#worm.txt

There’s a certain type of beauty that comes with silence. For many, it’s found in time spent alone, that solitude acting as a breath of fresh air in a way. For others, they may find it in a comforting silence shared between two or more people. The usage of words isn’t exactly necessary in being able to fully enjoy the company of others, and that’s precisely what’s so wonderful about it.

Though, in this case, silence is suffocating.

—-

Technoblade sits with his back set straight against the driver’s seat of his car, sweat acting as an adhesive to keep him stuck in place as his fingers curl around the steering wheel in a grip that leaves his knuckles a lighter shade. Normally, for him, silence while driving is something that he enjoys, being able to block the worries of the day out as he keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead of him.

Today, however, this silence leaves the air thick and tense, almost like smog.

You have your body pressed up against the opposite side of the car, arms curled around your legs in a, what you would call, fetal-like position. It’s slightly uncomfortable and entirely awkward, but it’s the only solace you can find in a situation such as this.

The road ahead stretches on for miles and miles, streets left near-empty with only a handful of people to be seen out this late.

Now that you think of it, you should be one of those people out on the sidewalk right now. You should be curled into Techno’s side as you walk down the avenues, genuine smiles etched on to your faces as you enjoy one another’s company.

But again, given the current situation, that seems like nothing more than a pipe dream.

Techno drums his fingers against the steering wheel as a poor attempt to fill the silence. It’s hypnotic when you take the time to zero-in on it. It’s like- the hooves of horses galloping onto a track, going faster and faster and faster until one crosses the finish line.

That doesn’t happen.

His eyes cast toward you every few seconds. He’s aware he’s doing it. You’re aware he’s doing it. But, somehow, he doesn’t know that you know. Funny, no?

He’s… exhausted. He’s spent the past 14 hours- 6am to 8pm- hunched over a desk, work piling higher and higher above the limits of his patience while higher-ups breathe hot air down his neck, lecturing and nit-picking him at every chance they get.

“Remember T, I need this on my desk by Thursday morning.” “C’mon, is this really all you have to show?” “Chop chop, porkchop! I need these papers sent to our asap!”

He just wants to go home and sleep with you, his partner, the two of you huddled beneath the blankets and feeding off one another’s warmth. If given the opportunity, he’d sleep with you like that for a week and then some.

But the guilt of leaving you out in the rain for hours on end after he’d promised you dinner that night hangs over his head heavily, the whispers in his head laughing at him and scolding him and telling him “they’re going to leave you because of this. And you deserve it.”

He hates it, but he knows that there’s nothing he can do to change what he’s done and he hates it. He just wants to say something, maybe for you to say something if not him to fill this awkward and tense silence that’s been simmering since you stepped into the car a little under 10 minutes ago.

Well, it’s not even the fact that you haven’t looked at him. Saying that implies that it just hasn’t happened yet, that you haven’t turned your head to take a good look at him yet. No- since you slammed the door behind you and huddled into your current position, you’ve refused to cast your eyes anywhere near him. You’ve actively decided to not look at him.

And truthfully, it breaks both of your hearts, not just his.

He can’t see it as your face is directed away from him, but tears prick at your eyes, leaving them a dull reddish-white shade as they accumulate. He had promised to dedicate tonight to you. Promised that nothing else would get in the way and stop this night from happening, and yet that is exactly what had happened.

He’d been so… distant lately. With the way his hours were lined up, he barely even got to see you awake anymore. You’d be lucky if you got to see him for half a second on his way out or when he’d periodically press a kiss to your forehead before knocking out beside you in bed. He barely had any time with you anymore and you’d begun to hate it.

You’ve never had a problem with it before.

Truthfully, you hadn’t. It was something Techno had always loved about you, even before going into his current profession. You’ve always been patient with him, understanding when things came up out of the blue and he’d have to cancel, but he’d always reschedule for sometime soon and make it up to you.

You still had that mentality, of course, but now it was being tested.

He had cleared everything off of his board for tonight, doing everything in his power to set aside the night for you both. And even then, it wasn’t enough.

