Chapter Text
You have no idea why you agreed to this. You suppose you could chalk it up to being fed up with never getting yourself out there and trying to meet new people. That, and the fact that it was Valentine’s Day. But out of all the people in Cyber City you could have said yes to, you allowed yourself to be taken off the market by a short, garbage-smelling, unstable, washed-out salesman. Boy, your standards were lower than you thought.
You’ve been mulling over that moment ever since you had uttered the words out of your mouth, replaying it to find the hidden detail that would give you the answer as to what the hell you were thinking. You had taken an alternative route that day while walking from work, because the roads were clogged up with cars and you really wanted to get home as soon as possible. Cyber City was notorious for its bustling traffic, both on the roads and on the pavements, and today was no different. Unfortunately, you had the genius idea of walking right into a dingy alleyway, and as you approached a large dumpster, you were startled by the lid being forcefully pushed open and clanging on the wall. And then he poked his comically long nose out of it.
Spamton G. Spamton. The tiny addison-looking creep that had locked eyes with you the minute you shouted in shock, with a grin so shit-eating it emanated right off him, sleazy and malicious and downright untrustworthy. The first thing he had done when he saw you was spurt some nonsense about deals going down the drain and living in garbage cans, which he then turned around and punched the daylights out of. After that he had tried to strike some kind of deal with you concerning your ‘Heart Shaped Object’ as he had put it. He talked with this weird glitchy dialect that would intercut itself with advertising quips and nonsensical idioms, and he seemed to really like throwing in random sentences about being alone and desperation. You very quickly decided that this guy was absolutely insane and proceeded to back away slowly. He had caught onto this, and mentioned something about ‘returning to your own little sponge.’
This is how you got yourself into your current situation of driving to the nearby restaurant where your date would be.
You’re not sure why, but the moment you had admitted you had no one for Valentines, he seemed to quieten, confused by your answer. Then, he changed his trajectory, and struck a different kind of deal. Instead of trading over your ‘Light’, you would instead go on a date with him this Valentines, and you’d get your end of the bargain. You were hesitant at first. Okay, very hesitant. You did not really want to go on a date with this lunatic, and you still didn’t know what this deal was all about, what he had wanted from you in the first place. But there was something about him you couldn’t put your finger on. Something in his features that gave him away. It might have been tiredness, or hopefulness, or maybe he was just saying it for a joke. But it felt more like understanding. That you were both lonely hearts on a day where you didn’t really want to be alone. And so, against all better judgement, you had agreed.
You had to admit, it was funny seeing his jaw drop. You suppose he hadn’t expected a yes, and had just been trying to make conversation this whole time. That actually sounded sad now that you thought about it. A guy living in dumpsters with nothing but a presumed failed legacy must get awfully lonely. But he was ecstatic to hear it, telling you to meet with him the next night at the restaurant by the acid lake. Compared to his earlier smiles which now seemed forced, a genuine smile looked real nice on him. He did have one hell of an ugly laugh though, it sounded like a deranged clown, cutting off randomly and repetitive, just like the rest of him. You had left shortly after that, finding your way back home to process what the fuck you just agreed to.
Suffice to say, you still weren’t sure if this was a good decision or not. But as you neared the restaurant’s parking lot, you knew there was no turning back now.
You were going on a date with Spamton, whether you liked it or not.
This was a date, and so like any other date you had been to, which admittedly wasn’t many, you had put in the effort of wearing something more formal and presentable. Not that your date had particularly high standards, but that didn’t matter. You locked your car and walked towards the front entrance, trying to spot your accompanying acquaintance. It didn’t take you long. He stuck out like a sore thumb.
He was wearing the same beaten black suit jacket, although it looked slightly less dirtied than it had been yesterday. His white slacks were stitched up, and his unnaturally white shoes even looked sort of shiny. You will admit, his slicked-back jet hair did look good on him, even if it was riddled with grease and oil.
He stood at the entrance to the restaurant, holding a singular flower and looking every which way nervously. He looked like he was already sweating buckets. As you draw closer, he finally notices you, and gives you an award losing smile.
“HEY HEY !! IF IT ISN’T MY [[Number 1 Rated Customer]]!” He bellows out, louder than anyone else on the street. You weren’t technically a customer, since you hadn’t bought anything from him at all, but you were learning to just take everything he said with a pinch of salt. Or a large dumping of salt.
