#i think...that's all...

Jongler shrugged, then sat up on the couch and did it again so Battat could see them. “Pluey hates those now. Says it don't feel right after findin’ out what Tenna's puttin’ in 'em.” They tapped at their notepad as they spoke, preemptively crossing out petnames they were sure Battat would chew their LED off for even thinking of.

“Well, that’s the point, they’re inedible otherwise! The topping’s the only real draw. And that’s all we’re gonna say about that!” Battat spun around and pointed warningly at Jongler, who held their arms up in acquiescence out of habit more than anything. They’d learned their lesson after the last time they’d had something less than nice to say about Tenna’s cooking.

(To Tenna’s face, as Mike, at that. Wasn’t a good day for constructive criticism, turned out. The endless cooking show reruns after had been miserable. Battat’s endless seething hardly held a candle. All that heat in their Mike costume...constant taste-testing at Tenna’s behest...Jongler shuddered to think about it even now.)

“Speaking of Pluey, where is she? He'd be more excited about this than I am.”

“Took her Mike shift early,” said Jongler. “Plus, wes already hashed out what I gets to call it. Mon amour?”

Battat fumbled his yarn. “Not within this lifetime, pal!”

“But Batts,” Jongler said, turning over on the couch to look at him head-on, “Ain’t yous my love?”

They dodged the ball of yarn Battat threw at them. Yep. They’d figured it was promising, and they were right; this was the most extreme reaction they’d gotten out of him yet. His scowl did nothing to undercut the flush on his face. "All right, that's it," he garbled out. "I'm callin' a moratorium on the petnames business!"

"Veto."

He sputtered. "THIS ISN'T A VOTE! Mum on the sweetums, sugarplums, and handsomes!"

Oh? "Is ain't tried callin' you handsome yet," said Jongler. "'Zat what you'd like?"

"NO," howled Battat, and pulled one of the pins from the board to point at Jongler. Heh. Got ‘im. "Zip it on the sweet talk, rubberhead!"

"How coulds I, when you calls me such sweet names," drawled Jongler. "'m only tryin' to return the favor, Batts." They didn't actually mind it overmuch; Battat was far more bark than bite when he wasn't Mike. It had grated on them when they were first getting used to him, sure, but over time...

They got up and made their way over to him, taking his sword-hand in theirs gentle but firm. They lowered it, leaning in. "So,” they said, watching his eyes go wide. They raised their other arm up to cage him against the board. “How's about it, handsome?"

He sputtered. His hand jerked, dropping the pin to the ground. I’s gonna hafta make sure he don’t step on it later, Jongler thought. They could practically see the gears turn in his head as he overheated. Poor guy was scrambling for a response.

Then Battat smirked. A little strained at the edges, sure, but Jongler could tell when he was trying to save face. He leaned into their space in turn, shifting his hand over in theirs until he was cradling it. He lifted it up to his mouth and pressed a kiss on it. “If my Jongler wants,” he said, eyes flicking up to look at them, “How could I refuse?”

“WHOA NOW,” blurted Jongler. Their LED flared. They were sure their blush was visible. “HEY THERE. HEY NOW, BOSS.”

Battat dropped their hand like it was scalding. “WHAT,” he said. “WHAT?”

Leave it to Battat to make a competition out of nothing and win anyway. “Well,” they said. Gosh! “If yous wanna calls me your Jongler then, uh, yous can go right ahead!”

His jaw dropped in unabashed horror. His voice squeezed out his body: “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING?”

Jongler put their hand to their face, bashful. “Aw, boss,” they said. “I didn’t know you had it in youse!”

“Had what,” fumed Battat, flush back in full force now. “Out! Get out!" He'd moved forward to usher them out the door when he stopped. He went pale. "Jongler," he said. "Get the medkit."