Technoblade was not a man that broke promises. He dealt with them seriously, and there was not one moment in your relationships where he‘d broken a promise. Well, until now. And that’s what hurt you so much about this whole situation- that, even after having made it a point all throughout your relationship that promises were final, he still fell short.

It broke you.

Techno isn’t a stupid man. Yes, he may make stupid decisions, but that doesn’t inherently make him stupid. He knows he let you down and he knows how angry you are about this whole thing and he knows that you’re making it a point not to show that anger because he knows and you know that doing that would only make everything worse.

It’s this frustratingly repetitive cycle that he finds himself in that he hates so much. He doesn’t know what to do to fix everything because he feels as though he’s walking on thin ice, the wrong step leading him to plunge into the icy currents below.

F*ck, he hates this so much.

The car slows, the dull click click click of the blinker resonating in the silent car as the vehicle turns into a parking lot. It’s only then that you decide to actually look away from the passenger’s side window for the first time since getting in the car.

It’s a plaza. There are several markets and shops dispersed around the area, dull red and blue ‘OPEN’ signs flashing on and off in store windows. You can count on your hands the number of cars in the lot- all space far away from each other to subtly let you know that nobody is shopping at the same stores.

It’s when Techno pulls into a parking space in front of a small bakery that you actually speak up. Your voice is hoarse, tone soft and low as you speak to him for what you realize to be the first time that day.

“Techno? Why are we stopping here? I thought we were going straight home?”

You hate how pathetic you sound, voice small as you speak to the man. He responds quickly after a few beats of silence.

“I need to pick something up real quick. I’ll only be a few. I promise.”

Oh, the irony.

In a fluid motion, Techno takes the keys out of the ignition, the car drumming down into silence as the engine slows to a stop. The heater, of which had been on the entire ride, stops as well, all the heat from the car settling into the stale air you had become familiar with.

He- Techno, is quiet. Eerily so, though not in a way where it seems like he’s about to chew you out, but the exact opposite. No, instead, this silence makes him feel like a child about to be scolded by their parents for doing something they shouldn’t have.

It’s not far off, actually.

His eyes are trained on the view ahead of him- the bakery, watching the workers in the store slump over the counter in exhaustion as they count the minutes tick by and calculate how much longer it’ll be until they’re allowed to leave. It’s only in this silence that you actually cast your gaze to him, taking every inch of him in and storing it in the back of your mind for later.

His hair is a mess, long pink strands tied up into a messy bun that barely even does its job of keeping his hair out of his face. His wide, square glasses are left askew on his face, falling off the edge of his nose but hanging on at just the right angle so that they don’t fall. His eyes- his eyes are so dull and full of sorrow, you almost break into sobs then and there.

There’s so much emotion behind those brilliantly red eyes, the hundreds of different shades of the colour swirling into a mix that leaves you gasping for air.

Even so, you still want to yell and kick and scream and pull your hair out from its roots and ask him “why?” Why would he make a promise such as this- a promise in general if he couldn’t even keep his word to it?

You hate him and you love him all the same for it, but f*ck is this whole thing messing with your head.

Your focus then shifts from his face, down the length of his arms, to his hands. The drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel had stopped a short while ago, instead his hands turn to hold the object in a vice grip. One of which looks as though if he were to apply any more pressure to it, the steel would bend and break underneath him.

Your fingers twitch. You want to offer him comfort; you want to let him know you aren’t entirely mad at him- but, still; you are mad at him in a way, so wouldn’t that action contradict itself?

Your eyes travel back up to his face, but the difference this time, as opposed to the last, is that he meets your gaze. His entire body freezes and stiffens the second he meets your line of sight, breath catching in the back of his throat as his mind scrabble to figure out what he needs to do next as to not f*ck anything up further.

So, his solution in this scenario is to leave. His hands abruptly part in front of the wheel, almost in a way that resembles someone being burnt by a hot object. His sweaty palms leave a certain shine on the wheel, and it’s then that you can obviously see the dents his grip has left.

You almost don’t catch it, but he mumbles something under his breath, something along the lines of “you can keep the keys in the ignition if you want.”

Something like that.

He’s quick to open the door after those words leave his mouth, stepping out head-first with the crisp air biting his exposed face. He’s not entirely out yet, though, as only his first left and upper body have exited the car.

