Chapter Text
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What even is the Light World to you, anymore? Just a place to occasionally sleep, eat, and keep your bills paid, pretty much; you find yourself spending as little time there as possible, lately. You get up, work your shift, quickly shove a cobbled-together dinner down your throat and then, you’re gone. Gone, into the darkness of your closet and falling, landing in the Dark World with a sigh of relief.
The Dark World feels increasingly more like the home that’s always been meant for you, and this feeling only grows stronger with every moment you spend there. It’s not just Tenna - although, he is the main pull, if you’re being honest with yourself - it’s everything else, too. How the Dark World is the perfect mix of peaceful ambience and vibrant life. How it’s a haven for misfits and oddballs; a place that feels simultaneously less overwhelming than real life but also inherently more interesting.
You wish you could exist there always.
But, unfortunately, your real world responsibilities still cling to you; like a reluctant and lingering summer dusk that refuses to submit to night, the Light World demands your attention. Your phone is filled with concerned messages from friends you’ve been neglecting. Bills you’ve been forgetting to pay on time have started to collect on your kitchen table. Milk has curdled in the fridge.
You grimace at this one morning as you ready for work, realising in a wave of sudden lucidity just how much you’ve been casting your Light World life aside. You just want to be with Tenna all the time; with real Tenna, the one who walks and talks and looks at you like you’re some sacred thing that warms him to his core. You don’t feel quite complete anymore, not unless you can bathe in the shine of his personal spotlight. There, you feel perfect.
It also pains you that you have no true way to communicate with him when you’re here, in the Light World. Sure, you can talk to your TV and hope that he’s paying attention, hearing your words, but… It’s only ever really a one-sided thing. Maybe if you finally talk to Tenna about this, about the connection, then maybe… Maybe once it’s all out in the open, you could figure out a way to communicate through that connection, somehow…
Wouldn’t that be better, than always just silently hoping he’s in there? You’ve been waiting all this time for him to crack and own up to the fact he’s been watching you, but… Your desire to prolong the game is now eclipsed by another, much stronger desire; to be connected to Tenna, properly, at all times. You like him so much it makes you giddy. Being apart from him feels like torture.
With this settled in your mind, you resolve yourself to the decision: on your second date with Tenna tonight, you will broach the subject. This thing you have with him, it’s deeper now than what it was before; no longer is it just a frivolous bit of fun, or some twisted mind game. You like him. You want to be there for him, to take care of him. Spoil him, make him laugh, make him gasp softly into your neck. You want to be able to kiss the top of your television set and know, without any doubt, that he is in there, feeling every moment of long-distance affection.
It would be a small but meaningful consolation for the required, temporary separation. A way to stay connected to him, to let him know you’re with him; like your own, makeshift kind of video call. It wouldn’t be ideal, but… Surely better than nothing. Every moment you spend thinking about it, you become more determined.
Before you leave for work that morning, you stop and glance down at your television set. It sits there, screen off and dark within, no signs of any crackling awareness from Tenna in this moment. Still. You crouch down, and feeling moved by a sudden urge, you wrap your arms around it. It would look ridiculous, to anyone walking in; you, hugging your CRT, your cheek pressed against the screen. You don’t care.
“Don’t be too lonely without me,” you murmur. “I’ll be back later, I promise. Be good.”
You feel insane, but you can’t help it - you place a kiss to the glass, sighing lightly as you pull back. There’s no reaction, but a part of you hopes Tenna felt that, anyway.
You go through the motions of your work day feeling like a prisoner shackled to a reality you’ve outgrown, the world around you feeling like some kind of bleak, desaturated nightmare. People talk at you, but you don’t really hear their words. You do the bare minimum. Smile. Nod. Participate in small talk. But your thoughts and heart are elsewhere; all you can think about is the moment you get to escape all of this.
Falling, free. Falling until there’s nowhere left to go.
You clock out the very second your shift ends, offering babbled excuses and goodbyes when your coworkers ask if you’ll be at the bar later. They’re not bad people, really - you just have better places to be. On your way home, you send a clumsy flurry of text messages to your friends, finally responding to all of their are you okays and check ins. I’m fine! Just really busy with work stuff, you tell them, the slightest taste of guilt in your throat.
There’s no time to dwell on it. As soon as you get back home, you throw a smile of greeting at your TV, rushing to set your bag down and get changed. The excitement you feel at finally being able to go where your heart has longed to be all day is divine; tingling and fizzing in your nerves. You barely even pay any attention to what you’re wearing. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. The Dark World will change how it looks, anyhow.
Once your feet land on obsidian floor, the Dark World air cool and pleasantly dense, you start to relax. Your whole body seems to soften, feeling finally at ease. You’re here. You’re home.
Yesterday, after some patient waiting for Tenna to regain the ability to speak properly, you’d agreed on meeting at the studio this evening before heading out for your second date. You’re not really sure what time it is, here; the linear progression of time isn’t an exact one-to-one match with the Light World, so it’s hard to judge.
