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Spamton wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. It wasn’t uncommon for him to overheat onstage; the lights were blaring and they were incredibly warm. The first time he’d been on Tenna’s show, he remembered thinking he was liable to pass out. With time came acclimation, though, it was still natural to sweat a little under the blazing lights. Today, however–fuck, he was melting . He wasn't sure how many times he'd hooked a finger under his collar and tugged the material from his slick skin; he just hoped to God it wasn't too noticeable. He'd run out of water relatively quickly at the beginning of the session, leading to his repeated uncomfortable clearing of his throat. For a brief moment he'd wondered if he was being played; if they had purposely turned up the heat just to mess with him. Considering Tenna’s plucky enthusiasm and the vibe of the segment, he quickly buried the thought.
“Back in five!”
A break: sanctuary.
“Water.” The first person he'd laid eyes on had been grabbed by their shirt by the desperate salesman.
“Mr. Addison?”
“Water please. Throw it in the coffee cup, I don't care, just get me water.”
As the poor kid rushed off, Spamton retrieved the handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe the excess sweat from his brow. His mind was fuzzy, enough so that he had neglected to notice Tenna strolling up behind him. He physically jolted at the arms that wrapped around his midsection and scooped him up. A kiss had been pressed against his cheek and he seethed.
“Oh, Spam, you're wet–”
“PUT ME DOWN! Fuck, Ant, how many times have I told you not to do that!?”
Every inch of his skin felt as if it were crawling. He hated yelling at him. His feet hit the ground and hand brushed back his wet hair. His back was turned to him, but he knew he was probably his height by now, if not smaller .
“Ugh.” He turned on heel to catch a glimpse of him. He was a little smaller than himself. He supposed it could have been worse. “Ant–”
“I'm sorry.” His voice had been so small . “I keep forgetting you don't like–”
“No, I didn't mean to yell at you like that. I'm burnin’ under the lights tonight, it's making me irritable. Did you switch them out or something?”
At the very least, his antennas had bounced back up.
“Huh. I don't think we did anything new. They don't feel any different to me.”
Hah. Of course they didn't. Spamton took another swipe at his forehead before begrudgingly shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket.
“Mr. Addison–”
The bottle of water was swiped from the kid and Spamton greedily sipped on it. A flustered thank you was given as he made his way back on stage and sat himself down on the sofa.
It wasn't that he couldn't focus, it was just that everything just felt–fuzzy. Tenna was speaking; words were coming from Spamton's own mouth, though he couldn't particularly recall what those were. He'd tried to ration his water, and yet he very quickly found the bottle empty when, mid laugh, he'd gone to steal a life-saving sip.
This was his last segment of the night. If he could somehow survive this, he could go throw himself in the snow outside. Three more letters. Tenna was yapping and Spamton had to fight bouncing his leg. Two more letters; Tenna had asked him a question. Whatever Spamton had said, it at least had the audience laughing. Last letter.
“Don't touch that dial, we'll be right back!”
He was almost positive Tenna had tried speaking with him once the curtain closed, but Spamton was gone before he could get his hands on him a second time. As he'd promised himself, he'd made a b-line towards the back door; the cold was sobering. His breath felt like steam hitting the air. With little grace, he pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it beside him in the snow. After that, he yanked at his sleeves, rolling them up to his forearms.
Better. So much better. Spamton heaved a sigh of relief as he dug into his pocket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He took a drag of his cigarette and watched as the smoke danced in the air. He wasn't sure what his issue was, but at the very least it was calming down.
At least, until he'd returned back inside. Spamton had situated himself among the bustle in the green room, so he supposed it was on him when he began to feel a pounding behind his eyes. It had ultimately been a weight beside him that caused his lids to pull open–he hadn't even realized he was drifting off. He was thankful that Tenna’s presence had both pulled him out of his daze and, additionally, had stopped him from spilling his bourbon. And, he supposed, he was grateful he was no longer pawing at him in public. Even if he looked slightly crestfallen.
“Feeling any better?”
His face had taken on a soft flush, though truthfully, it very well could have been due to the alcohol. Spamton, meanwhile, grunted, and brought his glass to his lips.
“A bit. Getting out of those lights helped.” And removing his jacket. And rolling his sleeves. And all but throwing himself face down in the snow.
“Good. I was worried about you.”
Tenna's glass was practically vibrating. It was taking everything in him not to grab Spamton, and normally, he would've appreciated the effort. The slowly building pain within his skull made it hard to acknowledge it.
