It's been a good five to six long days since your conversation with Techno. It was difficult to remember how long exactly.

He doesn't try to make conversation with you anymore- merely helping you switch bandages if you need help, and bringing you meals.

You've both definitely found a routine, one that leaves you to yourself for infinitely long periods of time.

You aren't even sure if you want to start conversation with him, and it hurts a lot to focus on the ifs and whens- so instead of thinking, you're constantly trying to move around.

You just recently began walking again.

Barely.

It's limp of a gait that's just enough to get you from the bookshelf to the bed, and it relies heavily on leaning against walls to get around.

Aside from picking apart different books out of boredom, there's not much in the entertainment value.

No warm drinks either.

Only soup- or bread- or steak- any regular food that didn't have nearly as much allure as a warm cup did.

It was so boring sticking around here.

Absolutely nothing to do- sentenced to a bed to sleep for hours on end-

You fucking hated getting injured.

Yet here you were, holding a book in your hand, pressing all of your weight onto the bookshelf to try and keep yourself from falling over.

While most books had a utility purpose such as basic architecture, or redstone, or farming techniques, there were a few that were purely stories.

Of which most stories consisted of Greek mythology and other older pieces of literature.

A few were even in strange languages, so finding a good book to sift through was difficult. None of them had pictures, so you couldn't exactly just go looking for only brain stimulus.

Currently, you had settled for a Greek story. Narcissus?

You think that was what it was about from the cover, but reading these stories was difficult because of their weird way of being written.

You huffed.

It would do.

Anything to keep sane.

The door downstairs rustled for a moment, doorknob jingling before it swept open- cold air rushing in-

Guess Techno was home.

You assume he's back from a hunting trip. Because most of the time he went on hunting trips. Occasionally he reeks of the nether. Ash and dust- soot and fire.

You wonder what he does in there, but haven't mustered the courage to ask, much less speak.

Your grip on the bookshelf lessens for a moment, and you sway, feeling tired with the exertion of keeping balance.

You needed to sit back down.

With a limp and a hop, you feel your way along the wall. Hobbling was how you had to do things, so hobbling you would do. All the way around the room, until you reached your bed.

Look at you.

Leaning against the wall when a regular walking person would merely cross the short gap.

When you reached your bed, you took a seat on it, sighing before rubbing your head.

Narcissus would have to do.

You could only assume what this story was about based on the dudes name.

With a huff, you set the book down on the bed, using your hands to forcefully pull your legs back onto the bed and pull yourself under the blanket- before wiggling under them to try and stay warm.

Wiggling still hurt- but wiggling was once again- the only way to do things, so you did it regardless.

Once you were settled, you pulled the book to your face, and flipped the cover open- instantly met with the smell of old paper and ink.

Dust lingered on the inside of the book- puffing out into your face as you thumbed over the pages.

You restrained your cough.

The rustling downstairs got a little more intense- like he was looking for something.

Some cabinets open- some chests as well, before he seemed to find what he was looking for.

The ladder creaks, and into your attic he walks.

Tense, but tall and with purpose.

In his hand was a roll of bandages- which he set down on the endtable.

Your eyes met his, stark red against pure determination. He flickered his gaze away, quite awkwardly, before muttering a, "Holler if you need help switching them."

Then, he sat in the seat near the bookshelf, and huffed out the longest breath you've heard from him yet. A long sigh, that dragged itself into nowhere as he sagged into the seat.

"More bandages. Lovely." You grumble. You should just let yourself get infected.

Maybe then you'd find some peace.

His only response was to throw the crook of his arm over his face, resting silently in his chair in case you needed him. You didn't.

You don't think you did.

With your own huff, you start unbuttoning your shirt.

Not your shirt.

You think you've been borrowing his, but you don't know.

You're pretty sure it's his shirt.

Scratch that you're positive it's his. Phil doesn't wear shirts as silky or as big as this, let's be real.

Phil dresses like a nomad, and sometimes a hobo because he couldn't care less about physical appearances and how people perceive him.

You look down, finding that you still haven't fully unbuttoned the shirt.

Why does your mind wonder so easily?

Once your shirt is unbuttoned, you hesitantly start unwrapping bandages, peeling them off and letting your skin breath for a moment.

Chilled.

Too much of a chill in this house.