Still, you head over to the studio with a spring in your step. When you arrive, it becomes obvious that production is indeed winding down for the day; Pippins and Shadowguys amble around, clearing up cables and muttering about edits while peering into monitors. Tenna isn’t even on the stage, anymore. As you search through the studio, seeking him out, you hear a voice calling out to you.
“Hey!” Tascette grins at you. “Hey stranger. How you doin’?”
“Oh!” You shuffle on your feet awkwardly. “Hey, ah, I’m good! You guys packing up for today, or…?”
“Mmmhmm! It was a doozy today, loads of good energy. Went like a dream,” Tascette says proudly, lowering her headset. “How come I didn’t see you today, huh?”
“Ah, I, uh…” You laugh bashfully. “Light World obligations, and all that.”
“Damn, I always forget you’re a Lightner, these days,” she laughs. “Anyway. You lookin’ for the big guy?”
“W-What?” Your smile falters. “No, no! I’m just, y’know, here to hang, or, whatever…”
Tascette smirks, giving you the once-over; her eyes gliding down, up, landing on your face with a wry expression. She juts her hip. “Uh-huh. Look, he’s in his dressing room. He said he had somethin’ special to get ready for. I’m guessing that’s you?”
“I don’t, I mean I wouldn’t assume-”
“Anyway, that’s where you’ll find him,” Tascette says, rolling her eyes and giggling. “I gotta finish up the background checks for tomorrow’s contestants. See ya round, okay?”
You watch her disappear back into the throng of runners and cameras, feeling mildly confused. Do they know? Do they all know? Have you really been that obvious? You shrug it off; you don’t have time to spend fretting about this, now. You have better things to be doing.
Tenna’s dressing room door is open just a crack, but you give it a light knock, anyway. From within, you hear a clattering of objects falling, a yelped cry of just a moment! And then Tenna is in the doorway, a black shirt half-buttoned and hanging loose at his chest. You stare at the exposed skin of his sternum, then slowly, your gaze drifts upward.
With his trembling fingers around the door handle, Tenna peers down at you, his face quickly reddening. “A-Ah,” he says simply, swallowing tightly. “You’re early, o-or, I’m l-late, whichever, is… Haha! I was just, I’m just, ah, getting-”
“Can I come in?” You say coolly, peeking at the room behind him. Tenna glances awkwardly over his shoulder, anxiously considering. “I can behave myself.”
“HA! HAHA, WELL, I,” Tenna flounders, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m SURE you can! I, uh, ah, I don’t see, w-why not, I’ll just, uh…”
“I’ve waited all day to see you,” you tell him softly, pushing past him - gently, with a hand briefly pressed to his chest - to step into this dressing room. “Surely you won’t be so mean as to turn me away now?”
“…W-Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tenna murmurs, dazed. He closes the door behind him and hesitates for a moment, fidgeting as he watches you pace around the room. “You know me! Always, uh, e-eager to give as much of a VIP exclusive look behind the scenes, as, a-as you want… Ahaa…”
It’s a nice dressing room, as they go. Star-adorned, sea-green walls, plush sofas, a table with snacks and drinks. There’s a bulb-framed mirror and vanity, with some photographs sticky-taped to the glass here and there. It’s a little messy, too; loose cables and spare microphones scattered around, cardboard boxes with costumes and props spilling out. It seems well lived-in.
Tenna still hovers by the door, looking glued to the spot. God, you just wanna eat him up; you’ve caught him in the middle of getting dressed, and what an effort he was clearly making. The tailored black shirt fits him perfectly. Even more so with it undone and revealing skin, you think - far, far too tempting. Slowly, and with blatant purpose, you step over to him.
“So, where are you taking me, tonight?” You ask coyly. “Somewhere nice?”
“It’s a s-surprise!” Tenna manages, forcing some bravado into his tone. “A good host never reveals a-all, AHH-” He flinches, blushing profusely, as you place your hands on his hips. He shivers, and when you smile up at him sweetly, he tries to speak again. “All of their, ah, secrets.”
“Got many secrets, have you, Tenna?” You smirk, letting your hands graze up his sides. He melts into the touch, gasping, a hand at his face trying to cover his flustering. “Mmm. This is a really nice shirt, you know. You look so good.”
Unable to resist, you begin to fiddle with the buttons that Tenna had managed to button up before you’d intruded, popping them back out until the shirt hangs open. You run your hands over the warm, taut skin of his abdomen, his chest, humming as you linger on curves of muscle. There’s softness, there; a sort of enjoyable, willowy shape as his hips narrow out. He keens a quiet, desperate little whine.
“Look how pretty you are,” you whisper, rapt at the sight of his bare skin, your fingers tracing the outline of his navel. “As much of an exclusive look as I want, huh? That’s what you said?”
Tenna groans, his screen glitching. He nods wordlessly, the movement hurried and distracted. Fuck, you could have him right here, right now; kneeling on the floor, the heat of his screen pressed to your flesh, buzzing and vibrating against your skin. You could let him taste you, have his mouth work for you. You bite your lip at the thought.