“Haha, you don't have to worry about me, big guy. I know how to take care of myself.” The irony was not lost on him as a bead of sweat carved a path down the side of his face.
“I'm always going to worry about you, Spam.”
Normally that would have been endearing. Instead, he was focused on how bright the lights were in this room. Not hot just– blinding . Spamton’s drink was abandoned on the arm of the couch as he stood himself up. He grabbed his jacket and draped it over his arm.
“I think I'm going to turn in.”
As he walked by, a strong hand wrapped around his wrist. This again . He hadn’t the energy to dissuade another meltdown.
“You're not–”
“No, I'm not leaving, Ant, I'm going to lie down.”
“Right but–you’ve done this before and then–”
“I'm not leaving.”
“You promise you don't want to–”
“I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE, TENNA, CHRIST, WOULD YOU GIVE ME SOME SPACE TO FUCKING BREATH ?”
The chatter in the room died down. He could feel the eyes boring into him–saw the horrified look on Tenna’s face, the look he put there. He watched as he shrank, slowly, the hand that once gripped him suddenly released.
He didn't know why he did that, really. Sure, Tenna could be overbearing at times, but very rarely did it ever actually pose as anything more than a slight annoyance. He just felt so unbelievably low and he was taking it out on Ant of all people.
“I–”
His hand rose and covered his mouth, meanwhile his gaze turned away. At the very least the chatter in the green room resumed, awkward as it was.
“I didn't mean–” Spamton swore if it was possible he would have been steaming. “I'll be in my dressing room.” He'd quickly exited the room with that declaration and disappeared down the hall.
He caught a virus. Fuck , he caught a virus . If the fever and pounding in his head weren't a big enough clue, it was the physical glitching he'd fought off the moment he'd stepped foot into Tenna's room.
Yea, Tenna's room. He didn't know why he did that–at least that was what he would like to think. Maybe he could pretend he'd gotten turned around, that he hadn't been in his right mind. Or he could accept the fact he felt like shit and, despite the absolute blow up he'd had, he wanted Tenna. It made him feel so childish–it made him feel even shitier especially considering he'd just freaked the fuck out on him in front of everyone. Twice . And all after they had fallen into such a happy medium; he’d been allowing Tenna more physical contact. It was Spamton’s fault for becoming lax; he hadn’t minded being scooped up as much as he once had, nor the overt displays of affection in front of smaller company. And yet, he had still chewed him out.
Well, the fact of the matter was, sick or not, he was a fucking asshole .
Spamton attempted to kick the blanket he’d loosely thrown on himself off his legs. It got twisted on his feet, and he groaned in defeat; he'd decided he hadn't the energy to pry it off of himself. His body writhed as a glitch took hold, and his hands pressed themselves against either side of his head. It was pounding–he was positive his hands were the only things keeping it from splitting open.
As much as he would have preferred rotting in his own bed, he couldn't go home. Aside from not trusting himself to drive, he wasn't about to abandon Ant after that embarrassing display. It was late. He was tired. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anyone at home to help him if it really came down to it. His stomach sank with that realization. Flashes of his younger years flooded his brain; of catching his first virus, of the Addisons doting on him because, at the end of the day, despite all of the teasing, he was their baby brother. Addis, the pink eldest, had refused to leave his bedside through the worst of it. And now where was he?
While he still feared for his head splitting in two, a hand had moved to rub at his eyes. He was really pathetic, wasn’t he?
“Spamton?” He jolted at the voice. He’d been so out of it, he hadn’t even noticed the door opened. The ceiling light flicked on soon after. “When you said you were going to lay down I assumed you meant your room.”
Was he mad? He had every right to be after the way Spamton had acted. It was with some trepidation that Spamton decided to crack open an eye to gauge his emotional state. As he thought, the light was searing. He released a pitiful groan and threw his arm over his eyes.
“Wanted–needed to talk to you.”
There was a weight beside him, and he could feel Tenna looming over him after he’d sat down. A hand grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm away from his face. It was then a much larger hand pressed itself against his forehead. Spamton squirmed beneath the touch; even through his gloves, he could feel how hot Tenna ran.
It seemed he noticed the discomfort. That, or he’d gathered all he needed.
“Spamton, you’re burning up.” His voice was riddled with concern. Huh, must’ve been worse than he thought.
“Virus.” Spamton mumbled, meanwhile he was a little more tactful rubbing his head this time around; fingers rammed themselves into his temples and attempted to massage any of the pain away.
“Huh?”
Spamton heaved a lengthy sigh.
“Think I caught a virus or something.”
