Work Text:
They were given an assignment in English at the start of the school year, meant to be one due at the end of the year or whenever they got it done. The assignment was to pick a topic they loved and write an essay of sorts on whatever about the topic. It was free reign on any topic and any type of essay surrounding it. Which made for lots of choices. Usually, this meant that it would take students a couple of days to decide on a topic.
Techno knew right away that he was going to pick Greek Mythology. It just wasn’t a choice for him. Take a subject he did well in and a topic he loved and it was almost certain that he was going to find a way to do both at once. It’s just a recipe for double the amount of dopamine and serotonin his ADHD brain usually got.
By the end of the period, the teacher asked the class if they knew their subject material yet. To the surprise of no one, Techno immediately put his hand up and answered. He was the only one in the class that knew what they were going to write on.
He spent the rest of the school day with a little bounce to his step, and normally this bounce would be unnoticeable to everyone but his close friends and family, but he was ultimately more excited than he thought because there were a few more stares than usual by his peers, more whispers and talk. Though he was used to being stared at like there was something wrong with him, so it didn’t really bother him, just slightly annoyed him.
Speaking of his family, Wilbur and Tommy zeroed in on his excitement when it was lunch.
“What’s got you so giddy today, Big Man?” Tommy asks him, while taking a bite out of his sandwich. He always talked with food in his mouth at lunch because he knew it annoyed Techno.
Techno narrowed his eyes. “I told you not to call me that.” He didn’t answer the question and Tommy didn’t acknowledge his reply (wasn’t ever going to abide it, either), only stared at him expectantly. “Assigned an assignment in English that we could choose anything to write on.”
“What’d you choose?”
“Greek Mythology,” Techno said, at the same time Wilbur did, appearing out of nowhere.
Both Tommy and him turned (they were too used to his spontaneous appearances that they didn’t jump, not anymore) and Wilbur smiled, continuing. “You would never pass up an opportunity to write on Greek Mythology, especially during school.” Their older brother sat down. “I think I remember that assignment from last year. You can choose anything to write on and any question or, uh…thesis statement? To answer or whatever. We have to do another one of those this year.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. That’s cool.” Techno turned back to his lunch. “I haven’t decided what exactly to write on yet, just what it’s going to be compared or referenced to.”
Tommy laughed. “But you’ll decide that soon. And you’ll probably finish it before the month is done, too.”
“And get an A-plus, of course. As always.” Wilbur added, elbowing Techno in his side and smiling teasingly. “I expect nothing less.” Techno only rolled his eyes in response and continued eating.
Wilbur and Tommy started bantering about something, but he didn’t really focus on it, rather spending the rest of lunch zoned out thinking about what to write on with his Greek Mythology. It frustrated him that it eluded him, as he usually thought of this type of thing already. Why wasn’t this one doing the same and just clicking, as it had for all the rest?
The bell rang, forcing Techno out of his thoughts and into action
Well, whatever. He’ll think of it when he gets home.
“Home sweet home!” Tommy shouted the minute they entered the front door, throwing his shoes off and taking off to his room. “Can’t idle, me and Tubbo have a date in Minecraft. Platonically!”
Wilbur laughed and Techno rolled his eyes, calling back, “Tubbo and I!”
“Fuck off, bitch!” Tommy’s door slammed, opened again with an apology to Phil, and closed again. Techno sighed as Wilbur laughed harder, this time at both Tommy and him. He kicked his shoes off and hung up his coat, the only one out of his brothers to actually pick up after himself instead of just throwing things into the void.
As he finished, Phil walked into the living room and smiled at the two. “Hey, mates. How’s the day gone?”
“Oh, just wonderful,” Wilbur, who finally stopped laughing, said. He grabbed the railing of the staircase, “I have a project in Social that’s due tomorrow. I put it off for years now, it’s come back to bite me.” Then he was off to his room, probably to procrastinate even more until he forgot about it and went to school tomorrow oblivious.
That happened a lot with both of those two.
Phil turned to Techno once Wilbur was out of sight. “I take it you’re gonna go to your room for some homework too?”
“Yeah,” Techno nodded, shifting his feet. “I got assigned a paper with no limitations on the topic, so I’m excited for that. I’m gonna do it on—”
“—Greek Mythology.” Phil and him finished together, making him pause. It made him a little embarrassed to be so easily predictable, he had a reputation to precede, and this was not it! Phil only laughed and sent him on his way, “Well, I can’t wait to read it then! Have fun.”
Techno rolled his eyes again and entered his room. Backpack gets thrown on his bed, his papers for that assignment out, laptop open, and he was ready to start. He also grabbed a couple of the many books he had on the subject. All he had to do was look through them, search some stuff up online, find inspiration for something to write on, and start writing it. He predicts he can get it done by the end of the week, if all goes well.
It usually does, so he shouldn’t be worried.
Halfway through the first half of the year, and wouldn’t you know it, he hasn’t written a single thing on his document. This would be the first time in his life that this happened and he just couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to write or read or organize his work, he had the skills to write this essay, but at the same time, it was like he just suddenly forgot everything and could only sit there and stare at his screen.
Techno’s been trying to write it for at least a month now. From an outside perspective, that’s perfectly fine because they have all year to write it. Most of his classmates will start it within the last month, because of procrastination or laziness or whatever. But him? He usually has his assignments done before everyone else, either weeks or months ahead. That’s just how he works.
So it’s especially terrible that he’s stuck here and fucking Jared or whatever their name was has his essay done, the first of their class. He could still feel the stares of his peers when they realized the same thing.
A car alarm goes off outside, making him jump. It was the middle of the night, tomorrow’s Monday, so back to school his brothers and him go. He usually has whatever homework was assigned to his class for the weekend done by the time it’s over, because he can’t stand the feeling of walking into class empty-handed when his teachers all look at him expectantly. He’s the good student, the example, so he has to do everything perfect. Anything less can’t be afforded.
Hence here he was, staying up all night or the third time in a row (which yes, would be since Friday night), slowing turning the water in his body to caffeine, camped out on his made bed with his laptop and the papers he needs, trying his hardest to get this one stupid paper with no minimum or maximum word requirement and no limits in topics finally done. Everything else is done and caught up on, all that’s left is this.
And after three days with little sleep, he has…nothing.
0 words on the page.
It’s just pure white with a blinking cursor, waiting.
And Techno can’t move. No matter how hard he wills his fingers to lift from his leg and settle on the keyboard and press down on a letter—he’d take any fucking letter right now—they just don’t move. They lay there, stubbornly limp with a pencil somehow still held in them and feeling like a stranger. Same goes for his legs, arms, torso, literally any other part of his body. They don’t move when he tells them to and he doesn’t know why.
The only thing he has control of is his ability to blink. His head doesn’t even move for him.
Like, Jesus Christ, just move already! You have the ability to, nothing is physically stopping you, you have no excuse. You learned this ability already, you wouldn’t have forgotten it, so that means the only reason you’re not moving is because you’re lazy. You don’t want to move. Well, suck it up, because no matter what, you’re going to have to move eventually.
So. Just. Move.
Nothing happens.
Move, I said move already!
Nothing.
Goddammit, this is why you don’t have any friends. Everyone else can see that you’re just some lazy piece of shit who’d do nothing but lounge on them and stand them up when they want to hang out under some stupid excuse. The only worth you have are the words you can write and the grades you can make. And that won’t help you once you graduate and are thrust into the real world, a world that doesn’t care for your “social anxiety” excuse. You’ll be dead the minute you try to move forward.
Nothing yet again, but Techno does notice that things have gone blurry on him and inhales a short breath as he fights back the tears. He can’t have them staining his schoolwork. It’s be exposing himself to the world, that he’s not flying through everything perfectly.
Oh, and wouldn’t you know it, all of a sudden, he can move his hands and rub his eyes, getting rid of the tears and forcing him to a more aware state than he was in before. He can hear the faint sound of the wind outside and the calmness of the house. The rest of his family is asleep, and they’ll wake up happy and ready to tackle the new day.