Spamton gives you a once-over, admiring your appearance and acting a little surprised you put the effort in for him.
“[[H0chi Mama]]! YOU LOOK [11/5] STARS [Toots]!!” He says, acting like you were priceless. You’ve certainly never been called toots by a puppet before, but this evening was going to be a lot of firsts for you.
“Oh, uh, thanks. You look…” Better not blow this. He may be rough around the edges but you were not going to insult him within the first five minutes of this thing.
“You look very nice too.” You decided on.
“[Really]?” He asks, giving himself a look now, clearly not expecting to have any niceties reciprocated. He gives a short laugh. “WELL OF COURSE I DO! I’M [Irresistible Pr1ces]! ANY [[Man, Woman or]] WOULD [Die] AT THE [Site] OF ME!!”
You have the hunch that his confidence is just a faux pas, but whatever gets him through this date, you suppose.
“Is that flower for me?” You ask, pointing to the rather depressing looking daisy being strangled by Spamton’s grip.
“[Indeed]! NOW, IT’S NOTHING [FancyPants], BUT ITS ALL I COULD [[These Deals 4re St3als]] AND IT”S [[100% Quality Guaranteed!!]]”
Figured he couldn’t even afford flowers, never mind the fact he’s obviously swiped this one from a stand. You suppose the sentiment is nice? Although why he’s then dragged you to a restaurant makes you wonder if he’s expecting you to pay the bill. You guess you’ll just have to find out. For now though, you’re more focused on making this go as smoothly as humanely possible when your date is someone like Spamton.
He hands the flower and you take it, tucking it into your pocket so it sticks out. He smiles, obviously proud of himself.
You signal to the restaurant’s entrance and he walks alongside you, his head only reaching your shoulder. You wondered if he was light, because if so you could totally pick him up like a doll. You realise how demeaning that would probably be though. Then you wonder if he’s even been around another person in a while, because if so he definitely won’t be the best at social interaction of any kind. Which you’re finding out is becoming increasingly obvious. You just hope he doesn’t make a fool of himself inside.
The hostess standing at the front of the restaurant snaps you out of your thoughts, asking if you have a reservation. You turn to head to Spamton.
“…Do we have a reservation?” You ask him. He turns his head to grin deviously at you.
“OF COURSE [Not]!! I’M NOT MADE OF [kr0mer]!!” He then begins to climb up the hostess’ stand, trying to reach her height and addressing her. “BUT. IF YOU [Click the link below] YOU ‘LL RECIEVE FR3E [[Top Ten Reasons Why You Should]] GIVE US A TABLE!”
You’re not surprised he didn’t book a reservation. He didn’t seem to be that well off. Or in possession of any money whatsoever. You just hoped there would be a table free for you both. And as fate would have it, there was.
The hostess tells you through bared teeth there is, in fact, a table for two free just by the window in the back, taking a menu and leading you inside. She looks back warily at Spamton sliding down from the stand while she walks. Spamton grins at you again, proud of himself for doing the bare minimum, and leads on.
The restaurant is quite well-decorated and furnished, with bricked walls and vines hanging from the ceiling. The lights are low and bathe you in warm yellow lights, and soft music plays in the background. It’s cozy and quiet, and you’re surprised there aren’t as many people inside. You have to hand it to him, Spamton knows where to take someone.
He turns to you a little to talk while he walks. “THIS IS THE [1] LOCATION I’M NOT [[Access:Denied]] FROM, BUT ITS A [[Beauty]] NONE THE LESS, RIGHT?”
…Spamton knows where to take someone he won’t be thrown out of. Probably why it’s so quiet. Everyone else will most likely have gone to the restaurants near the mansion, a place he’s apparently banned from. You make a mental note to bring it up with him later. It might make for interesting conversation.
The hostess brings you to your table, and you both sit down. You’re both handed menus, and while you flick through the options, you notice Spamton staring at the first page, transfixed by all the options.
“…HOLY T0LEDO… IT’S BEEN [So Long!] SINCE… SINCE…” He’s almost whispering with how quiet he’s become. You swear you can see his bi-coloured glasses begin to dim and lose colour.
“Hey Spamton, you alright?” You ask, a little concerned with his reaction. He snaps back at you, grinning wide.
“PERFECTLY [100%]!! I’M JUST… [Admiring The View]. THE [[Option Select]]S THAT IS!! I JUSt…” His smile falters once more, clearly he’s not telling you something.