It would appear you’re not the only one thinking along these lines; Tenna’s slacks have begun to bulge slightly, his cock half-hard just from you being near him. You’ve barely even touched him. You could, though - you could do a lot more. Delighted and motivated by his sensitivity, you tilt your head forward and place a kiss to his abdomen, his skin warm under your lips.
A sigh shudders out of him, sounding like relief and despair all at once. One of his hands is in your hair, then; tentative touch, his fingers cupping the back of your skull. You can feel his nerves trembling under your hands and mouth. Encouraged, you give his stomach one slow, long lick upwards, your tongue dragging, savouring him. His skin tastes of salt and metal, the scent of it all breakroom smoke and liberally-applied cologne.
“Wha-haa, ha, ha, w-we should, ah, g-get going soon, if we don’t want to miss the- ha- the, well, the s-surprise,” Tenna chokes out, despite the fact his hips are now bucking reflexively. He looks anguished; desperately caught between his basal desires and his restraint. “As m-much as I, ahem, am e-enjoying, th-”
“Okay,” you say, smiling mischievously. You back off immediately, withdrawing your touch. Tenna wilts slightly in response, whining a faint sound of forlorn protest at the loss of contact. You shrug. “Sure, I can wait. I’ll just sit over here, then?”
You point to one of the couches, pulling your features into the most deviously innocent expression you can muster, blinking at him cutely. Tenna is distraught, clearly left suffering with a visually obvious hard-on and a million (hopefully lewd) thoughts running through his mind. Still, he manages to nod.
“I’ll just, ah,” he starts, taking a jagged step forward, then rubbing the back of his head. He glances at you, then coughs; flounders another moment, takes another step. He points towards his closet and lets out a nervous laugh. “Well, I’ll j-just be, ah, getting ready! Of… of course. I’ll be q-quick as a flash, just, ah… Just one moment.”
Smiling to yourself, you settle down on the couch, listening to the sounds of Tenna fumbling in his walk-in closet. Does it fluster him just to know you’re sat here, waiting? Does it please him? You hum a low tune to yourself, feeling serene. You’d have been happy to carry out the entire date right here, all night long, just figuring out the various different ways you can make him squeak.
Even so, Tenna’s approach to dating seems endearingly earnest, perhaps even a little old-fashioned; you can’t help but indulge him. It will make him happy, won’t it? To show you a good time - that seems to be one of the things he most desires. To please you.
You’re fine with a little bit of delayed gratification, anyway. It only makes the eventual reward sweeter.
For this second date, Tenna insists (with some emphatic charm) that he’s taking you to the perfect spot. He’s so eager to please, so hopeful to impress, that you can’t help but encourage him, telling him you’re happy to go wherever he’ll take you. You also decide, privately, to make a very deliberate show of having a good time, regardless of where this date ends up being; positive reinforcement goes a long way, and he’s earned some fussing over.
You’re not exactly sure what to expect, given how strange and unpredictable the Dark World can be. But you do try to keep an open mind, mostly just content to see Tenna so high-spirited by your side. As you walk together through the glitzy, red-carpeted streets of the entertainment district, he regales you with stories from his career. It’s been an especially good day on set, and as such, his mood is notably buoyant, his confidence high.
“…And then I said, WAIT A MINUTE! That’s MY LINE!” Tenna is saying, his voice booming.
You realise with a stab of guilt that you’ve missed the setup entirely, too busy dwelling on the thought of his skin under your lips. So distracted are you, that you’ve barely even been registering his words; you play it off, though, laughing at the right moment. He grins down at you, pleased.
“Well, lemme tell ya, that saw to the end of that!” He nods. “And they didn’t show up to my set again, not after that fiasco!”
“You sure told ‘em,” you say, fondly.
“And I’ll TELL THEM AGAIN!” He insists with a proud gesture. “Heck, I’ll show ‘em what’s what! I’ve been known to throw punches when needed, you know! An audience loves a little violence sometimes, keeps the ratings high! Screw what the censors say, HA! So, then, there was this OTHER time that I…”
Your thoughts meander again. You are listening - really, you are; but it’s become so easy to let the comforting babble of his chatter just melt into soothing background noise. It’s a reassuring, lulling sort of sound, one that grounds you, keeping you tethered to the feeling of the moment and the pleasant tangibility of his presence. And anyway, you can gather the gist of what he’s saying - stories about run-ins with scam artists or predatory executives.
“…Well, I wasn’t going to listen to that,” He says, huffing indignantly. “I mean really, who do they think they are?! Don’t they know who I am?! Hmmpf! You’ll never catch me falling for a lousy offer like that, I’ll tell you that for free!”
“My, my,” you give him a wry, sidelong glance. “Is that a hint of your assertive side I can see, Mr Tenna?”
