#control writes

Having a broken directive made one feel rather… well, aimless. Those with drive and purpose slotted right into the world. At least, that was what Spamton assumed. Not having a [STRONG REEL] towards anything left him floundering, unsure of himself and uncertain what to do. All the other Addisons knew what they were made to do, and did it [FIVE STARS].

Spamton was empty. Quite literally. White as an [BLANK SHEET] of paper, full of [ENDLESS POTENTIAL]! He could do anything he wanted if he put his mind to it, like [BARBIE ©]!

That was what he told himself. Spamton knew that he was lying to himself, but that was the first step of making a [SALE SALE SALE] – being able to lie so well that even you believed it.

After another lousy week of failing to sell various knickknacks and trinkets, more piteous looks from the other Addisons, Spamton found that he was reaching a breaking point. He needed something mindless and [SOUL CRUSHING] to [RESET] himself; something that would not hurt when it failed to work out again. He would make it big, he promised himself, but he had to dig further down to find his way. An idea struck him as he stared at a [TRASH HEAP], and it festered and grew in his mind. While at first he was mildly uncomfortable with the notion, after some [HEMMING] and [HAWING], he promised himself a [ONE WEEK TRIAL PERIOD] to see if the scheme would work.

The next morning, spruced up and donned with a satchel, Spamton went door knocking. This time, he did not go to the usual suspects to sell them goods, no, he knocked on his fellow Addisons’ doors and offered his services.

Ad-delivery! They give him their ads, and he takes it around to every area in the Dark world. Surprisingly, he had a few takers, though he tried not to wonder if it was purely out of pity. Soon his satchel was full of [INCREDIBLE DEALS BUY NOW], and he went through the entire directory in record time. Since he agreed to a commission for most of the deliveries (though a few were kind enough to give him a down payment), Spamton tagged each mail piece he set out so that he and the shopkeeper could monitor the incoming [CLICK TRAFFIC] from the newly established mailman.

Seeing as the work was incredibly boring, Spamton set his glasses (he had made them himself, yearning for a [SPLASH OF COLOR] on his otherwise empty form) to stream the television waves while he made his rounds. While he did go through a variety of channels, he found himself continuously drawn back to TV Time, [STARRING] none other than Mr. Tenna – charming, bumbling, funny Tenna. It certainly helped keep a smile on Spamton’s face, which was an imperative part of his work. As the week came to a close, he found himself circling back to that [CATHODE] more and more, possibly due to the stress building in his chest. Was this it? Would he have been successful? Did he [FAILURE] miserably? Only [TICK TOCK TICK TOCK] would tell!

Bright and early in the morning, seven days after he made a promise to himself, Spamton pulled up his old tower computer, uploading the data of foot traffic and ad campaigns. He swayed on his seat as the information loaded into the system like a [PUPPET LOOSELY STRUNG] with the nerves.

Spamton’s eyes widened as he took in his revenue percentage.

[HOLY COW].

His jaw clicked open and he had to gently nudge it shut with the back of his hand, staring at a number that was far higher than any of his sales combined. While the work was droll and boring as hell, it gave Spamton [PLENY OFF TIME] to think, to listen to a book, or watch Tenna. Television. He meant television.

So he continued.

It was his first steady job, and while it was nowhere near a [BIG SHOT] level, his name did get around. He was praised as a great advertiser – unfortunately, not of his own goods. But hey, cash is cash. And [TECHNICALITY], his advertising was his goods. It was an art he excelled at. His database and areas of delivery expanded, as did his knowledge of byways and side roads for [YOU ARE NOW ON THE FASTEST ROUTE] through his demanded districts, all with the grinning presenter in the corner of his vision.

Soon he had a small base of operations and was making decent funds, allowing him to explore other paths that interested him in his spare time. He began refurbishing old devices, and collecting what other’s decided to be ‘junk’, but he saw sparks in them. Maybe he saw [REFLECTION] in them as well, and sometimes they altered him just as he fixed them. An incident while fixing a printer ended up with his hair dyed black – he found that the look was [HEADLINE] and kept it. His prized possession was an adorable dial-tone phone, which admittedly felt a little… off, but maybe it was [SPECIL].

It was a nice help, as the Operator seemed to bring Spamton luck – it always forwarded his calls to someone eager to accept his advertisement deliveries. Spamton’s newfound funds and free-time also allowed him to expand his services. Webmail! Hotmail! Coldmail! He did it all!

His favorite, though, was actual mail. People stopping by with a letter that they had painstakingly written just to tell a [FRIEND FOREVER] that they cared. Postcards of pretty places, sometimes of the Lightner’s world, or of locations Spamton never could have dreamed of. And of course, fan mail.

Fan mail made him smile, almost as consistently as TV Time’s fantastic host. There were a number of celebrities across the Dark world, and Spamton found the excited fans who dropped off their notes and letters to be a great source of alternative entertainment when he was trying to [CLEAR HEADED] of the aforementioned entertainer.

Even though a bulk of the letters he lugged about were to be delivered to Tenna’s studio. Usually he would stop there first so he could offload the massive amount of [LOVE LETTERS] the performer received, and then tune in to the channel as he made his rounds. It was a good system. He would make calls. Chat with the Operator. Prepare mailing lists. Test ads. Sleep. Gather all the outgoing mail, sort it, take it to its [DESTINY]. It was a [RISE AND GRIND] but a comfortable one. The growing might have been [SLOW GOING] but it certainly was going.

Spamton woke up to the phone ringing. His head pounded something awful. Stomach turning, he pushed himself out of bed and stumbled to the landline.

“Spamton service G. mailing Spamton,” Spamton mumbled, mixing up his words with a dizzy sense of nausea. “How can [WE GIVE YOU EXCEPTIONAL SERVICE] today?”

“Good morning, Spamton,” the Operator said, voice as strange as the first time Spamton had heard it. Spamton blinked in confusion, as the Operator never called him, uncharacteristically stunned into silence. “You are… late to work.”

“WHAT!?” Spamton yelped, spinning on his heel (and nearly falling over in the action) to face the old cuckoo clock he had repaired. Sure enough, it was a full hour later than he usually woke to start going about his work routine – making it half an hour since he should have been out the door. “Why didn’t you [CALL AND COMPLAIN] earlier!?”

The Operator had already hung up.

Spamton grumbled and weakly shoved the phone back into place. Two nights prior he had caught a bad stomach [99 VIRUSES SCAN NOW] and had nearly missed a work day – which he did manage to get through. Neither [SELECT WEATHER: SNOW, RAIN, HEAT, GLOOM OF NIGHT] stayed that courier from the swift completion of his appointed rounds – or [TUMBY ACHE :( ] for that matter. Now it bit him, and he had to rush to dress in his [SELF MADE] uniform, grab his satchel and some pop-up-ad tarts, and dash out the door. He was glad that he managed to haul together all the [OUTGOING MAIL] before he [A KNOCK OUT]ed last night.

Spamton wolfed down the pop-up-ad and skidded down an unused alley, knowing it was a shortcut to the TV head’s studio. While he darted to his rounds, he set up Tenna’s morning talk show, discussing how today was going to be a beautiful day across Dark World. Spamton surely hoped so, as even though he pushed through poor weather, it certainly was less fun than a [MR. BLUE SKY]. A block away from the studio, Tenna announced a feature length documentary, and let the ads play. Spamton was happy to see some of his own play out (even if it was not him they were advertising). He had to stop and catch his breath every so often as the virus [WAXED AND WANED], but eventually he managed to dash up to the entrance of the television mail room.

As he reached for the handle, he found himself pitching forward, the door opening right before him.

A strong metallic arm wrapped around his chest – broad and cushioned by an expensive suit that probably cost more than [ALL THE MONEY] Spamton had ever seen in his semi-digitized life – and steadied him upright. Spamton’s spinning vision lifted, and through the streaks cast onto his Dealmakers, he saw Tenna was even more beautiful in person.

“Whoa, there, mailman!” that showman purr trilled through Spamton, waking him better than any color coffee ever could. Spamton felt like he had just downed two [ENTIRE POT]s of their Technicolor special, whole world lit up by that brilliant smile. Spamton could only gawk, rendered entirely speechless for the second time that day. Holy [COW]. Holy [MOLY]. Holy [SHIITAKE MUSHROOMS]. He could still feel the ghost of Tenna’s arm braced around his chest. [Dam]. He was tall. He was handsome. But he deviated from the saying by being oh-so bright. Tenna’s grin was trained on him, expectant and curious. “I was hoping to meet you, one day. The fan-mail’s been great, thanks to your timely deliveries!”

