Chapter Text
Battat sat alone in the corner of Castle Town’s only cafė. The building was a quaint little place. In spite of this, it practically leaked with life. All around, people of various kinds danced and chatted. Onstage, Tasque Manager and the Sweet Cap’n Cakes sang tunes that Battat did not recognize, in a style foreign to anything he had been exposed to before. He didn’t like the sound.
The tender of the bar was a fellow he had only heard of through what he always assumed were the senseless babblings of Ramb. The old power strip often mused on the past, though very little of what he said ever made sense. As the Pippins grew more exposed to the inhabitants of Cyber City, a place he had only visited once briefly before, those ramblings slowly became more comprehensible — most notably through the inference of connecting names with faces. Thus, the pointed fellow with stained glasses that Ramb recalled so fondly must be the colorful man running the cafė: Swatch, he was called. Battat thought very little of him other than mutual respect; for Swatch wanted nothing to do with the others as much as he did.
It had been an extensive length of time, but still, Battat was finding difficulty in adjusting to the new Dark World. If he had the hindsight to know that one day he would escape the confines of the dying, morose TV World — and without its inevitable collapse — it would seem like some sort of fantastical dream. And yet, that was the reality he currently lived in. Only, it was far more uncomfortable than he imagined. Never did he think that he would miss the old theatre, even with its unkempt architecture and hostile working environment. It had been far from pleasant, but it was familiar. In a sense, it had become his home. After all, he lived there as such.
This was not Battat’s first transition from a Dark World. In what was now a distant memory, he fled from the clutches of the vile Spade King and into the spectacle of a world he thought too big and bright to be true — only to be trapped within another kind of misery. Yet, his move to TV World was a simple adjustment; perhaps this was the result of finding Mr. Tenna to be a more forgiving overseer than the King, which was a very low record to beat. Or, it could be because Battat never felt truly at home in the dense forests under the rule of Card Kings. Whatever the reason, his previous escapade did not prepare him for the shock of Castle Town. The place was peaceful, which was relieving, though it was far too new — and too different.
In spite of his rather insecure living positions over the course of a now extensive life, there was no familiar discomfort to relate his current one too, a problem that bothered him.
The most distressing part of his situation was not being able to share his unease with anyone. Although he was not unused to confiding in his only friends, the fellow Mikes, they did not share a similar disposition to his plight. In fact, both of them were entirely thankful to be free from the confines of Mr. Tenna’s questionable contracts. Additionally, they had already begun to make acquaintances with other Castle Town residents. Pluey in particular was getting especially difficult to find, as the town grew quite fond of him. The trio was still connected, but they grew more distant as time went on. Presently, the main factor attaching them all together was their duty to pretend to be a man that none of them had ever truly known.
Beforehand, it was easy for the three to mesh. TV World, in spite of its large host of employees, had a rather solitary nature about its inhabitants: the Weather Duo kept only to each other unless necessary, Shuttah rarely spoke, Zappers had no interest in anything other than their work, the entire studio avoided Ramb, and Pippins only cared about themselves. Only the Shadowguys were interested in companionship, though they stuck to their own kind. Thus, when the three first connected, it seemed natural to want to stick together: they were all that one another had.
Now, however, with a vast array of connections to be made and a diverse pool of Darkners that the workers of TV World had never dreamed of encountering, the incentive to spend time in such a confined environment was far from desirable. Jongler and Pluey longed for other situations, ones where they felt like less of undervalued employees, and more of respected companions.
Battat, on the other hand, felt dissimilarly. Throughout his life, he always found it difficult to fit in with his fellow Darkners — especially that of Pippins. While on occasion he had used the art of persuasion and deception in order to make his life easier — something he didn’t necessarily think highly of — he was still embarrassed to be associated with people who were proudly self-centered thieves. Pippins were among the lowliest of Darkners, even among the Castle Town residents. People he had never met before would give him a passing glare when walking by. They assumed he didn’t see, but he always did. He always knew.
