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Tenna gritted his teeth while running around backstage. Shit. The whole night had been a disaster since they went live. Should’ve cut the cameras earlier, save everyone a headache. But no, he welcomed the last-minute guest appearance, because what could possibly go wrong? Apparently everything, considering said guest star bolted within minutes. Which... yeah, Tenna couldn’t fault him for that reaction. Even he was shocked at the discovery; so ghosts were capable of slipping into a Dark World via sleep and physical touch.
Still would’ve been nice if Mettaton had said something before he split.
After scouring every corner—and about to throw in the damn towel plus a couch or two—a sob broke through. Tenna paused, antennas pricking up. It came and went again, a bit louder than before. Steadily approaching the source, Tenna peeled back the stage curtains and found Mettaton hiding behind them.
Most Lightners changed when entering a Dark World. Their complexions and clothing brightened, matching what resonated in their hearts. Mettaton, however, endured a metamorphosis unlike anything Tenna had witnessed. He was less of a ghost and more of a humanoid shape, like a glass doll enchanted with life. Pink billowed in his transparent body—a glittering galaxy of uncharted stars. The blinking lights danced within, mirroring his mood. Right now, they were stagnant. Barely offered much illumination, too.
And he floated above the floor, hugging his knees as tears welled.
“Ah, THERE YOU ARE.” Tenna crouched before him. “Was looking all over for you!”
Mettaton didn’t flinch, let alone acknowledge his presence.
Tenna’s smile faltered. “H-hey, what’s up? Did something HAPPEN?” He drooped as a thought hit him. “Did... did I do something wrong?”
God, wouldn’t that be his fucking luck? Tenna needed another Lightner who couldn’t stomach him like he needed a bullet in his head. Knowing his track record, it was only a matter of time before Mettaton unplugged his CRT TV and chucked him to the curb. Because maybe being bored to death was better than dealing with his insufferable ass.
But then.
“No.”
Tenna perked up. Mettaton lifted his head—wow, what a lovely face, tears be damned—and wiped his face. Stylized hair moved as if a breeze constantly played with it.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he said, looking more at Tenna’s tie than his screen. “This... this has been amazing. Truly. I-I don’t even—”
Biting his lip, Mettaton succumbed to a wail. Tenna winced. Done nothing wrong, sure, but have I done a damn thing right?
A part of him wanted to scoop him up, stroke his pretty head, and tell him it was okay, even if that was also a pretty lie. Anything to evoke a smile, like when he watched TV in the living room.
He... he would smile again, yeah?
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tenna,” Mettaton said. “I’ve ruined your show this week evening and—”
“H-hey! WHOA! Timeout!” Tenna signaled a T with his hands. “You didn’t ruin a SINGLE THING, alright?”
“I couldn’t even stay onstage for your game show. I made a break for it the second it was my turn to answer a question.”
Well. Okay, he wasn’t wrong, but that was beside the point.
“Forgive me, but this is quite overwhelming, to say the least. I didn’t wish to make a fool of myself, but... well, that ship has sailed, hasn’t it?”
One antenna curled. “Uh, come again?”
A dry laugh escaped Mettaton. “I can’t focus on quiz questions when I don’t know how to function on these.”
Before Tenna asked, Mettaton somersaulted midair while extending his legs. The lights glowed a smidge brighter there. He could’ve spent the whole night basking in that sight, at Mettaton’s corporeal form. Who wouldn’t?
“All my life,” he continued, “I’ve wanted a body like this. I used to dream of it, you know—of having long, lean legs to carry me wherever I please. I’ve wanted to walk and sprint and jump and twirl and... and dance.” His mouth twitched. Internal lights twinkled. “Oh, how I’ve longed to dance.” And then he dimmed again. “But I can’t stand, never mind do any of that. And the notion of humiliating myself on live television... no. No, I cannot bear that. I won’t. I’d rather not do it at all if it means avoiding this... this weight suffocating me. God, why does everything feel so much? It’s dreadful. The worst.”
“Sounds to me like ya need SOME PRACTICE.”
Mettaton lifted his head. “What?”
“You can’t expect to nail it on the first try. Nobody does. Even seasoned actors gotta read the script and rehearse their lines before tech week. You’re no different, Mettaton. And lemme tell ya.” Tenna smiled softly. “You’ve got a knack for this kinda thing! Like that singing voice of yours? WOW! I’ll never get tired of that!”
“You’ve heard me sing?”
“Every time ya got the house to yourself, yeah! You sure know how to turn that living room into a CONCERT STAGE! Know how to work a crowd, too!” Tenna sighed, a more serious tone filling his speakers. “I bet once you put the work in with learning the dancing ropes? You’ll outshine the spotlights.”
He hesitated, but then, “You think so?”
“You kidding me? Ha! KNOW SO!” He extended a hand. “So whaddya say, hmm? Wanna GIVE IT A TRY? I’ll be here every step of the way. LITERALLY. Won’t let you fall, either.” A pause, then, “I promise.”