He falters for the briefest of moments, but his mood is too bright to be hampered; he steels himself and puffs out his chest. “I can LEAD THE CHARGE when needed, absolutely! Sure! It’s what any good production team needs! Leadership! Inspiration! And when they act up, why, then they need a f-firm, ah…” Tenna spots the smirk on your face and blushes. “A f-firm, guiding, uh, h-hand…”
Giggling, you tear your gaze away, looking out instead towards the path ahead. The streets are dotted with shiny-looking avenues and alleyways, huge neon signs, walls of screens. It’s all so glamorous, such a far cry from the mundanity of the Light World.
How rapidly your life has transformed into something far more special since meeting Tenna, you think.
He falls quiet at your side, suddenly bashful. You wonder if his thoughts are as clouded as yours, lingering on the memory of how, just the night before, you’d had your guiding hand on him. How he’d sputtered and spilled his release in your grip; how sweet it had been. Neither of you has mentioned it since. Tenna clears his throat.
“Aha, well! We’re, uh, not far now!” He chirps. “Just a quick turn at that conveniently placed turning down there and we’ll be on our way, folks!”
To your surprise and legitimate delight, Tenna has brought you to a cinema. You hadn’t even realised those existed in the Dark World, but once you get a good look at it, it all seems to make a very natural-feeling sort of sense - especially for an entertainment district.
The cinema is a little run-down looking, but in a way you find quite charming; flickering neon signage that buzzes wearily, warm popcorn smell, dusty patterned carpets. It's nostalgic, in a comforting sort of way. You peer around eagerly, genuinely enthralled, and Tenna looks quietly hopeful, waiting for your reaction.
“This place is great,” you say, sincerely. “It reminds me of being a kid again, or, something.”
Tenna lights up, relieved and pleased that you’re satisfied. “Oho, I knew you’d appreciate a little trip to the silver screen! And this place has everything you need for the primo movie-going experience! Emotionless staff, sticky floors, questionable lighting - and hey, don’t give that vending machine any eye contact, rumour has it that it’s haunted!”
You glance at the vending machine. It looks normal, but you have to admit - there is a slightly ominous energy seeping from its aura. You get a similar feeling from one of the water coolers back at the studio; you decide to avert your eyes quickly.
Tenna has already bounded over to the ticket booth, and so you drift behind, taking the time to peer up at all of the curious decoration. The cinema interior feels like something straight out of a 1980s sci-fi movie with an oozing, synth-laden soundtrack; deep purples and bluest blues, hints of magenta pink in the decor, old stained posters on the walls.
In the theatre, you sit at the back row, even though the place is practically empty - there’s only a small gathering of Darkners murmuring to themselves right at the front. When you look up, you can see a smattering of twinkling lights in the ceiling. They look like strange, cerulean stars. The movie hasn’t started yet, and so, the wide room is quiet.
Tenna, sat beside you, looks a little tense. With his back straight, his hands gripping the armrests tightly and his antenna twitching, you can practically taste the nervous energy radiating off of him. He’s holding himself in such a stiff, trying-hard-to-look-normal sort of way that you can’t help but laugh.
“Relax,” you say warmly, giving his arm a gentle nudge. “What’s got you so tense, hmm?”
“T-Tense? Me? No no no, I’m not tense! Not me, not ever!” Tenna stammers, a rickety smile on his face. “The only type of tense I’m feeling is the PRESENT tense, living in the moment! Right here! Right now! Coming live from a cinema near you-”
“Easy, tiger,” you laugh. God, he’s so cute. “Will you please just try to relax? I’m not gonna bite you, jeez.” You let a few beats pass. One, two… “Unless you’re into that, of course.”
You hear a small squeak of feedback. “HAHA! Seems like our survey results indicate that, ah, there’s a high likelihood, that, uh, w-well, a very REAL chance, that, erm, oh boy! These, ah, feedback scores are, are TELLING to say, the, the l-least…” Tenna squirms in his seat, wipes his brow, and lowers his voice to a mutter. “God, kid. You need to start warning me when you’re gonna throw me those curveballs. Take pity on a guy, won’t you?”
It’s so interesting, you think; how you can eke out these moments where he lets the showy, performative part of his personality slip away to reveal something more authentic and raw underneath. How his voice becomes a little deeper, even, his tone more plain and subdued. The vulnerable, weary actor underneath the slightly manic, self-preserving act. It intrigues you, deeply.
“Sorry,” you say, meaning it. You huff a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m a terrible tease, I know.”
“Terrible isn’t the word I’d use,” Tenna admits quietly. “It’s the fact you’re good at it that’s the problem, hoo-boy.”
The lights begin to dim further. Soon, the screen flickers with a film leader, the countdown dial rotating, and then the movie starts; it’s an old, black-and-white film with swelling orchestral scoring and dashing-looking leads. You realise with a quick jolt that you know this movie - it happens to be one you own on VHS and have watched countless times.