“Oh, Spamton G. Spamton, [AT YOUR SERVICE]!” Spamton managed to pull his head out of the clouds, where his eyes were glued ([Dam] Tenna was tall) on the CRT’s face. He stuck out a hand, and the other pumped it so vigorously Spamton feared it might come loose of its ball joint. The monitor’s hand was warm, almost buzzing against the spam mailer’s. “I’m a [NUMERO UNO!!!] fan of your work, Mr. Tenna. I [TUNE IN] to it all the time.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of you!” Tenna gushed. If Spamton liked his voice over the waves, it was [HEAVEN]ly in person. “Well, now I’m secretly a bit glad that Mike’s out sick. He’s got the latest virus that’s been going around, you know the one.”

Spamton barely managed to hide a grimace as he nodded, his stomach turning from more than just nerves. Definitely knew the one.

“You see, he usually brings in the mail,” Tenna continued, a broad hand coming to Spamton’s back. The other was so [XXL] compared to he that his hand nearly covered Spamton’s entire spine. It was [212°F]. Spamton was suddenly extremely [GRATEFUL TO OUR LORD AND SAVIOR] that he had a natural blush. “But since he’s not here, I got to get the mail! And I get to meet you! Come in, please!”

Surely no one could be so sincere.

But Spamton could only melt, smile softening.

“I’m [HAPPY TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE], too,” Spamton said, meaning it wholeheartedly. “It’s not every day one gets to meet a [ YOU’RE MY SUPER STAR]. But I [SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS] have to get on my way. I [MISSED ALARM] and I’m behind on my rounds.”

“Oh, that’s really too bad,” Tenna frowned. It felt like he meant it. Then he smiled, lighting up Spamton’s world yet again. “Some other time, then.”

“That… that would be nice.”

It was dark by the time Spamton had gotten home, and [DARKER YET DARKER] by the time he had gotten through the remainder of his work. Dinner was [TACO TUESDAY]. Eventually, he was soaking in a tub, a content groan escaping him as the wood oil on the surface of the water seeped between his [SORE] joints. He pushed the Dealmakers up to rest in his hair, setting up a soft radio to play from the speakers nestled in the arms. Jazz [SMOOTH AS A BABY’S BUTT] emanated from the device, increasing his relaxation. Spamton soaked for a half hour, humming as he got out of the bath, not yet feeling [RIGHT AS RAIN] but certainly feeling better. His stomach was less pained and his joints were eased.

The phone rang as he stepped out of the bathroom. He typically did not answer after work hours, but curiosity nudged him to the device.

“Call for you, Spamton,” the Operator needlessly stated. Spamton rolled his eyes. “Should I put it through?”

“Who is it?” Spamton asked. The Operator answered, almost teasingly, “A surprise.”

Spamton’s jaw knit, but he took a deep breath and let out the strain of air.

“You can be a real [SMART BOTTOM], you know?” Spamton remarked. No response – they were probably smiling on their end. Spamton sighed, rolling his eyes. “Sure. Why not.”

There was a pause, a click.

“Hello, Spamton!” Tenna’s voice boomed as soon as they were connected. “I realized that I hadn’t gotten your number when you left, but then one of the other anchors pointed out to me that your phone number was listed on your ads!”

“Oh! I’m-” a whole host of words fluttered through Spamton’s mind. Flattered, surprised, a little horrified. Spamton settled on the easiest. “I [APPRECIATE IT]….”

“I think you’ve got a lot of spunk, Spam- is it okay if I call you Spam?- and I admire that a ton,” Tenna went on. “Everyone knows you as a rising star. And hey! I’ve actually been looking around for a co-host, y’know, to spice things up with TV Time.”

“Are you- are you [BUYING MY TIME]?” Spamton gawked, eyes wide as saucers behind his glasses. Tenna answered, “If you’d put it that way, yes! I’m asking if you’d like to be that co-host. Something tells me you’re made for this show biz.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it,” Spamton breathed, then huffed a laugh, fingers tight around the phone’s cord. “It’s a bit [TOO MUCH TOO FAST], you know…?”

“Oh, take your time! I still have to run it by the producers,” Tenna replied, and Spamton could practically feel his bright beam. “I’ll leave you to your thinking, now. My bedtime routine awaits!”

Spamton was left holding a quiet line.

“Did you know that he’d [OFFER OF A LIFETIME] me?” Spamton whispered, hands trembling.

“Take it,” the Operator hummed. “It’s your chance at being, how did you so quaintly put it? A big shot.”

Tenna did in fact feel it in the morning. As much as he was loath (and perchance a little afraid) to admit it, he was getting up in years, and hopping around like a teenager at a prom had done wonders to his back – as in, now he could feel every vertebrae! Ouch.

He groaned, rolling to his side to rub his aching spine. His brow knitted as he remembered the events of the evening prior, blank screen warming as he realized that he dreamt of a small hand in his, waltzing through the moonlit clouds with a symphony of stars around them.

Tenna quickly pushed aside the thoughts (though he reminded himself to save both the memory and dream to a VHS as a consolation, lovingly marked with the date) and tamped down his fluster by swinging out of bed. He did his routine of stretches and grabbed a casual, well-worn suit instead of his usual spruced up gear. Tenna had felt an urge to tend to Spamton's old garden, maybe get the pretty digita forget-me-nots growing once more….

Tenna found himself outside, a mug of coffee in his hand as he took a deep inhale of the fresh morning air. Birds were singing, Spamton's flowers seemed to still peek through the mess of weeds and uncultivated junk pixels… on days like these, it was perfect to get down and dirty in the soil, another shuffle-step to right some wrongs.

He tuned in to a music channel and snapped on a pair of gardening gloves, setting his coffee down on the garden table, fondly eyeing its surface – while it had been dirty, there were shining little scuffs marking a samba, a tango, a spin… Tenna did not have the heart to clean it just yet. He turned up the music in his head, thinking through his plan. In all honesty, it was a bit of an off day for him, literally, as he was currently sitting in an empty house. Something about visiting a cousin – he had been too busy thinking about Spamton to really have caught the phone conversation.

Tenna paused while de-weeding, then continued with a blush. The Latin synth he was listening to helped return his attention to the garden. He would see the short, funny man in a few hours, and until then he would garden, shower, and grab something light to eat before meeting him at the dance class. His mind drifted to outfit ideas, and he mentally flicked through his closet while the pile of invasive static grew and the flowers hiding behind became more evident. It was satisfying work, and by the time he finished, he had come up with the perfect outfit. It was something he had not worn in a while (maybe since he and Spamton were together) and it would be nice to take it to the streets again.

Tenna stood up, twisting side to side to take out the cricks that had manifested in his back. Smiling, he surveyed his handiwork, and while it was nowhere as good as Spamton's skill in the dirt, it was a solid effort. Proud of himself, he finished his coffee (not minding the lukewarm aspect, like a freak) and went inside to grab his next outfit. He took off the soiled garments and jumped into the chemical spray shower, giving a well worn sigh as the disinfectant misted around him. After a good fifteen minutes, Tenna shut it off, stepping out onto the cold tile and using a soft towel to wipe away any excess foam.

Then Tenna dressed up – a loose button up tee tucked into high waisted slacks. He looked like he was stepping out the day he was made, with the technicolor pop and classy flow of the garb. He smiled at himself in the mirror, seeing a handsome devil grinning back, and he threw out some finger guns, luckily not hitting the mirror with the move.

He still got it.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, head turned up and with a casual smile to match the casual outfit (read: not actually as casual as he pretended it was), Tenna strutted out the door. It was a lovely day. He found that his pace was unintentionally picking up only once he was already in a light jog, excitement bubbling and crackling out of his system. People stopped and waved, almost surprised to see Tenna in such a positive, bubbly mood. It had been a long time since he felt that spark.

Soon enough, he was at his favorite cafe, and picked up a technicolor blended ice coffee with two extra drops of pink and yellow. For no reason. Strawberry and lemon is a fantastic flavor combination, is all. The swatchling server raised a brow, hiding a smile as they slid over the drink.

"Thinking of someone?" they asked, smile sneaking out. Tenna nearly spat out his first sip, but managed to down it, swallowing a bit roughly. He replied, "What? No, of course not. Why? Why would I be thinking of anyone?"

"Mm… you seem to be in an excellent mood, is all," the swatchling hid their smile once more, but Tenna could see it flicker in their feathered eyes. They shrugged. "Must be a trick of the light."

"Makes sense," Tenna agreed, lying through his screen. "Well! I'll be seeing you!"

He had to force himself not to practically skip out of the cafe.

Tenna continued on his way to the dance studio, glancing up at the flashy neon sign. He almost choked on his own laughter as he read the name, something he had not registered until he read it on the building. Well, no matter what, they would certainly be entertained.

Lance Dance Revolution.

He grinned, leaning against the building with a quick glance to his watch. He was television style early – three minutes, enough time to grab a coffee or jump to the bathroom for an ad break. Lo and behold, the ad that was stuck in his head was coming right up from the opposite end of the road.