“A-A-A-ANYWAY!! [[What’re you buying]]?”
You haven’t had a proper look at the menu yet, so you skim through quickly. You decide steak sounds good, and you’ve never been too keen on alcohol, but you reckon a Chardonnay would be alright. When the waiter comes back for your order you go first. Spamton clearly can’t decide from the wide array of choices, so he just goes for the same as you.
“AND A GLASS OF [Red] TOO!” He adds. You hope he isn’t a lightweight, and if he is, you hope he only orders one. If he hasn’t eaten, and you have suspicions he hasn’t, it’ll go right through him. You really don’t want to know what he’s like when he’s drunk, as he’s already a handful sober.
The drinks come fairly quickly, and it’s here that you decide to strike up some conversation.
“So, Spamton. Tell me about yourself.” You started.
“LOOKING TO HEAR MY [Bio] HUH?? THEN [[Strap Yourself In]]!” You don’t think you can prepare yourself for whatever bouts of rambling he’ll pull out of his ass, but you try anyway.
“WELL YOU ALREADY KNOW I’M EV3RY BUDDY ‘S FAVORITE [[Number 1 Rated Salesman1997]]! BUT THERE’S MOrE TO IT THEN YOU THOUGHT!! BELIEVE IT OR !! I USED TO be A BIG SHOT. THE BIGGEST!!! I HAD EVERYTHING YOU COULD [Need] IN LYFE! W1LD PR1ZES, HOTSINGLE, 100 CUSTOMER, AND MOST OF ALL... [Hyperlink Blocked].”
That last word, you’ve heard him mention it before. Whenever he says it it’s like it’s a sort of censor for another word, like his own voice is preventing him from mentioning it. You don’t ask him about it for now. You just let him keep talking.
“I HAD A [[Room With a View]] IN QUEEN’S [Mansion], AND I WAS [Cutting] DEALS WITH THE BEST OF THEM! CARS, COMMERCIALS, MY OWN SIGNATURE [[BIG SHOT]] BRAND!! I WAS THE FACE YOU [Cry Yourself To Sleep] OVER!!!”
It’s clear he looks back on these days fondly, and misses them dearly. It turns out he was the talk of the town years ago, and a celebrity who garnered a lot of respect. It’s a stark contrast to the mess of a man you see before you, but glimpses of the past find his way into how he talks and presents himself. You could see him being this big shot. Although now…
“Sounds like you were pretty popular back then. You must’ve had a lot of friends.” You say.
“FRIENDS?…” He stops his boasting at that word, before forcing out a laugh that is painful to hear.
“EAHAEHAEHAEHAEH!!! OF [Coarse] I DID! LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS-“ He keeps repeating the words, stuck in a sort of loop. When you call out his name, he stops, glasses going dark for a moment, confirming what you saw earlier. They snap back to their usual brightness quickly, and he gives a strained smile.
“NEXT QUESTION.” He says sharply, obviously not wanting to dwell on his past any longer.
“Okay… So you’re a salesman, yeah?”
“[[Correct!]]”
“Why’d you choose that as a job? For the money?”
“NO!!! WELL… YES. BUT I WAS NEVER IN IT JUST FOR THE MONEY!!! I WAS ONLY EVER IN IT FOR… THE [Freedom]. TO MAKE YOUR OWN [Deals], TO CALL YOUR OWN [Shots]. AND SOMETIMES IN THE MORNING, A LITTLE… [Hyperlink Blocked]. SOUNDS GOOD. DOESN;T IT?TOOTS?”
“I… suppose so.” You’re not really sure how to respond to that. “And do you have like, a store or something?”
“AS A MATTER OF FACT, I DO!! MY [[Home-made Storefront Site]] IN THE [[Trash Area Closed For Repairs.]]”
“Trash area?”
“LISTEN LITTLE [Sponge], TYMES ARE TOUGH, YOU CAN’T JUST [Cheat] YOU’RE WAY INTO A [[Respectable Location]] WITHOUT SOME [Blood, Sweat and Tears]. AND I’VE [Lost] PLENTY OF THAT ALREADY!!”
It quickly dawns on you just how much of a bad situation he’s in. Even his job is built on a pile of literal trash, and you doubt the dumpster does him any good. He’s probably used to it, but you’d feel guilty just letting him walk away back into that dingy alleyway. The morally correct thing to do would be to let him stay the night. At least, that’ll be your excuse for when you ask him. It’s not just because with every word he speaks you feel more and more sorry for him, and that maybe if you showed him a little hospitality and care, it might get him through the week.