Listless eyes scrutinized his palm. Mettaton unfurled himself and slid a smaller hand into Tenna’s. His bare feet touched the ground. Tremors shot through Mettaton. He hissed and flailed to maintain balance. Before he toppled, Tenna gripped his hand and steadied him.
“Easy there,” he murmured. “No need to rush it. Baby steps. Take it a night at a time.”
Mettaton clutched Tenna’s hand like his life depended on it. The pink in his cheeks deepened in saturation. “What if it takes me forever to get it right?”
“Then I guess I’ll be working forever and a day, huh?” He gave Mettaton’s hand a light squeeze. “I’m game if you are.”
Mettaton didn’t say much in response, but he didn’t let go. Tenna considered that a step in the right direction.
Nobody learned anything overnight. No amount of talent negated that unfortunate fact. And yet Mettaton visited TV World daily, determined to make that night the night he mastered the art of... well, his legs. By the end of the week, he stood for roughly a minute on his own. Even then, both legs wobbled like he was aboard a ship treading stormy waters.
But falling was part of the process. Tenna witnessed that not once, but twice in the Dreemurr family. Infants didn’t go from immobile to doing cartwheels across the living room floor—yeesh, that was best for everyone involved. Regardless, Mettaton wasn’t a child. He was an adult. Inexperienced in some areas, true, but that didn’t warrant coddling. Tenna bit his tongue whenever Mettaton stumbled; as much as he loved those eyes looking in his direction, he preferred to avoid that particular glare of his.
“I don’t know if this is helping,” Mettaton grumbled one evening.
Tenna cocked his head. “What’s that?”
He scoffed. “You know what I mean.”
Maybe, but the past few times he assumed Mettaton’s thoughts, Tenna earned a cold shoulder from his lovely Lightner. Right now, his guess was as good as anyone’s. Was it the empty stage they used for walking practice? Too many lights flipped on? Not enough? Or did he want a different backdrop to brace against while his opposite hand gripped Tenna’s bicep? Could’ve been a dozen other reasons, too.
Three steps and Mettaton halted. “I can’t tell if I’m improving or getting worse.”
“DEFINITELY IMPROVING. Couldn’t stand two weeks ago. That counts for something!”
But Mettaton hung his head. Nothing brightened his features.
Tenna lost an extra foot—already stood at half his size to better assist him, too. Lovely. Yet another failed compliment. Swing and a miss. You’d think I’d get used to it by now.
“Hey, uh... how about we take a break? Been at this for a while. Wouldn’t hurt to—”
“I’m fine.”
Antennas twitched, the closest he’d get to mimicking a raised eyebrow. “You sure?”
He pursed his lips. “Positive.”
“Okay.” Tenna resisted the itch to fidget. He really did. “It’s just... I don’t wanna see ya push yourself TOO MUCH. Nothing wrong with taking a load off and sitting after—”
“If you need a break—” Mettaton released his arm. “—then by all means, go on and take one.”
He balked as Mettaton shuffled ahead, determined to keep going, to keep fighting against the perpetual quake plaguing his legs. He reached the edge of stage left before his knees buckled. Fear seized Tenna, compelling him to rush to—
“Don’t.”
And there was that glare again.
“Let me do this.”
Tenna shrank further, nodding and shuffling backwards. Maybe Mettaton had a point—about this being ineffective. And maybe it had something to do with him being there. You know, more of an eyesore than anything. Just a distraction, a hindrance. But what the hell was Tenna going to do? Abandon him? Absolutely no way. Not for this or any reason. But the least he could do was respect Mettaton’s request. Standing stage right and cloaked in a curtain’s shadow, Tenna watched and silently cheered Mettaton on.
To his credit, he didn’t give up. Step by painful step, Mettaton turned around. Terror and loathing hardened him. He stared at his feet instead of whatever lay ahead.
But he moved. Slowly, unsteadily, but surely. Tenna lit up, internal components whirring with delight at this progress. Mettaton straightened his posture midway, no longer leaning into the backdrop and extending his left arm for further balance. Another time, Tenna would’ve commentated on the spectacle, maybe turn it into a physical challenge, but he muted himself. Besides, Mettaton didn’t need a scoreboard to grade his performance; it was already T-rank worthy to Tenna.
However, once he was within arm’s reach, Tenna couldn’t contain his excitement.
“WOW, look at you go! What an OUTSTANDING PERFORM—”
Mettaton yelped at the abrupt audio. Windmilling his arms, he staggered backwards and fell. Tenna was faster, though, swooping in to save him.
“GOT YOU.”
Warmth spread across his palm. Mettaton nestled there, considerably smaller in comparison to his massive hand. And he stayed motionless while gazing at Tenna. Out of shock, maybe? Or was it something else?
“You okay?” he asked.
Lights fluttered in Mettaton’s body. “I believe so, yes.”
“Good.” He helped Mettaton onto his feet, mindful about... well, handling him. Had to avoid squeezing his waist and caressing the small of his back and drawing out this awkward moment. “You did great, by the way.”