Now you have a choice to make, and you hope to all the gods that may listen that you’re making the right one.

“Wait, give me a second and I’ll be right behind you. Grab the keys.”

You aren’t surprised that he listens to your words, healing his movements as you open your own car door and exit the vehicle, arms continuing to curl around yourself, though this time the reason for doing so is because of the cold.

Techno notes that, already shedding the muddled brown cardigan he had been wearing moments before as he snatches the keys from the ignition. The car door shuts behind him with a slam, keys in one hand and sweater in the other.

He meets up with you around the hood of the car, passing you the sweater with pleading eyes, hoping that you’ll take it without argument. You do, and both you and him are grateful for that for your own reasons that don’t need entertaining at this time.

As the two of you cross the short distance from Techno’s car to the store’s front, his lips part in awe. He… he never expected you to come along with him. He thought you would have stayed in the car if anything, maybe turning on the heater and radio in wait for him, or possibly screaming into the void about how utterly stupid he is.

Or, hell- maybe you’d drive off and leave him where he stood.

But no, instead, you’re walking inside the bakery with him, your strides matching his as the two of you go up and down each aisle, inspecting the different loaves of bread and treats that the establishment offers.

Techno has a quaint brown basket in his hold at this point in time, one which he grabbed by the door the second he walked in. That minor aspect was something he rather enjoyed about the store, the small, stupid detail bringing a smile to his face- yours too, it seemed.

Even with this soft, barely noticeable grin on his face, you notice the way his hands are curled tightly around the handle once more. It’s an anxiety thing, that much you can tell. But you notice, of course you do, so as an attempt to ease the anxieties of the man you love, you softly curl your palm around the back of his.

It’s an attempt not only to soothe him, but to also try and ease this tension that’s been forming between the two of you.

Are you stupid for trying to comfort him after he ditched you and made you look like an idiot? Absolutely. But would you rather have him anxious and worried that he’s in worse than he thinks he is as opposed to him calm and ready to talk through it with a level head? Absolutely not.

He noticeably relaxes from your little gesture, his shoulders slumping a little as he casts his gaze at you. His eyes hold a silent “thank you” within them, and all you can do to respond is nod. He gets the message, bringing your hand atop of his up to his lips as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of it.

He’s got you wrapped around his finger even if he doesn’t know it.

A soft, breathy laugh passes through your lips at the affection, your eyes breaking away from him and instead toward the baked goods around you as you both walk up and down the mini-aisles within the confines of the store. Soft jazz plays over the speakers, perhaps Billie Holiday , and it only romanticizes the scene further.

Techno’s not necessarily looking for anything in particular while he’s here. He planned to just come in and buy you something sweet and hopefully that would somehow resolve his issues. But, watching your eyes linger on every item within the store, small oohs and aahs sounding from you every few seconds, he realizes that was a sh*tty plan to begin with.

As the two of you near the front of the store, a glass barrier displaying all the freshly cooked sweets under the countertops, you stop in your tracks and watch as one worker places a freshly baked batch of cinnamon rolls onto a rack.

Your sudden halt brings Techno to a stop beside you, his eyes moving their way up to your face, and then soon after following your gaze to the treat that was making the bakery smell sweeter than it already had.

It’s in that moment that Techno knows exactly what he’s getting.

Techno isn’t standing entirely beside you, per se, but rather a little bit behind you as your body has turned toward the cinnamon rolls ahead. So, with his hand at the dip of your back, he pressed you to move closer to the cash register, his head finding a home next to yours as he meets the eyes of the cash register.

The transaction moves quickly, the worker quickly putting four or so cinnamon rolls into a small box for the two of you to take. Though you are in no way focused on that part of anything. No, rather your attention lingers on the way his warm breaths fans down the side of your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You focus on the way his body presses into your back, the heat of him seeping through your clothes in a way that makes you shiver.

It’s only when he squeezes his hand around your own, tugging you softly towards the exit that you’re snapped out of this trance he’s put you in.

D*mn him.

But you get the notion quickly, following behind him as the smell of the cinnamon rolls follows you out the door and through the parking lot. There’s a silence between you two, but this time it’s in no way as awkward as it had been merely 15 minutes ago.