The wound on your chest wasn't as gruesome as you first thought it'd be. Sure, it hit a lung. And sure it hurt way more then it needed to.

But.

It was rather clean. On arrow sized hole, poked right through your ribcage.

The nastiest part was probably the fact that they had to dig to get the arrow out.

With a shudder, you harshly unravel the fresh bandages, plastering them to yourself the best you could. They were tricky to handle, wrap it wrong and you'd have to rewrap the whole thing over again.

A noise comes  from Techno. A small shuffle as he trys to get comfortable in his seat.

You look at Techno's figure, cape still dusted in snow, boots turning wet as the ice melted off them.

You cough, averting your eyes as you finish wrapping your chest.

"Can you tie it off...?" You murmer, turning yourself so your back was facing him.

He wordlessly stood, taking a step over to your bed. He looked at your figure for a moment. You could always tell with the silence.

A knee propped itself up on the bed, right next to your hip, and he leaned over you to properly get a hold of the bandages.

Warm hands reached for the loose piece of bandaging on your back, heat seaping through the cold wrapping as he tugged them fully tied.

You sighed, wishing for a moment you were in the sun- so tempted by the heat of his hands to just sink backwards into him.

You didn't though, because that would be awkward.

And strange.

And really comfortable, but you still feel angry at him.

Something told you he'd let you sink into him.

Why were emotions so confusing.

You turned around, only looking up at him for a second before looking for your shirt.

Clearly he had the same idea, pulling the shirt over your shoulders and buttoning the top button before realizing he was overstepping and backing away.

Back to his chair.

Calm footsteps, despite the rush to stop buttoning buttons.

"Yes. Thank you for realizing I don't need help buttoning a shirt."

He gives you a huff, tusks flashing as he tips his head a different direction.

The snow on the fur of his cape was finally starting to melt, and the lingering smell of ash was prevalent.

Maybe.

Maybe you want to know where he went.

Maybe your curiosity is finally getting the better of you.

"So where were you today?" You ask, settling back into bed, tucking yourself under pelts and pointedly only looking at the ceiling.

"You know. Around."

"You smell an awful lot like the nether."

The chair creaks, "All ash smell does not equal the nether." He pauses, "But yes. I was in the nether."

"Why."

"Mmmmmm- just normal nether things." He pauses, "For someone who said doesn't want to talk to me, you're being incredibly chatty."

You throw your hands in the air, "I am unbelievably bored. I am so bored that I would consider getting shot again if it meant not being awake." You tilt your head at him, "So humor me, please."

Maybe being dead was better.

He grunts. Not in agreement or disagreement. No real yes or no. Instead he asked another question.

"Alright. If I'm humoring you, you humor me-" His eyes flick down to you.

He freezes.

Face twisting strangely as he sets his red eyes directly into your own.

"Do you hate me."

You pause.

Genuinely stumped for a moment.

You never thought about that.

When you tilt your head to look at him, you find that you aren't sure of whether or not you do. Sure, you hated what happened, but...

Huh.

You need a moment to think.

You genuinely do.

And apparently you take a moment too long- and his eyes flash with another hurt look before he forces an impassive face.

"Good talk, good talk. I think I understand."

"Wait-" you try and say- but it's too late. He's already climbing down the ladder, front door opening, before closing with a finality you didn't know was possible.

Oh shit.

Why do you feel awful.

He was the one that jumped to the conclusion before you were finished thinking his question through, but-

Maybe if you were sorted through all your feelings- and if you were better at handling stress you would've had an answer sooner.

Because no.

You don't hate him.

Or well, you won't know until you see Tommy and Tubbo again-

But at the moment no.

You just need space.

Which you should have said.

Now he's back out in the wilderness doing God knows what, probably feeling just as terrible, or confused as you.

For a good half hour you wait patiently in your bed.

Feeling stressed and drained.

The next half hour you do the same.

But when an hour finally passes, the guilt is bubbling so hard in you that you stand, hobbling your way to the ladder, nearly falling down it with how drained of energy you were.

You rest uneasily against the front door. You could feel the cold through the spruce wood, and you could feel your heart beat pounding in your ears.

Did you even want to find him? Did you want to search for someone as volatile as Techno?

He was surprisingly sensitive- very touchy around negative thoughts-

Reminds you of you.