“Do they normally show this kind of thing?” You whisper to Tenna, who leans closer, needing to bow his head slightly to hear you. You notice he’s also dimmed his screen somewhat; perhaps as a courtesy.
“Ah. Erm, no,” he says, quietly. “I might have, ah, had a little bit of influence over today’s, uh, billing. You like this one a lot, right?”
“Y-Yeah,” you say, stunned. And then you realise; he’s fucked up. “How could you possibly know that, though?”
Tenna flinches, frozen in horror as he, too, realises what he’s just let slip. He fiddles with his shirt collar. “OH, well, HAHA! Just, an educated guess! I suppose! Perhaps, you, ah, m-mentioned it, be… before?”
“Mmm. Maybe I did,” you say, smiling to yourself. Tenna looks immediately relieved. “Well remembered. I’m impressed.” He blushes. You feel on top of the whole world. “What made you pick this for our date, anyway?”
As the movie plays out, transatlantic accents and lively jazz music filling the room, Tenna considers this. He chews over your question with a crumpled brow, his hand at his mouth. Eventually, he gives you a small shrug, his smile cautious and infinitesimal.
“I thought it might be nice, y’know,” he’s trying so hard to sound casual about this, you can tell; all loose shoulders and feigned nonchalance. “To, uh, watch something… together. F-For… the first time.”
God, it hits you like a straight right; the realisation that Tenna has never really been able to watch anything with you, not properly. All those hours you spent watching gameshow reruns or old VHS tapes, rewinding back to your favourite parts… Tenna was providing that, wasn’t he? Had he wished, all those times, to instead be sat beside you? The lover on your sofa, holding hands, laughing together?
Your heart aches, and somewhat unexpectedly, you feel close to tears. You swallow down the lump in your gullet. “That’s cute,” you say, your voice hoarse with earnestness. “You’re a total sweetheart, Tenna, y’know that?”
He doesn’t reply. You just see a reddening of his features in the dim light, something adorably drippy in his smile. When you offer out your hand, he startles, looking to you in surprise. You smile at him reassuringly, then give your open hand an encouraging wiggle.
In the darkness of that dingy back row, with nobody there to witness it, you hold hands; Tenna accepts your offer, entwining his gloved fingers with yours. You give his hand a squeeze, hoping to convey something - you’re not quite sure what. Just… warm feeling, contentment, safety.
And then you settle into the movie, your fingers interlaced with Tenna’s, the two of you laughing together at the slapstick comedy and quippy jokes. You’ve never really had someone to do this with, before. It’s so nice, you think, to just enjoy his company like this. Both of you in the audience together. United in something. An equal, shared moment.
Occasionally you sneak a quick glance at his face when he’s not looking, and he seems so happily relaxed that it spreads a giddy warmth throughout your chest. At one point, he briefly lets go of your hand so he can slip his jacket off, muttering something about being too hot; but just as soon as he’s folded the jacket, his hand finds yours again with no fanfare, no nervousness. Just an easy, natural journey back to you, his fingers slipping back into yours as if they belong there.
“See, here,” he mutters to you quietly, leaning closer. “I never understood why he doesn’t just tell the singer that it’s him from the get-go. Isn’t it obvious?”
“That’s the joke,” you whisper, grinning. “That’s why it’s great! Remember, they’re trying to hide from the mafia. Plus it’s more romantic like that, don’t you think? Especially when it comes to the big reveal.”
“I… guess so,” Tenna frowns, considering. “Hrm. I suppose this is why they never got me on the big screen, ahaha… My ideas are, ah, too small, it seems.”
You roll your eyes at this, fondly amused. “Now that’s just not true,” you mutter, giving his hand another squeeze. “I mean, movies are great, sure… But I still like TV more.”
Tenna looks at you with a sort of silent intensity, his blush spreading, his grip on your hand tightening. He looks, for a moment, like he wants to say something; but then, apparently, he loses his courage. He lets out a small, breathless laugh, allows the moment to pass, and returns to watching the movie.
When the credits begin to roll, Tenna seems reluctant to leave; he stares down at your hands still held together, looking somewhat melancholy. You shake your hands together in an effort to cajole him.
“Hey,” you say, softly. “You got any other ideas of places we can go? I’m not ready for the night to be over just yet. How about it?”
Tenna perks up, grinning. “Oho! Eager for round two, eh? Have no fear, I know just the place!”
The bar that Tenna takes you to is a tucked-away affair, nestled down a quiet side street and doused in gloomy shadow. A soft blue glow spills out from the windows, blending with the honey-orange of nearby lamplight. Inside, it’s almost completely barren, save for the odd patron and a lone bartender at the far end, methodically wiping down the countertop.
Music comes from somewhere, too, a hazy and slow lilt of ambient piano. There are blue-flamed candles on the tables, curious glowing bottles on shelves behind the counter, and only one Darkner sits alone at the bar, nursing a drink.