He’s honestly a little bit jealous.
They don’t have to worry about getting things done on time so that their teachers or bosses have a perfect example to compare to the rest of their classmates or colleagues. They don’t have to worry and obsess over their essays and assignments, double and triple-checking their grammar and spelling, running through a few different websites and programs to make sure it’s really worth the A it receives. They don’t have to worry about scrambling the day before a test because they never really studied before, never learned how to, sure they went over their notes and read through the textbook again, but that’s not really studying.
They don’t feel like they’re cheating if they walk into a test room unprepared and walk out with a red A. They don’t feel like a fraud when someone else gets the same mark as them. They don’t feel like a stranger in their own skin when the world gets too real around them and their peers are moving along effortlessly, but they can’t do that anymore, even though they used to just a year ago.
And putting all that in order seems a little selfish, doesn’t it? His family has their fair share of struggles, he’s not special by any means. He shouldn’t be the slightest bit jealous because his “struggles” are purely school-based. Not many people have the privilege to say that. They usually have another reason, a better reason, an actual researched reason.
They’re not Techno.
No, they’re not, are they? Some part of his brain whispers to him, seeped in coldness and apathy. You’re the perfect prodigy, after all. You worry about nothing and get the best grades in the school. There’s nothing else to it.
And that’s the problem.
Yes. Phil, Wilbur, Tommy; we both know those three are the real perfect ones. Phil is the favorite at his workplace, all the customers love him and his colleagues look up to him. Add onto that the fact that he’s the best dad anyone could ever have, and you have the perfect man. Tommy is, well, Tommy, a chaotic piece of shit that has a record of setting the kitchen on fire when unsupervised. But he’s also the kid that charms everyone he meets, even if they find him annoying at first. And Wilbur…
“And get an A plus, of course. As always.”
“I expect nothing less.”
Wilbur’s the popular one. Everyone loves him, and the fact that he can make music like nobody else, well that just makes people fall for him harder. He’ll make it big one day. But he can’t do that until his expectations of you are fulfilled. He expects A’s. He expects perfection. He certainly won’t be happy if you get anything else, he’s probably already disappointed that you haven’t written this essay for him to proofread yet. You know how much he likes to help you. How much they all like to help you, when you allow it.
It's a shame you can’t return the favor for once in your life, you selfish pig.
His palm started stinging horribly, shaking Techno out of his head. He hadn’t even realized that the pencil he was holding had broken and he had been increasing his grip while he thought, pushing the broken end into his palm. Hissing, he quickly shakes the bloody pencil away and examines the wound. It’s not terrible, probably just a little bit deeper than it should be. He’d be fine.
But he should wrap it. It’s a good thing his body seems to have finally been unlocked; he’s been waiting for this level. Sighing, he stands and makes his way to the bathroom as quietly as he can (Tommy must’ve been staying up too, he heard the hushed whispering his brother usually equipped when he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be, probably playing video games with Tubbo). He closes the door behind him and turns on the light.
The first thing he does is accidentally lock eyes with his reflection. Wincing, he looks himself over: the eyebags, tangled hair, bloodshot eyes, hunch and all. He looks like someone who should really be going to bed instead of going to school for 8 hours, and also probably taking a side dish of Advil and therapy.
Then he tears his eyes away and fishes the first aid kit out of the cabinet, cleaning his wound under the water and wrapping it in gauze, putting the kit away before returning back to his room. He doesn’t want people to start worrying for nothing.
Techno takes a moment to lean his head against his door, taking in his bed, the messy papers and lone laptop on it, his untouched desk and closet, bookshelves of books and other trinkets. The cool sword he has hanging on his wall. The stuffed animals hidden in the bin at the end of his bed. The window where it’s just lightening as the sun rises, that purple-blue colour.
“I should take a break,” he mutters to himself. It would do no good to go to school still freshly stressed about the assignment. That would just impact his ability to focus in his class, he’d only be able to think that he could be writing that one assignment he needs to do. Then his teachers would worry and call Phil and then Phil would worry.
No matter what happens, he can’t make Phil worry. Or Wilbur and Tommy for that matter. He’s supposed to take the role as the one they don’t need to ever worry about, in order so that they can focus on worrying about the things that matter, like each other. As long as they have that taken care of, he can worry about being good and getting the statistics and making sure they know anything about each other someone might’ve missed. He can handle himself; he’ll be fine.
Besides, making them worry would just disappoint them, because he’d take their picture of him and smash it to pieces, warping it into one with weaknesses and that he needs to be worried about, which he doesn’t.
Disappointing them, failing them—that just can’t happen.
(He ignores the twisted feeling and whispers that he’s not disappointing anyone, just himself by thinking he is. That his family would be heartbroken if they could only hear what was in his head. That he has worth, he just can’t see it yet, but the rest of his family can so clearly that it would baffle him to learn what they think of him.
He ignores this, because however much he wishes it, he just can’t see it becoming true.)
Techno grabs his well-loved copy of some collection of Greek Myths and settles down to read a few chapters before breakfast and facing his family. And who knows, maybe this will finally inspire him on his essay, because he’s still doing Greek Mythology, he really wants to be able to do Greek Mythology.
He likes the topic, after all. Loves it. It shouldn’t be hard to write on it.
(“Hey, so you both have noticed that Techno’s been acting off recently?”
“You noticed that too? Almost thought I was imagining it. Yeah, he’s been holed up in his room doing fucking school work. I mean, I know he’s a nerd, that’s just a fact of life, but he hasn’t played Minecraft with me in ages!”
“Tommy, don’t swear at the dinner table. But I will agree that Techno has been…odd. He didn’t even come down for dinner today, said he was going to sleep early.”
“I don’t think he’s asleep. We didn’t hear any footsteps to tell us he was getting ready.”
“Well, I mean…we might’ve heard him if Wilbur wasn’t gushing about his crush so loudly.”
“Bitch, you’ve been complaining louder! ‘Oh, woe is me, I’m so much a kid and am being hurt by the deathtrap of math, my kid friends never hang out with me anymore, I think they’ve died in it’s clutches!’”
“Don’t mock me! Mister ‘Sally the fucking fish is so pretty and beautiful and I just-just want to get railed by her so badly!’ Wilbur Soot Watson.”
“Oh, you little—”
“Boys! Don’t fight at the table, we’ve talked about this. Go to the living room because there’s no real breakables there.”)
The snow outside rather resembled Techno’s mind the last few weeks; cloudy, light enough to be kicked at yet heavy enough to not be blown away. Foggy, he could barely focus in class and at home enough to work on his assignments. Bleak. He felt numb, emotions he cherished so much before now dull.
Falling through the cracks. He watches the weather from his desk as his English teacher talks about an assignment he’s already finished.
Just like before, he doesn’t know why. That seemed to be a common theme for him recently. Not knowing what’s wrong with him. Not knowing how to keep his mind in class, not engulfed in imaginary conversations and worlds where he was braver and could talk about stuff. Not knowing what to do in his free time besides staring at a blank page until his eyes hurt, he had a headache, his mouth was dry, and he picked up a book instead.
Books about fairytales and romance.
Books about heartache and betrayal.
Books about heroes and gods.
Fiction. Non-fiction.
Greek Mythology.
He just wants to write an essay. Is that so hard of a wish to grant? Is it really that much of a burden in his mind? Is distracting himself from his problems with fantasy and information, anything besides what he should and really wants to be doing worth it? Is making his family worry the more he skips out on dinner, the more empty cups of coffee that appear in the sink, the more he seems to deflate and hollow out worth it?
Techno already knows the answer, he just really wants someone to validate it for him.
The bell rings, finally, and he joins in the rush to move to lunch. He’s started going to the library during lunch, unable to stand his brothers, being forced to pretend, to mask. Luckily, the librarian adores him, so she lets him help out while he hides. He’s thankful she doesn’t press. He doesn’t know what he’d do if his hiding place becomes unsafe.