Thus, ever since he was freshly manufactured, he was determined to segregate himself from his pipped peers. It wasn’t difficult; none of them had any interest in him once he expressed little interest in their gambling or raids. They were not abashed in ridiculing his preferences of analytical studies and his naturally reclusive tendencies. The teases bothered him little, though it did isolate him from his brotherhood — a fact he more than relished, actually. In spite of this, there was always a certain dullness to his life that he could never uncover the root of; that was, until TV World.
Only through the lesson of friendship did he finally fill the gap in his existence. The companionship of a less-than-commanding Zapper and a socially awkward Shadowguy taught there were other Darkners like him that didn’t fit the mold of their assigned objects. For once, he hadn’t felt like he was alone against the world.
Of course, it was an adjustment having other people to manage in addition to his own life. Initially, maintaining a connection through communication and socializing was exhausting. Friendship seemed to be a chore. Yet, as the initial wave of discomfort slowly lessened, and the trust between them grew, Battat became not only accustomed to their presence, but he needed it. Unfortunately, he learned very little skills on how to reciprocate affection towards the people he cared about, as he never saw it necessary: his friends were there for him regardless of his treatment.
The only time in which he demonstrated any form of selflessness was towards Mr. Tenna when fulfilling his obligation as “Mike.” And even then, it was merely a job requirement to show his care. Only until ulterior feelings blossomed did he begin to see the situation as something deeper. With that confounding realization, his treatment towards the old man became less of a requirement, and more of a secretly pleasurable service. Unlike the relationship with his friends, this connection he shared with his boss was treated delicately for a variety of reasons. Not only that, but his infatuation was kept far out of sight, even from the two men he trusted. Thus, his hardened view towards the rest of the world left him standoffish with anyone external to that one, oddly intimate connection.
Conclusively, it was not surprising that his two friends — his only friends — grew weary of his controversial demeanor. With a vast town of inhabitants to meet, and ones who weren’t quick to order them around, little desire was left to spend time with someone who seemed to value his companions very little. Battat cared for the others quite deeply, but never was it explicitly expressed. Even now, as he knew the two were drifting from him, he couldn’t bring himself to confront the primary issue in their dynamic — that of which he was partially aware of.
As per many evenings now, Battat found himself without any comrades. In a dark corner of the building, he sipped on a half-drank Cosmopolitan and spectated those around him with mild envy. Regardless of the starkly different scenery, his fellow employees — now ex-employees — appeared to have no trouble adjusting. His brow was furrowed, though no one paid him any mind. Around the town, his presence was very much neglected.
The night wore on, and Battat grew tired in spite of his restlessness. The drink did little to quell his bitterness. It did, however, make the music more tolerable. In instances like this, Battat was able to finally understand why Ramb enjoyed ruminating so much: focusing on the past was one of the few enjoyments remaining.
As he resided there, lost in memory, he felt a small vibration on his belt buckle and the sound of static. It was the emission of a walkie-talkie, the same one he used for communicating between the Mikes. Quickly, he put it up to the side of his head. From the device came a long string of musical percussion. Pluey was with Mr. Tenna currently, and it was time for the Mikes to switch up.
At the request, Battat began to perk up. The evening suddenly appeared a lot more promising. There was at least one person who cared about him. And that person cared deeply.
“I’ll be over in five,” Battat spoke into the walkie-talkie, quickly finishing off the rest of his drink. Having already paid the difference, he slipped out of the bar without a glance from any of its inhabitants. The walk to Mike’s room was brisk: fortunately, the location was nearby. His heart fluttered a bit as he went.
In opposition to his dwindling friendships, his relationship with Mr. Tenna had fruited into one of strength. The two were practically inseparable, as Tenna needed to spend more time with Mike after the loss of TV World. The destruction of the Dark World was tough on both of them, for relatively similar reasons. It was the closest Battat could get to confiding in someone, if even just slightly. Their misery seemed to bring them closer, though Battat always refrained from being too honest about his feelings.