Tenna leads you to a booth in the back corner. The leather seat cushions are cracked and worn in a few places, but you don’t mind at all. You slide in, settling yourself across from Tenna, the table between you. It starts off a little shy and hesitant, at first; Tenna asking you what you’d like most to drink, then running to fetch it.
You drink luminous pink liquid from a crystalline glass. It tastes of sour fruit, sugar, and something synthetic, but not unpleasant. It’s cool and slips down your throat so easily you don’t notice the buzz beginning to tingle in your veins. It’s far too easy to drink, and soon both you and Tenna have knocked more than a few back.
As such, his nervous edge begins to dissipate, and you start to see more than just mere glimpses of the true soul underneath. His words soften, his laughter more rounded and warm, and he speaks far more candidly, rambling about anything he can think of.
You watch as he fiddles with a paper coaster on the table, rotating it with his finger. “You ever think about how quickly everything changes?” He says, suddenly.
You drain the last of your drink. “Hmm? How’d you mean?”
“Oh, you know,” Tenna sighs. His antennae droop a little. He doesn’t look up. “Audiences move on, people grow out of the things they once loved… Technology becomes obsolete, that sort of thing.”
You frown, confused by the sudden change in tone. “Where’s this coming from?”
He shrugs one shoulder, letting out a terse, self-conscious laugh. “I know I’m becoming more and more irrelevant as the years go by, you know. I feel it. Soon, audiences won’t even care anymore. They’ll want a new model. Eventually, they’ll just stop tuning in. They’ll want something more, than… than me.”
“Don’t say that,” you murmur quickly, your tone laced with empathy. “How can you say that, hmm?”
“Ah, well, I have the stats to prove it,” Tenna admits, bitterly. He’s still staring down at the coaster in his hand. “Ratings go down, the letters stop coming in. People stop buying the merch. It’s just how it goes, kid. People forget what they once loved, and they don’t come back.”
You want so fiercely to comfort him, to tell him with no rationing of words just how deeply you care about him, how you know it’s him that lives in your Light World living room; how you’ll never stop taking care of him, watching him, loving him. This is it, isn’t it? This is the moment, you should just break the seal now, you feel it.
He’s so fragile, you think; so pure, so lonely at his core that it physically stings you. Gently, you reach out for his arm, your fingertips resting there. “Tenna, look, I need to-”
“You’re, uh, not like anyone I’ve ever met, either,” he says abruptly, looking up at you.
You pause. “Huh?”
He clears his throat, readying his words. He smiles in a far-off, wistful sort of way, averting his gaze. “Yesterday, you said… You told me that I’m, well, you know what you said. And I just, well…” He takes a slow inhale. “Well, now. You’re so special, and I… Ahem. I’m not quite sure I know how to say this, I…”
“It’s okay,” you say, hardly breathing. Is this it? Is Tenna finally owning up to it? He seems so vulnerable like this; you want to be as encouraging as possible. “It’s okay, Tenna, you can tell me-”
“Would you kiss me, if I asked you to?” He blurts out, following it up with a bunch of blush-tinged stammering. “Could, c-can, I mean, w-well, may I, aha, I’d… I’d like to, uh, oh. Well! Oh it’s silly really, silly Tenna, ahaha…”
You smile, feeling delighted. That’s not quite what you expected, but you can work with a curveball. “Well, ask me and find out,” you say, calmly.
“O-Oh,” Tenna fidgets. “Well, then, I… P-Please, would you, ah… Would you kiss me? P-Please…”
He watches, nervously, as you slip out of your side of the booth seat, slowly. You clamber onto his side of the booth, your knees on the crackled leather so you can reach his face; you hold his screen in your hands.
“OH, O-OH, well, it’s p-probably a stupid, aha, a stupid idea isn’t it, I mean you certainly shouldn’t feel any sort of OBLIGATION, to, to do this, I mean, who would want to ki-”
Gently, tenderly, you reach up and place your lips to his screen, your mouth against his. The sensation is just what you’d expected; fuzzy static, warmth and electric hum - but also him, his mouth, his heat. He’s tense, at first, startled by the contact - but then he settles, moans softly in your mouth, and kisses you back.
His hands gingerly land around your waist, holding you there. You move your mouth against his in tentative, pulsing movement, small gasping breaths in between. You hold onto his collar with one hand, the other at the side of his face, and the vibration of energy transferred between you is otherworldly. You could stay like this forever, you think; feeling him tremble under you, his desire palpable in every taste he takes of you.
When you pull back, Tenna looks at you with so much lovestruck, light-headed dizziness on his face that it makes you giggle. He sighs dreamily, momentarily lost for words. And then, after he’s caught his breath:
“You s-sure know how to, uh, kiss a guy,” he manages, sweating slightly as he realises how dumb it sounds. “I mean, phewf! That’s a new h-highscore, right there, aha…”
“Not my first time kissing a TV,” you say, hinting. You give him a quick wink. Pick up what I’m putting down, you dummy!
“OH! O-Oh, HA! Haha! Lucky… Lucky guy,” Tenna tries, shifting awkwardly. “Hmm! You have a type, it would seem!”