As you’re getting into the car, shutting the door softly behind you, you notice that Techno doesn’t open his trunk or stick the treats in the back seat of his car. Instead, he steps into the car head-first with the treats following after, placing the thin cardboard box onto this lap as he settles in, shutting the door behind him.

You watch as he opens up the box carefully, taking one roll out and hiding it to you. There are no napkins available, so the sticky coating of the treat travels from his hand to yours as you accept it, taking a bite the second the treat is in your grasp.

He follows your actions soon after, taking one for himself and taking a bite out of it. It’s the first thing he’s had to eat all day, so he tries his best not to eat like a starved man (even if that’s exactly what he does the second the flavours hit his tongue).

The two of you eat in a comfortable silence, the cinnamony-sweet taste from the rolls settling and melting on to your tongues. It’s… gods, there aren’t words in the English language that can fully depict how good the treat tastes on his tongue right now.

Though, however good it may be, there’ll always be one taste that stands above the rest as his favorite,

The muddled silence shared between the two of you speaks a thousand words. The soft chewing, the sounds of dough tearing away from each other, the rustling of clothes against the seat- all of it.

Techno’s no good with his words, both of you know that. It’s not a bad thing, of course, as he expressed his feelings and emotions in other ways, but the fact is still important to note upon. Nonetheless, him going out of his way to buy you a treat as a sh*tty way to make up for forgetting about tonight is… well, a horrible way to make up for the situation. Though with Technoblade? You understand that these actions of his express the way he feels better than words ever could.

Between bites, though, he does make the effort to apologize to you verbally. He can’t meet your eyes while doing so, and while others might take that action as a way to say that he doesn’t actually mean his words, you as his partner know that it’s the only way he can put together his thoughts in a coherent manner as to stop them from crumbling beneath him.

Even if he never meets your gaze during his little speech, you keep your eyes entirely focused on him, your sticky fingers as a result of the icing dripping down them long forgotten and stored in the back of your mind for later reference.

It’s only when his mouth closes for good that he actually turns his head, deep red eyes meeting yours. Though you could never understand it, there’s this way his breath audibly catches when he meets your eyes. They’re so full of… emotion, in a way that he can only describe as a love-struck gaze that makes his heart skip a few beats, a dopey smile forming on his lips.

Every part about you, every little thing that makes up who you are - he can see all the love and understanding and compassion that follows them when you look at him. The way your smile reaches your eyes, the way the colors in your eyes mix in a way he’s never seen before, pupils blown wide and visible to him. Just-every single thing about you leaves him at a loss for words.

He loves it.

You take Techno’s face in your hands, sticking fingers pressing up against his cheeks as you take hold of him and guide his lips to yours. The kiss is so sweet, so soft and full of love that he can’t help but slump against your hold, fingers finding themselves at your waist as he ever so slowly drags you impossibly closer to him.

F*ck, the two of you would stay like this forever if you could, your lips pressed against each other in kisses that leave you both light-headed and dizzy.

But alas, air is something that the body can only go so long without. So, as your lips part from Techno’s, a small string of saliva connecting the two of you, he presses his forehead into yours with a guttural humm following after it.

He loves you; he loves you; he loves you; he loves you. Gods above, the things he would do for you- to you, if you so asked. He’s wrapped around your finger and gods, he’d be a fool to ever try to leave that.

So, as your softly whisper against his skin, telling him that you’re grateful he made an effort to make it up to you, but you still are quite a bit upset about the whole thing- you tell him that you’re willing to put the situation behind the both of you so long as he made it up the right way in the future.

He knows that he has work to put in to better himself and your relationship, but as he presses tender and fervent kisses against your lips and skin, he takes a deep breath to give you a proclamation that leaves a lovesick grin plastered onto your face with your mind in a haze that make you euphoric:

“I know that I have work to do, I know that I need to get better at- well, a lot of things. But thank you, thank you, thank you for forgiving me this once. I promise to you, darling, that I’ll take a thousand years and then some to make it up to you if that’s what it takes. My heart is yours, and in your care it shall stay.”