him. In your delirious state, it's hard to guess why. You're too focused on the fact he can twist the top of his casing to look like a furrowed brow to ask yourself why he's trying to have a brow to furrow at all. The backdrop of silhouettes is so perspective altering— giant things that are supposed to be small— that it makes you jump and gasp when he lifts his hand up. There's nearly…a shake in how he looks at you, and you can't tell how or why that's possible.

Just as you did for him the first night you really met, he swallows up his worry…and waits.

…

…

The sound of static breaks through the white noise of this strange, new world, and while half of you panics, the other half is calmed beyond belief as a nose and mouth disappear and bring you only fuzz and buzz.

Closer.

Closer.

Close enough.

Somehow massive digits so lithely pinch the ends of the blanket threatening to fall off your shoulders with each jump you've made. There's a lot unsaid and unknown right now, so it's easy for him to latch onto a truth: that he can't have that. His precious star can't go about cold and unprotected.

The ends of the quilt are tied around your neck, just the same way an old TV saw a scared kid do to feel the pressure of a hug, and yet the freedom of a superhero. He ties your new, old cape, and he slowly lingers back into his hunched, curled up stance. Through the static, you swear there's some sort of smile.

"Tenna…I'm so sorry," you finally say. Because this is all your fault, regardless of what this even is.

He predictably shakes his head, though a bit quicker than you're used to from his usual movements. His fingers drum his knee in a fanning motion, a combination of both residual energy and residual anxiety. His smile…it's so…goofy. It squiggles, like you're five years old drawing it on paper with crayon clenched in an unstable fist. 

Why?

"Why are you…smiling?" When there's nothing to smile about. Like the drips from the sky leaking down to the cement earth, little by little does dread trickle in. Tenna…was hurt. He was hurt!

He had to have been hurt…right? 

Being drenched with water isn't the same as being unplugged, after all.

…!

You gasp. He's seen the panic on your face and has reached over again, a mere tip of the index finger all it takes to help you refocus on his face. He lifts your chin up, and you are reminded of his expression. That's right…his smile. He's still smiling.

"I'm smiling," you hear a voice speak for the first time, "Because I love you."

It takes a long moment for him to realize he's not just warbling out static. These are real words. Only when the world echoes it softly back to Tenna does the TV's heart skip a beat.

"…You can hear me."

…You nod. That squiggle not only widens but opens to show teeth you never used to know. 

"You can hear me."

Fervently, feverishly do you nod. It bears repeating as he jumps to his feet.

"You can HEAR me!!!" a jubilant voice cheers, gloved hands to the sky. Jesus he absolutely towers over you! "My star! My STAR!"

Just as he picks you up and spins around does something in the shadows crackle and skitter. His hold becomes tight.

"Oh dearest dark," he squeaks as you're smooshed into his chest. "That's right!"

"What's right…?" you dare ask. Another sound from the shifting silhouettes just beyond the makeshift bonfire, and he winces. 

"Darkners!"

"What—? AH!"

Before you know it, your television is running faster than you've ever seen him move before, his strides massive and a heave in his breath as he puts effort in each step. As he holds you to his chest in one arm, you dare look over his shoulder, and you see movement chasing behind— or imagine it.

You aren't sure which prospect scares you more.

"What are Darkners?!" you ask in a hoarse whisper, to which he matches with the same volume and tone of panic.

"They're what I am!"

That doesn't make sense! "Then…why are we running?! They can't be bad if they're like you, right?!"

"NO!" He makes himself jump at how loud he suddenly gets, covering his mouth to hush the lips that have hardly been allowed to speak at all in his life with you. "They aren't like me! I don't know them…!"

There's a hollow knock of fear in that last sentence. You get just enough time to evaluate his expression before a shape swirls out of the dark, having caught up in the past few seconds.

"LOOK OUT!"

He turns just in time to see it leap. In a ditch effort to evade, he trips forward, arms outstretched to keep you away from his tumbling body. You flinch at the sound of skidding as his knuckles that hold you take the brunt of the impact. You frantically blink, and something isn't right.

The horizon is getting rapidly close.

"TENNA!"

"Wha—?"