You big fucking idiot. In utter disbelief, you grin at him. “Tenna, what I’m trying to say is I know-”
“I do wish, I could, ah, be with you, in the… Light World,” he says, unable to look at you.
You are, you think; but you bite your tongue, suddenly feeling like you owe him the opportunity to reveal himself. He’s so close. If only he could be just a little bit braver.
“Yeah,” you nod, sighing. “Me too. I’ve been spending so much time here that I’ve, uh, been neglecting my Light World life, actually.”
Tenna looks briefly distressed about this, but covers it well. “It does no good to burn the fuse from both ends, buddy, lemme tell ya,” he jokes, glumly. “Perhaps we should call it a night, hmm? I wouldn’t want to keep you from… getting some good rest.”
“S-Sure,” you agree. “Okay. Let’s, uh… Yeah. Sure.”
After the tab has been settled - Tenna insisting to take care of it, again - you head out of the bar together, with Tenna agreeing to walk you to the edge of the dark fountain you use to return home. Something within you feels dissatisfied, though, and it itches in a way you can’t ignore. You only get a few paces down the street before you’re dragging Tenna back into a secluded alleyway, yanking him by the arm.
“Wha-!” He yelps, confused. “W-What are you, what-”
“Kiss me, Tenna,” you say, speaking faster than you can think. “Quickly, now, I want you to-”
Tenna doesn’t hesitate. He stoops forward, leaning to reach you; your hands meet the sides of his head as he leans in, and then he’s kissing you again, and it’s so, so much sweeter. Needy and desperate, like the last rush of opportunity before the torture of parting. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, unsure where to go.
“It’s o-okay,” you say, breathless, between kisses. “You can touch me.”
He whines against your lips, losing the fight with the last bit of his own self-control; his hands are on you, then, gripping at your sides, feeling everything they can, running over you with a messy hunger. The kiss begins to deepen, and you let your tongue slip into his mouth, feeling the vibration of his whimpers in your throat.
You swing your arms around his neck, and then he’s holding you, lifting you, his hands supporting you. Bodies crushed together, hidden in the darkness of the narrow alley, your back against the wall.
“I’ve w-wanted this for s-so, l-long,” Tenna tells you against your cheek. “Fuck, so long, I th-think about it, all the time, all the time, I…”
He’s holding you like you might turn to sand and slip through his fingers, like you must just dissolve and disappear. Desperate grip, needy and urgent, one of his hands on your ass, the other around your waist; he’s lost to it, now. Drunk on desire and booze and his inability to hold his true longing back anymore. You press kisses to the side of his face as he mutters things, endless sweet things, hushed into your ear.
“Please, please, let me hold you, let me keep you, don’t go, don’t go,” he half-murmurs, half-whispers, almost sobbing it. “Please, I just… I need you, I need…”
“I’m right here,” you tell him back, breathlessly. You mouth at his neck, gasping as your teeth graze against the tender skin there. “I’m with you, I’m yours, I’m-”
“Please, let me t-touch you, I, oh god, I-” Tenna makes a small, strangled noise as you bite down, gently, on his neck. His hands grip you tighter, and he ruts himself into you. “I need you so b-badly it hurts, it hurts, every d-day of my life…”
“You can have me, I’m right here,” you sigh out, pulling his collar open to expose more skin. He’s warm, so warm, and he smells so good. He groans as you place kisses against his collarbone, your tongue darting out to lick at his clavicle. “My Tenna. I’m all yours.”
You’re losing your mind to the moment, now. Heady arousal and desire, coiling hotly in your core, hunger at your fingertips and jaw. You want to fuck him. You want to have him fuck you, while he whimpers for you, breaking for you; the sweetest thing, control and submission, tender care and relief, all bleeding together.
“Would you beg me to fuck you?” You say, the words dark and low.
“Anything, oh, anything! Yes, yes, I’d beg for it all, please,” Tenna shoves himself further against you, pinning you against the wall. He’s so big, you feel completely surrounded by him. “Will you watch me? Please say you’ll w-watch me, I n-need you to… to watch me…”
He’s painfully hard against you, now, the tense bulge of his erection grinding against your crotch, rubbing against your own arousal. You grip at his shoulders, fisting handfuls of his shirt, your breath feeling like it’s shaking out of you. He’ll come if he keeps moving like this, you know it - right here, in the street.
You glance woozily over his shoulder, your eyesight bleary, nervously peering at the end of the alleyway. “T-Tenna, Tenna, we should,” your voice is breathless against his face as he grinds and ruts against you, one of his hands starting to slip under your clothes. “We should g-go somewhere, more - ahh, hah - private, Tenna, yeah? We can… we can go back to your p-place, or, or mine-”
Tenna stops suddenly, stilling, seemingly regaining a bit of sobering clarity. You both stay there for a moment, chests pressed, pulses racing in unison. Eventually, he slowly sets you down, letting you slide carefully to the floor.
