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It wasn’t often that they all found themselves in one VC for a stream, but today that had happened. Tommy was streaming on Twitch, Phil, Wilbur and Technoblade had joined him on the server (though they weren’t streaming) and, coming as no surprise for those that knew the group, it had turned into a podcast-esque stream as they ran around trying to kill each other in game, while talking about anything and everything that came to mind. Wilbur had monologued about his definitely haunted house, Technoblade had discussed another gender reveal gone wrong, Phil had discussed an eventful night of trying to cook, and then Tommy had chipped in.
“We’ve got another lockdown coming.” He said, and as Wilbur and Phil groaned in unison he let out a characteristically loud laugh. “How long since you’ve seen someone outside your houses?”
“I visited my parents at the weekend.” Wilbur replied.
“We’ve been in the high end restrictions for about a month already, it’s mostly just been me and Kirstin. Lots of video calls, but I miss seeing people. I’d love to just pop round and give me mam a hug.”
“How long has it been since you’ve hugged your mother, Phil?” Tommy butted in, the three older men laughing together. “What’s funny about hugging your mother? I gave motherinnit a hug today!”
Technoblade was the first to stop laughing, using the pause in the game to run towards Tommy’s character with his sword out.
“Alright, no need to get so hostile Techno, just because you haven’t hugged your mother today.”
“When did you last hug someone, Techno?” Wilbur asked, his laugh now dying down too. “You guys haven’t had as strict of a lockdown, right? Can you remind those of us that haven’t hugged someone in a while what it feels like?”
“Oh, I don’t know… Probably 9 or 10…”
“Days?” Tommy asked. “You can just say a week or two.”
“No, longer than that, probably.”
“Weeks?” Phil questioned, having managed to recover from his laughter.
“What’s that, August?” Technoblade did the maths aloud. “No, I’d remember that.”
“...Months?” Wilbur said quietly. His tone had shifted - no longer teasing and joking, but hinting at genuine concern he was trying to keep hidden from the stream. Technoblade could sense it, and he knew if he answered truthfully that he’d never get over the sympathy sent his way. It was only hugging, after all. He’d had some kind of human contact - he’d brushed hands with the cashier of a shop when he was given his change, sometimes he bumped shoulders with people in a crowd (though he did his damndest to avoid crowds), and he was certain when he had vaccinations as a teenager a doctor would have come into some kind of contact with his skin.
“I’m too busy for hugging.” He said instead. “Do you know how many potatoes you can farm in the time it takes to hug someone?”
As if to make it clear that the conversation was over, he killed Tommy, who immediately started swearing about how all of his stuff was going to despawn because they were so far and he hadn’t slept yet. Phil laughed, Technoblade did too - knowing all too well he needed to keep the appearance up - but Wilbur didn’t. Not initially, anyway. His character had moved in front of Technoblade’s and looked him dead in the eye. They were just pixels, but Technoblade could feel Wilbur’s eyes on him. Phil and Tommy had been easily distracted, but he felt as though Wilbur wouldn’t be letting it go any time soon.
The conversation did, at least, move to other topics. Wilbur might have stuck a little closer to Technoblade, and he might have said his name a few times more than normal, but Technoblade said nothing. If he mentioned that he noticed it, then the conversation might circle back to where it had started and that was the last thing he wanted.
Technoblade had logged off the call as soon as the stream ended, saying he hadn’t slept for the last twenty hours and that he should go to bed even though it was only 4pm. His excuse had been accepted and he switched his discord status to invisible, watching the three of them stay in the call together for a while longer. Tubbo joined for a little while, too, and then he and Tommy both disappeared. The younger men both had some form of school in the morning, while Wilbur and Phil could talk as long as they wanted, and Technoblade wasn’t going to sit in front of his computer screen for hours on end watching his friends talk. It was a strange kind of self imposed torture, one he didn’t really understand the reasons his mind had behind it all, and so instead of trying to understand he distanced himself.
