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It had started fairly innocuously. Battat was in the middle of conspiracy-boarding, and talking to an empty room wasn’t cutting it anymore. Jongler was on their Mike shift, and he didn’t want to bother Pluey when they’d just laid down with a headache. So… he got out his Mike costume head and set it up facing him. It served its purpose, gave him something to direct his ramblings towards, and was easy enough to put away afterwards. It wasn’t that weird. It was just a one-off thing, anyway.
Needless to say, it hadn’t been a one-off. A similar situation happened the next week, and Battat pulled out the costume head, setting it up the same way. It felt a little silly, but it still served its purpose. It wasn’t hurting anyone, it was fine if it became a pattern. Meant he didn’t have to bother the other two as often.
As the weeks passed, his thoughts gradually started to shift. What had been a simple utilitarian thing, a means to an end, he started to feel… more attached to. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had some level of attachment before, he designed and constructed that costume himself after all, and he spent hours in it every day. But this was… different. What had been setting up the head so it was generally facing him and getting straight to his theories became making sure the head was facing him, making sure it could see both him and the board, which eventually escalated to temporarily taking important pieces of evidence off the board to show to it in greater detail. Instead of just moving the costume head. Or realizing that it was an empty costume head that didn’t even have eyes and was physically incapable of seeing anything because it was an inanimate object, what was wrong with him.
He knew he was in too deep when he found himself wondering how it would feel to hold his costume’s hand during laundry day. He’d shaken his head so hard to dispel the thought that his head had started spinning. It didn’t even work, the thought persisted.
(He’d come to enjoy feeling its eyeless gaze on him as he rambled. The stitched-on smile was always there, but somehow it felt softer when directed at him. The logical part of him screamed that wasn’t possible, it wasn’t alive, it couldn’t possibly look at him or direct a smile towards him or listen patiently to his rambling conspiracy theories. He knew he himself wasn’t anything more than an object to the lightners, but that was different. The costume head was an object to a darkner. He refused to believe in dark worlds within dark worlds, that would be too far even for him. The head couldn’t have its own darkner version, so there was no reason to treat it like anything alive. And yet.)
Sometimes he didn’t have any new theories to work on, but the other two were busy or exhausted, and he still wanted to talk. He’d still set up the head in its usual place on his chair, but instead of rambling about his theories he would just talk about his day. Little things he’d noticed. Stuff his fellow Mikes had said or done. It was… nice.
At one point he’d taken the time and effort to collect some extra padding, claiming to the others that it was merely spare materials, for just in case his current padding gave out on him. When both of his fellow Mikes were out on a date, saying they wouldn’t be back for several hours, instead of just setting up the head, he got out the full costume. The extra padding filled out the costume reasonably well, all things considered. It didn’t look perfect, it wasn’t like Motormouth Mike was sitting on his chair in front of him, but it was still enough for his mind to start spinning. For his face to warm.
Wordlessly, he grabbed a chair from the kitchen, setting it down next to the chair he’d set Mike the costume in. The smile seemed to widen slightly, almost as if hiding a laugh. “Shut up,” he muttered, obviously to no response. He sat down, probably imagining the eyeless gaze tracking his motions. His The costume’s hand was resting on the arm of the chair, invitingly close. Slowly, he reached over, carefully interlocking their fingers.
The fabric was soft. He knew this, he’d handled the gloves more times than he could count. But with the padding filling it out, it felt different. There was a weight to it. He blushed, looking away, and he could almost feel the amusement radiating off of him it.
Battat must have moved, because the fabric shifted, the thumb of the gloved hand gently tracing the side of his hand. He looked over in surprise. He could almost imagine… no. No. Nope, wrong, no way. It wasn’t alive, it couldn’t have feelings, there was no way he’d just imagined the costume asking for a kiss of all things. No. He must not have gotten enough sleep last night. He stood, dropping Mike’s hand, slamming a lid on that particular train of thought.