L'manberg was a two day trip, and you could always walk out into the unknown and find them instead. Find your favorite gremlin instead of the bubblegum braided mess of a caretaker.

But what if he gets hurt. Because you made him feel bad, and he got distracted- and he fell in a ditch somewhere, or ambushed by strays- or

Or-

...

You take a deep breath.

Techno first.

For just this moment... Techno first.

Not like you'd be able to make it to L'manberg anyways.

You open the door- feeling the cold harsh wind ram against your frame.

Snow storm.

How convenient.

Wonderful.

Too late to turn back now.

You're already out the door, heavy wood closing behind you and leaving you shrouded in darkness and frost.

The window was shining with enticing warmth- and if you thought the inside of the attic was cold- outside was so, so much worse.

You took a step, and another, hobbling uneasily, trying to make it down the steps, before just slipping and falling down the rest.

Gods above.

What was your shitstorm of a life, and why can't you do the most basic of things.

There you were.

Laying in the snow and frost, storm raging above-

You found you didn't want to move.

Everything ached too much- everything was too numb yet hurtful at the same time.

You could sit here.

You could sit here for as long as you wanted.

No one could tell you otherwise.

Genuinely no one could stop you from doing exactly that.

So you did.

____

Imagine your surprise when you wake up, snow being dusted off your face- frost and chill being cracked off your eyebrow as someone cradled you.

Warmth-

Holy shit-

You couldn't process anything in that moment but the overwhelming warmth coming from a hand-

The snow was dusted off of you, before the darkness of outside became the light of lanterns, and the sub zero cold became the below room temperature atmosphere of a long gone out fireplace.

Words were garbled at you, but you heard nothing, merely being set down on the floor-

The snapping of a flint and steel sounded somewhere around you- and the crackle of fire felt like a sun shining on you- but it wasn't enough-

It wasn't warm enough-
This house would never be warm enough-

You cracked your eyes open- barely conscious- barely registering anything.

You caught sight of something pink kneeling beside you- something pink and red, and white and gold-

You reached for it- blindly- because your mind is so chilled-

Any thought felt like muffled drowning-

"Please-" a shuddering breath came through your chattering teeth-

What were you even asking for-

Your hand landed on the outskirts of the figure, tugging at the red, curling in on yourself with just one hand reached out.

Desperate, yet so hesitant-

The warmth from the fire place wasn't enough- and you knew what you were asking for-

It started with two arms hesitantly circling around you- snaking around your back before pulling you into a chest-

Heat enveloped you-

The warmth of the fire place against your back- a heat against your front- fabric was pulled over you- a blanket.

Finally, you felt like you could process things, shivering and all-

Techno was holding you- seated on the floor in front of the fire- holding you to his chest like that was going to fix you-

Like he had no idea what else to do- but was trying so hard to fix you-

You didn't have enough inhibition to stop yourself from burying your face into the fabric of his shirt- feeling his heat and taking in deep breaths of air, like today was your first day breathing.

"You didn't..." You utter, shivering interrupting your sentence. His arms snake farther around you.

"...Didn't let me answer-"

He smells of blood-

Blood and salt-

And those scents set you on edge- but he also smelled of the wild, something deep and unamable- the scent that comes from the center of a storm- the scent of a peaceful room, the familiar smell of books.

You felt calm with that.

"I-" you start- and he presses you closer.

He doesn't speak, and you don't try and look at his face, merely curling into him- sinking into the heat of him as you try and formulate sentences.

"I never hated you."

You say that.

But you still hate needing to rely on someone else for something you should be able to do on your own.

"But I need space.. because what you did... hurts.."

You raise a weak arm, still completely buried into him- tapping on his chest where the thrum of his heart was most prominent-

"Right here."

His arms squeeze you just a little tighter, and you sink just a little farther- as though to completely contradict your statement.

"..."

Techno doesn't reply.

.

.

.

___________

That's it for this chapter bomb- >:)

Enjoy the angst

Because this book is angst, and fluff, and also hurt and comfort-

It got everything lmao

.

Just a reminder-
.

This isn't the end of the hurt

The hurt will always remain.

But have hope .

One day reader will look back, and Techno will look back, and find that the hurt has only brought them closer together as people, because hurt causes people to grow.