Distancing himself came naturally, it always had. When he started middle school he’d thought affection was uncool, and so he decided during the summer that he wouldn’t hug his parents again for fear it might cramp his style and get in the way of him finding friends. It had backfired, to an extent, because the question that his friends had asked had one clear answer.
Technoblade hadn’t hugged anyone since he was 11 years old, and now he was 21. It was over a decade since he’d hugged anyone, and while it had never crossed his mind during those years thinking about it now felt strange. Would things have been different if he hadn’t tried to be cool, or was he always destined to be an aloof man, always a little bit removed from those around him. It would make sense that his closest friends lived halfway across the globe from him.
He busied himself on Dream’s SMP, focusing on creating dozens of underground farms for efficiency. He didn’t stream his work, he just did it, and he kept to himself whenever he saw his friends come online. He’d drop them a hello, but if they asked to VC he’d just pretend to ignore it.
Phil wasn’t whitelisted, so he was the easiest for Technoblade to avoid as he tried to identify his feelings that were causing the thoughts in his head. Wilbur came online twice: he asked Technoblade how long he’d been online the second time and Technoblade simply sent a smiling face in response - he hadn’t logged off, of course. Tommy was online most nights, but he streamed whenever he played on the server and that meant he would be too distracted to really reach out to him.
If his thoughts weren’t already being divided between his farms and trying to figure out why he was distancing himself, and what the strange feeling in his stomach was caused by, he might have realised that it had been several days since he’d heard from Wilbur. He might have realised that he hadn’t streamed, or posted on Twitter, or even joined one of the voice calls he normally did. It was only when Technoblade’s phone started ringing - his actual, physical phone - that he pulled his headset from his ears and rubbed at his eyes. He was exhausted, he hadn’t been taking care of himself even slightly, but he swiped to the right to answer the call without even checking who it was.
“Hello?” He asked, his voice muffled and tired.
“Christ on a bike, Techno you’re exhausted.”
Ah, that was Wilbur’s voice. He smiled to himself.
“What gave it away?”
“It doesn’t matter. What’s your address?”
Technoblade paused, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair with a gentle hum as he slowly processed the question. “Why do you want to know?” He asked eventually. “What are you going to do with that information?”
“I’m going to steal your identity.” Wilbur deadpanned. “It’s a surprise. Give me your address, you’ll find out soon.”
“Fine. But if you’re getting me takeout you’d better pay for it, I don’t have any cash.”
His reluctance to put up any more of an argument might have meant that Wilbur would realise how terribly he was doing - and his radio silence over the last few days, while not out of character, probably wouldn’t be helping his case. Still, once Technoblade had given Wilbur what he needed there was no further conversation, just a thank you and the sound of the call ending.
Rather than head to bed after several straight days of Minecraft like any sensible person would have done, Technoblade went for a shower. It felt refreshing to have water running over his body, though as his fingers cleaned his shoulders he was once more reminded of the conversation he’d had with his friends several days ago.
A decade since another person had pulled him into their embrace. A decade since he’d felt the safety of someone he cared about holding him close. A decade without even the smallest physical sign of affection.
But it was fine, he was fine, and there was nothing more to say about it.
He’d changed into fresh clothes and padded with socks on his feet into his kitchen to get a glass of water when there was a knock at his door. Quietly, he wondered if Wilbur had ordered him takeout, and his mouth watered just a little at the prospect of McDonalds or a pizza being delivered to his door. If that wasn’t the case he’d certainly be ordering something for himself in a few minutes, he hadn’t realised just how hungry he’d become over the last few days.
The knock at the door came again, and with another rub of his eyes he made his way quickly to the front of his house, grabbing his keys as he walked.
“Just a second.” Technoblade called, raising his voice ever so slightly to keep whoever was outside from knocking a third time, and after twisting his keys the right way he pushed the handle down and pulled the door towards him…
...And he felt a body collide with his.
