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No matter how chaotic, how stressful, how bloodstained, and how frostbitten one's life is, there is always a constant, one that, over time, becomes an axis around which one life would start orbiting, returning to it once the hands of time had struck appropriate time.
For some, it is a family member, their beloved one that grants them solace and makes the stress of the day go away.
For others, it is a dish, their favorite food, the smell and taste of it, the process of cooking it, and the catharsis after it is eaten.
For Technoblade and Philza, however, it was a small cabin in the woods, hidden within trees which have seen thousands and thousands of years, north enough for no one but them to find it, north enough to disappear in the snow for days upon days and not be found. It was an old, dingy thing, built with dark oak logs, a roof that held on by a thread, a stone chimney, chipped and covered in soot, doors that never quite closed, and floors which creaked when you stepped on them; but it was theirs, and only theirs. That’s all that mattered.
The first time they walked into the cabin, they were both covered in blood, bruised, almost on the brink of death. Holding each other for dear life, afraid that if they let go, their lives would flutter away as well. The house in the middle of the wilderness was their saving grace; a shelter from the snowstorm, and a warm corner to rest in and fix their wounds. The deep scent of wood, dust and moss was almost welcoming, as they used what they could to tame the bleeding, praying to any gods that weren’t them that it was not too late for trying to fix what was broken.
Still, they lived, against all odds, and they continued to live, against the world.
--
The next time they returned, it was out of their own will.
Technoblade arrived first, kicking open the door when he realized that the knob was completely stuck and rusted over. The ages-old door gave way easily, and Techno groaned, feeling every single one of his muscles as he took off his thick cape, wet with quickly melting snow, and hung it on the hook next to the cold and dead fireplace. His clothes were wet as well, of course; no matter how thick, no material could withstand the snowstorm that raged outside. He shivered, rubbing his hands against his arms a couple of times to attempt to warm himself up.
Techno loved winter, he really did; the quiet of snow-covered fields, the crunch of it under his boots, the peace that the early evenings brought and the gentle nights with a good book next to a fireplace. However, that day, he cursed the entirety of the four-season system of that bitch of an earth, and winter especially, with how cold he was and how fast he could feel a cold coming on.
His eyes swept the room, looking for firewood. There were some logs in the corner, but who knew if they would even ignite, being rotten through and oddly wet to the touch. A more compelling option was the clunky chair, abandoned by one of the windows; it looked like it was reaching the end of its days anyways, and with a loud series of crunches and creaks Techno dismantled it, throwing all that he could use into the furnace.
Soon, a small fire was burning in the stone-decorated fireplace, and Techno’s clothes were drying on a string he found in one of the cupboards. He sneezed, his body as close to the fireplace as he could. He prayed he wouldn’t get sick.
Then, the door fell out of the hinges.
For a split second, Techno reached for his sword, put next to him just in case, and his fingers just managed to curl around the hilt of his weapon when he realized who destroyed the entrance once again.
Equally as drenched, shivering equally as much, covering himself with his wings as well as he could, in the doorway stood Phil, staring in shock at the door that now laid sadly on the dirty floor.
“Oh. Oh well.” He said, before putting it back in the doorframe the best that he could. “Gods, did someone kick this in? The hinges are completely off...” he muttered, holding the door up, metal clattering against metal as the man attempted to dock it in the proper place. Technoblade let go of his sword, releasing the breath he was holding in.
“You took your sweet time to get here,” Techno grumbled, and Phil only laughed, the door finally stable in the doorframe. The cold wind stopped blowing into the house, and Techno could finally relax, the warmth of the fire spreading across the small living space.
“Well, you try flying through a blizzard, old friend.” Phil sighed, cleaning his hat off the leftover snow. His wings were shaking slightly, involuntarily trying to rid the coal-black feathers of the moisture that gathered between them. “I lost my way at least three times, as ashamed as I am to say it. I’m nothing without the human GPS, it seems.”
Technoblade roared in laughter, cheer filling the empty cabin.