The times they weren’t together, however, were perceived as much longer than they actually were. Though not particularly common, it was still possible that Tenna would request a different Mike than Motormouth for the day, leaving Battat off to himself. Or, in other instances, Tenna would spend his time with other previous Dark World leaders in an attempt at building connections — networking, he called it, even though there was no reason for such a thing at this point. He had grown particularly close with the Spade King, something that made Battat’s skin crawl. The resentment for his former leader only grew when he found Mr. Tenna enjoying his afternoons entertaining the beast of a man instead of being with Mike.
Thus, the amount of time spent with Mike perceived by Mr. Tenna was far longer than that of Battat’s own. The Pippins grew increasingly defensive of this, though he did his best to quell such unhealthy obsession. On the occasions where Battat was selected, however, he found his entire mood lifting. His problems were temporarily sidestepped for the sake of a wonder he wasn’t even sure he deserved. Only, he knew it was too good to be true — for there was still a problem holding him back from fully indulging.
In the present, his relationship with Tenna was the main thing Battat felt he had left. And still, it wasn’t even a treat for him — it was for Mike. All of it was reserved for Tenna’s special Mike, and him only. There wasn’t a single Darkner left that wanted to be around the green Pippins as he was. It was a fact he was well adjusted to at this point. If asked about it, he would say it bothered him little, but that was far from true.
In the current moment, however, his mind was far from pessimistic: he was going to see his dear partner. As both an expression of gratitude and habitual routine, he planned to shower the other with as much excessive attention as he craved. And, of course, Mr. Tenna would soak up the affection like a sponge. At least for the time being, the discomfort of Battat’s current state of affairs would be neglected to instead bask in the indulgence of feeling loved.
After what was considered a brief jog, he approached the Dark World’s resident TV building. A bit exasperated, the Zapper in charge of the location appeared to judge him strangely — though, he was accustomed to the frequent appearance of the Pippins, and didn’t bother asking him anything. This routine was something he never thought much about, as he was far more occupied in his work.
Battat, on the other hand, provided the same excuse he always did. “Just got word from Mike to run an errand for him. Don’t mind me.” The Zapper, in fact, did not pay him any mind.
The doors to the new Mike room were far newer than their previous counterparts. The wood was now polished, almost shining in the waxy lighting. In fact, the entire building appeared much higher quality all around. The air, though, was different than the studio Battat knew. In spite of the same shade of green on the walls, the space felt very unfamiliar. The doors opened without any creaks. Battat never imagined it to be a sound he would grow to miss.
Like the outside room, the space belonging to “Mike” was very different. Its area was much larger, with expansive hallways and structures. The memorabilia which lined the walls of the original room were nowhere to be found, something that neither Battat nor Tenna were willing to comment on audibly.
On a more pleasant note, security was tighter. Now, there were two doors that required specific authorization in order to access Mike’s chamber. To get inside required knowledge of codes exclusive to the four allowed within, none of whom were willing to reveal such intel. The added protection was a relief, for the two men felt safer in their hidden space. It was at least one positive amidst the drastic change in their lives.
Scurrying down the long hallways, Battat finally approached the final doors. Having prepared for a scenario like this, his Mike costume resided in a small, inconspicuous box in the corner of the room. It took little time to get dressed. Now with proper attire, he spoke into his walkie-talkie: “Alright, I’m here. Get him distracted, then switch with me.”
Pluey responded in agreement. After a few moments — and the sound of mild shuffling — the door to the room opened, with Pluey silently sneaking out. He tread lightly, face scrunched with the concentration of making sure to avoid detection. It was the first time Battat had seen him in over a week. Having no time to catch up, all he could do was nod briefly at the Shadowguy, who returned it with a weak smile. In the span of a few seconds, they had seamlessly traded places.
At the corner of the room, Mr. Tenna was on his hands and knees, struggling to look underneath a bookshelf. “I don’t see it under here,” he called out, “Are you sure it rolled this way?” Pluey had certainly done a decent job distracting him.
Taking a step forward, Battat adjusted his bowtie. He cleared his voice, putting on his strongest Motormouth impression — a subconscious act by this point. “I guess it musta’ fallen somewhere else. Don’t sweat it!”
