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The Living Room buzzed with faint static, the kind of background noise you didn’t notice until it wasn’t there anymore. Telly sprawled across the couch like they owned the place, one arm flung over the backrest and one leg kicked up on the coffee table. Their jumpsuit flickered with shifting black-and-white fuzz, like an old set stuck between channels. The tiny TV screens above their shoes hissed and spat static too, in perfect sync with their mood.
As soon as you stepped in, their head snapped toward you. Their eyes, one bright blue and one sharp red, lit up like a marquee.
“Welcome back, loyal viewer!” Telly shouted, voice booming like a host in front of a live audience. “You’ve tuned in just in time for tonight’s special program: The Life and Times of Yours Truly, Telly! Starring me, co-starring you, produced by fate, and sponsored by… friendship!”
You stopped in the doorway, holding the book you’d come to grab. “I was just here for-”
“Wrong answer!” Telly cried, cutting you off. Their TV-shaped hair flashed to the color bars of the emergency broadcast screen, and they sprang up from the couch with a flourish. “What you meant to say was: ‘I couldn’t resist catching the latest broadcast from the one and only Telly, king of the channels, emperor of entertainment, the face that launched a thousand remotes!’”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s… a lot of titles.”
“Too few, if you ask me!” Telly answered, throwing their arms wide as if waiting for applause. Their lipstick gleamed in its strange gradient from white to black, and their wires swayed behind them like a curtain falling at the end of a performance.
You set your book down and crossed your arms. “Do you ever relax? Like, turn off the show and just… be?”
Telly gasped, staggering back as if you had delivered a shocking twist ending. “Turn… off? Off? My dear guest star, do you turn off the sun? Do you unplug the moon when it’s shining too bright? Do you tell the radio to keep quiet when it’s playing your favorite tune?” They pointed dramatically at you. “I think not!”
You smirked. “You compared yourself to the sun, the moon, and the radio in one breath. Impressive.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Telly bowed with all the drama of a stage actor taking a final curtain call. They straightened quickly, plastering on another grin, but their eyes lingered on you longer than usual. The static in their hair flickered faintly. “Although,” they said in a quieter voice, “even the best shows get canceled if the ratings drop.”
You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing!” Telly snapped their fingers, and their tone shot back up into theatrics. “A slip of the tongue, a blooper reel moment! Ignore it, darling! Just a bit of behind-the-scenes commentary. Every star has one.”
You didn’t move closer right away, just studied them. Their jumpsuit seemed louder than their voice, crackling with static as though it was trying to keep up the energy they suddenly didn’t have. Finally, you walked over and sat down beside them on the couch. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”
Telly tilted their head, the bars in their hair dimming for a moment. “Pretend? Me? Pretend?” Their laugh came out too sharp, too rehearsed. “I am always genuine, always authentic, always larger than life!”
“You’re also scared,” you said gently.
That stopped them cold. The red and blue of their eyes flickered, like weak bulbs. For a long moment, the static filled the silence. Then they slumped back against the couch, wires dragging behind them like heavy ropes. “Maybe I am,” they admitted. “I was the star of the show for so long. Everybody watched, everybody laughed, everybody needed me. But now… sometimes I wonder if I’m just background noise. Just static.”
The honesty hit heavier than any of their theatrics. You leaned closer. “You’re not background noise. You’re… you. Loud, ridiculous, over the top—you fill the room with life. And I wouldn’t keep coming back here if I didn’t want to see you.”
Telly blinked. Their eyes softened, the static screens at their ankles quieting to a low hum. “You really mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” you answered.
Slowly, a smile spread across their face. This one wasn’t their usual host grin, big and flashy. It was smaller, softer, but it reached their mismatched eyes. “Well then,” they said, slipping back into their rhyming habit, “if you’ll be my fan, my friend, my light, maybe I don’t need ratings tonight.”
You chuckled. “See? Even when you’re serious, you still rhyme.”
“Of course I rhyme!” Telly leaned back with a dramatic flourish, though the warmth in their voice stayed. “What’s life without a little rhythm, without a little rhyme, without a little bit of prime time?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Hopeless. You’re completely hopeless.”
“Hopelessly entertaining!” they corrected, pointing at you like a game show buzzer had gone off. “And you, my darling, are hopelessly stuck with me, whether you admit it or not.”
“Guess I could do worse,” you said, resting your arm on the back of the couch.
“Worse?” Telly clutched their chest in mock horror, falling sideways so their head landed dramatically on your shoulder. “Worse than me? Unthinkable! I’m the comedy, the drama, the cliffhanger, and the credits rolled all in one!”
You didn’t push them away. Their static hair buzzed faintly against your arm, and you could feel their whole body humming with leftover energy, like a machine that never truly powered down. For a while, you sat in silence, the only sound the quiet hiss of static filling the room.
After a while, Telly spoke again, softer this time. “Thanks for watching. Even when I’m not the star.”
You smiled. “You’ll always be the star to me.”
The static hummed warmly, and their grin returned, real and bright this time. “Then welcome,” they said, “to the only show that never ends.”
And for once, it didn’t feel like a performance.
juul_Pod Sun 07 Sep 2025 02:33AM UTC
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