[ Switched POV (Jongler/Any) on my page. ]

Idolization - The act of excessive admiration, devotion, or worship of a person, idea, or thing.

Jongler had first learned it when they went to Tenna asking about it, since the TV was always preaching about his extensive knowledge and there was generally nowhere else to look. There was some awkward joke made after about how it’s what everyone at the studio should be doing to him, but the Zapper didn’t listen.

The term made sense, in a way. With how much Battat had been staring at the posters lately, they wouldn’t be surprised if he thought they were his idols. Hell, they wouldn’t even be surprised if he worshipped them.

It’d started a month back - two months? Three? The days blended together. A picture of a Pippins had ended up on Battat’s theory board, smiling and joyous and all the personification of each one in the studio. Something about him being another suspect, but Jongler had tuned it out.

They wished they didn’t.

Oddly, the day after, there was another picture. This time, it wasn’t of a specific Pippins; it was a poster ripped off of one of the walls outside the room. One of those cheesy ‘Smile! You’re a hard worker!’ things, with an obnoxious thumbs-up pose and a shining grin. That’d started the real suspicions within Jongler, but Battat seemed insistent that it was just for the theories.

The little guy’s theories had always been wild - Mike exists this, Mike was here that. Despite the fact that they played along as one of the fake Mikes, they never really believed in Battat’s thoughts, but they supported him all the way. Outlandishness was part of the Pippins’ personality.

That is, until the staring started.

Battat would sit at his desk in front of the cork board and just stare at the growing collection of Pippins pictures. A few minutes. Then an hour. Then Jongler came back from Mike duty one time and found Battat in the same staring pose that they’d left him in - ten hours ago.

They tried to get him to get up, to come to bed with them and Pluey, but he just- brushed them off. Said it was about figuring out the details, that he was right to sit there, that he wasn’t tired. Any slew of excuses that were half-hearted and false. And no matter how much they tried, they just couldn’t get him to willingly come to bed. So they let him be.

The staring turned into note-taking. The note-taking turned into hours standing at mirrors and reflections, holding his mouth open in an uncomfortable, gum-showing smile. The smiling turned into literally painting his arms and legs red and having a breakdown when it washed off.

Jongler couldn’t be more worried. They hated to stand around and watch Battat as the eyebags grew deeper and his suit grew looser, but each attempt to do something was shot down. Still, they persisted.

Their Battat - the one that rambled about cats in corners, grievances about Tenna, theories that ran in circles - was still there. Wasn’t he?

Returning from a long shift as one of Tenna’s security guards, their fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, taking a deep inhale and trying to pep themself up to walk into the Mikes room.

“Okay…I gots this…jus’ gotta go on in, walk right upta him, and…”

And what? Shake some much-needed sense into him? Scream at him to sleep? Rip down all of the pictures and posters and, hell, diagrams? They didn’t know.

Straightening their posture, they ran a hand over the back of their smooth head and pushed the door open, wincing at the awkward movement of it. Jongler slipped inside and peered around, and, yes- there he was, by the corkboard again.

They cleared their throat and closed the door behind themself, the room dim and dreary with Battat’s suffocating presence. Now was their chance, when it was before bed once more.

“Ahem- Boss? How, uh…how ya feelin’? Still gotcha starin’ down ‘at board, huh? Ya wanna…maybe stop? Get yourself ta’ bed?”