Spamton seemed to have spruced himself up for the occasion, sporting different sweater (still a v-neck) with a graphic design. Tenna recognized it as a 1997 edition of the MTV dancer awards. It made his smile glow brighter, and he pushed himself off the wall to greet the puppet.

"Good to see you, Spamton," he said, genuine. "I'm glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss it for [THE END IS NIGH]," Spamton replied, and Tenna could see him slightly relax, as though the hold on his strings had loosened a touch. Good. Tenna smiled as Spamton turned to inspect the building. "So, this [2-BD 1.5-BTH UNIT] is it?"

"Yes," Tenna answered, giving a smirk. A few people paused and glanced over them before entering the studio. Tenna reached out to hold the door open for his par… dance partner. "We're definitely in for a treat, dear Spamton."

Spamton walked in the door and then promptly tried to turn around and walk out, but Tenna gently urged him through the door. If he could constantly deal with Queen, then so could Spamton for two hours.

Spamton looked up at him, a flash of awkward discomfort evident in his eyes.

There was a question there, one that Tenna briefly felt reflected within himself, making him falter as well. It had nothing to do with Queen's presence.

Are we really doing this?

Tenna swallowed hard. Did he really want to do this? Did Spamton? Tenna had been fine without him. Great, even. Ratings consistently top of the line. Sure, he felt like his emotional life was replaced with the vacuum in his head, but that was the price to pay for success. Spamton did not have that in him. Too emotional.

Or, was it not his emotions and attitude that got him through everything? That got him to the top? Maybe it was bad luck and bad timing that led to Spamton's downwards spiral.

Maybe they needed to talk.

"We're doing this," Tenna said firmly, not only talking to Spamton, but also to the doubts in his head. "Come on… it's just two hours. Or… can't handle it?"

"I can [HANDLE WITH CARE] it!" Spamton scoffed, spinning on his heel and walking in to the studio. "I'm Spamton G. Spamton! I can take all the [BULK LEMONS] life throws, and I'll [TURN A PROFIT] on 'em, too!"

"That's the ticket, Spamton," Tenna beamed, feeling something inside him melt. Hopefully not literally. Then again, if there was something spazzing out, Spamton would know how to fix it. So no worries there, either. The pair went to a corner of the room, away from the massive speakers set up in the center, so that if the urge to talk struck them (and it definitely would, considering they were two chatterboxes) they would be able to hear each other. Another bonus was the very slight privacy that it afforded. Tenna pointedly ignored Queen as they got settled, but cheerfully waved at the little menace who apparently ran the place. "Hello, Lancer! What a fancy place you got here, young man!"

"Yeah, thanks!" the spade beamed, sticking out his tongue. "Swatch helped me with setting it up, but I designed it. It's cool, right?"

"Very," Tenna sagely agreed with a nod. "Love the lights."

"Yay!" Lancer threw a fist in the air, extremely pleased with the praise. "We can get this party started soon! We're just waiting on, uh…."

He looked up at his mom, who prompted him; "Two."

"Two more reservations!" Lancer nodded. "Yeah. Two more!"

"Looks like you had a [GREAT TURNOUT]," Spamton affirmed, smiling. "[YOUR AD HERE] was a success! I could swear that you have [MARKETING AND PROMOTIONS] in your blood, but that might be insulting to [HER ROYAL HINEY]."

"LOL. Thanks," Queen hardly looked up from the dance magazine she was flipping though. a pile of fifty or so sat on either side of her. Then, she peered over the edge, smiling. There was a certain sharpness to the grin that made a roiling shiver roll down Tenna's spine as she addressed him. "Nice To See You Brought A Hot Date. LMAO."

"Actually we're not dating, he's still my ex," Tenna was quick to correct her, flashing a bright, albeit terse smile. "We wanted to talk and this was a good occasion."

"LOL Good Luck Talking When the Music's On," Queen replied, back on her phone. Was she playing Candy Crush? Her mildly infuriating response at least allowed Tenna to ignore how sad Spamton had looked at Tenna's denial. "Lancer Only Plays The Best Hits At The Best Volume: The Max."

"Right," Tenna flashed another movie star grin, reaching into his deep pockets. He was glad he thought of bringing the little case, pulling it out and removing the headband from within, fixing it on his head. "Well, I'm prepared! Let's go, Spammy."

"They Are Totally Banging LOL," Queen posted on Monstagram. Tenna resisted the urge to show a certain finger that would have been blurred on national television, instead following Spamton's lead and ignoring her as they went back to their corner. The final two attendees had arrived at last, and Queen sounded an air horn to get everyone's attention. "OK Listen Up Chat: This Is Lancer's Dance Class. Everyone Better Like It Or Else I Will Drown Everyone Ever In Battery Acid… OK I Think Everyone Got The Message. You Got This Child."

"Yeah, um, this is my dance class," Lancer jumped up onto a little platform, striking a pose – earning thunderous applause from all attending. Someone (Spamton) even threw a flower. Lancer, quite pleased with the overwhelming positivity, gave a little bow and did a little jig. More applause followed. Another flower, too. "Thank you! Thank you! You're all beautiful! And that's the point of this dance thing, we're all gonna dance and have a good time and tell our friends that they're beautiful at the end. This is Lancer's special 'feel yourself' dance class, where we all have fun. Who's ready!?"

Tenna and Spamton's replies were slightly less enthused than the other attendees, side eying the other with some measure of trepidation. Were they really ready for that extent of forgiveness, to each other or themselves? Lancer, however, did not care for (more precisely, did not register) the two men's mirrored internal conflict, and hit the warm up beats.

Tenna could hardly hide his smile as he saw the incredibly tall platform boots that Spamton pulled out of his 'pocket'. Spamton easily put them on, subtly adding the small strings hidden in his socks to the boots – and Tenna then realized that they had knee ball joints; the strings allowing the puppet to use them like extenders of his own legs. Spamton stood, and the prostheses put him at around two thirds of Tenna's height, the shorter man executing a few wobbling moves, unused to being such a distance the ground.

Tenna pretended to do some stretches, instead watching the other with a sort of fascination and respect. Spamton's ingenuity and resilience always baffled him, and lent to Tenna's admiration of the man. Of the man's tenacity that is.

"Why the stilts, Spamton?" Tenna found himself asking, pulling a few lunges to keep up the pretense of preparation. He did acknowledge, though, that the preventative measure would probably help keep his back from aching as badly in the morning. Spamton did a little spin with a shrug, a small kick. Tenna thought he was adapting remarkably well. He continued, with a hint of reminding in his tone; "You know I could shrink down…."

"I'd rather [RISE TO THE OCCASION] at your [LVL UP]," Spamton replied, the almost arrogant confidence that Tenna lov- appreciated flaring warmly. He did a few more practice moves, accidentally scuffing one boot with the other's heel, pitching backwards. Tenna reached out instinctively and caught him, and they both stared as it became clear that Tenna had caught Spamton in a classic dip pose. An uncontrollable, sheepish smile burst onto Tenna's face past his surprise, and the light blush on Spamton's cheeks darkened considerably as he pushed himself up, righting onto his extended feet. "Usually that move is [SLOT RESERVED] for the [BIG FINALE], no?"

"I like to keep you on your toes, that's all," Tenna smiled, gently taking Spamton's hand. It was a gesture both to balance him and to start dancing with him (and, perhaps because he missed the solid sensation of Spamton's hand in his). Tenna, swept up with that simple, electrifying touch, pulled Spamton close to his side, flashing his classic movie star grin at him as his arm wrapped around his back. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. "Seeing as you're already on them in those hot boy boots of yours, I've gotta work extra hard."

"Has anyone [PASSED DOWN THE GRAPEVINE] that you're a [WORLD CLASS JACKASS]?" Spamton complained, but Tenna saw the humorous light in his eyes that made Tenna's world seem just that bit brighter. He merely grinned at him and spun him out and around, then a quick two-step had them front to front once again. Spamton did not pull away. He could have. But he did not. In fact, he tugged on Tenna's hand, indicating that he wanted to take the lead. Tenna felt a small surge of hesitation, the need for control and order welling in him, but he tamped it down and allowed the smaller to swap their positioning. Spamton's smile softened, imperceptible to anyone but Tenna. It melted the CRT's heart as if it were a stick of butter someone put to his face. Spamton chewed on some words, then let them out. "You kept it."

For a moment, the urge to shove Spamton away surged, a defensive crawl sparking up his spine and making his antenna stand on end. He forced himself to calm with a few breaths, pulling up his smile once again.