Before he can leave, his teacher waves at him. “Hey, Techno. Got a minute?” They smile at him, they’re always smiling. That’s one thing he could never, and probably would never understand. Why the smile?
Whatever the reason, he always felt like he had to stay, even if he didn’t have a minute.
“Yeah.” He says, trying to appear collected and relaxed. “Why?”
His teacher straightens. “Just, uh…” they look away, tapping a stack of papers on the desk before putting it down again. “I don’t mean to say this negatively,” they say, looking back, peering at him closely, “but the assignment that you have all year for? How you doing with that, it’s going good?”
Caught red-handed.
How are you going to get out of this one, pig?
This was inevitable. Of course his teacher, the one who assigned it to him in the first place, would notice if he broke his streak of early hand-ins and deterioration. He should be surprised that it took this long for them to bring it up. Four months. Must’ve really had to think over their words and how to approach the subject before this.
Techno clears his throat, a pinch of panic making his heart beat faster. He could feel his hands grow hotter, clammy. “Yep. Really good.”
They watch him for a minute. “Good, great.” They smile, and he tries to force one back, but it doesn’t feel right. It goes unnoticed, or unacknowledged. “I was just worried because you usually have assignments like this, where you can write with almost no limitations, done within the week it’s assigned.” They pause, eyes widening. “That’s not to say it’s bad that you don’t have it! I actually think taking some time with it is good for you, lifts some weight off your shoulders, y’know?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t know. Well, he does.
But it feels wrong to apply it to himself.
His teacher nods. “Yeah.” He walks around his desk to stand in front of Techno. “That’s it. Just checking in on you.”
“Okay.”
The librarian will be wondering where he’s been.
He starts to leave.
“Hey.” They say again, making him look back from the hallway. They’re watching him again, something knowing in their face. It makes a lump gather in his throat. “You sure you’re okay?”
Swallowing the lump, Techno smiles, and lies. “I’m one hundred percent, Teach.”
His teacher nods again, not believing him. “Okay.”
Techno hurries to the library before he gets interrupted again.
Think you made things worse there. Are you ever going to stop fucking up like this?
Who are we kidding? You’ll always be this failure who can’t finish anything. Always the disappointment that freezes instead of fighting or fleeing.
This rate, your family will hate you more than you hate yourself.
This was getting nowhere. The cursor blinks at him, indifferently mocking.
He’s been trying to write for the whole first week of winter break, and lo and behold, he’s still stuck in the crusty mud, maybe he’d even sunken further, up to his waist now. If he could win an award for ‘getting nowhere the fastest’, he’d probably have a good shot at winning it. Hopefully there’s a good prize at the end, or else he should just rage-quit now and be done with it.
Unfortunately, he’s stuck with avoiding the blank screen, hiding behind a wall of books and his phone. If he had any friends, he’d be willing to actively talk with them too. There really is a first for everything, isn’t there?
Techno’s spinning in his chair playing a word search game when there’s a knock on his door.
He pauses himself with the desk leg. “Yeah?”
“Let me in, Blade.”
Tommy. His eyebrow quirks involuntarily, but he can’t fault it. It’s interesting that Tommy would willingly come bother him when he insisted on hanging out with Tubbo and Ranboo because ‘we big men have plans to make, plans that will fry your mind if you try to understand them yourself.’
…well, then again. It is Tommy.
He’d willingly bother anyone just for the sake of bothering someone.
“Why?” Techno asks, suspicions on the rise. Tommy also bothers people to get out of trouble, to avoid being caught. “What’d you do this time?”
There was a muffled groan. “Seriously? Why do you guys always assume I’ve fucking done something, like I’m some kind of gremlin that—” Tommy cuts himself off, falling silent. The begrudging admittance of the truth practically radiates through the door. “I did nothing. Just wanna talk.”
There was something surprisingly undetectable in his voice. Tommy’s usually very easy for anyone to read, he wears everything on his sleeve.
That tone, though, he couldn’t place.
For some reason, that made a weight curl in his chest. “Fine. Come in.”
Tommy entered, leaving the door open. As always. He watched the child and the child watched him. He shifted slightly in his chair, Tommy began to rock back and forth on his heels. The silence grew too loud.
“You can sit down, you know.”
“I know that, bitch.”
“Then did you not learn how to do it? ‘Cause you’re not doing it.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Let me guess. Nobody does.”
“Exactly! Glad you—”
“Right. Close my door.”
“Wh—did you not learn how to hear? I do things only if I want to!”
“Close my door, Tommy.”
“…fine.”
Tommy left it open the slightest crack. Very petty.
Rolling his eyes, Techno goes back to spinning. Falling back into the rhythm of the chair going round and round, giving it a boost when needed, matching words and moving to the next level, the world and time blur together. When he was alone, his thoughts would be quiet too, but with Tommy watching him now (he could feel his brother’s eyes on him), he seemed to be unable to fall that far under.
If his thoughts weren’t quiet, then he’d start to think about the assignment again. Which now, because he’s brought it up, he’s started to do. Thinking about the assignment makes him think about how much he has to do and how much he’s got done, the scale tipping to the ground negatively. Now all that’s left is to start berating himself.
Right on time, his mind starts whispering.
—Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up—
—game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut the game down. Shut—
—write. Just write . Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write—
The cursor mocked him.
He hadn’t realized he’d stopped spinning.
“—ft together.” Tommy’s voice pierced itself in and Techno blink. He moved to face his brother, who was now sitting cross-legged on his bed, sitting on some of his papers. Realizing this himself, Tommy felt under him until he could pull them out.
For some reason, he felt transparent, like Tommy had just heard all of his thoughts.
Like he knows.
But that’s impossible. “What?”
Tommy tilted his head, eyes driving even deeper. “We should play some Minecraft together, go on Hypixel. Haven’t done that in years.”
Confused, Techno shook his head. Doesn’t he have friends he could do that with? Why him? “Not years. And you played on that server with Tubbo and Ranboo not that long ago. Last night?”
Tommy paused, glaring. “Don’t tell Phil.” He kept the glare and leaned forward, bracing himself with an arm. “So? It’s not the same.”
How so? “What do you mean?”
Huffing, he leaned back again. “It’s not the same. They’re my friends.” Now he looked at Techno expectantly, as if it was obvious and he should get it now.
Something in his heart agreed with that.
It felt like there was something he was missing that he’d understood before.
He couldn’t figure it out, he was completely stumped.
“Okay?” Techno says nervously, really wanting him to give up on this and understand he wasn’t going to give him the answer he wanted.
Tommy watched with that expectant expression for another minute before deflating. He looked off to the side, pouting. “Nevermind.”
Hesitantly, Techno turned back to face his computer, leaving him to sulk.
The cursor was still there, blinking silently. The document was still up looming over his head like a gallows blade. So many options for fonts, sizes, colouring, layout, style…there was so much he could do with these tools, if only his mind started working with him. He could have this written in a snap, if only his mind stopped dazing off and thinking about books and shows and literally anything else.
His game didn’t distract him anymore. He couldn’t think of any more words to make. Just looking at the wintery background, the circle of letters with only one word in the crossword above so far, it no longer filled him with satisfaction and slight excitement. There was only dread, hate, and anxiety.
You know, he wanted to be mad at himself, like he was before. But he couldn’t. That emotion was buried somewhere, burned to cinders. It felt foreign to think of the name, think of all the times he’d felt it, re-live those experiences, and the feeling of tense muscles and heart-pounding fast so new, it left him bewildered how he ever felt it before.
He wasn’t mad. Just resigned.
Hey, there were the tears again. He didn’t let them develop any further, squeezing them away until all he felt was wet eyelashes and he could see clearly. Sniffing, he wiped his sleeve under his nose, to stave off the feeling of snot before it could take effect.