Businesslike, efficiently, refusing to entertain his own hallucinations any longer, he began putting away the costume. He ignored how it felt almost violating to remove the clothes, especially with the padding in there (though part of him thought the padding barely mattered at this point), the least he could do was ask permission first! Face burning, he quickly put away the majority of the costume, until there was just the head left on his desk, waiting to be carried to the costume closet.
He picked up the head, one hand on each of its cheeks, that damn smile facing him. Despite himself, he gently caressed one cheek with his thumb as he walked to the closet. Blushing, he glanced around the room. Still nobody there, in spite of his paranoia. He looked down at Mike in his hands. The smile was gentle. Apologetic, even. He bit his tongue. Was he really about to do this?
Quickly, eyes squeezed shut, he pressed a kiss to Mike’s forehead, barely lasting a second before he pulled away. He was certain his face was bright green from how hot it felt. Then, just so he wouldn’t have his own stupid thoughts teasing him about how it wasn’t a real kiss, he gave Mike a quick peck on the stitched-on smile. He quickly shoved the head into the closet, in its proper place with the smile facing outwards, slamming the door. He didn’t flee, he just… walked away. Quickly. To a different part of the Mike room entirely. Where he could distract himself completely and avoid thinking about that ever again! Foolproof!
(Quietly, part of him marveled at the feeling of the fabric against his lips, the slight ridges of the stitching, the glove in his hand, almost giddy. He wondered if Mike felt the same. He hoped so.)
Obviously the foolproof plan of never thinking about it again failed. He still needed something to talk to when Jongler and Pluey were busy, after all. But he had it under control. He didn’t kiss Mike again, just talked to him about his theories. Nothing more. …For about a week.
He was leaning against Jongler’s side, watching Pluey clean their tommy when it happened. When Pluey pressed a quick kiss to the side of the barrel. He must’ve stiffened up or something, because Jongler turned to look at him, questions visible even with their lack of face.
He couldn’t think to give any kind of response. Pluey had just kissed their gun in front of him. What.
“Batts? You’s okay?” Jongler asked quietly.
“Pluey just kissed their gun,” he said, as if that explained fucking anything.
“Yeahs? And?” they tilted their head. Pluey paused in their maintenance, setting the piece in their hands down gently, tilting their own head to match Jongler.
“Why?” was the baffled word that finally escaped after nearly ten full seconds of silent gesturing as he failed to think of a proper objection or question or any other words.
Jongler and Pluey made ‘eye’ contact. Pluey nodded, going back to cleaning their gun. Jongler turned to face him more directly. What the hell was he missing??
“Plues likes deir tommy, Batts. Like, more dan normal likin’ a thing ‘cause it works well or ‘cause it’s pretty. Dey’s got an emotional connection with it, an’ dey like kissin’ it. I gots no problem with it, but if you’s don’t…”
“Hold on, that’s allowed??” Battat burst out, slamming a hand over his mouth moments later. “Uh. I mean. I don’t have a problem with it, but what exactly does that, uh, emotional connection entail?”
Pluey had stopped again, staring at him openly. Jongler wasn’t far off. “I dunno, Batts, you’s got somethin’ ya wanna share with da class?”
“No!” he denied, feeling himself starting to blush. Goddammit, get your shit together, Battat! “I’ve just never heard of something like that before. I’m curious, nothing else!” he lied.
“…Right,” they said, unsubtly sharing a look with Pluey. Fuck right off with that. “Dey like kissin’ it, I said already. I dunno ‘bout specific emotions, I don’t wanna speak for ‘em.”
Pluey gestured to the disassembled gun in front of them, then tapped their lack of a watch, then gestured as if writing. When they’re done, they’ll write it out.
“Nevermind, forget I said anything,” Battat said as he stood up, too embarrassed to face that particular interaction. “I’m going to start on dinner, any ideas?”
Later that evening, Pluey approached him with a folded-up note, handing it to him without a word and leaving immediately to help Jongler with the dishes. With definitely entirely steady hands, he opened the note and began to read.