His breath was knocked out of his lungs at the suddenness of it all, and after he’d gotten over the initial shock he panicked, but the person holding onto him only seemed to cling a little tighter. They weren’t hurting him, they weren’t trying to move or threaten him, they just held him . Their arms were around his shoulders, their head in his chest, and Technoblade tried to piece everything together.
The person holding him was clearly someone that knew him, knew where he lived, and knew he lived alone. He very much doubted anyone would go to a completely random house, knock on the door, and pull the person that answered into a tight hug without waiting to see their face. They knew that he would be too dumbfounded and shocked in the moment to do anything to stop them from putting their plan into action, though that didn’t narrow it down. What did narrow it down was the curly hair, the beanie, the backpack that he swore he’d seen in the corner of a webcam before. And then, as he came back to his senses and felt more in touch with reality, he heard the voice of the person speaking.
“--as soon as I could, fuck the restrictions, fuck Boris, fuck Trump and Coronavirus I couldn’t--”
“Wilbur?”
At the sound of his name, Wilbur pulled back from Technoblade for a brief moment, before pulling him close again. Instead of burying his face in his chest, this time Technoblade felt a chin resting on his shoulder, and this time he decided to do the same. He returned the hold, wrapping his arms around Wilbur and closing his eyes.
“How long was it since you were last hugged, Technoblade?” Came the quiet ask, and Technoblade swallowed. There was an awful lot to unpack about the entire situation, but he was too tired to try now. Rather than question Wilbur about what he’d done, he gave in and answered.
“Ten years.”
As he gave his answer, Wilbur squeezed him tighter still.
“That’s too long.” He replied.
“It’s not been an issue unti-”
“Shut up, it’s an issue.” Wilbur cut him off. “You don’t have to talk about it with me, but holy shit Technoblade, never go that long without a hug again. You just have to ask.”
Technoblade should have made a quip about asking for a hug being impractical when Wilbur lived in England and he in California, but given that Wilbur had already sworn about the existence of democratically elected leaders and a global pandemic trying to stop him from making his way to hug his friend, he didn’t think that distance would stop him.
Rather than put up his walls and use his usual kind of defense mechanism, rather than defaulting to sarcastic, monotone comments, Technoblade let himself relax. His eyes were already closed, his shoulders fell somewhat and his breathing slowed. Hugging might have been uncool when he was 11, and by the time he’d stopped trying to be cool be might have been too afraid of returning to physical affection, but with Wilbur holding him so tightly he felt safe, he felt cared for, he felt loved like he hadn’t done in an awfully long time. His friends cared for him, and his lips curved into a quiet smile as silent tears forced their way from the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks. Nothing was said when he sniffled - something he thanked Wilbur for silently - and he finally realised what the strange sensation in his chest had been. Ten years without a hug, no wonder he'd felt the need to put some distance between himself and his friends. He was glad that Wilbur had closed the distance - physically, emotionally, and mentally - and he was glad that he could finally feel the kind of warmth he'd been lacking for so long. Technoblade let himself be vulnerable for the moment. He let himself cry, he let his exhausted body rest against Wilbur almost entirely for support, and he let himself hold his friend as tightly as he could for as long as he could.
If he fell asleep like that - standing upright at his front door in Wilbur’s hold - then he didn’t know it. Wilbur certainly didn’t mention to Technoblade the next day that he’d picked up his friend and carried him into his living room, placing him on the sofa and covering him with blankets and cushions. He did, however, hug him. When Wilbur made them waffles and bacon for breakfast, he made sure that their hands touched as he passed the syrup: when Wilbur forced Technoblade to take him sightseeing he kept an arm around his shoulder at all times; neither of them mentioned it.
Wilbur just made sure that Technoblade experienced every kind of physical touch he could think of while he was in America, and Technoblade relaxed into it more and more with each passing day.
When Wilbur went home, and Technoblade visited his parents for the first time in a few months, he pulled his mother into a hug for the first time in a decade.
At least Technoblade wasn’t the only one to have shed a tear.