There were eyes on him again.
“What.”
He willed himself not to turn around.
A noise of indignation. The picture of Tommy’s offended face was enough to make his lips twitch. “I didn’t say anything this time!”
Giving in, he spun around, trading eyes for a needle-like cursor. “You’re staring. You being quiet like that is even worse than you saying something.” He meant it in a teasing way like usual, that’s just what his humor was.
But something within Tommy shifted. The undetectable tone came back, written in his eyes, all over his face, shown in the way his lips pursed. His voice went an octave quieter, eyes narrowed, “Quiet? Quiet like how you barely do anything besides homework anymore?”
Techno stilled himself, a mixture of hurt and the want to flee running through his body. “I don’t see how that’s related to the conversation.” He kept his words carefully even. If he left it unmonitored, he might give his panic away; that’d only make Tommy push more.
“There’s no topic, it can be talked about.” Tommy moved forward, feet meeting the ground. He looked directly into Techno’s eyes and spoke directly into his soul: “Are you doing alright?”
It was a different question than he expected.
(He didn’t expect a question at all. He didn’t expect to be asked to be noticed. He expected a list of what they noticed, when they started noticing, how, and why and to be ordered to stop and for them to get him help and forced to get noticed. He expected to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Technically he was, but the person who caught him had their hand covering their eyes.
They were waiting for his permission to uncover them.)
“Heh?”
“Are you doing alright?” Tommy repeated the question. This seriousness was a complete flip from how he knew Tommy to act, it left him floundering and stumbling to answer. The question pressed down on him, so many implications branching off of it.
His words caught in his throat.
“As I said, you barely do anything besides homework anymore. You’re always in this room of yours, the only time I see you is at dinner. Lunchtime, you don’t even show up to the table! I have a bet with Tuboo that you’re holed up in the library studying or reading that Greek stuff you love. He’s saying you’re just avoiding us.” Tommy paused, breaking the façade to give him a pleading look. “You aren’t, are you? That’d make me lose twenty pounds.”
Too bad he couldn’t answer.
The wall of information, of observations, crushed him. If he had a weight constricting his breath before, then this left him breathless. He noticed this much? How? When? He was sure he was so careful. He had thought they wouldn’t really notice his presence anyways; all he usually did was read and make the comment every now and then.
But Tommy noticed. Did Wilbur notice too? Did he notice the same things, or different ones? Why? He wasn’t sure if the possibility of that being true scared him or made him relieved, it was hard to untangle the feeling closing in on him.
Tommy looked disappointed. “Great.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “Anyways. Answer the question.”
The words finally cleared up.
“I’m fine,” Techno whispered, voice cracking.
Tommy jumped to his feet, pointing a finger in his face. “Bullshit!”
He batted the finger away and glared back. He was getting really annoyed right now. “It’s true! I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me! You can’t do that!”
“I’m not!”
“Yes, you are!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“I’m fine, Tommy!” Techno finally snapped, standing up himself, towering the inch above Tommy. “I’m fine.” Desperation clawed at him; he had to make Tommy drop this and fast. “I'm fine. I-I haven't been starving myself, or...or cutting myself or anything like that, so that means I'm fine. It means you and Phil and Wilbur don't have to worry about a thing. Okay? I'm perfectly fine.”
His chest heaved when he was done.
The room was quiet, the words sinking into the walls and floor like a virus.
Techno had the feeling that he just said something he could never take back.
Tommy recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “What the fuck?!” He took two steps back towards the door and stopped, emotions fighting for dominance on his face. “Fucking—shit, Techno. Why’d you say that stuff?” Tommy looked pale, weak. “Okay, so you’re not doing any serious shit that, if you did, make us even more worried than we already are. So what? That doesn’t answer my question.”
Techno exhaled a shaky breath, heart aching just as much. He was scared too. He didn’t realize he thought that until now. “Yes, it does. It means I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”
Tommy seemed to struggle for words before shaking his head. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?” Disbelief coated his words, along with just the sliver of hysteric panic by someone out of their depth. “Just because you aren't doing…anything of what you listed, or some shit, doesn't mean you aren't being, I don’t know, self-destructive. You don't need to become thinner or to gain some new scars in order for us to notice things, Techno. There are other things that can fuck with someone's mental health.”
He went quiet, straightening. “You already know this.” It was a statement riddled in defeat.
Techno looked away, turning his back on Tommy. He couldn’t handle this anymore. The tears he’d blinked away before came back stronger than before, but he delayed them, not wanting to cry with his brother still in the room. He acted collected as he sat down, eyes locked back on the cursor.
It seemed to smile back at him in a twisted satisfaction.
Or was that just himself?
He heard Tommy sigh again. Footsteps. “Fine. Whatever. Obviously, you aren’t going to tell me anything, so I might as well just leave.” The footsteps paused, presumably in the doorway, or just outside of it. “We’d still worry about you even if you were fine. We’re family, Bitch, it’s what we do.”
The cursor blinked. Again and again and again.
“Yeah, alright. Great talking to you.”
Night came and brought with it yet another all-nighter.
This time, he had managed to write a few words down, though they weren’t good words. ‘I like Greek Mythology’ isn’t really a good opening to an essay, paired with the fact that he had no clue exactly where this essay was headed and, well, he was going to spend yet another night of staring at a blank screen.
Techno stared at the screen, legs crossed and hands resting uselessly in front of him. A headache had started a half-hour ago, a pounding that wasn’t helping him focus. He should probably go and take some Advil for that, but he knew his legs wouldn’t cooperate with him no matter how nicely he asked. He’s stuck here until it’s time to get ready for school.
It’s unlikely he’s going to get anything done. He wants to—stars, does he want to. It’s taking him forever to get this assignment done and his brain has kicked itself into being more anxious than usual because the satisfaction of handing in the assignment and seeing the red letter up top is long past due. He’s jittery and the feeling won’t go away, even though he’s handed other assignments in and received a good mark.
It doesn’t make sense, yet it’s a thing that’s happening.
Techno hates it.
Especially considering…
His attention shifted and his eyes landed on the assignment laid carefully off to side all by itself. He had handed it in a week or so ago and received it back earlier today. Which is fine, because that’s how school works. It’s nothing new. It shouldn’t bother him, shouldn’t make him feel like letting the ground swallow him whole and make everyone forget he’d ever existed.
Yet the big red B glaring up at him does.
It’s silly. A B is still a good mark. This worry should only be there if it was a D of an F. Even a C is fine because it’s still passing, and really isn’t that what counts? Passing? Getting all the credits needed to graduate when the time comes? It doesn’t matter how he does it, just as long as he does it. He doesn’t need to get A’s all the time.
It’s fine. So why does he feel so bad?
He wants to feel good, like the mark matters and is something to be proud of because it means that he passed the assignment. But he doesn’t. The only thing he feels is shame because he usually does better and he should be keeping that up.
Why does he even want to keep it up? It doesn’t matter. He knows this. He knows that these silly letters don’t mean a damn thing outside of school. They mean nothing to his family because they’re only glad that he’s passing and able to get these marks—they would worry only when he brings home a failing grade. Because that would mean somethings wrong and causing him to shift attention off of school, where it should be. They wouldn’t care for the mark itself, rather about what’s bothering him and they would try to fix it.
Techno…doesn’t really want their help, though. The thought of it makes him itch and tense up, uncomfortable and guilty. The feelings aren’t rooted in anything concrete, just the want to not worry people with problems that shouldn’t exist. He should be able to fix things on his own. He just…needs some more time, maybe.
Yeah. That’s probably it.
(God, since when did he lie so much?)
Shifting, Techno turned back to his computer, for a minute confused that everything went so blurry. Then he realizes the wetness of his eyes and lets out a little sigh. He carefully takes off his glasses and then presses the bottom of his palms to his eyes, using the pressure to get rid of the tears before he starts crying.