"Sorry? I'm not following." Tenna let Spamton lead their sashay, eventually finding himself backed up towards the speakers and lights. Spamton reached up, Tenna tilting his head downwards to allow him to reach, expecting a gentle touch to the face, like Spamton used to do when watching something that sparked yearning on Tenna's screen – or when he simply wanted to touch his face. Instead, he was surprised (and slightly disappointed) when Spamton tapped the groovy headband that was resting over Tenna's forehead. "Oh! Yes, I did keep it.… It's, uh, very useful. It can be hard being CRT tech in an increasingly digitized world, what with all the microwaves, magnets, and wireless electricity all around."

"I'd have [CLIENT EXPECTATIONS] that you would have [VOIDED WARRANTY] and put the module into something else," Spamton said quietly, so quietly that Tenna almost did not hear him over the music. "Or [REVERSE ENGINEER] it and make [VARIETY PACK]."

"Call me old fashioned, but I like this one," Tenna beamed, this time unable to resist the urge to take the lead once again. He spun Spamton around, pulling him close and sliding him under his legs in a classic Charleston swing, with all its tugs and leans and flings. He pulled Spamton close again, to whisper once more. "I like this one."

He emphasized his words with a light full body squeeze.

"You're [HIT THE JACKPOT] that you're holding me so close," Spamton scoffed, but Tenna could see a hint of genuine smile hiding behind his stoic glare. "Otherwise I'd [THE MALE ANGLER FISH IS A LARGE ANNOYING AND USELESS PAIR OF GONADS] you."

Tenna could not help but laugh.

"Gosh, mailman, you'd win any comedy competition I'd try to host," he giggled. Though he loosened his hold at the threat, Spamton's back was solid and cool against his palm. He reveled in the feeling. "Of course I kept it. I couldn't get rid of it if I tried."

"You could have," Spamton said, sounding sad. It upset Tenna, naturally. "If you [PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT]."

"Oh, like you got rid of your ring?" Tenna snapped, gripping Spamton tighter with the welling of anger. Spamton gaped at him, half shocked by the sudden emotional shift; half grimly not surprised at all – having expected the switch all along. Maybe not like this, though, judging by the way he was unable to respond. Tenna's hand briefly clawed on Spamton's back, not pricking through the fabric of his shirt, though. "Oh, I saw. I saw how you made a fool of yourself for a quick buck, how you rode the coattails of the Lightners, how you listed your wedding ring along with cheap junk!"

"Oh, the guy who's [$0 DOWN] and had to sell his [PRIZED POSSESSIONS] is at fault here?" Spamton's eyes flashed with anger and hurt. He shook in Tenna's hold, pulling himself away, though Tenna refused to let go of his hand. Spamton went on, letting out what ached for years. "The [TOPSOIL] people picked what they wanted me to [GIVE UP GIVE UP GIVE UP GIVE UP]! They added my [AUTHENTIC AND GENUINE] fate to the mix! I would never have been [SLEEPING ROUGH] if you didn't [VOW ANNULMENT]. Where's my alimony, [SHACK RAT]?!"

Tenna's emotions were reeling off the spool – too many wracking through. He found himself shoving Spamton, the puppet falling without his support, like he had been loosely strung and barely able to have maintained an upright position. Tenna stared down at him at the hole he had fallen into, fighting a sick wave of déjà vu.

Tenna on top, out of the hole, standing and staring down at Spamton, who had fallen backwards into a pit that he could not get out of, but valiantly struggled to. Tenna knelt to reach for him, but Spamton swatted away his hand, undoing the boots and climbing up their black fabric instead of opting for Tenna's help.

"Where did these [GRAVE PLOTS] come from?" he asked in a grumble as he worked to pull the extenders from the hole. Lancer's head appeared from another one a few feet away, looking a bit apologetic. Spamton stopped tugging on the shoes (Tenna sneakily reaching over him to take them out for the puppet) and pointed at the boy. "Why are there [MIAMI DITCHES]?"

"Um…" Lancer looked down with thought, sticking out his tongue as he pondered. Then he looked up with a purely joyful expression. "Obstacles! Because dancing is more fun like that!"

Spamton slowly nodded. Then he turned back to the pit to extract his boots, pausing as he noted that they were out, spinning around with some measure of panic until he spotted them safely standing. He looked at Tenna. Tenna pretended to be very intrigued by the disco ball on the ceiling. Spamton silently jumped up the shoes and rewired them, then went over to Tenna.

This time he touched his face.

"Thank you," he said. Tenna smiled, his face warm under Spamton's hand. He gently took it, kissing the back with chivalry but a decidedly ungentlemanly smirk and wink. Without a word but with a soft blush, Spamton pulled Tenna back into dancing, the two much more careful about the 'obstacles' Lancer was enthusiastically digging about the room. Spamton looked away and then met Tenna's eyes. He leaned closer, now resting his hand on Tenna's shoulder rather than his forearm. Spamton went on his toes to whisper into Tenna's hearing receptacle. "I gave them a [HIGH QUALITY FORGERY]."

Tenna blinked, mouth clicking open as he processed.

"They [BEGGED AND PLEADED AND FORCED] for me to have it altered," Spamton went on, gripping Tenna's hand and shoulder in a mix of latent anger and hope. "They wanted me to [ERASE DATA] your name and replace it with [THE WORD OF THE DAY IS] 'you'."

"I…" was all Tenna could say, uncharacteristically speechless. It was clearly hard for Spamton to talk about, and Tenna realized this a moment too late, flushing with fluster. "Sorry. Go on… I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's [THREE STARS]," Spamton swallowed roughly, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Tenna gave a squeeze to his back again, this time to reassure him. "When I went and [GAVE PATRONAGE] to the jeweler for the [SCRATCH AND SWAP], I asked him to make a replica. Cost me a [HUMBLE BUNDLE] of stuff, but it was [TOTALLY WORTH IT]."

"So… you… you kept it? You still have it?" Tenna breathed, trembling lightly himself. He found himself tugging Spamton closer, unable to resist. Spamton nodded. Tenna pulled Spamton even closer, hugging him tightly. "Oh, Spammy! I'm so sorry I ever doubted you!"

"Okay, [TRASH HEAP], maybe this is [OVER THE TOP] PDA," Spamton awkwardly pointed out, but Tenna only held him tighter. After a moment of stiff resistance, Spamton gave in and hugged him back. Then, he paused, confused. "Are- are you crying?"

"No!" Tenna quickly snapped away, struggling to get his spasming sobs under control. "Got the hiccups all of a sudden. I totally wasn't overwhelmed by realizing that I misjudged you again because of my anger. Totally."

"Stand on your [BIG CUTE] [BLOCKHEAD]," Spamton helpfully suggested. The giggles that wracked through Tenna quickly got rid of said 'hiccups'. They then both sat down at the edge of one of the holes, tired out from the emotional ride, but only for a few minutes as the timer for the class suddenly rang out, signaling the end. Spamton rose, helping Tenna stand as well. "Well, looks like our [RECESS SCHOOL'S OUT] is over."

"Not if I can help it," Tenna muttered, giving Spamton's hand a squeeze. "Uh, Spamton, are you busy toni-"

"Okay everyone!" Lancer jumped out of the holes, standing once more on his platform. "I think we all had a great time-" more thunderous applause. Another flower. Two even. Lancer could not help but laugh aloud, clapping along. Then he managed to pull himself together, grinning as he continued. "So now we look at our buddy and tell them they're beautiful! Because we did a beautiful dance and now saw the beautifulness in each other." He smiled, looking at his mom. "I'll go first. Girl Dad, you're awesome and beautiful!"

"Aw Thanks Best Boy," Queen took a sip of her drink. Tenna could have sworn he saw a blip of a red recording light in the corner of her screen, but it probably was a screenshot of her son. "You Make The Word Beautiful Look Stupid. Because You Are Beyond It."

Everyone 'aw'ed at the adorable display, and then cooed again at the hug. Slightly embarrassed, Lancer gestured around to the rest of the room.

"Okay, everyone do that!" he happily announced, then raised a finger in 'warning'. "But your own version."

Spamton touched Tenna's face again, to make the other look at him. The screenhead could not resist if he wanted to.

"Tenna, you are a [CLASSIC]," Spamton remarked, looking into Tenna's face with sincerity. "You always were [SUPERMODEL] gorgeous and you [STILL GOT IT]."

The audacity and smooth ease that Spamton commanded took Tenna's breath away. He looked at him, and for once truly saw him. A lonely, wishful, longing man, who desperately missed the man he loved. Who he always loved, despite the hurt of their mutual, accidental betrayal.

He saw himself reflected in those retrofitted glasses, and the realization kneecapped him. Tenna stared silently at Spamton, gawking almost. Spamton's smile started to fade, as if thinking that Tenna was unable to return the compliment.