“Oh.”
They fell to silence after that. Even though it was kinder on his aching head, he hated it.
“You should be in bed, Spamton, not on the couch. I should take you–”
“Mmm-mm.”
Again, there was a break in the conversation. Spamton shifted. His arm slowly fell down and he forced his eyes open. Searing as it was, he focused his gaze on Tenna.
“I'm–I’m sorry, Ant. I'm not feeling well– at all –and I took it out on you. I know you're just worried and I didn't want you to go to bed thinking I was mad or–that I did leave. I'm not mad at you, I just feel like I'm fuckin’ dying and I'm mad about that .”
While he typically would have been swept up after a confession of that nature, Ant seemed to recognize he was absolutely in no state to be smothered by a hug. Instead, he had leaned over and burrowed his face into the crook of Spamton’s neck and wrapped his arms around his chest. The arms around him were smaller–not terribly so, but enough that he wasn't swallowed up by him. He wasn’t sure if this reduced size was due to his previous actions or if it was a conscious decision not to crush him. The grip on him wasn't the typical strength he was accustomed to, but in his state, he wasn't complaining.
“I'm sorry.” Tenna sniffed. Was he crying?
“Huh? What are you sorry for?”
“Because I made a scene, too. You wouldn’t have gone off if I wasn’t–I know I can be a lot. I'm trying not to–”
“Ah, come on, Ant–”
“And then you came to my room even though you feel so bad –”
“Ant, I came to your room because I’m feeling so bad. I–want to be around you. Even when–especially when I’m not really feeling like myself.”
The arms around him suddenly tightened, enough to crush the air from his chest. He knew saying something like that was going to get his head spinning, and he knew he was in the danger zone when saying it and yet–well, he deserved to hear it. He loathed to think what he may have done had Spamton not been dying on his couch.
“Okay, come on.” Spamton writhed, and a hand slapped at Tenna’s back. “You're going to get yourself sick– can you get sick from me?”
Tenna pulled away, however, it was momentary. Instead, he shifted his hold on the smaller man. Ah, hell. It was unsurprising he found himself scooped up and placed on the bed. He hadn't the energy to complain. A hand brushed away the hair that had been glued to his forehead.
Upon leaving, he'd flipped off the light switch, and Spamton nearly heaved a sigh of relief. It was no sooner than he found relief pressed to his forehead. Cool–so cool. An inquisitive hand rose and he grimaced– wet –
“Leave it alone, Spam, I put a washcloth on your head, it should help with the fever.”
He hummed in reply. It certainly felt better than roasting.
“You don’t have to do this. I can take care of myself, Tens.”
“No, I don’t have to. I want to.”
“I mean–I don't want you getting sick too –”
“You keep saying that–Spam, I don't think I can even get a virus. I–hah. I'm not even entirely sure I quite understand what that is but, obviously, it's something that's making you sick.”
Spamton cracked his eyes open to stare at Tenna. Ah. Right. Different worlds–different times .
“Right.” He relented. “Lucky you.”
Tenna fixed the blankets so they were at Spamton's waist. At the very least it gave him something to work with, whether that be kicking them off or, eventually, pulling them up.
The worst glitches were the ones he could feel before they happened. His brain worked quickly–Ant. He’d most likely never seen something like it.
“Ten–” before he could even begin to formulate a sentence, his eyes filled with static. His body shook, his hands worked to grab at his head.
As he had assumed, Tenna was horrified. It was awful to watch, even worse that he had no idea what to do. He had quickly thrown himself onto the bed and hands lingered over the smaller body. The entire situation was quick. No sooner after he landed did Spamton return to normal.
“Spamton!” A hand pressed into his shoulder, and Spamton’s brows knitted. “Are you okay–what the hell was that?”
“I told you I caught a virus.”
“That–that’s what it does?”
“It's fucking with my coding a bit. I had one when I was younger, but I guess it wasn’t this bad. Still. It'll straighten itself out probably in a day or so.” He picked at the cloth that had fallen off his head and grimaced at the wet splotch on the bed.
Tenna took the compress from him and disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, it was pressed against Spamton’s forehead once more. The thoughtful hum that escaped soon after was unintentional.
“What's that about?” Spamton questioned.
“Huh? Oh I was just–thinking.” The weight at his side disappeared. He assumed Tenna moved to get ready for bed himself.
Rather than press, Spamton waited, expectedly. Afterall, Tenna was never particularly good at keeping thoughts inside of his head.
“I guess I just–never thought much about you having coding. That you have wires–that you're like me .”