“You’re the only one who calls me that. If I get a path right once in five tries that’s just luck, not ability.” He said, and Phil shrugged his arms, the wet clothes restricting his movements just the slightest bit.
“I’d rather have that than be lost one hundred percent of the time.”
Soon, Phil’s outer clothing joined Techno’s on the clothing line, and a thin blanket was unearthed from the rubble in one of the rooms.
The rest of the evening passed with stories, and long expired tea leaves, found in the back of a dingy cabinet.
---
It wasn’t long after Techno discovered his need for hibernation when they returned yet another time to the cabin in the woods. Groggy, tired; Phil had to help him through the door so he wouldn’t fall over. His head was bobbing up and down – he was trying so hard to stay awake to not bring his companion any more trouble, but sleep was quickly taking over his mind. The moment the door shut, Phil was almost dragging him across the wooden floor and towards a familiar, tattered couch. He would have brought him to a bed, but Phil was painfully aware that he would not be able to carry Techno all the way to the bedroom, which was, in addition to being far away, up steep stairs. Thus, he gently helped Techno settle onto the couch. That was the best he could do.
“Thanks, Phil,” Technoblade muttered before his eyes shut, and within moments gentle snoring filled the room.
With nothing left to do, Phil collapsed onto one of the chairs, repaired during their previous stay. His back was hurting, his joints were screaming out in pain; he did just tug around a mountain of muscle after all. The cabin was completely quiet – save for the snoring, of course. Finally, Phil had time for himself. Thus, he did what Phil could do best.
He got to interior decoration.
His nimble hands worked branches of pine, turning them into wreaths decorated with ribbons and doo-dads found around the cabin. He swept the floors, repaired the missing planks, and lacquered them, hoping that they would last a bit more than just one winter. He fixed the cupboards, scraping them of grime and cleaning them of dust. He washed the blankets in the water melted from snow (most of them, when dried, landed on top of Techno’s sleeping form. He instantly shuffled on the couch and pulled the warm covers closer to himself), beat the pillows until there was no dust left within the plume, and mended the old carpet abandoned by the window as well as he could. With all intention to make the cabin a livable, presentable, safe space, he worked until his hands felt raw, his mind pleasantly empty, away from the idea of war, bloodshed, and strife. Chairs, tables, beds, windows, and roof tiles – everything was fair game to Philza, who spent the rest of the long, frigid winter learning new skills, ones that he never thought he’d have to possess.
When Techno woke up, days and days later, he was, understandably, confused.
“Where am I.” He muttered, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “What the hell.”
There was fire gently crackling in the fireplace. A fixed stove warmed up a pot of what smelled like porridge, and a cup of half-drank tea sat on the sturdy table, Phil’s fingers loosely wrapped around the handle. He himself was sprawled on the table, sleeping the eyebags away. His fingers twitched, and Techno raised his eyebrows. Around nearly every single one of his fingers, at least one band-aid was wrapped, hiding small cuts, bruises and burns. While Techno looked relaxed, well-rested, glowing even, Phil looked like a shell of a human being.
“Of course, he overworked himself. You take your eyes off him for a moment and he does everything that falls into his hands.” Techno sighed, knowing that no one could hear him, and, having stretched for a moment, all of his bones popping back into their proper places, he finally got up, pleasantly surprised when the temperature outside of his blanket cocoon was nearly the same as the one in the room. Phil must have fixed the broken windows and drafts, Techno thought, as he looked around for any cracks or broken glass. None could be seen.
Smiling, Technoblade walked over to where Phil was sleeping his aches away, and, as gently as he could, he wrapped his hands around him, picking him up as if he was made of glass. Slowly, carefully, he set Phil down where he was hibernating just a moment ago, making sure to cover his smaller form, as well as the limp, dormant wings with a copious number of blankets. If anyone deserved some comfort and rest, it was Phil.
In the meantime, Techno thought, his eyes settling on the pot of porridge, a certain blood god had to replenish his strength.