"You're beautiful, Spamton," Tenna breathed. Spamton blinked, a measure of suspicious disbelief coating him. Tenna gave his hand a pulse – they had not let go the entire time (minus when Spamton had fallen in the hole). "You really are. You've got… you've got something I can't put into words shining in you, and it's so bright and… mamma mia, it makes me dizzy to think about it too much. I missed it so much, and I'm… so, so… so grateful to see it again."

It was Spamton's turn to stare at him. The silence between them was rich and heavy, like foam- or rather, a thick, sweet whipped cream.

"Come to my place for dinner?" Tenna blurted, unable to phrase the question any more delicately with the emotional pressure in his head. He clutched Spamton's hand tightly. "Please? I promise it'll be more thrilling than a TV dinner."

"You had me [SOLD OUT] at 'my place', [STATIC FACE]," Spamton accepted, making another grin bloom over Tenna's face. The TV headed man led Spamton out the door immediately, having pre-paid for the class when he had made the reservation online. Spamton paused to thank Lancer. "Great [SMASH SESH], Prince. You sure know how to [RIP OUT THE RUG]!"

"Thanks, Mr. Spamton!" Lancer beamed. "Hope to see you again!"

He waved as they left, and Queen turned off the recording process, filing away the video under 'TV DWEEB BLACKMAIL LMAO'.

----

Tenna and Spamton walked hand in hand back to Tenna's place, Tenna admiring Spamton's poise and ability to walk in those high stilts. The barista that had served him earlier waved, and Tenna unthinkingly waved back. Neither said anything as they made their way to the TV personality's abode, though it was not an uncomfortable silence. There were miraculously less cars on the road than usual, so the amount of extra noise was reduced to a minimum, allowing them to talk if they wanted to. Neither had anything to say, for once. They were at the walkway only a few minutes later, regardless, and Spamton paused at the garden's table.

Tenna followed his gaze. Spamton was looking towards the garden.

It was in markedly better condition than the night before.

"I did a little work on it, earlier today," Tenna acknowledged softly. He could see Spamton's smile twitch into a softer one, his hand pulsing in Tenna's. That pulse emboldened the toweringly tall man. "Thinking of you the whole while."

"That's… [DENTIST ALARMING]ly sweet of you, Ten," Spamton said. Tenna beamed again, squeezed his hand again, and led him into the house. Though Spamton gave a little resistance, as though he were almost scared or nervous to enter the home he had not seen since his complete ruination. His eyes watered as he blinked, looking around with wonder. "It's… it's like a [TIME MACHINE] here…."

It was almost identical to how it used to be; as though Spamton could close his eyes and when he would open them, everything that had gone wrong would have been a nightmare. Everything stayed. A hand in his grounded him. Spamton fumbled in his 'pocket', pulling out a bouquet almost as big as he was, offering it forward to Tenna. He recognized the flowers as the ones that had been thrown to Lancer.

Tenna melted all over again.

"They're beautiful, Spammy," he murmured, carefully accepting them, taking a deep inhale. The arrangement of orange and yellow wallflowers tickled him pink, a soft smile on his face. "Let me put them in a vase, and then we can get to making dinner."

"'We'?" Spamton saw fit to point out and mockingly pout. Tenna could barely hold in his laughter at the sight. A snort escaped him. Spamton 'stomped' over to the counter and sat down, undoing the boots and kicking them off. "I'm only going to [MINIMAL EFFORT] help from here."

"That's alright," Tenna chuckled, setting the flowers on the dining room table putting on his 'Kiss the Cook' apron as he entered the kitchen. He was struck with the realization that he wanted to kiss Spamton all afternoon, and quickly pivoted. "I misspoke. I will make us dinner."

"Great, because you are [MICHELIN TIRE] compared to me," Spamton complimented, happily kicking his feet. "Missed your [FOOD NETWORK]."

Tenna said nothing, only smiled as he got cooking.

It was a shuffle-step, two steps forward, one step back, but they were getting somewhere.

Sometimes making a show script could be… less than ideal. Falling more into tedium, if it went on too long, or if he was stuck redoing parts for time or because they did not have enough flair. Especially when all Tenna wanted to do at the time was sit back, undo his tie, and watch some television himself. Just catch some waves and maybe some Z's at the same time. Maybe he would even get some inspiration, he lied to himself.

A cup of coffee could hardly hurt, either. Or a mug of hot chocolate.

Tenna got up from his desk, stretched out his back and arms, claws coming out for a second as he felt the strain. Then he relaxed, rolling out his shoulders. That felt good. How long had he been sitting and rewriting the same few words? With a sigh, he left the office, turning out the light as he did. The kettle, a present to a couple, was just as fast as the day they had gotten it. He. He had gotten it. Artificial obsolescence had yet to claim the nifty device (unlike its swift approach towards other household electronics) and Tenna quickly made his coffee to chase away that unpleasant thought.

A long draught righted his nerves. Much better. Loosening his tie as he strode into the living room, he settled into his arm chair and turned on the feed to all the channels. Zoning out, Tenna drifted through the static, flitting from channel to channel. Eventually, he found himself settling around the dance channels; Irish barrel dances besides colorful flamenco skirts, flowing ballerinas next to jamming break-dancers, and the inevitable tangos and waltzes.

Another sigh escaped him as he settled in front of those waves, feeling a sense of connection.

Twirls, spins, pirouettes, flips, twists. All paced to four beats.

Tenna stared, the content smile sliding from his face. He had been drawn here, by something.

But what?

Jumps, kicks, dips, light touch, close touch, the bright smile of a dance partner….

A sense of longing.

It lodged bitterly in Tenna's chest, but he could not stop staring at the scenes. The cacophonous music swirled around his mind, at first melding together in soothing entertainment; though now entirely discordant and sparking waves of anxiety. The moves began to hold an air of malice, static fuzzing out the waves as Tenna watched, unable to draw his eyes away and cut the feed.

His hands trembled, aching for another to hold, and he knit his fingers together, pressing his palms to each other, in a vain attempt to quell that latent pain. Laughter and smiles echoed around him as he watched the dancers, bitterly jealous.

Solo dancing never was as much fun.

Tenna watched, numb.

A knock jolted him out of his own mind, finally severing the connection and freeing him.

It took a moment of quick gasps for air, but he came to himself, still sitting in his living room. Tenna exhaled slowly as the ringing in his ears that he did not even notice died down. He took inventory of himself – everything was as it should have been. What had disconnected him?

There had been a knock, right.

Tenna got up just as there was another, but it sounded more hesitant. A strange sense of trepidation struck him, perhaps due to the vacuum of visuals he had gone through moments prior and he opted out of saying anything revealing his presence, heading towards the door in utter silence.

He could vaguely make out a sigh, and then a paper slipped under the door. An advertisement for something. Tenna quickly stepped up and looked through the upper peephole, his eye automatically going down on the path and focusing immediately on the man he could hardly dare to believe was there.

"Spamton?" Tenna asked incredulously, opening the door to catch him from leaving. The other turned back to look at him, and although he was smiling (always smiling, he always loved that about him) Tenna could see that the grin was less than happy. "Sorry, I was, uh, spaced out. What's this ad?"

"I got [[WRONG ADDRESS]]," Spamton replied with a shrug. He had his hands jammed into his jacket's pockets, idly kicking a rock. Tenna looked at the back of the ad – it definitely had his name on it with Spamton's, er, 'address' beneath it. Was it some sort of prank? "Was in the [[HOT GIRLS IN YOUR AREA]] so I decided to [[SAVE THE TRIP]] for the mailman."

"Oh, I… I appreciate it," Tenna managed a weak smile. So that was it. Just dropping off some mixed up mail. No more than that. "Thank you."

"No [[GREAT DEAL]], Tenna," Spamton quietly answered, turning to leave. "Hope you have [[HAPPY HOUR]]."

Tenna looked down at the ad in his hand. His foot started tapping, noting that it was an ad for, ironically enough, a dance class. A two for one deal. Maybe….

"Hey, Spamton?" Tenna called softly, raising his head from the paper. Once more, the other stopped in his steps. "Did you see what this is for?"

"I don't [[DO THE FBI'S JOB]] and read other people's mail," Spamton scoffed, maybe lying. Tenna's smile softened as he noticed that Spamton's too was a little more genuine. "Why?"

"Take a look," Tenna offered, practically waltzing over (or maybe he boogied on down) to the short man, flicking out his wrist to proffer the slip. Spamton could not help a snort at the show, plucking the notice gingerly from the other's broad hand. Tenna briefly thought he felt their skin brush, but he must have imagined that, as Spamton took the paper from the opposite end. Rocking on his heels and feeling more energized than he had in a long time (not counting the route performances), he waited for Spamton to glance over it. "Well?"