Spamton toyed with the sheet beneath him. For some reason, he felt his heart hammering.
“Does that–do you not like that?”
“No–I MEAN NO, I–” Tenna sighed. The weight on the bed returned and, this time, he laid beside him. The soft glow of his screen was directed at Spamton. “I like that you breathe. I like that I can feel your heart beating and that you’re soft but–I guess I like to know that we also have something in common. I know it’s silly but–I don’t know. As different as we are, we still are made from the same parts.”
Tenna felt like he was saying utter nonsense. It was nonsense. And yet, Spamton was beyond grateful he had the soft flush of a fever to hide behind.
“I’m nothin’ like you, Ant–and I mean that in the best way possible. You should be thankful you’re less like me.”
The body next to him drew closer. Fingers stroked through his hair, and Spamton’s face twisted into one of displeasure.
“Come on, Ant, I’m all sweaty, you don’t have to–”
“I don’t mind.”
Spamton’s eyes opened to stare at him. Tenna smirked in response.
“What?”
“I was so mean to you earlier and yet you just–you just help me. You don’t even care.”
“You didn’t feel well–you don’t feel well. You apologized which, might I add, is an oddity for you, which tells me you really felt bad.”
He wasn’t wrong. He felt like a proper jackass. He would’ve made a formal, public apology if it meant correcting things between the two of them. But, of course, Tenna being the man he was had taken a simple I’m sorry and moved on.
“That’s what I mean–you’re too good, Ant.”
Tenna had leaned over with that comment and pressed a kiss to Spamton’s temple. He made a face after, to which Spamton could only give a gentle I told you so .
“I think you have this grandiose picture of me in your head that doesn’t match reality, Spamton. I’m taking care of you because I care about you. You would do the same for me.”
A sigh escaped Spamton. Yea, of course he would do the same for him. So long as there weren't any unpleasant distractions . Despite being a hallway away, he was sure he'd hear it vibrating in his already aching head if it rang.
“Yea. I would.” It has been a sheepish reply as he groped in the dark. It hadn't taken long for Spamton to wrap a small hand around Tenna’s own. He lifted it up and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. “G’night, Ant.”
“Night, Spam.”
Unsurprisingly, Tenna had barely given him any time to relax before a hand was once more being pressed to his forehead. Spamton had grumbled in response, meanwhile he’d moved to grab at the larger hand–the very, very warm hand.
“Tenna.” There was a tick of annoyance in his voice–he hadn’t meant it. He knew he was always fretting over him.
“Ah–sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”
Wake–?
When his eyes opened, the lights had been flipped on. Hell, Tenna himself was fully dressed. Damn–it was morning already ? Slowly, Spamton pulled himself from the pillow and sat upright. It was second nature that his hands rose and pressed into his face in an attempt to sooth his aching head.
“You're still burning up.”
“Yea, I can feel that.”
“You were restless last night, too. I mean, you usually are, but you kicked me a few times.”
Spamton flustered.
“Sorry.” The apology was a soft mumble. “I was fighting with the blankets.”
“Spam–I think you should consider–”
“I'm not going to see the doctor, it'll work itself out. It's not my first virus.” It was just his first one in a very long time.
Tenna released a sigh; he'd already known the outcome of that question considering the manner in which it was asked: hesitantly.
“Alright.” He relented. “You know yourself better than I can, obviously. But if you do need anything–if you need me to take you home, just let me know.”
“Right now I just need to sleep for like twenty more minutes.” And with that, he'd lowered himself back onto his pillow.
“You can have more than twenty, Spam. Take as long as you need.” Upon exiting, Tenna had flipped the light switch, and Spamton released a hefty sigh.
Shit. He was slated to be in this evening's show, wasn't he? He rolled over and a groan escaped him. That was a problem for a much later Spamton, for the time being he was concerned with getting comfortable despite the way his clothes clung to his skin. Eventually he’d hit his breaking point. His tanktop was thrown beside the bed, then his bottoms. His boxers were the last to go–not that they were covering anything anyway . It was a decency thing, something he had no regard for as he boiled alive.
He very quickly reached his breaking point. Or, maybe it had taken quite a while. Time felt unreal in his hazy state of mind. Regardless, he kicked the sheets from his legs and wandered off to the bathroom. With the cold water running, he'd stood beneath the life-saving stream, sighing in relief as it hit his scorching skin. He’d fiddled with the faucet a bit trying to find a balance between the absolute coldest setting and a steady stream of water. After finding a happy medium, Spamton leaned forward and pressed his hands against the tiled wall, mentally talking himself up.