During that night alone, he emptied not only the pot but also the pantry.
---
“Just so you’re perfectly aware, Techno, we’re here freezing entirely because of you,” Phil whispered, scrunching his nose when a snowflake landed on his skin. Techno rolled his eyes.
“No need to be this dramatic. We needed to get out anyway. I need the sun and you need to move your bones.” Techno whispered back, and Phil felt a great urge to just pull him by the ear until his chin hit the ground.
“Had you not plundered the food supply that I have, and let me highlight this word, painstakingly gathered while you were sleeping your life away, we would have been sitting by the fire, reading books and not thinking of being waist-deep in the snow, praying for a wild animal to come by!” He hissed, and Techno scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed.
“Don’t be mad. You know I get hungry after I wake up.”
“I made you a whole pot of porridge!”
“That was not enough!”
A branch snapped, and instantly the two men became deadly silent, war-stained hands nocking arrows onto their bows with precision known only to those who saw death and laughed in its face. Another snap, and the position of the prey was triangulated, the bows drawn, breaths quiet and deep. The forest was dark at this time of the day, but the moment a deer poked its head out of the wood, two arrows instantly pierced its skull, rendering it dead on the spot.
Techno exhaled.
“Great shot, Phil.”
“Back at you, mate.”
They stayed quiet just for a moment more, in case the deer was traveling in a pack, but when a solid five minutes passed without any further sounds coming from within the ages-old forest, they scrambled their way out of the hastily dug trench, and, slowly, struggling through the thick, wet snow, they made their way to the deer, one that would be their food source for at least three or four days.
“Ah. She’s beautiful. Look at her eyes Techno.” Phil cooed as he gently petted the dead animal, almost as if he was thanking it for its sacrifice. “It’s such a shame she wandered here.”
“If she did not wander in, we would have been going hungry to bed.” Techno chimed in, and Phil only sighed, giving the deer one last pat on the head.
“And whose fault is that?” He teased, and Techno rolled his eye whilst choosing the correct knife to separate the meat from the pelt.
“I already apologized.” The man muttered, and Phil couldn’t stop the laugh that pressed itself against his teeth.
“I know, I know. You should learn when someone is teasing you, Techno. You’ll get betrayed in the future, and you won’t realize it until too late.”
Techno raised his eyebrows, the knife halfway towards the deer.
“That’s very specific,” he said, confusion written all across his face. Phil only shrugged.
“Maybe so. You never know.”
They worked for a long while, efficient and silent. Through their silence, they honored the blood that was shed, and the life that was lost so they could keep living. If Philza strained his ears, he swore he could hear Techno whisper apologies as he separated the meat from the bone, his bloodstained hands (oh, how normal they looked covered in blood and grime) sparing no motion, leaving not a shred of flesh behind. It was moments like these, Phil thought, that the full expanse of Techno’s personality was visible. Covered in blood, and yet whispering sweet apologies; he was a soul bound to war with heart bound to the earth.
And Phil respected that - it was one of the many reasons he adored his partner so much.
The men buried most of the bones when they were done, leaving only some to use while cooking soups, and they said a quick prayer of farewell, and a plea for the forest to take its inhabitant back into its arms. The meat was heavy, but Techno had it covered – while Phil was on the bone and innards duty, Techno did all the heavy lifting, and from the outside, it looked like he didn’t even break a sweat.
Through the luck of the stars and ancient gods, they encountered two pheasants scrambling for safety, and with the eye of a trained marksman Phil brought them down with just one arrow, earning himself a whistle of appreciation from Techno.
Thus, food-wise, they were set. The process of preserving, smoking, and portioning the goods would take a long time, but they had all the time in the world. And with friendly banter, no task was boring.
---
There is never not a topic to talk about when Techno and Phil are together in one room.