"It's [[JUST THE THING YOU NEED]], seeing as you're already [[GETTING ON THE GROOVE]]," Spamton responded with some humor. Tenna was about to argue, but then he realized with some measure of horror that the shorter marketing agent was absolutely correct, and he was in fact dancing around him. Spamton blinked, tilting his head, turning around to keep facing him as Tenna jived on. "Aren't you [[SWINGING WITH THE KINGS]] on purpose?"

"No, not really!" Tenna replied, twirling around. A disbelieving laugh slipped out of his own mouth as the absurdity of the situation struck him. Here he was, dancing around his ex like a bird of paradise waving around a stick. "I don't know what's gotten into me! Or you, it looks like!"

"[[WHAT.]]" Spamton's arms flung into the air, and Tenna was once again witness to what he honestly believed was the most charming, sweetest, most alluring dance he had ever seen. Seeing it again was like having a refreshing glass of water after several hours of working in the sweltering heat and tending to one's garden (it was overgrown now, but nothing some love and cultivation could not repair….). "Why am I [[MAMBO No. 5]]!?"

"Just roll with it, baby!" Tenna laughed, and reached forward to grasp one of Spamton's hands, lifting him onto the garden's table with a quick and easy fling. Spamton could have pulled away. He could have. But he did not. The pair swung, shagged, and sambaed both hysterically laughing as they danced to a music all their own. Tenna loved hearing Spamton shriek with delight as he jumped clean over the table (he would feel that in the morning) and Spamton seemed to genuinely enjoy leading their ballroom waltz. After right about under an hour of fancy footwork, they began to wind down, Tenna gentlemanly assisting a slightly wobbly Spamton off the table. They sat down on the grass, breathing hard, and smiling tiredly but brightly at one another. Then they realized who was beside them, and jerked back, hastily pretending that what had just occured had not. "Uh, that was, ts… fun?"

"Yeah," Spamton echoed. The ad, left on the ground, skidded towards them with a puff of wind. Spamton picked it up gingerly, glancing at the bottom. A tired out laugh bubbled from him (Tenna could listen to it forever. He still had a test reel saved with it.) as he handed it to Tenna. "We did not [[READ THE FINE PRINT]]."

"Let me see… ah. 'Comes with one hour free trial'," Tenna read aloud. A slight smile cracked over his face as he slipped the coupon into his pocket. "Well, I'll consider trying them out. It was… a lot of fun."

"You [[JUST DO IT]]," Spamton said, losing his luster. He pushed himself up to leave. Tenna's hand ached. "I'll see you on the [[BIG SCREEN]], Tenna."

"Wait, Spamton-" Tenna reached towards him, hand jerking to a stop. They both stared, the air between them terse. "The ad is for two people…."

Spamton understood his meaning, smiling. Genuinely.

"It's your [[FREE PLUS ONE]], Tenna."

Joey's stomach growled.

He was completely out of energy, and his last dimensional hop had drained the remainder of his endurance. His hands tremored and his vision pulsed, a dizziness circling his ankles and traveling up his spine. Yet, even with the obvious signs of hunger, Johan found that he was not at all in the mood to eat. Maybe it had been the pure cruelty of the dimension he had just escaped from. Another failure – a world that did not want to change, that laughed at his attempts to help. Who was he to think he could switch the path of a rolling, out of control train?

Anxiety clutched at him, and he slinked down the rooftop stairs into the apartment. It had been midnight when he left, and it was midnight now. Hopefully his absence would have gone unnoticed-

"Where'd you go, this time?" Henry's cool, collected voice froze Joey in his tracks. He slowly turned, with a queasy smile, to face his partner. The other was sitting in Joey's armchair, wearing Joey's bathrobe, muscular arms folded. What Joey could see of his expression, shrouded in darkness, was a light gaze inspecting him, the slightest lilt of his lips showing he was not angry. "You don't need to answer that. I'd've liked some advance warning, though, Joey."

"I know, I know," Joey blushed, ducking his head. "Let me s-shower and then we can go to bed? It was n-nowhere pretty. Bad tip."

"I'll meet you there, doll," Henry smoothly replied, Joey watching as he finished the single shot of brandy he had been sipping. No more than a few spoonfuls, an ice sitting in the center. Joey's stomach panged, twisting uncomfortably. Henry set down the glass, and they watched each other with perceptive gazes. "Love you."

"I l-love you too. S-see you soon."

Henry gave a sigh as Joey slipped off to the bathroom, the quiet hiss of hot water escaping the dark room. After listening for a few moments, Henry stood, stretched, and made his way to the kitchen. He had seen the way Joey watched him drink, saw his famished eyeing of the goddamn ice cube. A shower would hardly make him feel any better. Maybe it would quell the aches and sadness for a short while, but a filling meal would do him much better.

Luckily, they had plenty of food. He gathered a few options with high caloric intake, and hummed as he plated all of it, quietly setting some of it into the oven to warm. Henry prepared two glasses of tea, adding honey and whey to one; a twist of lemon to his own. Before Joey were to leave the shower, Henry paused, and in the watery slowness of the menu, went to their room and set down the drinks, swiftly returning to the kitchen (as fast as one could move as though they were fighting an upstream current). Only a few seconds after unpausing, Henry heard the shower's water turn off, listened as Joey padded off to their bedroom, curious as to why Henry went to the menu, expecting him in their room. A content sigh escaped the stout man, and he pulled out all the food with a pleased smile, setting it all on a tray. It would be nice to surprise Jo.

The man, his hair braided around his skull, turned around with wondering eyes to face Henry as he came into the room. His eyes widened as he looked down at Henry's full hands, mouth opening for but a moment – having to close due to its watering. Henry smirked at him, nodding towards the bed.

"Get under the sheets, Jo," he softly instructed, and Johan hesitated. Henry smiled, putting on his best 'dad' voice, the one that made all the kids sit a little straighter when he used it. "Now, honey."

Joey laughed quietly, and shook his head – even as he obeyed.

"Yes, dear," he joked, ruby eyes twinkling like cosmic smiles. He settled into bed, noticing as he did the full glasses of steaming tea. Joey looked at Henry with sweet adoration as he pulled the blanket around himself, reaching for the sweet, warm drink and cupping it in his trembling hands. "Oh, Henry… you're wonderful."

"I'm not wonderful until I have you full and satisfied," Henry smirked, coming up to the bed and pressing a kiss to Joey's lips. He murmured against them; "Take that any way you'd like."

"You're s-so crass," Joey rolled his eyes, but Henry could see in the dark moonlight that he was blushing quite badly. He grinned. Just what he wanted to see. "Henry, thank y-you, but I don't really f-feel very hungry thou- Mm!"

Henry had decided that the only thing he wanted Joey's mouth do be doing right then was eating, and he had taken it upon himself to ensure that. Joey swallowed the forkful of pasta after savoring the homemade sauce coating it, and found that he could easily devour the entire bowl.

"I don't trust you on that," Henry chuckled, holding the tray away from Joey's hands. He watched as confusion was quickly overtaken by understanding, and Johan's face darkened significantly once more. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

"That's what I'm a-afraid of," Johan groaned in a quip. Henry let out a quiet laugh, leaning in to kiss Joey once, sweetly. "I love you…."

"Love you too. Very much. Now eat your damn macaroni."

However, Henry only supplied two more bites before replacing it with a different dish to enlighten Joey's palate. Johan took a moment to process the sudden change in taste and texture, the toasted sourdough bread a solid base for the salty yet smooth tuna avocado spread Henry had coated on it. The egg and tomato on top complimented the textures and flavors of the base. Joey gave a hum of enjoyment, closing his eyes as the food both warmed and energized him. It was… interesting, allowing Henry to do this, but not entirely unwelcome. While a mite embarrassing at first, Joey found it almost comforting – he could trust Henry with this. After a bit of time, Henry added another flavor combo to complement the first two.

The puffed tofu, with a tart and sweet orange sauce and coated with hot rice, practically exploded in Joey's mouth with its rich flavor, and full body warming ginger elements. A moan escaped him as he covered his mouth to swallow, a hum following as he processed the zest. Henry beamed, earthy eyes half lidded. A hand came to Joey's leg, giving a light squeeze, following with another taste. Gradually, despite 'not being hungry', all three dishes disappeared. Sips of tea aided with getting the heavy meal down; and eventually Johan leaned back with a sigh of fullness and the tiredness it brought. Henry finished up the remainder of the food, but lifted up a small slice of strawberry cream cake – one of Joey's favored treats.

"Henry, I really don't know if I can…" Joey began, cut off by a searing, deliciously impassioned kiss. His hands gently came to Henry's chest, the robe too narrow to really close around his broad body. When Henry pulled away, Johan caught sight of his face and felt himself go hot all over. Oh. Oh. Henry had liked watching him eat. Apparently quite a bit. He bit his lip, Henry watching the motion with hunger in his bright eyes. "Well… I suppose I can try…."