He’s been doing too much crying this year.
It must be time for a break. Blinking a few times, he puts his glasses back on and shuts his laptop. A festering hate and shame curling its way around his chest and spreading outwards, he reaches over and grabs his phone. He opens up an app and starts scrolling, laying back against his pillows.
He already knows this won’t really be a ‘break’.
It never is.
It. Never. Is.
(“Dad, he had another all-nighter. This makes it, like, the third one he’s had in a row. He’s getting worse. We need to do something.”
“The bitch should just tell us what’s bothering him already. He knows we’ll help. I don’t get why he’s not taking advantage of that.”
“I know, mate. He doesn’t want people to worry, though. And you know how much his grades matter to him.”
“His worth isn’t determined by fucking letters on a page.”
“…he knows that, right, Dad?”
“…I’ll talk to him. Soon. Okay? Just let the week finish and use the weekend as a recharge. Then I’ll talk to Techno and hopefully see what’s going on. Until then, just be patient.”
“I’ll try, but if Bitchface still doesn’t say anything, it’s my turn to ‘talk’ to him.”
“Tommy.”
“No, after Phil it’s my turn to tie him down while aggressively playing songs about how much we love him.”
“Wilbur!”)
Waking up and feeling like he hadn’t slept at all had become common for Technoblade in the recent months. Granted, he usually feels that way as he would rather sleep all day than do nothing else, no matter how much he loved school. He just wasn’t a morning person, hated it with a burning passion that did not co-exist with his need to always be early to everything.
Today, however, despite feeling like he could still sleep for the rest of his life, he just knew something was off. He wasn’t sure why. Nothing had happened the day before to make him dread today and by all means, this should just be a normal day of getting up, going to school, and inevitably wasting time staring at his computer screen. But it just didn’t feel right and he had no clue why that was.
Rubbing his eye as he walked down the stairs, Techno tried to shrug it off. Being on edge would just make his stress worse and he really didn’t want to go to school already in a bad mood. It wouldn’t be good for anyone. Besides, everything was probably fine.
He was worrying over nothing.
Even if the house felt too quiet.
Even if the off feeling grew sharper as he neared the kitchen.
Even if it was lighter outside than it should be for it to be when they usually got ready for school.
Phil was washing dishes, so at least there was one normal thing about today. Their dad usually washed dishes on today, they all knew that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what day it was today, but that was fine. It would be fine. He could handle not knowing what day it was.
Hearing him enter, Phil turned and smiled. “Hey there, mate. Finally awake, huh?” Strange. Techno eyed his dad. His smile seemed a little tighter than usual, eyes just a bit shadowed. “Well, now that you’re up, sit down. I’ll heat up the plate saved for you, just give me a moment.” With that, Phil made himself busy, still smiling.
Cautiously, Techno sat down, watching Phil start up the microwave and resume the load of dishes in the sink. The feeling itched at his brain and he couldn’t push it away.
Something was definitely off.
Phil was hiding something, or trying to hide something. Well, not hiding, not exactly—it’s how he gets when he’s trying to bring something up but doesn’t want to scare one of the brothers, or whoever it is he wants to talk to, off. He’s trying to gently get to the point where he could bring it up and they could talk about it calmly and honestly.
Right now, he wants to talk to Techno. But why?
“Here you are,” Phil said, setting the plate in front of him. He walked around and sat next to him, placing two mugs down. He slid one over to Techno, cupping his in his hands. His smile eased into something more natural. “Hot chocolate. To spice things up a bit, you know?” He laughed to himself, blowing and taking a sip.
Techno stared. He looked to the mug given to him and stared at the drink inside, covered by a film of marshmallows. Just as he liked it. Just as this plate was his favourite breakfast. He couldn’t stop himself from asking any longer, the silence of the house, the absence of bickering and yelling and singing usually prevalent during the mornings making itself glaringly obvious. “Where’s Wilbur?” He asked, shifting his gaze around the room once more. “And Tommy?”
Phil was watching him. His expression gave nothing away, too calm, too careful. He spoke lightly, yet with so much weight. “They’re at school.”
That was the first tic, a weight settling into his mind and shifting things into the picture. “Oh.” The realization curled around his gut, making him grip his hands together tightly. “What…what time is it, exactly?” He already had a suspicion of what would be said.
Phil was still watching him. He didn’t move to check any times. He spoke slowly and carefully, shifting to plant both feet on the ground. “I think it’s eleven-thirty, almost.”
It took a beat for the words to sink in.
Techno scrambled to stand up, his chair screeching back and surprisingly not tipping over. “What?! Why did no one wake me up? You should’ve woken me up!” His mind started racing. He hated being late to classes more than he hated missing classes. He’s rarely missed class. He can’t start to, either. “I…I-I have to hurry, get ready so that I can get there for lunch and-and attend at least half of the day and—”
Phil stood up as well, grabbing his arm before he could run upstairs. “Hey, hey! Hold on, mate.” He said, firmly in place no matter how much Techno tried to shake him off. “You can sit back down, you’re not going to school today.”
Techno paused, not liking the words being said and the implication that he would abide by them. He shook his head. “What? No, I-I have to, Phil, you don’t understand. I don’t miss class for no reason, I don’t, so I have to go today.”
“I know you don’t, Tech, I know you don’t.” Phil tried to reassure him, but Techno forced himself not to listen. He knew that if he didn’t argue and leave now, he would be staying home and he can’t have that. He can’t. “But you’re not going today. I already phoned the school and told them that. I talked about it with Wilbur and Tommy and they both agreed that you should stay home today as well—”
“It doesn’t matter what you guys think I should do.” He snapped, glaring at Phil. Then he winced, already regretting it. “I have to go to school.” He pushed on before Phil spoke again, desperate to make his dad understand and listen to him. “I can’t miss classes, I can’t, because there might be something that is taught today that won’t be taught tomorrow or any other class and I need to be there when it happens—”
“Tech—”
Techno pushed through, talking over Phil. “—because if I’m not then I might miss something crucial and that means I won’t do good on the next assignment or quiz and that can’t happen, it can’t because then—”
“—Techno, listen to me.” Phil raised his voice to be heard over Technos. The hand on his arm tightened. “I need you to take a breath, sit down and listen to me right now okay.” Phil sat back down himself and tugged at Techno until he followed. “I know you don’t like missing classes, but today the decision has already been made and I’m sorry about that.”
Techno frowned and opened his mouth to argue some more, but Phil shook his head. “No, you’re listening to me right now. You’re staying home because your brothers and I have been worried about you recently. You haven’t been getting sleep and you’ve been in your room more than usual, which is really saying something, and it’s made us worry because we can see that you’re stressed about something, but whenever we ask, you lie and say that you’re fine. But you’re not.”
The words made Techno shift, uncomfortable. He didn’t like being told that he was being worried over, that people noticed he hasn’t been on top of things recently. “I—”
“I’d been thinking about asking you to stay home for a few weeks now, but I was hesitant to ask because I know how much you hated missing classes. However, remember how parent-teacher conferences were last week?” Phil didn’t wait for his confirmation. “I spoke to your English teacher and they told me about your one assignment and that they were worried about you because you would usually have it handed in by now.”
Techno stilled.
Oh no.
His mind went blank, turning everything off. It honed in on the words ‘one assignment…usually have it in by now.’ And repeated it, over and over, twisting them until they were full of hate, ridicule replacing concern, harshness replacing gentleness.
No, no, no, no. Shit.
This was bad. This was really bad. Phil wasn’t supposed to find out about that, he was never supposed to know how long it was taking Techno to finish the assignment. But now he knows and it’s terrible because he’s going to be so disappointed in Techno, he just knows he is and it hurts. It hurts so much.
Techno, you idiot, he berated himself, the grip of guilt weighing down on his chest. You just had to take this long, decided to make everyone worry over nothing when you should have it done already. Now how are you going to fix this? You can’t. It’s all over, everyone can see how much of a fucking failure you are.
You idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, fucking worthless, pathetic idiot.
You should’ve had it done by now. Instead, you let yourself actively avoid doing it, what good student does that?
Failure. Disappointment. Failure. Disappointment. Failure.
I hate you.
You hate me.
I hate myself.
The hurt didn’t go away, it just got sharper. It clawed at his chest, riding up and taking hold of his throat, tightening it up. His head pounded there was a ringing in his ears and it hurt, hurt, hurt, why won’t it stop hurting, he was supposed to be better than this, he was supposed to be fine, just make it stop hurting—
“—no, breathe, mate. Breathe. You need to breathe, Techno, I need you to breathe, okay?” Phil’s voice filtered in, Techno’s mind finally registering the hands on his arms giving a comforting pressure.
His breath hitched and he started breathing again, deep, quick breaths that helped clear his mind, making the pounding and ringing subside. He let Phil maneuver him until his head was resting on the elder’s shoulder, a hand running over his head and smoothing down his hair. They stayed that way for a minute, just breathing.
Techno shifted, staring at Phil’s neck. The guilt and anxiety from before were still swirling in his mind and he knew he had to say something, what’s been on a loop in his mind for months that he never brought up. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, raising his voice before Phil could stop him from speaking. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten it done yet. I know I should, but I don’t know why I don’t have it done and I can’t seem to do it, but I should have it done by now, it’s been months and—” Despite himself, his voice broke and wavered for the next words, the words that he feared so much. “Please don’t be disappointed.”
He felt Phil’s hand still on his head, felt the vibrations as he spoke. “Why-why would I be disappointed?” The words were laced with an emotion that Techno was too tired to place.
“I…” His mind whirled, trying to find the right way to say things. He didn’t want to say everything, but he feared once he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Swallowing, he fought away his anxiety and started speaking. “I usually have my assignments done soon after their due, even if we’re given a good amount of time to do them in. This is fine because it’s easy for me to do and I get good grades anyways, but I haven’t done the same with this assignment. I know they gave us all school year to do it, I know that, but I haven’t written anything for it yet, I don’t even know what to write on it yet and—”
He had to stop and take a breath, the words coming out too fast. There was wetness on his cheeks that he became aware of, but he made no move to wipe the tears away. If he stopped now, he wouldn’t say anything else and he was nowhere near to what he wanted to say.
“—I hate it, but whenever I try to write this assignment, I can’t get words on the page and I end up doing something else instead and it’s terrible because I’m failing you by not being the straight-A and efficient student I usually am and I’m failing Wilbur by not doing what he expects of me, even though I know he was joking when he said that, I know he was and that’s fine, but the words hurt now and they remind me of what I’m not doing, and I’m failing Tommy by, by I-I don’t know what but I’m sure I’m failing him somehow too and I’m sorry—”
A sob tore through him before he could stop it, making him take another broken breath. Phil shifted again, leaning away from him, but Techno wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead shutting his tightly, as if that would stop him from crying.
He inhaled, opened them, and continued. “And this is why I have to go to school, to make sure that I make up for this failure in my other assignments and getting those in on time, but recently I haven’t gotten as high of marks as I usually do and that’s just another failure and I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking again as another sob shook his body. No matter how much he tried to refuse, his eyes were drawn to Phil’s and he couldn’t look away again. “I’m sorry that I’m failing you so much so often and I’m sorry I’m not making you proud even though I should be.”
Taking a breath, Techno stopped. He gazed back at his father, who had been so silent through his whole ramble. The tears still poured but he didn’t pay attention to them, instead the ones welling up in Phil’s taking his attention. He watched, confused, as some slip out and trailed down. He watched, confused, as heartbreak settled on Phil’s face.
His dad held a hand on his cheek and rubbed his thumb across his cheekbone. “Oh, Techno…” Phil said, and how was it that so much love and worry could be held in two measly words like that? It took him by so much surprise that he let Phil continue, the two emotions carrying through as if they were supposed to be so obvious all the time, like they belonged there. “Mate, you haven’t failed me at all. You haven’t failed any of us at all.”
…what?
“It’s true that you’re a straight-A student who gets their work done so quickly and-and that’s goddamn impressive, dude!” Phil laughed, lagged down by the tears, not noticing how the words he spoke fell over Techno like they were spoken in a language he didn’t understand. “You know that? It’s so impressive, and I’m so fucking proud of you for being that smart. Wilbur and Tommy are proud of you for that too, I assure you, but never prouder than me. If I could, I would shout it to the world how proud I am of you.”
Finally noticing the furrow to Techno’s brow and the confusion etched across his face, Phil hummed slightly, cupping the other cheek as well and looked his son in the eyes, love written in every part of his being. “And I’m not going to stop being proud of you even if you don’t get A’s. Do you know why?” He waited until Techno whispered the word back to him, before he smiled and continued. “Because you’re my son. My beautiful, smart, strong son who could never do anything that would come close to starting to disappoint me, that-that would be considered failing me. You’re my child, Techno, mine in every single way, which means you could never disappoint or fail me, never.”
Mouth dry, Techno swallowed, trying to think of reasons to prove Phil wrong. “But I…” He trailed off before Phil even shushed him.
“A child could never fail their parent, only the parent can fail the child, okay?” Phil said, making sure the words registered before his smile turned sad. “If one of us has to apologize, then it should be me. I’m so, so sorry, Techno, for not noticing how you were feeling sooner. I’m sorry that I ever made you believe that you could disappoint me and, most importantly, you did. I’m sorry for not having this conversation sooner.”
Techno frowned, hating all the apologies that just happened. He reached a hand up and held one of the hands-on his cheeks. “It’s not your fault. You’re not a mind reader, Dad.” The title slipped out before he could stop it, but seeing Phil soften so much in surprise, he decided not to correct it. He didn’t really want to, anyway. “You didn’t notice because I didn’t let you notice and…and I should’ve, I should’ve. I’m sorry.”
Phil shook his head, smiling yet again. “Don’t be.” He fell silent before chuckling, taking his hands away to wipe at his eyes. “Look at us, crying and apologizing, too stubborn to let the other take the blame.” Techno smiled back at the remark, words ringing true. Phil reached over and took a sip from his mug, scrunching up his nose after. “Ugh. The hot chocolate went cold.” He stood up to heat it up but paused, looking to Techno. “I can heat yours up too, if you want?”
“No, no.” Techno reached for his own mug, taking a sip. It was cold and frankly not good, the marshmallows sticking in his teeth and the cold disappointing him, not warming him the way it should.
And yet…
“It’s perfect the way it is.”
It was the best cup of hot chocolate he’s had in a while.
Phil scoffed in fondness. “Okay, you weirdo. Might be the only person I know to enjoy cold hot chocolate.” The sound of the microwave filled the room next. Phil turned to Techno, tilting his head a little. “I think you should watch some TV today, hang out in the living room. Just…take a break, a day off, y’know? What d’you say?”
Techno shifted, glancing away for a minute. He slowly nodded. “…Yeah, okay. Might sleep some more, too.” He stood up and started to make his way out of the kitchen, but he was stopped before he could step through the doorway.
“Hey,” Phil called behind him and he turned, letting Phil tug him down and plant a kiss on his forehead, pressing his against Techno’s before he pulled away. “I love you, Technoblade. Okay? I’ll love you till the end of the world and further.”
Techno smiled, running his tongue over his teeth as he struggled with himself. He usually never said it back. He didn’t need to say it back, he knew that. Phil made it clear he never expected any of them to say it back. But after the conversation that just happened…
“Love you too, Dad.”
He decided he made the right choice as he saw Phil grin back at him.
He must’ve fallen asleep again because one minute he was sitting on the couch watching whatever was on the TV when he turned it on and the next, he was lying down, head on someone’s chest and a hand playing with his hair, another weight pressing his legs to the back too, pinning him in place.