“It’s, ah, been a splendid, e-evening,” he says, his voice thin and raspy. His hands linger at your shoulders, briefly, before he steps back. “I ap-apologise, for my, ah… Spirited, performance, aha..”
“Tenna…”
“I should, let you go,” he mutters. “You should, g-go… I don’t want to keep you, I…”
“No, please, Tenna, c’mon, what’s wrong?” You try to look up at his face, but his screen has darkened. “I was, we were…”
Tenna turns, takes a step forward, then turns to you again, conflicted. Both of you stand there in silence for a beat, confused, breathless, caught between unsatisfied arousal and the disorientation of the abrupt, jarring interruption. What went wrong? Was it all too much, too soon?
You don’t want to push him too far. Maybe he’s just overwhelmed, you think. You reach for his hand, carefully, holding it loosely. “It’s okay,” you say, softy, with a weak smile. “Tenna, it’s okay. We can, uh, put a pin in this, hmm? For now?”
“Y-Yes, I…” He sounds so distant, so derealised. You want to hold him in your arms, have him fall asleep there, kept safe in your embrace. You squeeze his hand. He inhales sharply, regaining some lucidity. “Yes! Yes, I, I think that’s, the right, ah, call. Yes. G-Goodnight, for now.”
You watch him walk away, down the alley, stopping only for a moment to briefly look back at you. You let him go. You don’t follow.
You can’t help but feel like you fucked up.
It’s all too quiet, now.
Tenna perches on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. He groans to himself. God, what the hell had he been thinking?
You’d wanted him. You’d really wanted him, every part of him, right there and then in that alleyway - it was obvious from the way you uttered his name, the way you grabbed at him like he’s your lifeline. You made him feel special. Like something worth tuning in for.
How did he let that moment slip by?
He’d frozen up, chickened out. And now, Tenna curses himself for it, kicking off his shoes with restless movement, muttering his bitter regrets under his breath. He looks around the space he calls his apartment, the ramshackle room filled with dust and not much else. How could he have brought you back here?
What would you have thought? It’s embarrassing - he doesn’t even have a proper home to bring you to, just this knockabout room in the studio, like a complete loser. His entire life is this production, his network, his desperate act and attempt to stay relevant. What can he possibly offer you?
Still, he misses you. Misses you so fiercely that it aches in his wiring, making him feel rusted and bruised. You could be here, right now, beside him. You could be curling your body against him, your words a soothing tonic to his receivers. Tenna imagines the sound of your voice, your laughter, your gentle teasing. The way you’d said his name.
He wants that. He wants you.
The thought and the weighty pull of longing that comes with it sinks into him, dragging him down, making him slump against his bed. What if you’ve gone home angry, now? Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow and decide to never come back, maybe you’ll decide you’ve had enough.
He spirals, then. Tenna curls into his bed, his hands on his head, trying to still the voices; the ones that tell him he’s not good enough, not loveable enough. Everybody leaves, eventually, don’t they? Everybody gets bored of him eventually. Tuning out. Throwing him out. Selling him at a garage sale after he’d been with a family for years. That’s what happens. Gone. Forgotten. Lost.
This is the feeling that drives him insane, keeps him awake at night and fuels the itchy burning in his soul that screams for more, more validation, more reassurance that he is what people want. It makes him angry. Makes him act on irrational impulse. Insecurity and fear and self-loathing, all wrapped up together, twisting and coiling in his mind like a cruel serpent.
But then, Tenna sees you. The Light World connection kicks in, seemingly of its own accord, and there, he can see you; you’re back in your home, dressed in cosy clothes, sat curled up on your couch. In the dark, there’s a flickering glow of light on your features. You’re watching him. Watching the TV.
Tenna feels something brightening within him immediately, and he watches, silently. Hungrily. You’re watching some old rerun - familiar, nostalgic, filled with canned laughter - and you’re laughing along, smiling, looking completely at ease. You haven’t left. You’re still watching.
He wishes he could speak to you, so, so badly. Wishes he could say he’s sorry for fucking it all up, all the time. How he’d beg you to come back, asking you never to leave again. But he can’t. So, instead, he watches, feeling the sick twist of his guilt still.
Soothed somewhat by your half-presence, Tenna eases into his bed. He listens to the sound of the show, watches your reactions. Feels a sense of gravity, in that; something keeping him afloat amongst the tempest of his thoughts. You feel like home. You chose him, all those years ago, so happy to have found him at that garage sale.
Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, the television left on and still keeping the room faintly aglow. Tenna watches you sleep, hopeful still for a time he can do this while actually holding you. He smiles, just barely, and dims his screen.
And for the first time in a while, he actually dreams; not just sleeps, but dreams, vivid and colourful. Dreams of your eyes, your smile, your hands on the sides of his face as you tell him, over and over again, all the sweetest things he wishes to hear.
Come back, he pleads with you in the dream; come back to me. Never let me go.
[ ◼ ]