His eyes widened. “You mean it?”
“Without a question!”
Even though Tenna withdrew, and even though Mettaton was doing quite well standing on his own, delicate hands returned to Tenna’s bicep.
“Thank you, Mr. Tenna.”
His touch was brief, over as swiftly as switching channels. A mundane gesture. Out of habit, perhaps. Or to ground him for another reason. Either way, Tenna didn’t complain. He simply grinned.
Another pronounced thud boomed from the stage. An equally explosive expletive followed. The heeled shoe chucked out into the seats? Yeah, that was new.
Good thing no audience attended this private performance. Just Tenna. He dodged the shoe before it smashed into his screen. Also had three retorts locked and loaded. Something about his aim improving alongside his legs. But Tenna knew better than to tease Mettaton when he fought back tears. Probably blurred his vision while he threw that broken shoe in a random direction.
He just... damn it, he hated seeing him like this.
And to think everything stuck to the script, rolling smoother than ever! Weeks flew by. Mettaton’s progress skyrocketed alongside his confidence. He no longer needed a wall or any support. Kept that chin up, too. Mettaton shuffled, then ambled, then marched, then ran. Tenna applauded every step, every graceful stride upon the barren stage. He was well on his way to achieving his dream. Just needed to figure out a routine.
Of course Mettaton insisted on dancing. He also insisted on dressing the part, on wearing those tantalizing heels—which were absolutely not planting any indecent thoughts in his cathode head nope—until he nailed the maneuvers.
But that was the thing about scaling rapidly progress-wise. Any setback sent him plummeting to ground zero. And from up that high? On that lofty perch? Nothing would cushion the fall. Even Tenna wasn’t quick enough to catch him. Definitely would feel it come morning.
And he couldn’t do anything but watch Mettaton fall. Again. And again. And again. And fucking again until a heel snapped alongside Mettaton’s patience.
C’mon. Get up. You can do it.
Mettaton curled into himself and clutched his shoulders.
I know you can! Seen ya do it a thousand times before!
A shudder claimed him. He choked on a tortured sound.
So please... don’t call it quits. Not yet. Not after how far ya come to get here.
Tears struck the stage.
Because I’m not giving up on you.
He wept until his eyes dried—nothing left to give.
And... I wanna see you perform. Even if it’s a one-night special. Just to... you know. See ya shine, where you belong.
Until he went still.
See ya happy.
Inhaling deeply, Tenna approached Mettaton. “Want me to fetch ya more dancing shoes?”
“And break another pair this evening?”
His face zipped to black at the backhanded remark.
“That’s... what, five? Six?” Mettaton scoffed. “Unbelievable. I imagine I’m the worst dancer to ever set foot on your set.”
“HEY,” Tenna snapped before he could restrain himself. “Don’t talk about yourself like—”
“Why not?!”
Of all the hurdles impeding the path—the inevitable highs and lows that accompanied life—nothing prepared Tenna for the incredulous stare Mettaton fashioned for him.
“Why am I not allowed to be disappointed, let alone be miserable, at my lack of fucking progress?!”
Whether or not that was rhetorical, Tenna didn’t dare utter a peep.
“Does it go against the rules here or whatever?! God fucking forbid if I’m not having fun in this place?! Well, I’m trying! Every damn night, that’s all I’m doing here! Trying to have fun! Do you realize how excruciating this is? To yearn for this—” Mettaton dug nails into shaking body. “—for as long as you can remember, and... and then botch it?! What good is a corporeal form if I can’t use it properly? It’s like buying a new car and leaving it in the driveway forever to rust. And I want to use it. I do. Fuck me, I do! More than anything! This is everything I’ve ever wanted in my pathetic excuse of a life!”
His chin quivered.
“I just....”
He fluttered his eyes.
“I-I just need to....”
But the fresh tears overflowed anyways.
“I don’t....”
Air snagged in his throat, fractured and frail.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Mettaton lowered his head and cried.
“Why am I like this? Why can’t I be happy with what I have?”
Tenna possessed no answer, no words of wisdom to shine upon him, no pep talk to turn that frown upside-down. But what could he do? At a loss for... well, everything, he stood there, dumbstruck and helpless.
And Mettaton snarled, “Go away!”
But he didn’t.
“Leave, already!”
Not even a bout of snow warped his face.
“Everyone else does by now!”
Was that true? But why would—
“I’m used to this: wallowing alone in my own pity parties. No fucking shit people ghosted me online. I must be that unbearable.” He sniffled and hiccupped. “Why waste your time on someone like me?”
Why? Why?
Because Tenna was no stranger to hitting rock bottom. Honestly, he... hadn’t acted any better back then. Hard to conceive a light existed in the dark when stuck in despair. Happened to the best of them, it seemed.
But he survived. Better yet, Tenna found a place to call home again, courtesy of a certain Lightner. If someone as broken and unworthy of a second chance recovered, then Mettaton would absolutely flourish. Maybe not now, but eventually.