Upon hearing the drastically different voice, Tenna perked up. Turning around on his knees, he found a small man with a comb over smiling at him instead of the previous feline-like fellow. The showman’s face lit up instantly.
“Oh, Mike! Thank HEAVENS you’re talkative again! I need advice.”
“Advice on what?”
Tenna’s expression soured into something Battat easily recognized in him: embarrassment. “What do you do if it seems like no one treats you seriously?”
The question caught Battat off-guard. Despite being a problem he was more than familiar with in his own life, he had yet to find it a proper solution. Nevertheless, he had a hunch as to why Tenna asked him such a thing. “Is this about Queen again?”
Tenna winced, confirming Battat’s suspicion. With care, Battat closed the space between them. He placed a small hand on Tenna’s knee, looking up with a soft expression. “‘C’mon, tell me all about it.”
He was met with a frown, but it was obvious the touch was needed. Still, Tenna said nothing in spite of how clearly troubled he was. The situation called for a small push. “Has she been acting weird again?” Battat asked, voice gentle. He stroked Tenna’s knee.
The comfort loosened Tenna’s hesitancy. He knew it foolish to keep his feelings from the one man he was sure he could trust. With a sigh, he prepared himself. “She’s just so… different from what I remember.”
“You told me about that before. About how she doesn’t seem to recognize you?”
“She doesn’t!” Tenna yelled far too loudly, though Battat didn’t mind. “It’s like… all those times where we met together, when Kris and Azzy brought her over, she doesn’t seem to remember. She didn’t even know my name today!”
That was news to Battat. The situation with Queen was partially familiar to him, as it was brought up previously in his presence at least once — with the rest being filled in by his fellow impersonators — but Tenna always wanted to avoid talking about it. There were layers that Battat could certainly unpack if given the chance, but external speculation was the best he could do given Tenna’s stubbornness in providing context. As such, he simply did his best to be reassuring. “I’m sorry she’s like that. But, it’s been awhile since you two saw each other and all. Cyber City’s a bustlin’ place, ya know, and you ain’t the only celebrity she’s met.”
“But, she’s a computer, her memory’s supposed to be sharp!” A pause. “Right? That is what newer computers are good at, yes?” Both he and Battat’s knowledge on modern electronics were vastly limited, resulting in an unsure shrug from the stout fellow.
“I think,” Battat said, “computers can also delete their memories. Since they still have limited space and all.” He wasn’t fully confident in the response, but he knew he needed to say something. His heart sank as he watched a pair of antennae droop.
“So… she chose to delete me from her memory, then.”
Now, it was Battat’s turn to grimace. “O — or it’s just been awhile, like I said! I’m not really good with all this new stuff, either. I could be wrong.”
“I clearly don’t mean much to her.”
“No, don’t say that! I’ve heard through the grapevine that she really likes to spend time with you.” The “grapevine” in question was Battat’s firsthand exposure to the two interacting on occasion, watching Queen specifically pick Tenna out among the rest of the Town’s inhabitants. It was a difficult fact to forget when it meant that less time would be spent between Mike and Tenna as a result.
“I guess so,” the ex-host shrugged, before snapping his fingers in agitation. “That’s another thing!” His voice rose once more, booming in the small space. “It’s not just her memory! Even talking with her feels strange now. When we last met, she used to be real professional; sorta too uptight for my taste. But now, she’s a total goofball! I can’t have a serious conversation without her getting distracted and playing video games on these tiny little electronics — I didn’t even know you could get a device so flat like that, much less run a video game on one!” He looked a little uncomfortable at the thought before moving on. “Or, worse yet, she keeps… doing these pranks on me.” Mouth disappearing, he grew solemn.
“Pranks?”
“That’s what I needed your advice on. Anytime we’re together, she always finds a way to trick me into making a fool of myself.” He hung his head dismally. “I know I’m not hip. It’s been a long time since I’ve learned something new, too. I’m… not the best at catching up on things. You know how it is. You know I don’t want people to know that.”