The food comes before you can ask, though. The steaks look mouth-watering, and you quickly begin to dig in. After a few mouthfuls, you look up to find Spamton hasn’t touched his food.
“Is the food alright? Is something wrong?” You ask.
“I…” He mutters out, like he’s not really paying attention to you. He’s transfixed by the steak, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. He tentatively picks up his knife and fork, and makes quick work of his meal. He only puts the smallest piece in his mouth at first, and when the flavour hits his tongue it’s like he’s been shot in the head with how still he goes. So when his face scrunches up and his eyes water like they’re about to burst into pools of tears, you’re shocked to say the least.
“Oh shit, are you alright?” You ask.
Spamton slowly sinks into his elbow resting on the table, barely able to hold himself together, never mind respond to you.
“Y-Y-Y-YEP! EVERY THING… IS GRE4T…. FOOD…. SO G0OD…. OH MY [[God]].”
He probably hasn’t had a decent meal in a long time, nevermind a high quality cooked meal such as this. You’re not really good with comforting people, so you really aren’t sure how to handle this situation.
“Uh… good? You should probably keep eating, otherwise it’ll get cold…” You trail off, not knowing where to really go with this. Luckily, Spamton snaps out of his flavour crisis and immediately begins tearing the ever loving shit out of the steak. He’s like a beast with how quick he’s eating, it’s one hell of a sight to see. The plate is literally licked clean by the time he’s done, while you still have half a steak left.
“[Gud L0rd] THAT WAS [Delicis]!! HEY HEY, YOU GONNA EAT THAT??” He’s eyeing the rest of your steak hungrily, clearing wanting seconds. You are going to eat it, actually, but you figure giving him another bite wouldn’t hurt. He seems to appreciate the gesture, flashing his slightly threatening canines at you as he engulfs the last piece of edible heaven.
Then he downs the wine glass and you hope to God the food he’s just inhaled will absorb most of the alcohol before it hits him. He suggests getting another drink, and you hesitantly agree, if only to grab yourself a nice dessert. You’ve earned it for keeping your sanity so far.
“SO! I’VE TOLD YOU [Mine], NOW YOU TELL ME [Yours]!” He watches you intently while you eat, waiting for… something.
You arch a brow at him. “What, like about myself?”
“YES.”
Oh no. It’s always difficult to talk about yourself to other people. You never know what will interest them and what you definitely shouldn’t mention. The rules in conversation for each person always change, and you wish it wasn’t a guessing game trying to figure out what they wanted to hear. Still, you suppose Spamton’s rules are pretty lax, and mostly just consist of avoiding talking about sore subjects.
You begin, trying to sound a little more confident than you are. “Well, I have a job doing graphics, but at home I take commissions from people online. Creative projects, things like that… It’s not really anything special.”
“[Creativity] HUH? SO YOU MAKE YOUR [Trade?]”
“Y-yeah! I guess so! People pay me to make fanworks for them, usually from other media or their own original creations. I don’t make enough to quit my main job, though, so I still have to get out of bed each day and commute...” You grimace a little at the end, unsure of how that sounded. Spamton, however, is enthusiastically engaged.
“I DON’T SEE [Y] NOT. PEOPLE WOULD DEFINITELY BUY [[Custom]] TO THEIR [Like and Subscribe]ING! MAYBE YOU AREN’T [[Advertise]] ENOUGH!”
“Ha, maybe… it’s okay though, I don’t mind my main job. I usually just make posters for companies or branding for events. It’s kinda the same thing, except a little more influential, I suppose?”
“WOW! YOU MUST BE [Talented]! HAVING ALL THESE [worms] [[Begging and Screaming At Your Door]] FOR MORE!! THAT’S WHAT I CALL A [[BIGSHOT]]!” He means it, earnest and gazing at you with intrigue and admiration.
“Well, I’m just another person here in this city. You were actually a celebrity, that’s a huge deal dude! I mean, I can’t even believe I’m on a date with someone who was like, literally one of the most famous people in town.” Maybe the Chardonnay is getting to you a little, but you’re not sure where these words are coming from. Spamton seems to really like them though, it all feeding his enormous ego.
“AW [Shucks!], NO NEED TO [[Flatter]] ME [Doll]… BUT KEEP THE [Sweet Talk] COMING IF YOU WANT.” He smirks at you, amused.