Until then, Tenna ambled towards his beloved Lightner and knelt before him.
He wanted to massage his back, smoothing out those trembles. He wanted to inspect his ankle and ensure it wasn’t sprained. He wanted to cup his cheek and dry his beautiful eyes. He wanted to kiss the spot between his brow, releasing the tension there until Mettaton melted into his lips. He wanted to bend over backwards and sign his life away, if it meant reviving that stunning smile. He wanted more—way more than he ever allowed himself to indulge in—knowing he’d never recuperate from the possibility of rejection.
He wanted, and couldn’t, and shouldn’t, yet Tenna shoved it all in a mental closet to embrace Mettaton.
A gasp sounded against him. Mettaton shuddered, stiffened, then eventually surrendered. He shed tears, the relentless deluge surpassing his previous breakdown. But he also didn’t shove Tenna or lambast him. If anything, he burrowed into him and clung tight. Even when the tears ceased to flow and only the idle hum of lights graced the stage, neither broke apart.
By the time Mettaton did withdraw—because nothing good lasted forever—Tenna committed as many details to memory as possible. The slight wave in his hair. The angle of his jaw. The pressure of his palm. The dip in his lower back. The sliver of space between his lips after he licked them, again and again. The glisten of his visible eye. The heat they shared, the subtle thrum mimicking a pulse, the hint of a groan, as if to say not yet, just a little longer, and a thousand other unspoken things that had always been there.
Now if only he could restore that radiant smile, then Tenna would be set for life.
He didn’t. Not when he departed and not the following night upon his return, because he did return, despite it all. That counted for something, yeah? Better than ditching TV World for good.
And when Mettaton claimed an empty stage for his practice, where Tenna also awaited him with a dozen shoes at his disposal... he swore Mettaton’s lips quirked into the briefest smile before selecting a pair.
“Ya know, if you keep this up—”
His face distorted. Shit. There he went running his mouth again. Needed to sever his tongue after spewing that load of garbage. Because why ruin the moment? Why end a good thing—probably the best thing that happened to him in quite a while—on a sour note? Nope, not happening. Not on Tenna’s watch.
However.
“What was that? Did you say something, Mr. Tenna?”
Somebody made it rather difficult for him to keep a clear signal, in more ways than one.
He couldn’t help it. Mettaton had been killing it with his dance practice lately. Never missed a rehearsal, so to speak. All off the books, of course, but Tenna carved out time to aid him after his shows. Always when the production crew wrapped up and wandered elsewhere. Always the two of them, alone in a random sound stage. And he had promised to help. Couldn’t do that without watching him, without drinking in the details of his carefully choreographed routine—of his entire body.
He... he was.... Wow. Tenna yearned to watch him much like Mettaton enjoyed watching television. Didn’t need to involve dancing, either. It just had to be his Lightner.
But the more he watched, the more he ached to join him. Dancing was typically better with a partner, after all. Tempting as it was to suggest it, Tenna smothered the idea. No sense in distracting Mettaton. Poor guy had plenty on his plate. And Tenna... well, he should’ve been grateful. Why get greedy, hmm? Why couldn’t he settle with what he had? Watching sufficed. That had to sate his appetite.
But whenever Mettaton hurried towards him—like he was right now—Tenna feared he’d do more than blurt out a stupid line or two. He might actually act on it.
God, did he comprehend how stunning he was? No stylist required, for sure. And he evolved with each midnight visit, his pink body amassing mechanical components. A blend of metal and glass, of wires and glitter, of pitch black and vibrant pink against chrome. All a reflection of his swelling confidence, too. Couldn’t beat that natural allure. It certainly hooked Tenna.
A lot, actually. Maybe too much.
Oh, right. He was waiting for him to respond. And Tenna was just standing there and staring at him. Wonderful! Way to miss every damn cue card!
“Ah! N-no, it’s nothing!” He fiddled with his tie and forced a grin. “No worries! You’re doing GREAT, by the way! Best I’ve seen yet! Wanna go ANOTHER ROUND?”
“I thought you said something about... if I keep this up?” Mettaton tilted his head. “This meaning my dancing? Or something else, perhaps?”
“Uh, well, can’t say I know what you’re TALKING ABOUT, but—”
“Mr. Tenna, if I’m doing something wrong, I’d appreciate it if you told me. I won’t improve otherwise, and I—” He pouted. Oh, how dare he. The damn minx. He had to know the influence that had over him. “I’d prefer advice from someone with experience.”
“Who, ME?”
“Yes, you,” he chuckled out. “Who else would I be talking to?”
“Okay. Ya got me.” Tenna dramatically tossed up his hands. “What tipped ya off?”
“I’ve literally watched you dance on your program.”
Ah. Right. Two for two now with calling his bluff.
“So?” Mettaton stepped closer. One step. One too many, honestly. “What was on your mind, Mr. Tenna?”