Recently, they’ve found themselves returning to the cabin more and more, sometimes alone, sometimes together, spontaneously and as planned events. The small house became their sanctuary, and no one could tell it was once a dingy little cot abandoned by the world itself. Now every room was sparkling and clean, every window washed, every utensil put in its place, and even flowers bloomed in pots placed on windowsills.
It was home.
For the nomads, following bloodshed and chaos, it was home, and it was the first true home they ever had together.
“The Empress, you see-” Phil talked on and on while Techno stirred his tea lazily, loose papers from around the world scattered on the table. “-she’s gigantic. It took me twenty seconds to get up to her eye level, and I was flying at full speed, Techno. And when she spoke, oh Gods, when she spoke, Techno, the entire Nether shook, ghasts stopped crying and striders paused in their step.”
Techno shrugged.
“Had I not known you for ages I’d say you are lying.” He took a sip of the tea and Phil huffed.
“I’d never! Honestly, Techno, I wish I could take you with me. You’d enjoy the warmth of the nether, and I’m sure Her Majesty would love you to bits.” Phil retorted, and Techno smiled into his drink.
“It would take me a bit longer to get on her eye level.”
“Twenty seconds.”
“I can’t fly, Phil.”
Both of them burst out in cheerful laughter, ignoring the heavy rain outside, one that played a melody of drums on the windows and the roof. Phil took a seat on the other side of the table, resting his head on the surface, crossed arms serving as a pillow.
“I sometimes wish you could, friend.” He muttered; his eyes locked at the late-spring scenery outside of the window. “I could show you so many places that you can’t get on foot to.”
“Such as?” Techno questioned; his tea long gone. Phil hummed, his expression softening at the thought.
“Mountain tops. The very peaks, covered in clouds, mist, and rainbows. You can only see their true beauty early in the morning or right as the night begins the fall. When the sun is low, the rays reflect in the mist, and for a moment, just for a moment, you feel like you’re in heaven.” He spoke with a small smile, recalling everything from the scent of the lush grass to the blinding light appearing from behind the peaks, to the taste of rain on his tongue.
“I can climb a mountain, no problem,” Techno said, and Phil let out a soft laugh. “It will take me a while but I will make it.”
“Fine, fine. We can go hiking once the conflict in the south dies down.” He went silent for a second, marveling at the image in his head, before adding, his eyes venturing back to Techno’s relaxed face. “Mm. Also the coral reefs. You’d have to rent a boat and sail for a couple of days to look at them, but if you had wings, you could just glide over it. It looks incredible when the sun reflects off the surface, and you just see these flashes of color; if you’re lucky you can see an ocean monument. I want to explore one someday.” Phil drifted off, his head once again full of thoughts and plans. Techno smiled gently.
Thirst for adventure, discovery, beauty. That was what was so alluring about Phil. He wanted the world, and Technoblade would give it to him without a second thought. His friend, Phil.
Techno laughed to himself when he snapped out of nodding away, blinking his eyes rapidly to wish the sleep away.
The rain continued to fall, over Phil’s beloved mountains, and over Phil’s beloved coral reefs.
---
“You have so much hair, Techno. Have you ever considered cutting it?” Philza muttered as his skillful fingers ran through Techno’s long, soft locks. He was braiding them; sloppily, losing the pattern in several places, but he was doing his best, and Techno appreciated his friend’s honesty. Sometimes he got lost, and he tugged on the strands, unknowingly but harshly. For better or for worse, Technoblade has felt worse pain, so he sat still, legs crossed in front of the fireplace, enjoying the feeling that was so rare, but oh, so craved.
“I don’t really mind it. It would be a bother to cut it.” He muttered, and Phil sighed, not out of annoyance, but because of the fact that he knew full well that Techno would say that. He cared not for his outer appearance, focusing instead on physical prowess and strategy. He let his hair grow, cascade down his back, and frame his face - it suited him, sure, but it still worried Phil, with how easy could it be for the enemy to just grab onto it and yank, sending his friend flying.