The drinks come, and he doesn’t take his eyes off you as he takes a long sip of his wine. You feel your cheeks redden a little, not used to being treated this way. You can’t see them too well due to the glasses, but you swear they were half-lidded. Did he… like you? Was this date actually going well?
As you look at the vines hanging from the ceiling of the restaurant, you’re reminded of why he brought you here in the first place.
“Hey Spam, I know you chose here because it’s the only place you’re not banned from, but how’d you find it?”
“AH! NOW THAT’S A GOOD [StoryTime]!!” He’s excited to relay another positive venture into his past, and as you drink, you realise he’s quite the good storyteller.
“SO BACK IN MY [[BIGSHOT]] DAYS, I WAS QUITE THE [Catch Our Latest Sale] AS YOU CAN [Image in], I WAS THE TOP OF THE [[Populare]] CHARTS!! …BUT THAT MADE IT A LITTOL [Tricky] 2 GET SOME [Peace And Quiet] WHEN [Fans] WANTED MY [[Autographs]] WHENEVER THEY GOT THE [Nows Your Chance To]. I USED TO BRING MY [Date]S TO THE RESTAURANTS OWNED BY THE [Mansion], BUT THAT DIDN’T REALLY WORK AFTER A WHILE, SO I HAD TO [Hunt] FOR A [Quiet, Quiet] LOCATION. THAT’S WHEN I FOUND HERE!! QUIET AND [[Out Of Sight]]… SORTA. POINT IS, IT’S JUST NOT AS [Well-Known] SO IT [[Working Condition]] 4 ME!”
His smile cracks a little as he starts thinking about what comes next in his historical timeline. It seems he’s always a little conflicted when remembering his past, memories painted in streaks of black and white and he can never remember the good without remembering the bad.
“WHEN I… [[Fall From Grace]], I LOST THE [Spark] THAT ALLOWED ME [Entry] INTO THEIR [Establishment]. I’LL ADMIT, I DIDN’T EXACTLY CARRY MYSELF WITH [[Dignity]], SO I WAS COLLECTING A [Track Record] OF [[Never step foot into these premises again]]. I GUESS I JUST WANTED TO KEEP SOMETHING FROM IT ALL. SO I ALWAYS [Tread Carefully] WHEN IT CAME TO HERE. I GUESS THE [[Staff]] KNOW ME WELL ENOUGH THAT THEY DIDN’T [Blame] ME FOR WHAT HAPPENED. I DON’T THINK THE [Newer] STAFF LIKE ME, BUT THEY NEVER CARE ALL TOO MUCH WHEN I COME [[Empty-Handed]]… I D0N T REALLY KNOW WHY…”
He seems confused at this, like he was expecting them to treat him like the others. Kindness doesn’t seem to be something he knows all too well.
Your dessert arrives not long after, and as you dig in, he takes a huge gulp from his wine glass, almost drinking it all. He doesn’t really drink as much as inhale what he’s given, and you decide you’ll stop him if he tries to order another anytime soon. Then, he starts to speak again, his voice a little lower than how he’s been speaking most of the evening.
“Y’KNOW TOOTS… THIS LITTOL [Date] OF OURS… AT FIRST I ONLY BROUGHT IT UP AS ANOTHER [[Scam]] TO SWIPE YOUR [HeartShapedObject].”
You stop enjoying your carefully handcrafted cheesecake to stare at him. He doesn’t pay any mind to you.
“BUT THE MORE I’VE GOTTEN TO [Know] YOU, THE MORE I’VE… LIKED OUR [Interaction]."
He’s tending his fingers, and he’s struggling to hold eye contact as he gives a shy smile. This is unlike how he’s been before. You didn’t think you were going to get anything genuine out of him. But here he is now, proving you wrong.
“I’VE REALLY [[Enjoying]] BEING WITH YOU [Tonite] DOLL. EVEN IF WE HAVEN’T SAID [Two] MUCH. IT’S BEEN NICE.”
His smile falters, and fades, and sorrow begins to bloom onto his features. You dare not speak.
“I DON’T REALLY GET TO [Socialise] MUCH ANYMO RE. GOTTEN MYSELF [[Denied Entry]] FROM A LOTTA PLACES, NOT JUST [Fine Dining]. LOST A LOT OF… [Friends]. LOST…. A LOt of…”
He’s barely audible now, and this time he goes still, glasses filled with dark static instead of their usual colour. You say his name, but he’s unresponsive, no longer reacting to any input from you like the last few times. It’s like he’s not even in his own body anymore. Like he’s far, far away and when he comes back home a little more of himself will be lost to the static. You really don’t want to lose him now. Not when you were finally getting to see him for who he really was.