“I think you and I both know the kind of emotional connection Jongler mentioned. I don’t think I need to spell it out for you, but just in case, yes. Yes, I do love my tommy. No, that doesn’t change how I love you and Jongler. My tommy is my partner as much as you and Jongler are my partners, just in a different way. I think you might know the feeling. If you ever want to talk, both of us are here, and we love you no matter what. We promise.”
For a few weeks, not much happened. Battat made a conscious effort to spend more time with his real partners, less with his conspiracy board. It was definitely needed, they’d missed spending that much time with each other. Nobody directly brought up his little moment, Pluey didn’t mention the note, Jongler didn’t make any guesses as to what he was avoiding talking about. But it didn’t get forgotten. Pluey had started being a bit more open with their affections towards their tommy, almost to the point of showing off. Jongler would occasionally talk out loud to random objects, as if they could respond. And of course, he still had to be Mike, to see that costume, every single day.
And then one day Jongler and Pluey had wanted to go on a date, but Battat had Mike-related paperwork to finish, and his social battery was so completely dead that he doubted he would have a good time. So they left, and Battat was alone in the Mike room. But as much as he didn’t want to stop his partners having a good time, he didn’t want to be truly alone.
As he had so many times before, he walked up to the costume closet and took out his costume head. He carefully placed it on his desk facing him, off to the side of his paperwork but still close enough to touch. He smiled, in spite of himself. It had been a while, he’d missed that stitched smile. He gave Mike a little pat on the top of his head, enjoying the little bounce of the fabric keeping its shape. It was cute. After a couple moments, he went back to the closet, grabbing one of the gloves and a little fabric padding, inserting it as he walked back to his desk. He imagined a curious bend to the smile as he came back into view, sitting at his chair.
He did genuinely have work to do, but… he could multitask. If this even counted as multitasking. Carefully not thinking about the angles that would be required if the glove was attached to Mike’s full body, Battat gently interlocked the fingers of his non-dominant hand with those of the glove. Giving Mike another affectionate pat, he started working. It was easier with that gentle smile pointed at him, that gloved hand in his own.
His mind wandered briefly. Quietly, but aloud, he spoke, pushing down his embarrassment. “No, Mike, I’m not mad at you. I’ve just been dealing with some things. I’ll talk about it later, promise.”
A feeling of acceptance. The smile didn’t change, stitched as it was, but he could almost feel how surprised Mike was at this whole situation, emotion barely hidden behind the immobile fabric. It had gotten easier, in the past couple weeks, to stop pushing down his feelings. Pluey had shown it was a real thing, after all. Not just something in his own mind, untethered from reality.
He refocused on his work, gently squeezing the glove. It wasn’t too much longer before he finished the paperwork, briefly releasing Mike’s hand to put his stuff away. Carefully, he carried Mike over to the couch. He liked his desk, they spent a lot of time there, but… not for this. He gently set Mike and his glove on one of the cushions and sat down next to him, facing each other.
Mike’s smile was confused now. Battat glanced around, briefly paranoid. Jongler and Pluey wouldn’t be back for a couple hours, at least. He looked back at Mike, meeting his gaze. Okay. He could do this. He totally wasn’t nervous at all.
Battat cleared his throat. “Mike, I, uh. I know we’ve… well, I know I haven’t always been the most… Ack, sorry. Listen, I—” he stumbled over his words. He shook his head, spinning it briefly to reset himself. He took a breath. “I’m not good at feelings. You know this by now, I’m sure. It takes me so long to realize what I’m feeling, longer to accept it, even longer to figure out what I can do about it, and still longer to actually do it. Well, this is me… trying to do something about it.”
He paused. Mike was definitely confused, and maybe a little concerned. He gently took Mike’s hand, not interlocking their fingers, more like a gentleman would take a lady’s hand in one of Tenna’s old regency dramas. “Mike, I— I really like you. I like being around you, I like holding your hand, I like talking to you, I like putting you on before my shift, I like you. I don’t know if you remember the kiss, but I liked that too. I’d… I’d like to do more of that, if you’ll have me.”