He could do this. He clawed his way to the top, he wasn't going to let a little virus knock him on his ass. He wasn't even that sick, really. He just had to pull himself together and hold it for an odd hour or two then he could lay back down and rot.
Thankfully he'd stored some suits in his own dressing room, as he would've loathed slipping the sweat stained one back on. Granted, he knew this poor suit wouldn't fare much better by the end of the night, but at least he appreciated being clean. Before exiting his room, he’d taken a good long look at himself in the mirror. He smiled, threw some finger guns at himself. Yea, he could do this.
When he'd made his first appearance in the green room that day, he had immediately aimed for the bar.
“The usual?” Ramb had asked and, like clockwork, slipped a glass onto the counter. “You're not usually one to drink so close to show time.”
“Yea, because I'm not. Can you just get me a glass of water?” Spamton mumbled as he slipped into a barstool and threw his jacket on the adjacent one. As he waited for his drink, he propped his head up with his hand.
“Water? Hah–you got it.”
After swapping the cups, he filled it and slid it over to Spamton. He tried to be more calculated in his sipping this time around, despite his desire to chug it in one go. Ramb, meanwhile, was staring intently, causing Spamton to tense.
“You wearin’ makeup, Spam?”
“Huh? Maybe. Sure, yea. Why?” It was the only way to cover up the deep pink hue his cheeks had taken on.
Ramb snorted.
“It's running on the side of your face. Didya not use powder?”
His brow furrowed with that comment. He raised a hand and wiped at the aforementioned spot. When he pulled away he, of course, was met with a smear of splotchy foundation. Shit.
“Of course I–” The hell was he sitting here talking makeup with Ramb for? “We have over an hour before showtime. I'll fix it up before I go on.” Spamton sipped his water after that comment, perhaps to drown the slight bit of shame he felt.
After his glass hit the bar–a bit harder than he had intended–Spamtom dug in his coat pocket for some cue cards. While he was typically solid on his memorization, he wasn't about to risk fucking up his own advertisement while his brain felt like a scrambled egg. He bit the tip of his thumb as he read, quietly mumbling the words to himself. He could hear the bustle of the green room intensifying as the minutes ticked on and show time approached.
A strong hand gripping his shoulder ultimately pulled him from his focus. Spamton’s head tipped up to meet with the soft cathode glow above him.
“What are you doing?” Tenna's voice was–pinched. Spamton could see his mouth creasing.
Oh, he was annoyed. Typically speaking, it was amusing trying to watch him hold his shit together, but considering the circumstances, he wasn't in the mental headspace to go toe to toe with him.
“Rehearsing, what does it look like I'm doing?” Spamton reached for his glass; it was only then he realized it was still full. How many times had Ramb topped it off? The grip on his shoulder subtly tightened.
“For? You sure as hell aren't stepping on my stage tonight.”
Spamton's jaw clenched.
“You're joking, right? I have an ad to do– we have a segment together. I'm not sitting on my ass and letting you fill it with–”
“It’s covered. I'm still going to run your ad, Spamton. I plan on filling the mail segment with something else. I’ll compensate you appropriately for your time.”
“Time–what time ? Tenna, be serious, as if I'm going to let you–” He attempted to shove the hand away from his shoulder, but the grip was unrelenting.
Oh. Oh . So that's what this was. A challenge. It was as if Tenna could see the moment those gears started turning in that scrambled brain of his, as he flashed Spamton a smile. Try me . That's exactly what it said as he loomed over him, with Spamton's head still tipped back to face his own. Make a scene. I dare you.
Spamton could feel his heart thrumming against his chest. Was he turned on by this? Fuck, no–no! He was seething! Tenna had him exactly where he wanted and there wasn't a God damn thing he could do about it, not after his fine display of emotions the day prior. He knew Spamton wouldn't take it laying down, of course, and it seemed their challenge had turned into a glaring match, waiting for the other to break.
“I'm a grown man , Tenna.”
“Sometimes you're very bad at acting like one.”
“ Excuse me –”
The grip on him was starting to sting with the level of pressure applied to his shoulder.
“Go lay down, Spamton. Everything is covered here.”
“Yea, but it doesn't need to be.”
“ Spamton .”
Finally, his grip relented. Spamton raised a hand to rub at his aching shoulder. Tenna, meanwhile, slipped into the stool next to him.
“That's taken.” he'd mumbled, though apparently, there was little he could do to save his poor crushed suit coat.