"Good," Henry purred. He had enjoyed making Johan eat – perhaps it was due to the sensation that he was doing a good thing for the thin man, which always added to his ego; or maybe it was the delighted faces, the relaxation, the sounds and shifts that Joey had made which ignited Henry so. Either way, he was certainly going to make due on his earlier words. "Let's split it, yeah- ah… mm… cheeky bastard."

Joey only smiled, pretending he had no idea what Henry was talking about, even as he added a touch of pressure, earning a soft swear and groan. Adjusting on the bed, Henry realized what Joey was intending, and chuckled as he leaned in for a kiss. Johan returned it happily, fingers trailing dexterously along.

Henry brought the first spoon of the sweet to Joey's lips, the other's teeth flashing as he accepted it. Henry did not expect Joey to pull him close, delightfully pressing in and making the other's brain shut off for a long moment. Johan pulled away, blushing even as he licked the cream from his lips.

"What was the thing y-you said earlier?" Joey teased, toying with the robe's rope. "About my s-satisfaction?"

"Are you not satisfied?" Henry pretended to be offended. "After all that?"

"I could go for more d-dessert," Joey hummed, kissing him – and removing the robe. "And you, dear?"

"Me, too."

The day that Henry asked Joey out could not have been more… perfect. The air was crisp and clear, warm and with a light cooling breeze. At first, Joey had thought that Henry only wanted to work outside, but it became quickly apparent that the older man was treating the occasion as a date – after all, he told Joey to dress in his best with a wink and a smile. With a rather deep flustered blush, Joey agreed.

"After work, then?" Henry remarked, smoothly changing from the 'lunch' they were going to take to a dinner. Joey gawked at him for a moment, even more dithered by the shift. Unable to say a word, he merely nodded, earning a smirk from Henry. His voice shifted to a purr that made Joey's heart skip a beat. "Sounds good, doll. See you then."

"R-right," Johan stammered, trying to ignore the flush that was most definitely coating his entire face. "See… see you then."

The two parted to go about their days, completing tasks and getting studio work done. It was notable that Henry was in a good mood, and Joey in a sort of hazy, happy distracted state. Already the gossip mongers of the studio were smiling with bemusement – neither man was subtle in the slightest. As the hours ticked by, Joey kept glancing up at the clock, and ten minutes to five, unable to resist much longer, he turned off the lights in his office, locked it behind himself, and darted up to his apartment to change.

Joey had some nice attire, typically going unworn, as he tended to wear extremely boring suits to most occasions that would have warranted utilizing them. Dandyism was not always the most applicable style when it came to a meeting with boring white men. He pulled out one of the more subtle but elegant dress suits, smiling at the embroidered accents. Yes, this one would be perfect for the evening. Quickly changing, he stopped by the mirror and smiled at his reflection. Albeit a bit awkward, he looked nice. Two quick strokes added the eyeliner Job had gifted him, a pretty blue color accenting his eyes.

Good.

Joey quickly went down the stairs, hoping to catch Henry by surprise – and so he did. He felt a smile bloom on his face upon seeing Henry's shoulder, the artist talking to Sammy, and Sammy's expression of shock caught Henry off guard, making him turn around. The blond's mouth clicked open without a thought, eyes widening. Joey gave a shy wave, and Henry shook his head to snap himself out of the daze that Joey put him in.

"Whoa, hi Joey," he said, walking towards him while giving an appreciative look over. "Damn, you're looking mighty fine… this all for little ol' me?"

"Well, Henry, um, yes," Joey replied, blushing again, brushing back some hair. He could not keep that stupid queasy grin off of his face. "I never really g-get to wear it… I thought this would b-be a nice reason to dress up."

"You're sweet," Henry crooned, reaching a hand up to touch Joey's cheek. "Let me finish up real quick with Lawrence here, and I'll meet you outside. Sit pretty for me, okay?"

"Go on your date, Stein," Sammy rolled his eyes, shoving him without force. "God forbid I'm the reason why you can't feast your eyes for an extra moment."

"Gee, thanks," Henry sarcastically commented, but then smiled at Joey. "Well, there goes my work extending meeting. Let's go, then."

Henry was a perfect gentleman as he opened up the door to the studio for Joey, and then as he opened the door to his car, helping Joey in with a kiss to his hand. Joey, feeling heat in his cheeks once more, laughed with delight. Henry looked at him with a craving gaze as he sat himself, flustering the tall man.

"What are you in the mood of, Joey?" he asked in a low tone, sending electric sparks down Joey's spine and up to his brain. "I know what I want…."

"You do?" Johan stupidly asked, causing Henry to chuckle softly. He lasciviously looked over Johan with intent in his eyes that snapped him back into commission. "Well, um, I… I do eat fish sometimes if y-you'd like to go to one of the shore side eateries…."

"Works with me," Henry grinned, a hand slipping to Joey's thigh after he started the car, a quick stop on the way to the transmission. It took Joey a moment to restart his brain once again, remembering to breathe as they pulled away from the studio. When was the last time he had left? Surely he had picked up groceries this week; or had Wally done it for him? The car parking pulled Joey out of his mind, and he looked to see that they were by Manhattan Beach. The near hour drive had felt like nothing more than a blink, in a comfortable silence with Henry like with no one else. He looked to him with a soft smile, thanking him. Henry waved off the gratitude, but he looked extremely pleased by it despite that. "Heard good reviews about a few places here. I'll take you somewhere just as fancy as you're dressed, hm?"

"Oh, thank you, Henry," Johan could not stop smiling, shoulders raising with the pleasure of having the other's attention and focus on him. "I appreciate all of th-this… really."

"I know you do, Joey," Henry murmured, putting his hand once more on the other's leg as he parked the car. Their eyes met, and Joey felt an extraordinary urge to kiss him rise up; seeing the thought mirrored in Henry's earth-like eyes. However, the two managed to break free of each other's magnetism, Henry slipping out of the car to go open Joey's door for him. "Here we are."

"Thank you," Joey softly said, unable to keep expressing his appreciation. Henry only smiled, pulling him out of the car. Joey noticed the restaurant, mouth opening and brows raising. "Oh my, Henry, this is…."

"Come on, no need to gawk," Henry laughed, gently pushing the other towards the extremely high class and nearly impossible to reserve locale. "Our table's waiting for us. Let's go."

"You had this in mind all day, didn't you?" Joey asked teasingly. Henry hummed, and replied with a slight smirk, "More like a few weeks. Maybe a month."

"Henry."

"That's my name, doll," Henry purred, opening the door and extending a hand for the other to accept or decline. Joey, of course, took it. Henry gave a light pulse with a smile as they came up to the front of house. "Don't wear it out. Hello, sir. Reservation for Dr. Henry Stein."

"Table for two, yes-" the maître d' began, then saw Joey and froze. However, the man was a true professional and quickly recovered, stepping out from behind his podium. "Ah, my apologies, sirs. I was taken aback by your stunning date! Allow me to take you to your table myself to make up for this lapse."

"He is a beaut, isn't he?" Henry laughed, possessively tightening his hold on Joey's hand as they were led to their table and handed off their menus. It was a dimly lit, curtained off corner, with a comfortable bench seat facing a broad fanlight window towards the ocean. The sunset behind them illuminated the waves like ruddy obsidian and strawberry cream, much like the blushes swathed over the faces of the men looking to the water. Joey breathlessly observed the heaving, breathing mass, awestruck heart fluttering rapidly. It calmed, slowly, as Henry carefully put his hand on top of the other's. He gave Joey a heart stopping smile. "Hey."

"Hi…" Joey whispered, shoulders raising once more with his blush. "Thank-"

"Ah-ta-ta!" Henry cut him off by pressing his hand to the others mouth. It was warm and smelled like sandalwood. "No more thank yous, until I have you happily deflowered in my bed. Then you can thank me."

Henry felt, with satisfaction, Joey's face heat significantly, watching his ruby eyes going wide. With a pleased nod, he released the dark man – much darker than he had been mere moments prior to the touch.

"Good boy," he purred, patting his cheek. Their waiter came up just then, asking what they wanted to order. Henry had already been prepared, and sleekly input his request, his hand distractingly circling Joey's knee. "I'd like oysters, prepared at the chef's discretion, and I'd like to recommend grilled rainbow trout with a salad side for my sweetheart. Joey, does that sound good?"

"Yes, it d-does," Joey replied, touched by Henry's thoughtfulness. He did enjoy a well made trout. "M-may I please have some extra lemon on the side?"

"We have a lemon garlic sauce, if that would be to your taste," the waiter offered. Johan nodded, intrigued and curious. "Excellent. The best choice wine to pair with your meal would be a Sauvignon Blanc. Would you like a bottle?"