You gently place a hand onto his arm still resting on the table, and try to get his attention once more. His breath hitches, glasses flickering. You ask him if you can hold his hand, just to try and ground him. He tries to make a noise, but it’s lost in his breath. Getting a little too worried to not panic, you move your chair over to his side of the table, leaning forward and taking your hand in his, squeezing it just as gently as you had his arm. He begins to stir, and you quietly keep calling his name.
“Spamton, you’re okay, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” You keep repeating those words, hoping he hears them. You hesitantly place your other hand on his shoulder and tentatively shake, hoping that the movement will bring him to. You feel your hand being squeezed back, and when you look down you realise he’s reciprocating the gesture. You’re made painfully aware of how intimate you’re being with your date in the middle of a restaurant, but that all fades away when Spamton’s glasses return to their pink and yellow hue and you meet his eyes. For a moment you both just stare at each other in the stillness. Then, he takes a breath, his eyes beginning to tear up, and he just looks so, so tired.
Something stabs you in the heart, and you realise you are not getting back into your car without this man. You’re taking him home and that’s final.
You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Spamton bursting out into broken laughter that devolves into a sob.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” You ask, feeling a little silly for it. There’s probably a lot of things wrong with him.
“I’MM, I’M [Sorry]. I’m A [[Mess]].” He says, trying to hold back tears. He seems overwhelmed. “IM 1 [Lousy] DATE IF I-I-I CaN’T [[Keep It Together]].”
“No, you’re not. I think you’re just overwhelmed. You wanna get some fresh air?”
“…MAYBE. T0O M'UCH [[Anything And Everything]].” It makes sense. A homeless, mentally unstable puppet finally gets to have a good meal, a regular conversation with someone, is treated with genuine concern and care, and oh, he’s also had two wines and weighs almost nothing. Yeah, this was bound to happen eventually.
“Look, we can pay for the meal and get out of here, and I can take you to my place if you like. I really don’t want to leave you out in the cold tonight, not like this.”
He looks at you like you’re God.
“FR3E [[Shelter]] FOR THE [Nite]?? YOU MUST BE [[$!$?]]ING ME! PULLIN G MY [Schnoz]!"
“No, I’m not! I really mean it.”
He looks a mixture of emotions, from shock to awe to even frustration. You’ve found it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking.
“BUT. BUT BUT BUT BUT. I’’M A [Ch3apSk4te]! I COULDN’ T EVEn AFFORD A [[Reserve Only]] OR [[Food Bill]]!! I:M [[Broken]] A [Terrible excuse] OF A !” He’s grabbing you by the arms now, words spilling out of him. You can practically see the thoughts raving in his mind, the panic. He’s falling apart in front of you, using you as both his physical and emotional support. “I EVEN WANTED TO [Swipe] YOUR [[HeartShapedObject]] AND [Decieving]! I DONT I DONT I DONT I DONT I DONT-“
“Spam!” You yell, not too loud as you are in a public space. “Listen, I know you haven’t been all that pure in your intentions, but I’ve gotten to know you this evening, and I do enjoy talking to you. You’re a really interesting guy, and you’ve been real nice to me too!”
He’s listening, but his shaking hasn’t stopped. He does loosen his grip on you a little though.
“I want to help you, and that’s not a joke or cruel prank. I don’t want you getting hurt tonight, not when you’ve drank and you’re emotionally all over the place. You understand?”
He keeps his head down for a minute, mulling over your words, before looking up at you. He looks so torn, and everything he was putting on as a front is long past his capabilities at this point. But he still tries.
“I… I JUST…I.” He’s trying to think of an excuse, anything to reject your offer. But you can tell he wants to accept your help. He’s far too desperate to say no to this.
You try to give him a little more encouragement. “Spam, it’s okay. I want to help you. You don’t have to say yes, but I really am okay with letting you stay the night.” You soothingly rub his shoulder a little with the hand that’s still there, and it seems to calm him down. He’s stopped shaking, anyhow.
He sighs, giving in. “ALRIGHT. ALRIGHT.” He sounds so distant, probably worn out mentally. You don’t blame him.