This would usually be the time that he’d jump up and put as much distance between him and whoever was showing so much affection to him, burning with embarrassment at being soft, but…this was the first time in months his shoulders were relaxed. It was the first time he woke slowly, too, not just all at once like he had been doing. He felt like his body had actually rested for once. His mind still felt sluggish, and he found that he didn’t mind that so much right now.
So, he decided to do something he never does: he let go. He let himself relax even further, falling further into the trance as his breathing matched the person under him, the gentle motion grounding, drowning out any thought that told him he should be getting up and working on school work. The hand in his hair traced light designs of random things, gradually darkening the blackness and turning it into smudges of dreams.
Techno was almost asleep when there was a “FUCK!” from Tommy, who turned out to be the weight against his legs. He felt his brother shift and lean forward.
He opened one eye to yellow fabric as the hand in his hair paused, the owner speaking up, the vibrations gentle. “Tommy!” Wilbur scolded, “Be quiet! Some of us are sleeping here, and you know he needs it.”
Some part of Techno winced at that, automatically guilty that they noticed enough to be worried about him. Phil’s words from earlier came back and lessoned it slightly, though not enough that he didn’t still feel the shame at having caused that worry, especially when he knew he could’ve avoided everything had he just asked for help at the start.
“Sorry!” Tommy said, voice considerably quieter. “But it’s not my fault that it happened. Blame the guy who sold me out and killed me!”
“Then just go and play in your room if you’re going to be so vocal.”
“No.” Techno felt Tommy lean back again. “You know how badly Tech was sleeping when it was just him. He needs the support of Big Man Tommyinnit to keep all his negativity away so he can sleep peacefully.”
(There was that guilt again, but this time it came with a warm feeling that just overpowered it.)
“Sure, because ‘Big Man Tommyinnit’ is all-so-powerful,” Wilbur’s hand started moving again, this time tracing small circles, “even though he’s a kid, and kids are weak.”
Tommy scoffed. “I am not a kid, not weak either—”
His brothers started bickering and a smile tugged at Techno. Despite how loud Tommy and Wilbur usually are when they argue, he couldn’t help but notice how they kept their voices quiet enough for him to keep sleeping (which for Tommy was quite the feat, he’s gotta say).
The bickering was a comfort, it was such a constant in the house that he didn’t realize how much it helped to ground him until now. He’d never realized how soothing to was to hear something normal when he fought to keep from going about his day on autopilot. He closed his eye again and half-listened, falling into the trance of focusing on Wilbur’s movement again.
By the time that Phil checked on them again, he was asleep again.
It was the best sleep he’d had in a while.
The words on the page seemed clearer, somehow. It felt like he was just seeing them for the first time, really understanding what each one meant and how they built the story, moved it forward. He didn’t have to go back to the previous page and read it again because he never really read it, didn’t have to re-read the same paragraph ten times before he understood it.
Techno could focus on it again. That hasn’t happened since the assignment was handed out. It felt good to be able to read something for more than a minute, see the pictures in his head. It made his shoulders feel lighter, like something had finally been lifted from them.
He tipped his head back against his headboard, closing his eyes.
The conversation with Phil still made his fight or flight response activate, something in him ready to bolt given the right cue. It’s not that he wasn’t happy he told Phil all of that, he was, somewhat, but it still made him wince that his family now knew how he felt, how much stress he’s been putting himself under. They would want to help, definitely, and they’ll ask him how they can do that and he’ll just shrug, because he truly doesn’t know. He wants to be able to give them a clear answer, but he won’t be able to.
“You don't need to become thinner or to gain some new scars in order for us to notice things, Techno… We’d still worry about you even if you were fine. We’re family, bitch, it’s what we do.”
Tommy’s words popped in his head. He knew that his brother was right; in all shapes and forms, even if he was doing everything perfectly, they would still worry, because that’s what family does. He worries about them constantly, the feeling always on the burner, but left low enough to not bother him too much, hinder things. It’s just ready to boil over should he really notice something’s wrong.
He knew this.
…so why was it so hard to believe it?
There was a knock on his door, making Techno open his eyes again. “Yeah?”
“Hey,” Wilbur’s voice came from behind the door. “It’s just me. Can we talk?”
If it had been any other time, he’d have narrowed his eyes, suspicion’s rising like never before. Both Tommy and Wilbur asking to talk within months apart from each other, both separately and one-on-one? It was a recipe for trouble.
But considering everything that has happened, he already knew what this conversation would be like.
Swallowing his anxiety, Techno answered. “Sure. Come in.”
“Thanks.” Wilbur entered, carrying his guitar with him over his shoulder, and actually closed the door behind him, another sign. He smiled at Techno and sat down in his desk chair, kicking his feet up onto the desk surface. The guitar was settled into his lap and Wilbur focused his eyes on it, started to tune it.
It was a sight Techno was used to, just one that hasn’t happened all year. His older brother usually would hang out in either Tommy or his rooms, tuning his guitar and playing some light background music. With Tommy, he would listen to him ramble about how his day went. With Techno, they’d just stay quiet, strumming and doing homework, content to be in each other’s presence.
He looked back to his book, but the words seemed unappealing now. He wanted the conversation over with already. It was nice to stay in this comfortable air, but he didn’t know how much more silence he could take before his anxiety boiled over to try and stop him from revealing anything more.
“So,” Wilbur finally started, still looking at his guitar. “How’ve you been?”
Play along or break the ice? That was the question. “How do you think?”
Wilbur’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Fair.” Picking up on Techno’s want, he stopped playing, looking up. “Phil told me about the conversation you two had. Did it go well?” Whatever emotion was in his eyes, it was hidden carefully.
Techno wasn’t sure whether it was to stop him from mistaking it as pity or something else.
He looked down as he thought the question over.
‘Well’ is just a synonym of fine, really. The conversation didn’t go horribly, he didn’t lash out or stubbornly refuse to listen to Phil, although it didn’t go too good either, he didn’t talk about his thoughts and feelings without crying as stable people would. But he did talk, he did tell Phil everything. Phil reminded him of things that he knew but didn’t believe anymore, and it helped to detangle his mind.
Taking a breath, he looked back up. “…Yeah.” He felt good about that answer, but for added measure, he added, “I think.” You could never be sure.
Wilbur’s smile widened, shoulders relaxing in relief, the emotion bleeding into his words. “Good, I’m glad.” He paused, shifting his position. Feet on the ground now and guitar leaning against the side of the desk. “Techno,” he started, hands clasped together in front of him. “I wanted to apologize. I’m truly sorry that I made you feel like you had to do perfectly, or else you’d be-you’d be failing us. Failing me. As your older brother, I should never have said anything to make you feel like that. I’m sorry I did.”
…oh.
For some reason, he hadn’t expected this.
There was a lot happening recently he didn’t expect.
Techno shook his head. “Wilbur, no.” A flash of hurt crossed his brother’s face and he backtracked, starting again. “No, I mean, I forgive you, because it’s not your fault. You said it as a joke, just like all the other times you tease. I know they’re jokes, I’m okay with them. If I wasn’t, I promise I would’ve said something.” Licking his lips, he finally closed his book, setting it aside. “But with these ones, it was just my mind twisting them into something they weren’t. That’s my fault, not yours.”
It was his fault this was all happening.
Wilbur slowly nodded, looking taken aback. “Okay. Thank you.” He then tilted his head, peering at Techno with a hint of seriousness. The gaze was heavy. “Though, it’s not your fault either, you know.”
Sorry, but that’s wrong. “What? But I—”
“It’s not your fault either. You said it yourself.” Wilbur pressed forward, repeating the statement again. He made Techno feel vulnerable, like a newborn deer just learning to walk. “Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but that’s an automated response you’ve developed for years. It wasn’t your conscious choice to take those words differently, was it? It’s just…what your mind thought was true, and without an outside perspective to bounce that off of, it spiraled until you believed it.” Shaking his head fondly, his smile turned sad. “You really should’ve said something sooner.”