“That, and, um-” Technoblade paused, carefully choosing his words. Phil continued to braid. “I rather enjoy you doing my hair like this. The voices grow quiet.” He finally admitted, and Phil couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face.
“Well, I supposed I can deal with you flinging your hair in my face during battle for a bit longer.” He joked, but Techno instantly stiffened up. He turned his head ever so slightly, in a way that wouldn’t destroy Philza’s work, but his eyes still found Phil’s and he asked, as seriously as ever;
“Do I actually do that?”
His eyes were questioning, confused - he was serious. Phil bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud and probably hurting his friend’s feelings. He shook his head.
“I was kidding, Techno. Satire.”
Technoblade blinked.
“Oh.” He uttered, turning his head back towards the fireplace. “I see. That’s good, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” Techno paused, before adding one last thing, quickly, almost as if he was trying to say it before his mind processed the words. “If they actually bother you, though, I’ll cut it.”
“You just said you enjoy me doing my hair?”
“I don’t want you to be hurt because of me?”
“I was joking, Techno! Joking!”
The cabin fell back into a comfortable silence, Phil’s fingers returning to their usual work of weaving hair together. It was an argument, but it was so natural that it felt like a casual conversation; it would be forgotten within moments. He finished off the braid with a green ribbon. It was crooked, it was messy, but it was a braid, and as always Techno looked at it in the mirror and said thank you, with a soft expression reserved only for Philza.
The next morning, he emerged from the bathroom with his hair trimmed just past his shoulder; not cut enough to deprive Phil of their little ritual, but enough to keep him (and Phil) safe during battle.
Philza complimented his new haircut.
The tea leaves in the hot water looked like gold, and the only more golden thing in that room were the two friends, bathed in the warm sunrise.
---
“Oh, Gods. What the hell happened here.” Phil whined as the door opened. Techno peeked over his shoulder and felt all blood rush away from his face. The inside of the house was a mess – one of the windows seemed to be shattered, and the rushing wind knocked a lot of things over, only adding to the overall chaos on the floor. It looked like there were animals inside as well, as you could see loose grass and muddy footprints on the furniture.
With a sigh, Techno pushed his way through the doorway, rolling up his sleeves.
“I guess the nap can wait until we whip this place back into shape, right?” He spoke, and Phil shook his head dejectedly before he unhooked his cape and hung it on a peg.
“I suppose so. Remind me to install some wooden window shutters on the outside of the house.”
“Phil, if it’s not about war or food I will not remember it.” Techno deadpanned, already on his way to the broom closet. Like a faithful dog, Phil followed, laughing his lungs off.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to write it down.” He commented and Techno only shook his head, a small smile on his face.
Cleaning wasn’t exactly what both of them had in mind when they retreated to the cabin, but it was what it was, and soon brooms were sweeping the floors, making sure no shard of glass was left within the carpet. Still, what was necessary was necessary, and even though their muscles ached from hours and hours of travel, the work progressed, and before the sunset, Techno broke the broom over his knee in frustration, having finished picking up the minuscule pieces of glass from within the fibers of the carpet. He has had enough looking at the carpet for hours, and Phil barely dodged the flying stick, swiftly catching it with his hand.
“Now.” He breathed out, putting away the sad remains of the broom to the side. “Should we actually get some rest?”
“If I have to look at this carpet for even a second longer, I will start breaking more things.”
“Enough said! Let’s take a nap!”
And take a nap they did.
---
Amid ankle-high snow, Phil stood, eyebrows furrowed, arms crossed on his chest in... amusement? Surprise? No bystander would know what was happening in his head, but still, he watched with a keen, trained eye as Technoblade nailed a plank after a plank onto the roof of his newly built house, in the midst of eternal winter, in the place that in the near future would be called the Antarctic Anarchist Commune.
“Techno.” He called out, and the man, having ditched his usual royal outfit and having donned a simple white shirt and loose pants, looked down at Phil with a bunch of nails held between his teeth. “You can’t say this doesn’t remind you of something.” He laughed, and Techno scratched his head, unable to answer. He finally shrugged and went back to work. Only when the last nail left his mouth, he spoke back to Phil, who was patiently waiting for him at the ground level.