Some shock, but that smile couldn’t be brighter. Battat found himself grinning, hands flapping with joy. He dropped Mike’s hand, quickly picking up his head and pressing a kiss to the mouth, only lingering a couple seconds before he was smiling too much to continue, pressing their foreheads together. After barely a few seconds, he was pressing quick pecks to Mike’s cheeks, forehead, and all across that beloved smile. He felt Mike’s hand on his hip where the glove had landed, the fuzzy fabric of his head against Battat’s lips, the extreme happiness bubbling inside him more intensely than from any gambling win, and wow, he was dizzy. He pulled away, gently hugging Mike to his chest, enjoying the squish of the fabric.
They stayed there for a while, kissing and cuddling and enjoying each other’s company. Eventually, it approached the time Jongler and Pluey usually returned. Battat had Mike on his lap, still blushing around the sides of his head but seeming to have at least somewhat calmed by this point. “Do you think I should tell them?” Battat asked. He didn’t even need to look over to know the answer. “You’re right… I probably should, but… gah, you saw how hard it was for me to even say it to you, and they’re… different.”
The memory came to mind of Pluey kissing their gun. “Shut up. You know what I mean.” He felt the exasperated yet affectionate eyeroll distinctly despite Mike’s lack of eyes.
It would feel wrong to keep it from them. That he knew for certain. But how to say it? How to say he was… what even were they? How to classify something like that? Just saying he and Mike were like Pluey and their tommy felt… weird. He didn’t even fully know what Pluey and their tommy were like, what if he said something wrong? What if he completely misread the situation?
He looked back down at Mike, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He was overthinking. Breathe, Battat. He squeezed Mike’s gloved hand. Pluey had said they were partners with their gun. He could say he was partners with Mike in the same way. It would be fine. They’d said it would be fine, he had to trust that.
He kept Mike out, set next to him on the couch. Better to have him there for the conversation than to have to get him partway through. The anticipation was murder on his nerves. Thankfully, Jongler and Pluey arrived only a few minutes later, smiling and chatting with each other. Pluey noticed him sitting on the couch first, tilting their head at him in question.
“Hey, welcome back. You two have fun?” he asked, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary for now. Belatedly he realized he was still holding Mike’s gloved hand. Fuck. Too late now.
“Yeahs, we had a good time. Wish ya came with us, but it was still fun,” Jongler answered. “Why do you’s have ya Mike head out?”
“I wanted to tell you something,” he said, stuttering terribly for a moment. “N-nothing bad, and it- uh, it shouldn’t take too long.”
“Alright…?” Jongler said, moving to sit next to him. Pluey sat at the edge of the couch, legs draped over Jongler’s lap, as they so often did.
He took a moment to try to find his words. “So, uh, you two remember about a month ago when Pluey kissed their tommy and I uh. Reacted weirdly?” His partners nodded. “You’ve both already figured it out by now, but it… wasn’t nothing. I just didn’t know what it was,” he trailed off. Pluey was raising an eyebrow, intrigued. Jongler was waiting patiently, but their gaze was fixed on him intently. Mike seemed to smile at him encouragingly.
He picked up Mike gently, smile facing the other two. “This is Mike. Well, not the real Mike that I’ve been theorizing about, obviously, but… this is my Mike.” He could feel his face heating.
Pluey’s face lit up with a realization, but they didn’t write anything, instead leaning forward and resting their chin on their hands cutely. Jongler was still waiting patiently for him to finish talking. Eventually he stuttered out, “W-we kissed. Just now, when you were out, we kissed for the first time.” His face was burning, and he was holding up Mike to ineffectually hide behind.
“Awww, Batts! Dat’s so cute!” Jongler exclaimed, wiggling happily in their seat. Pluey was grinning widely, looking far too pleased with themself. They pulled out their tommy, gesturing wildly between them, the gun, Battat, and Mike.
“Yeah, we’re like you and your tommy,” Battat said, smiling himself. “I just… figured you two should know. I still love you both, obviously.”
“Yeah, we still love ya too, Batts!” Pluey nodded agreement, making heart hands. Jongler pulled him into a hug, and Pluey pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Battat smiled, giving each of them a kiss back.