“[Water].” He mumbles, and you hand him a glass from the table. He doesn’t down it like he did the wine, instead carefully sipping at it, probably trying to sober up a little. You take this opportunity to return to your seat in time for the waiter to ask if you’d like the bill. You tell him yes, and that you’ll be paying, and Spamton gives you a weak, but grateful smile.
By the time you’re both out of the restaurant, Spamton is a little more awake and alive, although there’s a timid nervousness he now carries with him, and you’re unsure if it’s because of your offer, or if he’s just being cautious not to make any more wrong moves. He follows you to his car, and when he sees it, he gives out a whistle.
“[[Nice Ride]] YOU GOT THERE TOOTS! I HAVEN’T BEEN IN ONE OF THESE IN [Long ago, in a distant land].”
“Really?” You cock your head at him. Your car wasn’t exactly the most impressive. You got it for a fairly decent price and it had cup holders, but it wasn’t anything fancy.
“ShURE! NOW, IT’S NO [[Cungedero]], BUT IT’LL GET YOU [[Ride Around Town]]! I CALL [ShotGun]!!” He laughs and starts running towards your car, and you watch him fight with the door handle to pry it open for a solid minute, amused by his impatience. Until he notices you smiling and gives you a side eye. You fumble for your keys to unlock the door, a little guilty you watched him struggle. When you get inside, you find him looking at every part of the interior with glee, running his mouth over the many features and how much he thinks you bought it for, his little legs kicking from the seat. It would be adorable, but it’s Spamton. Spamton doesn’t do adorable. At least, you don’t think so.
After convincing him that yes, he does in fact need to put on his seatbelt, you drive out of the parking lot and are en route back to your flat.
About five minutes into the journey, you look over to check on Spamton. He hasn’t spoken since you set off, he hasn’t even looked in your direction. He’s just been watching the city and its neon lights pass by in a blur. You wonder if you should break the silence. Spamton answers that for you.
“SO I’VE BEEN MULLING OVER TONIGHT.” He starts, and a part of you hopes whatever he says next won’t be a rejection of some kind.
“I’VE BEEN WONDERING. YESTERDAY, IN THE [Local Alleyway]. WHY DID YOU SAY [Yes]? WHY’D YOU [[Agree To The Terms and Conditions]]?”
You’ve been asking yourself that same question from the second you did agree to the date. Before, you couldn’t understand why. But now, maybe you do.
“Because…” You pause, trying to find the right words and the right reasons. “I guess, when you first spoke to me, there was something about you I couldn’t put my finger on. You aren’t like anyone I’ve ever met here in Cyber City. But maybe… maybe that’s a good thing.”
He quirks a brow at you, confused. At least you’ve got his attention.
“I’ll admit, you did kinda creep me out at first. But, there was just something about you, and it just made me think that there’s more to you than you originally let on. Like there was someone worth taking a chance over. Don’t get me wrong, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, there’s a lotta things that aren’t right with you-”
“THAT’S FAIR.” He’s a little annoyed by your comment, but he’s not totally upset by it.
“-But, I can see that you’re someone who just wants to do well in life, and you’ve had a really tough time chasing that. I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through, whatever it was, and I definitely don’t think that whatever you did justifies you being homeless and at a breaking point. You’re not perfect, Spamton, but you’re not completely hopeless either.” You finish, glancing over to see his reaction.
Spamton turns away from you, looking down to the car’s floor. You’re both silent for a few moments, and you hope you haven’t angered him.
He speaks up again eventually.
“YOU THINK… I DON’T [[Deserve]] THIS? WHAT I’VE [Become]?” His tone is difficult to understand, you can’t tell if he’s angry or just confused. You shrug.
“Well, not really. I mean, maybe you did do some bad things when you were popular, or when you lost it all. But you’re not a bad person, I don’t think. You’re… I think you see yourself as being worse than you actually are.”
He doesn’t respond, and you keep the silence for a little while. When nothing comes out of him for a few more minutes, you look over to see his face, see if maybe you’ve said the wrong things. But when you do get a good look at him, you realise he’s turned away from you, shaking. It’s only when you see him inhale sharply that you realise he’s crying. You mutter a worried curse and quickly pull over at the curb and park the car, before unbuckling your seatbelt. You call his name softly.
“Y0U DON’T UNDERSTAND…” He starts, voice barely audible between the heaves and sobs he’s trying so desperately to hold in. He probably doesn’t want you to see him so upset over a few words. You don’t judge him for it.