Techno nodded. “I know.”
The room fell quiet.
The words Wilbur said swirled around his head. It wasn’t conscious, no. He even took it as a joke at the start, it was only after a couple weeks passed with no progress that the words started turning sour, rotten. They turned into something that he desperately needed to live up to, the idea of disappointment driving him, even though he knew Wilbur would only lightly tease him for it if he didn’t get the A+.
He would never be disappointed. Neither would Phil or Tommy.
They cared too much.
The familiar wetness of tears made its appearance. Gritting his teeth, he tried to hold them back as he did with Tommy, but the conversation with Phil apparently displaced the ability to do so. He had thought he was out of tears, but the blurred vision said otherwise. “I-I know, I’m sorry.” His chest constricted and he quickly muffled the sob.
Techno didn’t want to break down twice in one day.
Wilbur moved, expression breaking in concern and sympathy. “Hey…Hey now, none of that. No crying.” He stood and Techno watched him sit beside him on the bed, holding his arms out. “C’mere.”
With a hiccup, techno leaned over and let himself be engulfed in a hug. Wilbur leaned back against the headboard, making him follow. He tried to not sob too much, but there was nothing he could do for the tears, so he gave in to the urge to hold onto the yellow sweater as a hand stroked his head.
He felt like a child who had a nightmare again, seeking comfort from their older sibling. Wilbur started humming gently, still stroking. Gentle and soothing, it really was like all those times in the past, before Tommy and a little bit after, when he was still young enough to willingly seek out hugs and cuddles. His heart ached. You never know how much you missed things like that until it happened again.
Wilbur stopped humming, and he felt the pressure of his head falling on top of his. “You don't need to be perfect.” He whispered, the words close enough to his ear, so factual and sweet he had no choice but to listen, just like Phil. “You know? If you were, I wouldn't be able to tease you about how much coffee you drink, or about how inconsistent your sleep schedule is, or, most importantly, about how competitive you are, especially when it comes to Minecraft. And I think losing those things would be pretty sad, make life boring.” Wilbur let out a light laugh.
Techno’s tears seemed to double at those words.
Phil said the same thing. Maybe in different words, but the message was the same. ‘You don’t need to be perfect.’ It was something else to hear the message and then hear the words spoken out loud. There was no need to be perfect, the mistakes he makes turned into stories for his family to tease him with are worth it.
It made his heart hurt, too warm in the face of such love. “I like Greek Mythology, Wilbur,” Techno says, voice weak and breaking. This was the first time he admitted he couldn’t do anything to people, to himself. “I love it.”
“I know.”
“So why can’t I write on it?”
Wilbur was quiet.
In the time, Techno’s tears finally slowed enough that he was comfortable letting up on his grip and moving his head to the side. His ear pressed against Wilbur’s chest, the faint heartbeat helping ground him. Exhaustion picked at him, eyes feeling heavy.
Wilbur shifted, sighing. “I can’t answer that for you. One thing I don’t have advice for.” Another laugh and Wilbur went on, “But I do know that you are so talented, far more talented, far smarter than the rest of your classmates. The past attests to that. You picked up reading before everyone else, picked up math and science and history, like it was nothing! You passed tests without even studying, or at least not studying too much.”
The compliments made Techno’s cheeks feel warm. An embarrassed smile tugged at him. Wilbur wasn’t done, sighing again. “Honestly, I’m just a bit surprised it took you this long to get burnt out.” He admitted, voice lowering.
Techno blinked, leaning back to meet Wilbur’s eyes. “Burnt out?” The words itched at him.
Where has he heard that term before?
Wilbur blinked back at him, matching his confusion. “Yeah. That’s what’s happening, right? You’ve lost motivation for the things you like, you find it more difficult to focus, I’m not sure what else because I’m not you, but yeah. I’d consider this whole thing to be burnout.” Tilting his head, he shrugged. “I think you were overdue for a break, anyway.”
Looking away, Techno only hummed. “Maybe.”
Burn out.
There was something about that and gifted kids he’d read somewhere…
Seeing he was feeling better now, Wilbur stood up and stretched. He yawned. “Well, I should head to bed myself. School tomorrow.” Grabbing his guitar, he paused at the doorway, peering back at him accusingly. “You’re not going tomorrow, right?”
Techno sighed. “Right. As much as I loathe it.”
“Good. It’s what you deserve.” Wilbur smiled again and headed out. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” Before his door closed all the way, he called out a quick, “Thank you.”
The door paused, and he could vividly picture Wilbur’s smile, dripping with sympathy. “Of course.” The door closed and Techno let himself smile. His mind felt clear and his heart was lighter. It felt as though he’d just been caught before he tumbled off a cliff into a bigger mess.
Even if he had, though, he’s sure his family would’ve caught him.
They were early today, between Wilbur having a music meeting about an assembly coming up and Tommy having a morning practice for his latest sport. Techno, though, didn’t really have any extra school activities, so he took the time to finish reading his book and some homework he was behind on (if handing it in a week ahead of time counted as behind; habits were hard to break).
When the halls started to gradually fill up with more and more bodies, the noise getting to the point that he struggled to make out the lyrics of his music, he checked the time and decided to head up to English. Being early was always better than being late, even if it meant the opportunity for the teacher to have a one-on-one conversation with him that he was sure to overthink later.
His English teacher looked up from the computer at their desk as he entered, and smiled. “Morning, Techno!” They always greeted him with a smile, as did the other teachers, because despite his best efforts to stay in the shadows, his work always put him as teacher’s Number One Pet, the best in his grade.
Shaking those thoughts away, Techno forced himself to smile back, nodding a little before making his way to his usual desk. He sat and got his stuff out, always at the ready, doodling idly as he waited for the bell to ring so class can begin and he can focus on something actually worthwhile.
His teacher made a noise and he looked up, watching them stand and shuffle stuff around. “Oh, before I forget…” they grabbed a paper and walked to his desk, setting it down. Techno recognized the title and froze. “Here. I’ve graded your assignment, the one you wrote about Greek Mythology and burnt-out gifted kids?”
Oh no. The day he both looks forward to and dreads with every fiber of his being: when his work gets marked and handed back to him. He’s still waiting for the day when something’s handed back to him and the teachers frowning, disappointed. Then he’d actually have something to put behind the fear of doing badly.
Techno opened his mouth, but all that came out was a small, “Oh.” Clearing his throat, he tried again, avoiding looking at the assignment. “Um, how, how did you like it?”
His teacher stared at him for a moment, just enough for the thoughts of it not being good enough, of him not being good enough, to start circulating before they broke out into the biggest grin he’s received from them. “I think it was one of the best essays I’ve ever had handed into me.” Oh. Well, now his cheeks were starting to burn and though he already mentally denied everything to be said, he waited for them to finish.
“I mean, your writing is as flawless as ever, of course. But what really hooked me were your comparisons of the mindsets gifted kids develop and some of the Greek myths. I had no clue how similar some of them were, and would have never known if you hadn’t written this. So, I guess, thank you for that!”
Thankfully, the bell rang, saving Techno from having to respond to the onslaught of compliments. Both his teacher and him looked towards the door as other students started entering, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Must be nice to have friends, he thought, watching someone push someone else playfully as they sat down.
“Class will be starting soon.” His teacher said, drawing his attention back to them. They gave him one last nod, “But I made a copy of it to keep and show other teachers and students, if that’s alright?”
“That’s fine.” Techno nodded back, wishing he would go back to his desk before the whole class started watching their conversation. The two stares were already enough.
“Okay, thanks again.” His teacher finally retreated back to the front, raising his voice to tell everyone to settle down and get their stuff out.
As the second bell rang, class officially beginning, Techno gathered up his last reserves of courage for the day to look down at the essay and see the grade he received. Eyeing the red mark, he smiled softly.
A+