Whenever his name rolled off Mettaton’s tongue like that... hopefully, he never noticed the tremble in his antennas. “Well, I was thinking out loud a second ago, but if you keep this up—” Tenna jerked his chin at Mettaton, dressed to the nines in sequins, silk, and stilettos. “—you’re well on your way to making that MUSICAL DEBUT.”
No response. He expected as much.
“I-I mean!” Tenna coughed up static. “That’s only if, uh... you WANT that! Ha ha! N-not gonna force ya onstage if you—”
“You mean it?”
Tenna froze, entranced by how his small, yet dazzling smile extended past his lips to sparkle in his eyes.
“You think I’m good enough to perform on your show?” Mettaton asked.
“You kidding me? You’ve BEEN enough right outta the gate! Think you’ll actually have FUN this time around.” Tenna held up a finger. “But I also know you’re a stickler for this kinda thing! Gotta respect that. Hard to find an HONEST WORKER these days! And you deserve nothing but THE BEST, so I’ve got a few pointers, if you’re interested.”
“I most definitely am. Please, tell me, Mr. Tenna. I’m all ears.”
Great! Enthusiasm like that was rare to come by. Sadly, it waned while Tenna rattled off his observations and suggestions. Kind of tricky to articulate posture corrections when it involved Mettaton’s body. Still, he tried. Maybe repeating himself would stick the landing. No? Alright, well... third time was a charm? Hopefully? Ugh, no dice. In that case—
“Could you perhaps show me?” Mettaton suggested. “I’ll benefit from that over a lecture.”
“Oh! Got it!” Tenna clapped his hands. Of course the guy who loved watching TV day in and day out preferred that. “Need me to provide a VISUAL AID? No problem!” Tenna slid upstage with a flourish, similar to his usual stint on-air. “One LIVE DEMONSTRATION, coming right—”
“Um, I meant... well, with me, actually.” Mettaton gestured to himself. “While I dance. Give me adjustments as I go? This whole being corporeal nonsense continues to elude me. Can’t tell if I’m slouching or not half the time. Even when I do, I’m clueless about how to correct that. But you notice, yes? And you can literally nudge me in the proper direction.”
Oh.
He meant....
Oh.
That wasn’t entirely what he had in mind. That meant not standing in the sweep distance to watch. That meant getting close, staying close. Also meant placing his hands upon that entrancing figure and hoping his frayed wires didn’t combust or snap from a mere touch.
No, he couldn’t do this. He shouldn’t. Because this flirted with disaster and threatened to do far worse than shatter his screen, and Mettaton was pouting again and... great. Great! Just fucking great!
Releasing a breath, Tenna downsized to better suit Mettaton’s height. “Alright.”
That sparked a smile. “Alright.”
Once Mettaton readied himself front and center, Tenna stood behind and snapped his fingers. Music played, lights swirled, and their more hands-on lesson began.
He followed Mettaton like a shadow, dancing alongside him as the melody swelled. Mere inches separated them. Tenna maintained that space while observing Mettaton. Ugh, doing precisely that roused more shakes, more ideas that conflicted with teaching.
Still, Tenna upheld his promise.
“Here.”
One hand settled on Mettaton’s shoulder to draw back and thus open his chest. Warmth radiated past Tenna’s glove, even when he retracted and the dance continued.
“Like this.”
He cradled an extended wrist, lifting it higher. Mettaton lengthened from head to toe in response. Tenna savored the way that smaller hand fit against his own for an extra second.
“Keep going.”
He dwarfed Mettaton’s torso while supporting his lower back. Needed to show him where to shift his weight, to sink into his heels instead of hunching forward. Tenna kept firm pressure against him until he understood the correct position. Or that’s what he told himself, anyways.
“Chin up.”
A finger brushed his jaw and gave a nudge. It was fine, honestly. Tenna was nitpicking at this point, searching for excuses to touch him and linger and whisper sweet nothings instead of swallowing them.
“Right....” He shouldn’t have leaned in, shouldn’t have agreed to this, shouldn’t have tested this paper-thin boundary. “There.”
Tenna curled fingers into Mettaton’s hips, repositioning them to aim straight ahead. A tiny adjustment. An unnecessary one, too. And yet that fleeting touch zipped through Tenna’s wires and left him dazed.
Mettaton danced on. Tenna lost his place, rewinding and replaying that precise instance a hundred times over. Enough of a distraction to catch him off guard. Literally. Because Mettaton floated across the stage one second and collided into Tenna the next.
He cursed as he stumbled, as he instinctively embraced Mettaton. Another precarious step, and Tenna regained balance. The music cut off by then, ending where they stopped.
And neither moved amidst their statuesque state.
“You okay?” Tenna asked after seemingly a lifetime.
Mettaton nodded, his hands braced upon Tenna’s chest sinking a little deeper. Or he imagined that, along with everything else. “I am.”
“Good.” Let go. “That’s good!” Let. Go. “A-and ya did good, as well!” Fuck, let go before you make this any worse than it already is. “More than good! Great! FANTASTIC! SUPERB! MARVELOUS! You’ve got it figured out.” Don’t give him a reason to shove you away. “Whaddya say? Ready for the limelight, SUPERSTAR?”