“‘Course I do. And no one has to know that.”
“But, she does!” Tenna stood up, accidentally flinging Battat’s hand off of him without notice. “It’s like she sees right through me. She knows I’m…” he swallowed, “dated. It’s like that’s all she sees me as nowadays. Just an old piece of junk.” A bitter smile crept up his face. “Well, I guess that’s not totally true, is it? She does get some enjoyment out of me: by making me look stupid!” A scowl quickly returned. “Just today she was showing me this computer video game about a maze, where you have to reach the end without touching the walls using that little mouse. Well, how was I supposed to know it was rigged? Just as I was concentrating real hard towards the end, this face popped up with a loud sound. I mean, who wouldn’t react to something like that? But, all she did was laugh. Her son was there, too — that bouncy blue boy. He laughed at me as well.”
He was rambling, but Battat knew that it was needed. With patience, he waited until Tenna was finished before chiming in. And, it was clear he wouldn't be done soon. “She doesn’t just tease me when we’re alone, either. She saves her worst jokes for when we’re in town: we were at the café together, right, when she asked me to get her a drink. I’m a nice guy, so of course I get her one. Little did I know there was a wet rag on the ground, right in front of where our table was. Of course, it wasn’t there before I left. So, as you can guess, the drink went everywhere! Burned, too, and it hurt when I fell. Everyone in there stared, and you better believe that place was mobbed. But, that wasn't even the half of it! One of her butlers was there. I’m not sure if you’ve met them, but they’re real neat-freaks: they can’t stand messes. I guess that cad assumed I slipped on purpose, and didn’t take too kindly to it. The sucker started beating me with a broom while everyone watched! The disrespect!” He scoffed. “If he only knew who I was…” Then, his anger quickly dissipated, replaced by sulking. “But, that’s right. It doesn’t matter who I am, anymore. I’m nothing. Not a host, not a performer. All I’m good for anymore is being a joke.” A beat. “I guess that makes me something: a clown.”
His body was turned from Battat, who was in the process of digesting all that was said. The concept of wanting respect was a natural desire, but something about Tenna’s logic was confusing. On other occasions — when Battat would catch him with the Spade King — it seemed the man delighted in being made a fool of. It was assumed that any attention was considered good by Mr. Tenna’s standards, so there was a disconnect in Battat’s reasoning as to why he would suddenly feel differently when it came to Queen. In order to help, Battat needed to understand. Though, it was crucial to tread carefully so as to not come across rude.
“Well, what’s wrong with making people laugh? I thought your old shows used to have plenty of jokes.”
Tenna’s arms were behind his back, head resting against his chest. “I love entertaining people. It’s nice to see them smile, knowing I caused it. But, it’s different when they’re not laughing with you anymore — when they start to mock you. I can’t go anywhere nowadays without hearing snickers from all these little fools who see me as nothing more than a punching bag!” He sneered, revealing his incisors. “It’s all Queen’s fault! It’s like she singles me out knowing she can exploit me.”
Battat was slow to respond. He allowed the tension to rest briefly, letting the space between them breathe. Taking a few steps in front of Tenna, he attempted to bring himself back into view. “I’m not sure if she necessarily means it in a rude way. What if she just sees it as a means of having fun?”
“Fun for who?” Tenna crossed his arms, pouting. Battat tapped his chin pensively. “Well, have you thought about talking to her?”
“What do you mean? I talk to her plenty.”
“No, no, I mean talking to her about your issue: that she’s hurting your feelings. She might just not know how sensitive you are. Like ya said, she’s pretty silly: she doesn’t even treat her own son all that seriously. To her, this may just all be a big game. One that she may assume you’re in on.”
Tenna flinched. “I’m not sensitive!” As per usual, he was missing the point. What prevented their conversation from stagnating, however, was Battat’s newer confidence in correcting this narrowed logic.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Battat stood in front of Mr. Tenna, making his presence both known and addressed. “But, you need to really think about what I just said: maybe she’s just joshing. Don’t automatically assume the worst. Remember what I’ve told you before, that not everyone is out to get you.” In a gesture understood by them both, Battat extended his hand upwards. After a moment, his small palm was encompassed by a much larger one as Tenna adjusted himself downwards onto the floor, allowing himself to be “assisted” so-to-speak. With that, it became easier to view one another. Their dynamic was leveled. Battat was now given full attention, a fact he relished.
