The static hum of the old CRT in the corner of the room was the only sound breaking the heavy silence. The child sat curled up on the couch, legs tucked under, cradling a plush shaped like a pixelated heart. Their eyes flicked between the screen and the clock, waiting. Again.

Tenna had promised they’d show up today. It was his weekend, after all.

The door finally creaked open—late, as usual—and in stepped Tenna. His tall frame loomed in the entryway, trench coat slightly wrinkled, coffee in one hand, and tension tucked behind a forced smile. The glow of his TV-head flickered softly, images shifting faintly behind the screen—a quiet city skyline, rain falling in loops.

"Hey, superstar." The greeting was gentle, but distant. The screen remained dim.

The child didn’t respond. Their shoulders were drawn in, body turned just slightly away. No questions, no greetings. Just silence.

The tension sharpened as Spamtom stepped in from the hallway mid-sip of an energy drink. His eyes widened for a beat before his smile stretched too wide. That twitchy, jagged laugh crawled up his throat before he spoke.

"HEY, BIG SHOT—DIDN’T REALIZE YOU ACTUALLY SHOWED UP FOR ONCE!"

Tenna’s screen jolted. For a split second, the gentle rain loop shattered into jagged static. A high-pitched whine buzzed faintly from his speakers, then cut out. He inhaled slowly, deep and measured, his hands flexing at his sides.

"Should’ve knocked," he said lowly, his voice tight with restraint. "Didn’t think I had to schedule a visit to see my own kid."

The child shifted, lowering their head slightly. Their grip tightened around the plush, the soft fabric bunched between small hands.

Spamtom leaned against the wall, antenna flickering faintly. "You don’t get to waltz in and play parent when it’s convenient, glitch-boy."

The static came back. This time longer. Violent, warped lines tore across Tenna’s screen. His shoulders tensed, his jaw set, but his voice never rose.

"Don’t do this in front of them."

The child flinched at the cold tone. Their eyes stayed locked on the floor now, lips pressed into a thin line.

Spamtom’s laughter glitched midway, breaking into a dry breath. He turned his head to the side, eyes distant. Tenna didn’t look away from him. His screen slowly faded from white static to a blurry grayscale—barely holding itself together.