“I’ve no clue what you’re talking about. You mean the house?” He asked, and Phil felt his soul leave his body.
“Yes, the house! It’s the exact same thing as the one in the mountains!” Phil shouted, and Techno blanked out for a moment, eyes sweeping the building in progress before he slapped a hand on his forehead.
“Oh, Gods.” He whined under his breath, and, however bad Phil wanted to laugh, it was nice to see the familiar cabin again, although new and unbothered by time. He beat his wings once, then twice, and soon he was on the roof, gently landing next to Techno who was now muttering to himself about what to change so the house wouldn’t look completely the same.
“No, no, I like it like that. You don’t have to change anything.” Phil interrupted him, and Techno looked at him, confused. “Feels like home, doesn’t it?”
The cold wind blew, picking up freshly fallen snow and turning it into thin clouds that nipped at their skin; still, it was something they were used to, something they longed for.
“It does.” Techno finally admitted. “No matter how hard I try, I still miss that place.”
They both did, Phil thought as he extended one of his wings, covering his friend from the clouds of ice slicing through the evening air. It was a reflex, and Techno, also out of instinct, backed up slightly into it, letting the warm, soft plume envelop him, warming up his soul and body better than any heater or sweater would.
“Shall we take a break until the wind dies down?” Phil asked, holding down his hat with one hand so it wouldn’t be lost to the forces of nature. Techno smiled slightly.
“And do what?” He asked, and instantly regretted it when he saw a grin overtake Phil’s usually calm face.
“Start building my house!”
---
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
“Hang in there Phil. Come on. Keep your eyes open.” Techno whispered as he made sure the man resting on his back was alive and breathing. The pulse was there, the breath was there, quick and shallow against the nape of his neck, and as Techno opened the door to the familiar, mountain-hidden cabin with his hip, Philza hissed, Techno’s body pressing against his deep injury.
The man didn’t even bother closing the door behind himself before he sat Phil down on the table, gently helping him lay down on the flat, sterile surface. Wiping his own blood away from his forehead, doing his best to not let it flow into his eyes, Techno scanned the extent of the damage that was done to Phil’s body. A stab wound to the side, several cuts around the torso and upper arms, his wing was seemingly sprained, hopefully not broken; Techno clicked his tongue, once again dragging his hand across his face, wiping away the blood. It didn’t matter how hurt he was. Phil had priority.
Always.
His feet, on autopilot, led him to the cupboard where scarce first aid supplies were laid, waiting to be used. Techno grabbed everything he could, no matter if cream, box, or jar, and nearly threw it on the table next to Phil. He was stressed. His blood pressure was rising. He was almost afraid, and that was a feeling he had not felt for a long, long time. A droplet of blood slid down his nose, hitting the wooden surface, but techno ignored it, threading the surgical needle with his shaky hands, hydrogen peroxide already open and ready to be used.
“I’m sorry, Phil. Hang in there just for a while longer.”
Needle pierced skin and Phil screamed, unable to hold back his reaction to pain. Still, Techno continued, with a steady pace closing the gaping wound, wiping away the skin around it from time to time. It didn’t take long to finish – Techno was used to fixing people up, be that himself, Phil, or anyone who fought by his side throughout the years. Even so, this was much, much more different than that.
Life or death. When attacked with an enchanted weapon, even someone immortal like Phil could perish, and Techno wanted nothing but to tear the person who attacked him limb from limb. That had to wait, again. Techno moved to the shallower cuts, a yelp leaving Phil’s lips each time a cotton pad soaked with hydrogen peroxide swept over the tender flesh. Techno could only whisper apologies as he continued, bandaging every wound, and cleaning every bruise. It felt like an eternity even though the whole procedure took more or less an hour; To Techno it felt like a year has passed, and a year of suffering was caused to his friend.
