Work Text:
Technoblade’s had a rough day.
They’d run out of milk early in the morning, and Wilbur was absolutely insufferable, squawking about the injustice of eating cereal with no milk. So of course, being the good guy that he is, Techno offered to go out and get some. He needed to run errands anyway, it wasn’t a big deal. But then he’d realized he had a hole in his shoe when he stepped in a puddle, the bus was running a half-hour late, and he almost couldn’t find the fancy ass brand of tea Wilbur liked. At least Phil could take substitutes, but nooooo , Mr. Soot accepted nothing less than perfection.
Then some guy had the audacity to try and rob the cashier right in front of him. Techno walked out of the store with a throbbing hand, a bag of groceries, and a massive headache.
He shoved the bags into Phil’s arms as soon as he stepped through the door, glowering at the half-pitying, half-amused smile that was shot his way. When Wilbur tried to tackle him and sing his praises for “braving the great outdoors” or some other bullshit like that, he promptly slammed the door in his face.
So yeah, he’s had a rough day. He thought he deserved a little down time.
Closing the blinds and curtains to darken the room, he turned on his ambient noise playlist and sat cross legged on the floor. He steadied his breathing, in for eight, hold for four, out for eight. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the tension eased from his shoulders and he drifted in the quiet calm.
For all of thirty seconds.
“OH SHIT!” Crash.
A vein throbbed in Techno’s temple at Wilbur’s shriek and Phil’s muffled laughter.
Oh well. Punching the shit out of his problems (and Wilbur) works just as well.