That strong hand quickly shifted to slip on top of Spamton’s own. Fuck, he was taking full advantage of him, wasn't he? And all the while, his soft smile remained.
“Here’s the deal, Spam. Either you go back to your room–or mine–and lay back down or I will carry you there myself. And I don't care if you scream and make a scene because I want you to feel better and cooking yourself under the stage lights isn't going to help.”
Spamton hadn't the faintest idea where the hell this attitude came from. Under better circumstances, he definitely would've been a fan of it–maybe he was a little bit even now. Regardless, he scowled, and his gaze turned down to the counter.
“Well?”
“Fine. I'll go lay down. I don't need you making a bigger ass out of me than you already have.” He had to maintain some control, after all, even if it came as a snarky remark.
He tried to pull his hand away, though Tenna still stood firm. The facade finally slipped and gave way to a soft frown.
“I just want you to take care of yourself, Spamton. I–let me take care of things, okay?”
Spamton stole a quick glance and huffed.
“Yea. Alright, Ant. But I won't be happy about it.”
Tenna released a puff of air himself and his hand moved from Spamton's.
“Ok. I can live with your sulking if it's in bed.”
He slipped from the barstool and waited expectedly before Tenna. It took a moment for him to remember he planted himself on top of the jacket. He quickly hopped up, and Spamton swiped it from beneath him. With an indignant huff, he'd disappeared down the hall.
His room or Tenna's room. He didn't like that attitude he got, and he truly considered his room just out of spite. Though, in retrospect, he'd probably wake up to him no matter the bed he chose. And maybe–maybe he found the certainty of that comforting. A hand grabbed the knot of his tie–damn, it felt like he was being strangled.
RRRRIIING .
Spamton felt his stomach clench. Now , of all times?
RRRRIIING.
“Yea, hold your horses, I'm coming.”
The door to his room was pushed open; it was dark, save the light creeping in from the hallway, illuminating the ringing landline. Spamton approached it; his hand momentarily lingered over the receiver. He ignored the tremble of his hand as he lifted it and pressed it against his ear.
“Hello?”
How–curious. Answering a call at this hour. My–has someone been cut?
Spamton heaved a sigh.
“No. I caught something–a virus.”
Interesting.
His brow furrowed. Of course he wanted to ask the reason for the call, tell him to get to the point because he really wasn’t in the mood–but he waited. He waited like he was expected to.
I think you know the nature of this call?
A hand rose to rub at his eyes–he was exhausted.
“Yea, I can take a guess. I’m sorry. I meant to go back yesterday but–I don’t exactly trust myself behind the wheel right now.”
Spaaamton~
He could feel his skin crawling. He attempted to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.
You know how I feel about lying. I must say, I hadn’t expected you to form such a strong– bond –with the television of all people.
Spamton wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Suddenly the room was boiling–had his fever spiked?
“I–h-he’s good for business. You said it yourself. And there’s–I know I haven’t provided in the city yet , but here–”
Do what you wish with your time, mailman , but you will not waste mine.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft–resigned. Fearful . “As soon as I’m good to drive again I’ll head back.”
Good. I don’t care for this stalling you’ve been doing, Spamton.
“I wasn’t trying to stall–it was just–business.”
Ah. Yes. Just business. Well, I was also just playing with some malware . Isn’t it so interesting? How an insignificant amount of code can do so much damage?
Spamton swore he felt his throat close. He blinked once, twice–his brain felt like it was boiling .
“Wh–what?”
The receiver hit the ground–no sooner did Spamton, his body writhing, eyes having filled with static. Hah–haha. He supposed he was correct. Interesting, indeed, what devastation a simple bug could bring upon a man.
Spamton sniffed. Ugh–he hated that cologne–why the hell was Tenna wearing it? Oh–he supposed he never exactly told him he hated it. His head was still thrumming, didn’t he figure a scent that strong would exacerbate his headache?
The light hurt his eyes. As quickly as he’d opened them, they promptly closed again, and an arm draped over his face with a slight grunt of disapproval.
“S–Spamton!”
Loud, fuck, he was so loud . Shit, did he have a migraine? He felt Tenna sit next to him on the bed. A hand pressed itself into the side of his face and Spamton couldn’t help the soft groan that elicited. At the very least his hand was cool this time. He shamelessly learned deeper into the touch.
“Ant–you’re great, really, but could you keep it down just–just a hair . My skull feels like it’s going to split.”
“Spam you–do you not remember what happened?”