“I WAS A [$!*$] TO [Everyone]… I JUST WANTED TO BE [Big], TO BE [Good enough]… I PUSH3D MY FRieNDS AW4Y, SWORE TO A [[False God]] ON THE OTHER END, LET MYSELF BE [Puppeted] INTO [Glory] ONLY TO HAVE IT [Torn Away] FROM ME THE MOMENT I WASN’T [Good EnOUGH] ANY MORE FOR [Him].” His words come out strained and full of bile, his face contorted into one of abject disgust. “I FLEW TOO CLOSE TO [Heaven], AND WHEN THE [Angels] REALISED I WAS A [Fraud] THEY THREW ME AWAY LIKE A [[Used Toy]]. I WAS ONLY A BIG SHOT BECAUSE I WAS FOLLOWING SOMEONE ELSE’S [Orders], SOMEONE ELSE’S [Words], I’M NOTHING BUT A PATHETIC LITTLE [worm] AND THAT’S ALL I’LL EVER BE!!” He’s yelling at this point, so loud his voice box sounds like it’s breaking, static obfuscating his words and his glasses.
“SPAMTON!” You yell, unable to keep your calm when your date is having a breakdown in the passenger’s seat of your car. This definitely isn’t how most dates are supposed to go. But you’re quickly learning that Spamton isn’t most people.
He turns sharply to face you, and it’s almost like he doesn’t recognise your face. He roughly grabs your jacket, pulling you towards him, his mouth in an ugly snarl.
“I’M THE [[$!$!]] YOU LEAVE AT THE BOTTOM OF A [Dumpster], THE FILTH ON THE BOTTOM OF YOUR’E [Shoo], I’M THE [[Scrappy-Doo]] OF CY/BER CITY!! DON’T YOU GET IT??? IM SOMEONE YOU SHOULD [LoAthe]. SO WHY. WHY WHY WHY WHY. ARE YOU STILL HERE? WHY DID YOU SAY [Agree] TO ME? WHY DON’T YOU HATE ME?!?!” He yells right into your face, and it’s terrifying.
You don’t know how to respond to this. You weren’t ready for any of this. You didn’t realise just how in need of help Spamton was, how his past had damaged him so much that he couldn’t accept anyone’s perceptions of him as anything but negative. You’re not sure if he hates you or himself right now, it’s difficult to tell and you’re afraid of what he’ll say or do next.
So instead you do something extremely risky, but it’s the only thing you can think of right now. The only thing that might calm him down.
You slowly get out of your seat and wrap your arms around him in a gentle embrace. His breathing is heavy, but he doesn’t move for a moment. You feel him start to shake more, and you start to panic, thinking this was a terrible idea and he was about to run out of your car and as far away from you as possible.
But he doesn’t do that.
He buries his face into your jacket and screams until his voice box gives out.
It’s the most horrifying sound you’ve ever heard. It lasts almost a minute, and then he’s silent. You stay still out of fear, shaking just as bad as him now, and you dare not move in case he does something else.
You hear his breathing begin to slow, and slowly you feel limbs wrapping around you, still shaking like crazy but holding you tight and close to him. He buries his face in your chest, and it’s only now that you get a glimpse of him.
The static is still covering his glasses, but from the gap between them and his eyes you see them close, brows furrowed. He looks so unbelievably tired, but there’s no more rage in his features. Just the face of a man who needs someone to treat him like a person, just for a little while. Just to feel normal again.
“Spamton… are you alright?” You ask tentatively, not wanting to upset him in any way now that he was returning to a state of calm somewhat.
It takes him a while to respond, but when he does his voice is the most clear you’ve ever heard him in all the time you’ve known him.
“Please don’t leave me.” He says.
The words stab you in the heart so sharply it almost hurts, and the only thing you can do is move your hand up to gently stroke his hair. He hums at your touch, tightening his hold, and you realise, all too soon, that you’ve become more attached to him over the course of this night than you ever wanted to be. But you’re not going back to your blissful ignorance now. There was something here, something far greater than your own opinion of him. Something that made you lean back into the passenger seat and hold him there for as long as he needed it.
Spamton was in desperate need of someone to hold onto him before he slipped away into the cracks of this world. And God damn it if you weren’t going to be the one keeping him afloat.
You mutter reassuringly into his hair.
“I’m not going anywhere.”