Leaning inwards, light from Tenna’s screen illuminated the dull Mike mask. The old fellow looked down into Mike’s face, forcing himself to focus on the man before him. “You probably have a good point, Mike. It's just so hard not to fuss up over things, I guess. Still not used to this whole ‘new Dark World’ thing.” He chuckled, though there was no amusement behind it. Battat wisely avoiding addressing it.
“You care what other people think too much,” Battat commented, though his voice was far from accusing. If anyone else had said it, offense would surely be taken, but Mike was given an executive privilege.
“How am I not supposed to?”
“You just gotta shrug things off sometimes, ya know? Loosen up a little. I’m sure she means nothing by it.”
Tenna sighed deeply. He had yet to let go of Battat’s hand. Neither resisted this. “I’m trying to listen to you, Mike, but I can't help thinking what if she did mean it? What if she’s just pretending to not recognize me as a way of, I don’t know, making me a prop for one of her jokes?”
“Well, you can find out tomorrow when you go and talk to her about it. If you’re right, you can come prove me wrong.” Battat gave his hand a small squeeze paired with a smile.
He watched Mr. Tenna’s expression lighten, a similar tension releasing in his own chest. The ease was short-lived, unfortunately. A brief flicker dashed across Mr. Tenna’s screen — a telltale shift in his demeanor. “...I’m sorry,” he suddenly spoke.
“Sorry for what?” Battat’s brow furrowed.
“I’ve been complaining again, haven’t I?”
“Well, this time it’s a little different, I think,” Battat reflected, “You have a right to feel hurt. But, you should try and fix it if you can instead of sulking about it.” He moved closer, eliminating the space between them. Tenna hunched over in response, their faces now almost touching. “I think that would make you feel a lot better,” Battat noted.
“You’re probably right.” A moment’s silence passed between them. Then, Tenna thanked Battat. Craning his stocky neck upwards, the Pippins landed a small kiss on the side of Tenna’s face and watched the man perk up with a contented smile.
“Well,” Tenna spoke a bit louder, clearing his voice slightly, “in other news, how have you been?” The redirect onto Battat’s own feelings was a large development in their relationship, yet it brought attention to his current position: a truthfully uncomfortable picture. Although he had no problem in working through the numerous problems of Mr. Tenna, confronting his own had been a struggle from the beginning. And, with no one to address this flaw for him, it went uncorrected for countless years. He avoided reality, deeming the reason behind this decision to be in the name of simplicity.
“Same old, same old.” His tone was believable, though he still deemed it necessary to deflect. “But,” his voice grew tender, “thank you for asking about me.” Smiling gently, it quickly became a mutual act. Tenna hadn’t noticed the small twitch in his grin.
“See, Mike?” Although looking directly at him, Battat could almost hear the toothy smile seeping through Tenna’s inflection. “Look how thoughtful I am! The public wishes it had a VIP, backstage pass to the new, IMPROVED Mr. ‘Ant’ Tenna like you do!”
Lightening his awkward mood, the cheek was enough to bring out a small laugh from Battat. “Easy, Mr. Humble,” he playfully slapped the side of Tenna’s casing, resulting in mutual verbal merriment. When they had quieted down, Battat placed both palms on either edge of Tenna’s screen, gently lowering the man’s head. Then, he positioned himself just alongside the length of one antenna, where he knew Mr. Tenna could hear him with especial clarity. “I am very proud of you, though,” his voice was quiet, nothing more than a wisp of air despite the weight it carried. His lips lay just beyond that of the Mike mask’s, almost shy of grazing Mr. Tenna’s aerial.
