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Tommy cannot remember the last time someone had cooked him food.
But staring at Technoblade—the man who had vowed to ravage his country and annihilate his allies, he could finally recall the scent of homemade food.
They have been estranged for so long, Tommy had almost forgotten how delicious Techno’s baked potatoes were. And god, did they taste like childhood.
Sometimes he would wonder why Techno took him in in the first place. They do not know each other, not anymore. Different beliefs, different morals, different lingering stares. What was once a soft gaze had turned into a wary one, because despite living together, they still don’t trust each other.
Still, Tommy prefers here than there. There where no one was around, only his tormentor, and the nightmares that would keep him up at night. Sure, he would crack a few jokes around his..ex-brother, but their chuckles would always be filled with a layer of something bittersweet, as if mourning the old laughter, the old jest, the old joy. Is this counterfeit to appease both their yearning hearts?
Tommy sighs, approaching the older who was busy in the kitchen.
“Do you still make them the same way?” he asks.
Techno turns around, as if he did not expect the blond to actually pay attention to what he is doing. “They’re still the same. Salt, butter, and a ton of cheese. You know me,” he smiles, too genuine that it makes Tommy think he’s lying in some sick, twisted way.
‘You know me.’
No I don’t, Tommy thinks.
“Dinner will be ready soon. Can you set the table?”
The younger nods compliantly and heads to the dining room.
He can’t believe he’s so unfamiliar with something as simple as doing chores. How does he set the table again? Do the coasters go on the placemats or beside the placemats? Does he even know where to put the placemats at all?
Tommy looks at the tablecloth in a panicked manner. Shit. He’s going to fuck up isn’t he? He glares down the white, laced placemats and how unbothered they stick onto the acacia table. He curses the chairs for there being four of them; now he has to make a decision whether to sit across, beside, or diagonal from his ex-brother. He should sit across from him, right? That’s the normal thing to do. That’s what they were accustomed to. Fuck, what if Techno doesn’t want him to sit there? Or worse, what if he’s not supposed to eat in the dining room at all? Should he just go to his room and eat there? No, guests shouldn’t be eating in their host’s bedroom. He should probably eat outside or in the cellar or at the rooftop or anywhere but here or at Logstedshire or anywhere but there-
“Are you alright?”
Tommy jumps at the voice coming from behind him. It was Techno, holding a rectangle tray of baked potatoes. He’s not wearing any mittens. The tray is probably searing hot. He’s being careless again.
Tommy forces himself to snap out of it. “Hm? Yeah..yeah, I’m alright. Let’s eat dinner. Uh, where do you want me to eat dinner?”
“On the dinner table, of course. Where else will you eat?” Techno gives him an unreadable expression, well-nigh concerned.
“Nowhere,” Tommy shakes his head. “Let’s just eat.”
So they sit on the table silently. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn't comfortable either. It was the kind of silence that was unbearable, like they both had words to say that just won’t spill. Is it avoidance? Is it ego? Or are both those things the reason why neither him nor Techno are uttering a single word?
No. It’s fear.
Tommy takes a bite from his plate.
And immediately bursts into tears.
Techno shoots up from his seat, letting his fork clatter onto his plate. “What’s wrong, kid?” he rushes to Tommy. His hands flail aimlessly at his side, so he places one on the younger’s back instead, rubbing it in a rhythmically soothing manner. Tommy’s back feels foreign beneath his palm. He can feel his fucking spine. What happened in exile?
“I’m sorry,” Tommy chokes out a sob. “I just missed your cooking. It reminds me of when we were younger the same way it reminds me that we’ll never be the same again.”
“Don’t say that, Theseus. Of course we can be the same again,” Techno reassures.
“Why didn’t you attend the party I’d thrown?” Tommy asks, voice shakier than his clenched fists.
“I never received an invitation.”
“I jumped off a tower. And I imagined that you caught me. You know what caught me instead, Techno?”
His brother had..what? The older holds his breath, making a pained noise at the surge of information. “What?”
“Death did.”
Tommy sniffles.
Techno doesn’t say a word. It’s okay. He’s used to that. But when he does speak, that makes Tommy break down even worse.
“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them for what they did to you in exile,” Techno promises as he cradles the broken boy in his arms.
“You don’t have to,” Tommy mumbles.
“But I will.”
All he sees is red. He will be shuffling off their mortal coil; they had shot themselves in the foot messing with his little brother.
“I miss you,” the blond whispers.
“You miss me,” Techno repeats. “I’m right here, though.”
“I know. I still miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
Tommy lifts his head up, eyes teary and cheeks wet with tears. “But I miss your baked potatoes more,” he forces a smile.
“They’ve probably gone cold,” Techno gestures at the table.
Tommy hums, shoving his face further into the older’s cloak. “I’m too tired to go there.”
Techno rolls his eyes light-heartedly. “I’m not going to carry you, Tommy.”
“Wooow,” Tommy drawls. “Right after I just told you what happened in exile.” And that’s not even half of it.
“Really? You’re using that card?” Techno sighs. “Alright kid, we can eat at the rooftop if you want to.”
“..Actually?” Tommy gives him a hopeful glance.
“Actually.”
Techno lifts him up, and takes him up the stairs. It was a mere memory stuck in the recesses of his brain, of nights when he was sick, of days when he came home wounded or bruised after falling victim to tyrannical, conceited hands.
Familiar, at last.
Tommy cannot remember the last time someone had eaten with him.
But replaying the words of his brother—the man who had let him cry on his shoulder and sit on his lap and avow his side of the coin, the man who had sworn vendetta for him—perhaps they could finally become a family again.