Chapter Text
The first time Techno met Olive, it was a bright Saturday morning and he was dropping Tommy off at the rink. Tommy had begged Techno to come inside and meet them, despite the fact that it was Saturday, and the rink was bound to be filled with people— loud people. But one glance at Tommy’s twisting, anxious fingers and, an hour later, Techno found himself standing apprehensively outside of the rink doors.
“Let’s go!” Tommy exclaimed, tugging Techno through the doors and into the icy rink.
Even on the other side of the plexiglass and behind the front desk, he could hear the yells of children, amplified by the echoing walls. He inhaled a shuddering breath, feeling silly. How could a hockey player get anxious around crowds? How could a person whose job was to bang into people freak out when there was a chance of it happening accidentally? How could—
“Come on!” Tommy said excitedly, breathless as he leapt in front of Techno, nearly crashing into a family of four in line. His skates swung from his hands, a black sports bag was slung over his shoulder, and his blonde hair was ruffled and sticking out all over the place, though he didn’t seem to care.
However, his carefree aura shifted when he spun around expectantly to find Techno crouched on the floor in the corner of the lobby, his hands over his ears and his face twisted into a panicked expression. Techno’s ears rang even under the cover of his sweating palms, and his breaths came in shuddering gasps. The space was too loud, too crowded, the lights bled through his scrunched eyelids, even the games weren’t this busy, this terrifying—a child knocked into him, and he broke, keening lowly and tucking himself into a smaller ball. He rocked for about five seconds before a hand touched his shoulder hesitantly—he hissed, and the hand retracted quickly. Another hand on his arm, leave him alone—
“It’s okay,” an unfamiliar voice said softly. It pressed gently into his arm, and the pressure unclenched Techno’s chest. He was pulled slowly, and only when the noise quieted and the lights dimmed did he realize that he was in one of the closed team rooms. Not so closed anymore, said the humorous part of his brain, falling silent when it realized now was not the time .
“Hey,” the same voice from earlier said again. “You don’t have to open your eyes, it’s okay. I’m Olive, Tommy’s skating partner. He’s outside the room, he didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
Techno exhaled shakily, his breaths becoming steadier as he adjusted to the dark room. The hand on his arm never left, and he leaned into it, relaxing at the pressure.
“Hello Olive,” he murmured quietly after a few moments. He finally opened his eyes, blinking quickly until he could see the short skater standing next to him, their eyes crinkled in a smile as their mouth followed.
“Hi, are you okay?” Olive scrunched up their nose, shaking their head slightly. “No, that’s a terrible question. Are you better?”
Techno’s insides warmed. There was something that he instantly picked up on Olive—they were so genuinely wholesome it made the humorous part of his brain (which apparently still hadn’t gotten the memo) whisper ew, affection, friendship, cringe . “A little,” Techno said, shifting on the carpeted floor. “Sorry about that.”
Olive immediately shook their head, waving their gloved hands. “No, no, no, don’t be sorry. The rink is a loud place.” They smiled sympathetically.
“You’ve got that right,” Techno mumbled, twisting his fingers like Tommy had done only a little more than an hour ago. He looked around the dim room, only lit by a flashlight that was pointed at the wall and tilted in a way that made it look like it had been hastily placed there.
“Can I let Tommy in?” Olive asked hesitantly, fiddling with their hair. “He was really worried—”
“Yeah, yeah, please,” Techno said quickly. For the first time in the room, he felt the uncomfortable flush of shame trickling down his neck. What was Tommy thinking about him, a captain , freaking out at a rink when he was supposed to be the most comfortable around one?
His thoughts were interrupted by Olive pulling the door open slowly, which didn’t stop Tommy from stumbling through as fast as he could.
“Techno, Techno, are you okay?” He fretted, his eyes frantic and worried. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think the loud would be a problem, I promise, I freaked out when you went all scared, I didn’t know what to do, I’m sorry , I—”
“Tommy,” Techno interrupted, “I’m fine.”
Tommy’s face relaxed, and he reached out to hug Techno, who flinched. His eyes widened, but then Olive touched Tommy’s shoulder gently.
“He’s just had a sensory overload,” they explained, and a look of understanding washed over Tommy’s face, while Techno scrunched his forehead. Sensory overload? “I don’t think he wants anyone touching him right now.”
“Sorry,” Tommy mumbled.
“Hey, bud, it’s fine,” Techno reassured him. “I don’t know what a sensory overload is, but I do know that I’m not mad at you.”
Tommy opened his mouth gratefully, but then Olive said hesitantly, “You… don’t know what a sensory overload is?”
Techno tilted his head. The words sounded familiar but all bumpy, like rough paper, and when he mouthed them again his tongue curled around the different sounds. “No?”
Olive hummed thoughtfully. “It’s when all five of someone’s senses take in too much information and your brain, and you, get overwhelmed. It can happen especially in loud and/or bright spaces.”
Techno’s brain fizzled like a coke that had Mentos added, and what Olive had said was the Mentos. It made sense, their explanation, and it explained why this didn't happen at normal games—they were usually pretty quiet at the beginning, and during a match he was so focused and the helmets and plexiglass were so thick he wasn’t really taking in any of the noise, and why he was always so tense on the sidelines, away from the tunneling effect of the game.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Oh.”
Olive smiled gently. “It’s okay if you’re still a little confused.” Then they looked hesitantly over at Tommy. “I hate to leave you here, but we really should be getting to practice.”
Techno immediately felt a rush of guilt swarm him like a cloud of bees. His face prickled uncomfortably as he thought of how much time he had taken from their practice, and he lowered his head.
Olive hastily added, “No, no, Techno, it’s fine, Eret won’t mind.”
Techno didn’t look up, but he heard Tommy whisper, almost like he was reassuring himself, “Eret won’t mind. Eret won’t mind.”
Techno exhaled and nodded slowly, looking up as Tommy and Olive left the room. But before Olive closed the door, they smiled at Techno, eyes crinkling at the corners.
He smiled back gratefully, and when they left he leaned his head on the bench and let the muffled noise of skates chipping ice lull him into calm.