The praise was like a drug. In a flash, Battat found himself swept into a strong embrace, feet dangling, suffocated by a kiss that took up more than half of his head. “You’re such a sweet-talker, Mike!” Tenna’s large face was inches from Battat’s own, the brightness of his screen almost blinding. With blushing cheeks, a thickness moved its way through the length of Tenna’s nose, sprouting forth a beautiful golden flower from its tip. It bloomed in Battat’s face, smothering him in a deliciously floral scent. With politeness, he pushed it aside.
“Well, that’s why they call me slick, baby!” Battat flashed a photogenic smile, landing him yet another kiss.
Succumbing to a strong feeling of sentimentality, Mr. Tenna practically danced over to the singular couch in the room, thrusting himself onto it with Battat secured to his chest. He held the small man close, large heart pounding passionately against the smaller’s body. With a sigh, they rested in one another’s presence. Warmth blanketed them in both body and spirit.
“I’m really lucky to have you, Mike,” Tenna stated, his chest oscillating as he spoke. The motion was soothing to Battat.
“And I’m happy to be here with you, Ant.”
“No one else has ever gotten me like you do. Well…” his antenna flicked, “almost no one. But, you’ve never done me wrong. After all these years, you always put me first. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”
“Aw, there’s no need to get all sappy,” Battat said, though he found his chest fluttering at the acknowledgement.
“Now who’s the one being humble?” Tenna’s grin was laced with snark. “I think everyone should know about Mike the CHARMER! What a selfless guy, the press would say! And dashing, too, the ladies would swoon. But,” Tenna leaned in, beaming, “Mike isn’t for them. He’s taken already. And not just by anyone, but by me!” Exciting himself, he lifted Battat into the air, looking up with overflowing adoration. “I have you all to myself.”
“And a good thing, too,” Battat fed into the cheesiness, “None a’ those fans would keep me entertained for more than a few dates at best. I need a real star in my life!”
“Oh, Mike!” Battat found himself squeezed into another kiss, his torso accidentally grabbed a little too tightly. But, there was no desire to object, only to indulge. The kiss was returned as Tenna rolled them onto his side.
When the two parted, Battat felt a similarly elated feeling rush inside of him. The sensation was rare. At one point, he never thought it possible to exhibit such a symptom, much less want to.
Only because he knew they were alone, Battat gave Tenna’s chest a small pat before releasing himself from the man’s grip. Gingerly, he slid off of the couch.
“Where are you going?” Tenna grew distressed out of worries that Mike was leaving him.
“Just gettin’ comfortable.” Battat walked over the end of the couch, resting his back against its armrest. He stretched out his legs, forming a v-shape. “C’mon over,” he patted his thighs encouragingly.
Contrary to the man’s extensive size, Mr. Tenna enjoyed feeling small. Even moreso, Battat delighted in allowing him to feel this way. It was a secret both would be horrified at admitting aloud, but amongst one another, they could share in their mutual gratification without fear of shame. And currently, Battat wanted to give in to both of their desires while he still had the chance.
Upon Battat’s gesture, the message was quickly understood. Mr. Tenna’s mood was swiftly heightened once more as he crawled over, squeezing the upper portion of his chest and head to fit inside Battat’s much smaller lap. From an outside perspective, the scene would be considered awkward — for the two involved, it was wonderful.
Gentle, gloved fingers stroked Tenna’s aerials, careful to avoid a kink along the length of the leftmost one — a lasting impact from the final moments of TV World’s existence. This motion resulted in a low hum of contentment from the large man. He poured his weight into Battat, who found the pressure to be comforting. “Yes, just like that,” Tenna murmured.
“I always know what you want,” Battat responded softly, close to the fellow’s singular functional antenna.
“It’s true. You know me better than I do,” Tenna chuckled lazily, “You’re good at making things feel just right. And best of all, you’re always so honest about what you do. You never lie to me, and tell me everything when I ask for it. You’re perfect.” Like a mirror shattering, the phrase made Battat jump. Tenna noticed. “What’s wrong?” He lifted his head, the shield of serenity dissipating.