Spamton’s brows knitted together. With some hesitation, his arm lifted, allowing him to give a questioning gaze to the man at his side. Tenna’s appearance made his heart leap into his throat. Disheveled–he supposed that was the best term to use. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, his face was riddled with concern; he was most likely ready to cry at the drop of a hat, if Spamton had to guess.
“You–dammit I–I should have walked you back to your room or–my room–it doesn’t matter! I found you on the floor–after the show.” And there they were; warm tears leaked from his screen, splattering against the sheets of the bed. “You–you must have been there for so long –and your fever–Spam–you were completely incoherent for a while there. I was–I’m sorry–I–how are you feeling now ? I should get you–water.”
The look Tenna received unnerved him. It was obvious to him Spamton was there; he met his gaze, his eyes were no longer distant and glassy. And yet, he did not speak.
It came back to him–slowly. The phone call. He’d never glitched so bad in his life. The brief moments he’d been awake, Tenna fretting over him. The nightmares–ah, hell, the nightmares .
Slowly, Spamton sat up, though he quickly found a hand guiding him. He propped himself up against his pillow, and his palms pressed into his eyes.
“Yea. Now that you mention it–I’m remembering.” Shame washed over him. He was glad the flush hid it. “I’m sorry, Ant. The last thing I wanted was to scare you.”
“No, this isn’t about me–I’m just glad you’re awake.”
The knot in his stomach seemed ever present. His hands fell, and he finally turned his head to meet Tenna’s gaze.
“How–uh–how long was I–out?”
“A little over a day. I–found you last night.”
“Ah, God damn.”
He couldn’t even hold the contact. He once more moved to cover his face, his fingers pressed into his head. After a lengthy sigh, he threw the sheets from his legs and slipped over the side of the bed. He saw Tenna physically jolt, ready to be of assistance at a moment’s notice.
“I’m going to take a shower–I feel disgusting.”
“Hah–alright. I did my best to–try and wipe the sweat from your face but–well, I could only do so much.”
Spamton made it halfway across the room before pausing. That smell . He doubled back and grabbed Tenna’s hand, yanking him behind.
“WH–Spam–”
“I hate that fucking cologne–it’s making my head throb. You need a shower, too.”
“S–after you just scared the shit out of me you seriously want me to get in the shower with you?”
His stride halted momentarily. Spamton glanced over his shoulder, his hair stuck to his forehead, his cheeks a deep shade of pink. Tenna’s heart hammered in his chest.
“Y-yea, okay. I wouldn’t want to make your headache any worse, afterall.”
Hah–he wasn’t sure when he’d become so domestic, but he wasn’t about to question it as fingers worked shampoo into his hair. Once more Spamton found his hands pressed against the wall, relishing every second of the cool water running down his scorched skin.
“This is freezing .” Tenna had complained, multiple times, and yet, not once had he reached for the faucet.
Instead, he’d rinsed the suds from his hair; allowed him to stand in the majority of the stream–not that he was particularly eager to stand in the ice water. It was Tenna that exited the shower first, intent on escaping the freezing cold while Spamton remained and relished it. He’d dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and returned to his room, intent on changing into something more comfortable.
While rummaging through his wardrobe, a set of arms wrapped around his waist. He felt a face press against his lower back.
“Spam–”
“ Cold .”
Tenna released an amused huff.
“Enjoy it while you can. It'll be hot again in a few minutes.”
And he had done exactly that. Spamton released a defiant whine and Tenna couldn't help the breathy laugh that escaped him. He'd stood still for as long as it had taken Spamton to sap every ounce of coolness from his body. Once he'd warmed him up, he'd wandered off back to bed, allowing Tenna to slip into lounge wear and, ultimately, return to his own side.
“Is this better?” Tenna questioned regarding the smell. He'd propped himself up on his elbow; as much as he wanted to cuddle, he knew himself how hot he ran, and that was the last thing Spamton needed.
There wasn't an immediate response. By the time he'd settled in, Spamton had already closed his eyes. Finally, a thoughtful hum escaped him.
“Yes. Your clothes probably still stink.”
Again, Tenna laughed.
“I sprayed that yesterday. Have you always hated it? Or is it a right now because you're sick thing?” Silence. This time it felt more pointed. “ Seriously ? You let me wear it all that time when you hated it?”
“It's your cologne, you're supposed to wear what you like, Ant. You're not telling me what to wear.”
“Because I always like how you smell! You should like how I smell, Spam!”
“Okay, I'm sorry.” A soft laugh escaped him with the apology. “I like how you smell 90% of the time. Is that good enough for you?”
“If I get rid of that cologne will my percentage increase to 100%?”