Finally, he collapsed to the ground, his hands stained with blood, the job done and over with. Phil was breathing deeply now, able to take in correct breaths while the pain was subsiding. Technoblade wiped his face again, the blood already dried. He was so tired. He was in pain, he was tired, he was hungry and he was absolutely defeated. Yet, Phil was safe. Phil was alive. And that enough was enough for him to find inner peace that would let him take a rest, back pressed against the wall.
The house was silent, it smelled of iron and hydrogen peroxide, and it was full of life.
---
“Careful.”
“By all means, Techno, I won’t shatter if I stub my toe.”
In the middle of the night, all you could hear was the wind, the crunching of snow under the paws of wild animals, and the calls of birds of prey, waiting for their victims. In the middle of that silence, Techno and Phil, who, still wrapped in bandages, insisted that he was well enough to join his friend in the midnight venture, climbed onto the roof of the house, a thick blanket tucked under his shoulder, a thermos of tea now placed next to the chimney.
A couple of minutes until midnight; it was a special night, and Techno and Phil wanted to celebrate it somehow, even if that somehow was risking bodily injuries by making their way up a clunky roof.
“It’s cloudy.” Techno huffed, his breath turning into mist as he spoke.
“Give it a moment. I’m sure they’ll go away in a minute or two. The moon is bright, and the clouds are thin.” Phil answered, gently sitting down on the roof, hissing when he put too much pressure on his wound. Without question, Techno unfurled the blanket, and draped it over his friend, inviting himself underneath it as well. That, with the added warmth from Phil’s extended wings, provided a cozy, comfortable pocket for both men to sit in, and, how much you could do that in the middle of the night, relax.
“What are your plans for the future, Phil?” Technoblade suddenly asked, his hand halfway through unscrewing the cap of the thermos. Phil hummed happily.
“I want to reunite with Wilbur. I haven’t seen him in a long, long while, and while letters are good and all, I still miss him, you know?” he said and Techno nodded his head in understanding. “That, and I want to move here for good.”
“To this cabin?”
“Yes.” Phil’s voice was gentle, quiet, befitting the solace and peace of the night. “I’ve been traveling my entire life, since I was born. I think it’s time for me to rest. For a longer time, this time.” He finished and turned to face Techno, a playful, inquisitive spark in his icy blue eyes. “How about you?”
“Me?” Techno pointed at himself, surprised. Phil snorted.
“Do you see another person on the roof?” He teased, and Techno rolled his eyes. Soon enough he grew silent, deep in thought.
“I guess-” he said, his fingers caging his face. “I guess I just want to live.” Techno looked back at Phil and the man nodded his head, prompting him to keep speaking. “I want to go a day without fearing someone attacks me. I want to- I want to-” He paused, mulling his next words. “I guess I want some peace as well, Phil.”
Phil broke out in bubbly laughter. His wings tightened around Techno’s form, and Techno shuffled closer to his friend, their bodies now fully touching.
“You’re welcome to stay here. It’s our house after all.”
Techno smiled, and to Phil, it was like flowers blooming in the middle of the snow.
“Maybe I will, Phil. Maybe I will.”
The clouds, which started to part the very moment they arrived at the rooftop, finally opened up, and through the corner of his eye, Phil spotted a glint of green, blue and yellow. He turned his head away, eyes locked on the horizon. A beautiful, ribbon-like aurora borealis spread over the snow-covered forest, ever-moving, ever-gentle in its existence. It reflected in Phil’s eyes as he stared in wonder, and Techno found himself looking at him rather than the phenomena itself, a warmth in his chest, one of happiness and peace, spreading across his entire body, warming him up better than any blanket could.
A loud chime came from the inside of the house – the scavenged grandfather clock struck midnight, and Phil, once again faced his friend, bathed in yellow, green, and blue.
“Happy New Year, Technoblade.”
Technoblade laughed, for the first time in months.
“Happy New Year, Philza.”