But damn it, he didn’t want to let go.
“Maybe.” Mettaton peeked up at him. “But are you okay, Mr. Tenna?”
Internal temperatures spiked. Antennas twitched as white noise riddled his face. Choking on a scream, Tenna released him.
“I-I’m fine! Great, actually!” He grinned, clasping unsteady hands behind his back. “Y-you caught me by surprise with that flourish of yours, but no harm done! Don’t you worry about me! Ha ha! Keep on dancing!”
Mettaton scrutinized him, as if to pinpoint a wrinkle in his jacket—or his statement. “Shall we take it from the top, then?”
“You bet! Ready whenever you are!”
No mistakes that time—from either of them. And long after Mettaton departed, Tenna remained on the stage. Recent footage of Mettaton’s practice looped on his face. He stayed up until dawn, recalling how well he fit against him... and how the warmth they shared had yet to abate.
Another night, another successful show. Tenna stuck around after cameras stopped rolling to check in with the production crew. The Darkners in this household didn’t have to humor him with running his show, but they did. What they lacked in experience, they made up for with enthusiasm. And wow, had they improved over the months! Almost gave his old crew a run for their money.
“Oh, we’re happy to help, Mr. Tenna! Anything to see Mettaton smile!”
That was the gist of what everyone said. Who was he to blame them? Had to pull out the stops for a lovely Lightner, including Tenna.
“Speaking of our STAR,” he said, “has anyone seen him?”
Apparently not. Someone passed him backstage during credits, but that was it. Tenna crossed his arms. Huh, no sign of him back in the Light World. Not in the living room, at least. Even if Mettaton wasn’t a recluse, there wasn’t any reason to leave the house at that hour. Surely he was somewhere in TV World.
But where?
Backstage chatter faded to an echo as Tenna wandered the studio. He peeked into dressing rooms and sound stages, but never caught a glimpse of Mettaton. Halfway through his search, Tenna frowned. He wasn’t...? No, Mettaton would’ve piped up if he was upset—if Tenna had done anything to scare him off. Regardless, maybe it was best to give him space. No need to overstep boundaries or outstay his welcome.
As he was about to call it quits, Tenna heard it: music thrumming in the walls.
He pivoted and ambled towards the source. Synth tunes intensified. Around the corner, dim lights seeped past a cracked door. The music stopped by then, but Tenna entered the sound stage’s ground level. No one sat in the audience seats. He imagined no one manned the stage lights, either, all powered on and stationary.
But there was someone onstage.
Mettaton manipulated a remote, tucking it into the footlights. He rose and held a dramatic pose. Music reemerged gradually.
And then he danced.
Tenna smiled, walking down the aisle as Mettaton rehearsed. His glowing screen stayed glued to the stage as he plopped into a velvet seat. Somewhere smack dab in the middle, to better enjoy the show. And what a spectacular show he put on. Because up there? Basking in the colored lights and reverberations? Mettaton was nothing short of divine.
Oh, how far he had come since they started! Felt like yesterday when Mettaton first arrived, too petrified to be on live television. Now? Those stage fright jitters evaporated, like they never existed to begin with. What remained was a confident dancer, worthy of selling out concert venues in the Light World and Dark World. Quite the gorgeous entertainer, too. Hard to ignore those legs that helped him glide across the stage.
He also noticed the slight misstep mid-performance that knocked Mettaton off balance. Tenna gasped, ready to bolt ahead and check on him. Instead, he froze. Mettaton fell, yet recovered seamlessly, tumbling and vaulting back onto his feet, as if it was a part of the routine.
Tenna’s lips twitched. Damn, that was slick. Where did he even learn that?! Certainly wasn’t from him. But this type of surprise... yeah, Tenna could get used to that. Easily. Same with watching Mettaton dance, preferably like this—just them and nobody else. And that teetered into dangerous territory; if Tenna wasn’t careful, this pseudo-private performance was bound to spoil him.
All good things came to an end, though. The song finished, and Mettaton struck a pose on the final note. Silence loomed in its wake. After a beat, Tenna applauded him.
“BRAVO!” He rose while clapping. “What a—”
“FUCK!”
Okay, well. Mettaton didn’t recover period when he collapsed.
“H-hey! You alright?!” Tenna muttered a curse before rushing to the stage. “Didn’t mean to SCARE THE DAYLIGHTS outta you.”
Mettaton craned his head back. “Mr. Tenna...? Oh. Oh!” Heaving out a massive mechanical sigh, he sprawled out on the floor. “My apologies, I didn’t see you come in. Blinded by the lights and what not. I’m still getting used to these damn robotic sensors whenever I visit.”
“Ah, that figures.” Tenna sat next to him. “You didn’t hurt yourself with that crash, did ya?”
“Only my pride.” His eyes widened. “Wait, you saw that? My... um, messing around up here?”