“Nothing! Just, um, had a hand cramp,” Battat’s eyes were wide. A dark, sour feeling spread through his gut. He patted the man, urging him to lay back down. “Everything’s fine,” he reassured with calming words, though his face was stricken.
Tenna noticed nothing amiss. The topic, however, seemed to stir something within him. “Oh, yeah, I get joint pains a lot too. Never used to.” While Battat’s mind raced, he hardly noticed the pressure return to his lap. The back of Tenna’s head pressed sharply into his chest, though he thought Mike’s rapid heart beat was from something else entirely.
“That used to worry me, funny enough,” Tenna continued, absorbing Battat’s warmth, “For a while there, I knew I was getting… old. Worn,” his face scrunched. “It didn’t even take long for Kris to notice the burn-in, as much as I tried to cover it up. I knew time was running out for me — er, us. And, I mean, it pretty much was out, wasn’t it? I almost… didn’t make it.”
The conversation had shifted suddenly into a much heavier state. Mr. Tenna’s voice grew thin. He failed to notice the clear distress on Battat’s face above him, otherwise he may have avoided such discussion.
Overhead, the false Mike was forced to collect himself. As per usual, he put his emotions aside in order to attend to the man he cared about so deeply. It was more important to him to be present during such an intimate display of vulnerability than to dwell on his own unfixable issues. The decision on Tenna’s part to be open was touching, but still, Battat wished it hadn’t happened when he felt such internal conflict. He grew strained: guilt was actively sucking the energy out of him, though he continued to put Tenna first regardless. Pulling the man closer to him, he said nothing to make room for his partner to finish; his presence was enough of a response. In this way, he was supportive, yet allowed his mind to wander ever so slightly.
“I can still remember it. What it felt like.” As the strength of Tenna’s speech waned, the room grew heavier, darker. Battat’s heart pounded, his face flushed, though he kept his grip firm. “It was so cold. But, I couldn’t feel anything. Not at first I couldn’t. But, then I — I felt it, in my arms, they—” The sentence broke off, words not being enough to express the feelings experienced. That night was a painful memory for them both, laced with physical and emotional anguish. It was a miracle things worked out alright in the end, but the scars from the ordeal inflicted were far from scabbed over. “Oh,” Tenna’s screen blackened, “I did it again. I made it about myself again.”
Battat steadied his own breathing. Bending over, he enveloped Tenna’s head in a comforting shadow: a reminder of his loyalty. With a swallow, he strained his throat in order to keep an even tone. “Hey, I told you: you’re allowed to be upset. That’s what I’m here for — to listen. We’ve got each other’s backs, now, right? It’s not about one or the other. We’re a team, like we always have been.” He shook the man gently.
The tension in Mr. Tenna’s body lessened slightly. “Mm,” his tone lowered, “You always know what to say, Mike. How do you do it?”
Because what else am I supposed to do? “I just take a step back, use a deep breath, and I look at things from a different angle. Like how I’ve told you to try doing.”
“Ah. Yes.” A beat. “I am working on it.”
“I know you are. That’s why I haven’t needed to pester ya lately!” Battat rubbed Tenna’s shoulder, relieving at least a portion of the tension within. Though, satisfaction was far from mutual; a sickness spread itself through Battat’s stomach. His head joined in the racing of his heart.
“You’re too good, Mike,” Tenna mumbled, letting his voice drag a little. His exhaustion from their conversation was apparent.
“I try my best,” Battat responded with a sigh, which was far truer than Tenna ever knew.
The environment finally shifted into one of unanimous existence, with no further dialogue exchanged. In the presence of Mike, body heat slowly worked to dissipate uncomfortable recollection of the Roaring Knight. Like a depressant, Mike always seemed to melt away Tenna’s problems. With every passing minute, Tenna’s heart rate began to slow, the darkness in his mind lifting. It didn’t take long until his screen had shut off completely.
As Mr. Tenna drifted off into a rare peace, Battat remained far more restless than he had been in a long time. Despite the large weight atop him, reminding him of the company he was in, he felt not only alone, but afraid.