"Absolutely," Henry beamed. "Thanks very much."

Their waiter took their menus and left, allowing Henry to scoot closer to Joey. The lanky Chicano let him in spite of the lack of propriety, overwhelmed by the sheer touch of the other's man hand at the base of his spine.

"I hope it's alright that I ordered for you," the curly haired blond murmured, stroking up Joey's back in a slow motion. Fighting a shiver, Joey responded, "I thought it was s-sweet of you. Very, ah, thoughtful and kind…."

"Joey," Henry laughed quietly, relishing the man's name on his tongue. "Aren't you something… so, so very special."

Joey looked at Henry. Henry looked back at him. Joey tilted his head towards the other, and Henry copied the motion. They drifted together slowly, Henry's hand raising to cup Joey's jawline as Johan's hand settled on Henry's shoulder. The candlelight was a fitting descriptor for that kiss – gentle, warm, flickering, illuminating. They pulled apart after a long minute, Joey breathless and Henry coated in red. He pulled the thin man closer once more, fingers curling through his hair and thumbing his cheek. Joey held on, as though the moment were a dream that he did not want to wake from.

After ten minutes or so of indulging in each other's presence, they had enough presence of mind to disentangle from one another, knowing that their meal was coming shortly. Not sixty seconds later the waiter arrived with two neat trays, their enticing complementary aromas assisting in masking why the two were so salivary. Henry entertained Joey with stories and ideas as they ate, the wine bottle slowly draining between them, flowing with their talk and contentedness. Eventually, Henry made some flirtatious comments, they kissed several more times, and Joey softly whispered love into the other's ear, gaining many more kisses in return.

Soon, their plates were cleared, the bottle was empty and they skipped on dessert in favor of something sweeter. Unlit cigarette dangling between Johan's fingers, he waited by the car like Henry requested while the other paid their bill. His breath was taken away as Henry came out of the restaurant, the very last rays of light striking him and illuminating him in a heavenly glow. Henry's smirk turned into a stunned smile as he saw Joey once more, looking at him with such overwhelming love.

He quickly trotted over to him, and took his hand. Joey, with a touch of confusion, allowed himself to be led away from the car. He found soon that he had been taken to a secluded, concealed space on the beach. Henry picked him up only to set him gently on the sand, gripping his wrists and pressing in for sweet kisses. He soon, with a hand sliding down Joey's side, requested to take up their affair a notch, and Joey accepted with surprised desire — though, come to think of it, there was nothing to be surprised about.

The sand was still warm on Joey's opisthenars, heated even more with his rising temperature. Minuscule grains sifted through his hair, supported his shifting spine, all while Henry bore down on him with quiet enjoyment. Joey hesitated when Henry tugged on his clothes, but found himself agreeing after a few more deliciously deep kisses. He did, however, draw the line at his pants, pushing Henry's hands away from his belt.

"Not tonight, please…" he whispered, and Henry paused, but then nodded to Joey's relief. "Thank you, Henry."

"No problem, Joey," Henry smiled, touching his face once more, stabilizing himself with a hand on Joey's waist. "Only letting you thank me because we're not doing what I planned."

"You're crude," Joey tossed a small handful of sand at Henry, giggling at the stunned face the other made as they coated his coat. Then, he shrieked as Henry lunged at him, swiftly cut off. A quiet noise of surrender escaped him, reverberating onto Henry's lips, responded to with a pleased hum from the stout man. They calmed, and Joey let Henry pick him up, sand shimmering down his body like stardust falling from the sky. Henry carried Joey to his car, settling him in the passenger seat once more, pressing in for another extended kiss, Joey's arms slinking over his shoulders. Eventually they broke apart, breathing each other's air. Johan's hand stroked down the side of Henry's handsome, smirking face. He breathed, "I love you."

Henry blinked, surprised once again by Joey. He smiled, pressing in for another kiss.

"I love you, too. How was the night?"

"It was… it was a-absolutely perfect," Johan murmured, smiling. "Thank you, Henry. Will this happen a-again?"

"Well, you did say 'not tonight'," Henry replied with a wink. Then, he drew away while Joey's heart fluttered in his chest. He got into the car, starting it up. "When works for you?"

"I'm not s-sure," Joey confessed, blushing. "Can we go out tomorrow? And the day after?"

Henry laughed.

"Seems like you want a boyfriend."

"I- um-"

"Do you?"

"… yes."

Henry chuckled, kissing him before starting the drive.

"Then I'm all yours, doll."

—

Several months later, a near exact repeat of their night occurred; although their conversations were different, gazes more charged, touches lingering longer. They spent less time at dinner, declined the beach, and returned to Henry's home instead. Joey's pretty outfit was set on a chair, a bed replacing the sand; and a queasy, lovesick smile met a flirtatious, victorious grin.

Henry was slow, patient, gentle. Joey fumbled a bit, but Henry only smiled. Joey waited with baited breath for each of Henry's touches. A lowly asked question. With anticipation, agreement.

Joey suddenly understood what it meant to feel fireworks.

With a soft, content groan, Joey's eyes fluttered open. He felt a broad hand petting down his side, a warm body pressed behind his. He turned over, seeing a pleased Henry who pressed in for another kiss.

"How was that, Jo?"

Johan smiled.

"Perfect. I love you."

Matau beamed.

Nuju stared.

Then he turned to the Turaga, fury in his eyes, perplexity in his face, and agony in his heart.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, as calmly as he could. Matau blinked at him slowly, still smiling proudly. “Matau. What. Is. This.”

“Whitecrap rider, toafriend! You muchnoted that transit can be trecherousmost, so I have developed a wayeasier,” Matau proudly remarked, slapping the side of what could potentially, arguably, maybe, be called a vehicle. It was bright green and hideous. “Badboy this, toamultitudes contain it must. Get in!”

Nuju attempted to protest, but found himself so flabbergasted and horrified that he entered the green machine, exasperated. It was surprisingly roomy on the inside, though not very warm – probably due to its fiberous exterior facing the stark cold of the snowy expanse.

Matau jumped in right after him, beaming like a toddler who had just learned how to tie his own shoes (though, in these circumstances, that would have been extraordinarily impressive). Nuju sighed and rubbed at his forehead – before he launched backwards, forced to the seat with the intensive velocity.

For a leaf based car, that thing sure could move.

Snow billowed around them as they burst through the iced grounds, Matau cackling madly while Nuju gripped the walls of the machine with clawed hands. Eventually, they completed the circut, much to Nuju’s relief and ability to breathe.

Through grit teeth: “I thought. You said. You could drive.”

Typically, when someone thinks of homesickness, the immediate thought would be of an aching nostalgia and longing for comfort and a familiar touch or voice. The dictionary defines homesickness as 'sad or depressed from a longing for home or family while away from them for a long time', which quite lends to the feelings one may associate with the term.

However, when one is a cartoon, this term takes on an interesting dual meaning. Such is the case with the episode that Joey and Henry were currently giggling over; much to the bemusement of the rest of the studio. They decided to give Bendy an allergy to houses – touching or entering one would make the toon burst into a fit of sneezes. As the episode would continue, it would become apparent to an audience that the little darling devil just had a cold, and coincidence led him and his friends to the misinterpretation. Eventually, Bendy would go to a doctor, who would give him cold medicine and a blanket.

They finished the episode rather quickly, and Henry urged Joey to celebrate with him by cracking open a beer or two on the roof. Jo, the darling, declined the barley based drink and instead opted for a small bottle of bubbly. It made Henry snicker, even as the two tapped together the rims of their respective drinks.

They watched the sun start to set in a comfortable silence, relishing in the warm glow of the evening.

Henry glanced at Joey- hesitating to ask the younger man a question. Johan looked back with a tilted head, curious and innocuous. Henry decided against asking after looking back at him for too long, as he did not want to ruin the atmosphere with a potentially dicey inquiry. Instead, he smiled at him, raised his bottle, and drank a little more. Joey smiled, and mirrored the motion. Henry tugged him back, chuckling a little as he pulled Joey closer to his side. They began talking about plans and dreams, Joey slowly starting to drift off. Henry hardly minded, however, especially since Linda was sleeping downstairs in Joey's apartment, the night was warm and pleasant, and Joey's heartbeat was a soothing rhythm.

While Henry did still wonder about Joey's past, whether he had a family or a home, he acknowledged that he did not need to know it all. After all, the other had found fulfillment and family in his work and employees… though the thought still nagged at Henry.

Did he have a home? Someone to call after a long day, a place of origin that he sometimes would remember? Surely he did not spawn out of nowhere, up and deciding to start an animation studio. These thoughts and questions swirled in Henry's mind, prompting him to hold the other just a touch closer.

Well, home or not, Henry knew deep down what Joey considered his home. Or rather, who he considered to be 'home'.