“Seriously? Messing around? THAT’S what you’re calling it?! Okay, cut the cameras. First off, your PERFORMANCE was PHENOMENAL! So give yourself some credit, yeah?”
Mettaton said nothing, yet chewed on his lip while slightly averting his gaze.
“Second off,” Tenna continued, “yeah, I saw the whole thing, beginning to end. Didn’t mean to intrude, but—” He whistled to emphasize his statement. “—that was one impressive routine ya got there! Couldn’t help myself. Just had to stick around and watch.”
More silence. Lovely. Maybe showing up was ruining the moment. Or every moment they spent together.
“A-ah, well anywho! I was, ya know, checking in with you. See if you were alright before ya had to leave, so I’ll get outta your hair and—”
“You liked it?”
Tenna froze. Mettaton slowly sat up, regarding him with a mix of anxiety and elation.
“I had planned to save this for later,” he added. “You know, express my gratitude for everything you’ve done for me by showing off my moves. I wanted—no, needed it to be perfect. Hence all this.” Mettaton wet his lips and Tenna hoped he didn’t hear the high-pitched whine he failed to suppress. “I suppose the element of surprise is out the window, but I hope that you liked the show, Mr. Tenna.”
Thankfully, he didn’t blast a test card on his screen. Or send a technical difficulties transmission throughout TV World. But he did chuckle at a low volume and smile fondly.
“Mettaton, I didn’t like your performance,” he murmured. “I LOVED IT.”
Tenna caught him smiling countless times by now, but the way his lips curled right then? That was the brightest and most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed.
Mettaton was the one who asked. No, scratch that. He insisted. Walked straight up to Tenna during a commercial break and spoke with utmost conviction.
“I’m ready.”
No need to inquire further. Tenna already knew. Because he had been wanting to showcase his guest star’s talents since the beginning. Good thing he waited, though; Mettaton improved since then, his skills matching his ambitions. And if he considered himself ready? Then it was as good as done.
Tenna simply had to keep up with this Lightner, now that the ball was rolling.
He pulled a few strings to accommodate Mettaton’s last-minute performance. Nobody complained, especially not Tenna. Because he loved seeing Mettaton dressed in glittery blacks and pinks, loved seeing him saunter onstage like he owned the place, loved seeing countless nights of practice and mistakes and frustrations and doubts all lead to a flawless musical number.
For Tenna, it was worth it. Hopefully Mettaton felt the same way. Why else would he smile amidst his debut performance?
A steady bass vibrated in the foundations. Mettaton swept across the stage in sync with the synth pop melody. The audience cheered and sang along with the catchy chorus. Pulsing lights washed over Mettaton, dazzling like a kaleidoscope. And Tenna remained backstage to admire him from the shadows.
Wow. Just... wow! Look at him! Then again, how could anyone look elsewhere while Mettaton danced and sang? In all his years in show business, this was hands down Tenna’s favorite broadcast.
Sadly, the song finished, thus completing Mettaton’s performance. Deafening applause erupted in the studio. Even the production crew clapped and whistled for Mettaton, Tenna included. He deserved it. Every last drop of it. And to think this was only the beginning! So long as he kept dreaming big and soaring skywards, nothing would hinder Mettaton.
And Tenna hoped to be there as he ascended to the stars.
The curtain dropped and commercials ran. Various Darkners prepared for the final stretch of the late-night show, but took a second to praise Mettaton in passing. Tenna required more than a second, though; he needed the entire six-minute break and then some.
“Now THAT was a TOP TIER PERFORMANCE!” he called out. “Couldn’t have asked for anything better than—WHOA!”
Mettaton didn’t walk offstage; he ran, then leaped towards him. Tenna braced himself just in time to catch Mettaton. The impact staggered him, but it was worth it to hear that intoxicating squeal.
“Did you see me?!” His mechanical arms elongated to coil around Tenna several times. “I pulled it off! Not a single stumble, either!”
Speaking of stumbling, Tenna concealed his own lack of balance with a bit of fancy footwork. He spun backstage with Mettaton in his embrace. If any crew members noticed them... ah, fuck it. Might as well seize the opportunity. Soak up the attention while it lasted.
“Are ya kidding me?! OF COURSE I SAW YOU! WHO DIDN’T?! Wouldn’t have missed it for THE WHOLE WORLD!” Tenna laughed, spun some more, then set Mettaton onto the floor. “And YOU were MAGNIFICENT! A REAL SHOWSTOPPER! Why, I’d be here until the cows came home, listing off—”
The words hitched and distorted as someone yanked on him. Tenna nearly tripped again, yet righted his footing. All the while, Mettaton giggled, dancing backstage without a care in the world... and whisked Tenna along with him.
“You really think so?” he asked.
Tenna tilted his head. “Think what?”
Sparse lights gleamed off his gorgeous face. “That you could come up with enough tokens of affection to require the entire night to recite them?”
A chuckle reverberated in his audio output. Tension melted off his shoulders as Tenna scaled down in size and closed the distance. His hands found a home against Mettaton, just as he settled into the rhythm of their dance.