Spamton raised a hand and draped it over his eyes, meanwhile another gentle laugh escaped him.
“If I say yes will you let me sleep?”
“You know what? Fine. I lied, actually. You smell terrible when you smoke your cigars, but you don't hear me complaining –”
“OH, don't you even START. I hear you loud and clear!” It had been Tenna's turn to laugh, meanwhile he'd moved to press a kiss against Spamton’s temple.
“Goodnight, Spam. I'm glad you're feeling better.”
“Yea.” He'd echoed. “Me too. Let's hope I can finally break this fever.”
Tenna had been desperate for a good night's sleep. He hadn’t even attempted it the previous evening; he was too concerned with Spamton’s incoherence, along with the nightmares. The night before he'd been kicked multiple times, pulling him from his sleep. This evening had looked promising–up until he felt something vibrating beside him. When his screen kicked on, his scattered mind attempted to make sense of the shaking of his bed. It was after his screen finally kicked on did his glow reveal the trembling man beside him.
He'd extended a hand to press against his forehead. Finally . Still warm, but his fever was obviously down. Meanwhile, Spamton's teeth had begun to chatter.
“Spam.” Tenna's voice was soft as he propped himself up. “Hey–you’re on top of the blanket.”
“C–cold–f-fuck– freezing .”
“I know–sit up.”
He hadn't listened, but at the very least, he'd wormed his way under the blanket. Before he knew it, Tenna's half was also being stolen as he wrapped himself as tightly as he could manage.
“Spamton–”
The distance between them was quickly eliminated. Hands worked their way onto either side of Tenna’s screen and yanked it down. Spamton’s cheek pressed into his own, and a pitiful moan escaped him.
“ Warm .”
Tenna's screen burned a deep pink and he could feel the steam escaping from his vents. He supposed it served Spamton well, but it hadn't changed how flustered he was, nor how mortified Spamton would have been had he been in his right mind.
“I know you need to sleep but–so warm, Ant, you're like an oven .”
Tenna worked to unwrap Spamton, and instead, wrapped the blanket tightly around the two of them. It was then his arms could slither around Spamton and pull him in close. He hummed amicably in response. Slowly, his violent trembles seemed to calm into more manageable shivering.
“Better?”
Spamton hummed in response, his face pressed against Tenna's chest.
“I like your screen better.” He'd mumbled. He sounded half asleep.
“Yea? Why's that?”
“Mm. Warmer. And I like that it's– fuzzy . Like, when we kiss? I like the static.”
Tenna's screen managed to turn a new shade of red, meanwhile his grip on Spamton tightened. Oh, this fucking mailman .
“You're crushing me, Ant.”
“S–sorry.” And yet, with the loosening of his hold, Spamton’s tightened.
He continued to hold him until his shaking calmed and his breathing evened out. Even then, he'd stayed powered on a bit longer–just to be safe.
“Hey! Look who's alive!”
Spamton huffed as he entered the green room, meanwhile a hand rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yea. Just barely.” Had been his mumbled response to Ramb.
Tenna hadn't been far behind him. He had, after all, been hounding him all morning.
“Just passing through. I really need to get home. Thanks for the bottomless water the other night, Ramb.”
“Haha. Pay it forward next time I see you, mailman.”
Spamton shot a finger gun and proceeded to head towards the exit, Tenna following him like a kicked puppy.
“Are you sure you're okay to drive?”
“I'm fine, Tens. Feel better than I have in days.”
“You don't want me to come with–just to be safe?”
“No, Ant, I'm fine. You're needed more here.”
“But do you really have to leave?” Tenna's hands gripped the opened window, preventing Spamton from leaving.
“ Tenna .” Spamton signed, meanwhile a hand placed itself over one of Tenna’s own. “You know I'm never gone too long. I've got some business I've got to take care of in the city. That, and I need to sleep off the rest of this migraine. I'll call you when I get home, alright?”
“Ok. I'll be waiting.”
Finally relenting, he had released his grip on the car and was intent on backing away. Instead, a hand had wrapped around his tie. Tenna found he had to brace himself against the car as Spamton pulled his face into the opened window. Their lips met, Spamton pressing deeper into the kiss. When he released him, Tenna was left reeling.
“H-hah–what was–?”
“I told you, I like the static .” After flashing a toothy grin, his window was rolled up, and the car was peeling off.
Tenna was left, pink in the face, steam pouring from his vents.
“Static.” He huffed, and a hand pressed against his cheek. “What an ass.”
And yet, he knew damn well he would be waiting im patiently for that call.