“That’s the real kicker,” he murmured. “I don’t need to come up with anything; I already have.”
To Tenna’s surprise, Mettaton smiled and followed his lead. “Care to enlighten me?”
He did. For each step, another superlative, another morsel of praise outmatching a sugar-coated confection. Every bottled thought and sentiment he stashed away since they met uncorked and flowed. Sure, Mettaton wasn’t ready for prime time on day one, but Tenna never viewed him as inferior; in truth, his awe and admiration for the budding star intensified night after night. And he didn’t skimp on the details as he revolved around Mettaton.
He was spectacular. He was talented. He was elegant and refined, yet also witty and not afraid to get his hands messy, so to speak. He was unrelenting and determined. He was brighter than the stage lights combined. He was capable of making any dream a reality, so long as he wanted it. That plus everything in between made him an indomitable force, an absolute silver screen sensation, and an inspiration to Darkners and Lightners alike.
“But above all else,” Tenna said, adjusting his volume for only Mettaton to hear, “you are absolutely, without a dou—”
His foot snagged on a stray cable. Ah, yes. Because why would their impromptu dance floor be devoid of tripping hazards? Blurting out a curse, Tenna wobbled and took a nosedive. With any luck, the impact would bruise his pride more than his glass face.
But nothing hit him.
The tumbling world came to a standstill. Elongated arms cradled Tenna. And there was Mettaton looming above, holding him in an elaborate dip.
“Careful, Mr. Tenna,” he teased. “Wouldn’t want to injure yourself before you’re back on-air.”
His antennas trembled. “A-ah, right! Of course! I, uh....” Never mind. Everything trembled. “Thanks for that!”
And yet Mettaton didn’t reel him upright. Or withdraw. Or do anything to mind the gap between them. In fact, he smiled, tightened his hold, and drew closer.
“Darling,” he whispered, “the pleasure is all mine.”
Static sputtered. Chills intermixed with heat until his wires buzzed. Tenna relished the sight of Mettaton leaning in and waited for him to take the lead in this dance. Because whatever he wanted? Tenna was more than happy to—
“Sixty seconds until we’re live!”
Both stiffened at the PA shouting. Darkners scurried to their positions. Nobody paid no heed to them clutching each other in that backstage corner. After a moment, Mettaton reeled up and brought Tenna to his feet.
“That’s your cue,” he said, unraveling his arms from Tenna—unfortunately. “Don’t let me keep you any longer than I already have.”
“Please, ya make it sound like you’re a burden.” He went through the motions of fixing his attire. “Trust me when I say I’m MORE THAN HAPPY to keep you around as LONG AS POSSIBLE.”
Tenna flinched. Shit, now wasn’t the time or place to mention that.
“So, uh—” He cleared his throat, bouncing back to maximum height with a toss of his hands. “H-how do I look?!”
Mettaton blinked. Tenna smothered the dreadful urge to scream.
Smooth. Real fucking smoothing.
“Y-ya know what?!” His nervous grin quaked into a jagged line. “FORGET WHAT I SAID! Just gonna head out and DO MY DAMN JOB—”
In a fluid motion, Mettaton grasped Tenna’s tie, jerked him down, and met him halfway to kiss the side of his face.
Whatever jolted in Tenna eclipsed a power surge amidst a thunderstorm. It tingled in his wires and glass face, nearly fried his capacitor, and inundated him with decadent shivers. Thanks to a kiss. From Mettaton, at that. Something tender, yet insatiable, if his lingering lips—plush and oh-so warm—implied anything.
Just as Tenna processed whatever the fuck happened, Mettaton pulled away and smirked. “You—” He smoothed out his tie, yet traced circles into him, over and over. “—always make me happy, darling.”
Tenna gawked. What the hell had he done to deserve this Lightner’s undivided attention? Hard to ask that when a transmission boomed in his head with the current countdown.
Before Mettaton fully retracted, Tenna swiped one of his hands. He treated it like a fragile sculpture and raised it to his lips. A sequin glove separated them, but it never hindered Tenna from kissing his knuckles. Slowly, deeply, desperately.
“You and me both, doll,” he groaned.
A tiny gasp slipped out of Mettaton. Maybe it was due to that gesture. Or maybe the flower blooming from Tenna’s nose—ah, a red rose; how fitting—was to blame. No time to ask or explain. Still, Tenna cracked a smile, plucked the rose, and offered it to Mettaton.
To his delight, he accepted it without hesitation.
One last squeeze, and Tenna released him. He headed for the stage, arriving with mere seconds to spare. Not his first time hosting a program with a fuzzy signal, but at least he welcomed the static teasing the frequencies that night. Besides, the show must go on and all that.
But whenever he had a chance, fleeting as it was, Tenna peeked stage left and found the distinct silhouette of Mettaton backstage, watching him and twirling a rose. Hopefully, he didn’t mind waiting until after the show for them to pick up where they left off. Tenna certainly didn’t; Mettaton had always been worth the wait—now and forever.