Archive of Our Own

He’s mingling, of course he’s mingling. Techno’s notoriously great at mingling, especially at masked, fancy-dress parties full of people he knows and loves talking to. He loves dressing up in fancy outfits – a black suit and a wither skull for a mask, frills, red embroidery – he loves being looked at! Absolutely. Loves taking part in society.

Techno is standing off by the wall and talking under his breath.

Occasionally taking hurried sips from his glass when someone looks at him too long, hoping to hide the motion of his lips. He’s drinking godforsaken water. Because Techno’d rather just straight up leave than get drunk somewhere people can see him. He mouths pretty much that.

The voices call him a coward.

They’re a welcome addition, and doesn’t that make the situation utterly dire? That the voices are a good distraction? That entertaining them is better than stepping into some circle of people and engaging in polite, directionless conversation?

He’s done his fair share for tonight, the ball’s been in full swing for hours now.

Techno’s talked about politics, about gardening, about the godforsaken weather with other attendees, some he almost recognized by voice and others he didn’t. He’s at his limit. But he’s also well versed on the wiles of nobility. Being something of a king, god, warlord, what have you himself.

Just up and leaving would be utter societal failure. Cringe, even. The voices agree, but in a way that makes it clear: the fact he’s standing by a wall talking to them isn’t much farther from cringe either. He should-

Someone steps into his view, fingers touch his elbow, another hand moves his glass from his hand, off onto a table- Techno snaps his eyes up because he swears to god if this is that person in a squid themed mask again, he’s going to bite their head off.

It’s not. Someone taller, fancy clothes but not a suit, the mask of a rabbit, full face and lavish with gold and jewels. It’s all he gets the time to remark on when the person’s pulling him into the dance floor, practiced and elegant and with a death grip on Techno’s arm. The music is mellow. It doesn’t reflect the adrenaline that pours into Techno’s system at all. He almost fights it, almost causes a scene, but his protest is intercepted by the stranger’s whisper:

“Play along.”

He can’t place the voice. It’s both threat and plea.

Techno’s never had good patience with people who weren’t Phil, he’s at his limit with society for the day anyway, but it’s too late, the decimating idea of drawing attention with struggling slams into the back of his brain and forces his feet to move, to blend into the dancing crowd he’s urged into.

“What do you think you’re doing,” he grits out, quietly, hands finding the stranger’s shoulder and hand. He digs his fingers in the same, if not stronger, than his detested companion’s.

A barely perceptible sigh under the mask, they spin along with the crowd, Techno’s heart hammers in his chest. Whisper, again, “Someone’s here to kill you. Did you ever leave your glass unattended.”

“No.” Techno bites out quietly, his eyes snapping to the crowd over the other’s shoulder. Masks, all of them. No way to catch an eyeline.

They spin. Techno lessens his grip on his dance partner, the other follows his example. Techno’s backbrain fixes their form and posture as much as possible in age-old instinct. He scans the crowd without lifting his head. God bless his own face cover.

A gold mask he can’t discern the details of seems to follow him before turning away. The figure’s hooded in white. Someone he couldn’t possibly name, but Techno realizes with fearful clarity, that the figure’s been at the corner of his vision for hours now.

“I see,” He looks back to who leads their dance, the intricately made rabbit mask gives away nothing, its eyeholes are obscured by magic, its design is complex, strands of fur individually carved into the surface, forming patterns and swirls around green and white jewels. Dozens of golden shapes and thin, delicate chains are attached to tall rabbit ears, as if to mimic earrings. The real ears of the mask’s owner are pierced but lack any decoration. Techno wracks his brain, chat unhelpful and scattered, but ultimately asks, “Who are you. Why help.”

“Aw, I’m sad you didn’t recognize me,” That whisper again, and it’s almost impossible to tell voices apart when whispering. But then the person sighs and lets out a series of wheezy chuckles that Techno knows, “And here I thought…”

“Dream.”

The rabbit mask angles at him sharply with surprise, “Oh? What gave it away, then?”

“You’re a terrible dancer,” Techno answers quietly and snatches Dream’s hand off his waist by the wrist, guides it to his own shoulder, and swiftly redirects the dance so he can lead. In his well-informed opinion, their rhythm and form improve immediately.

That familiar laugh again, unswayed, “Of course, of course, who taught you?”

“Necessity.” Techno answers.

Dream is a good improviser but a shitty team player. He adjusts to Techno’s guiding quickly but doesn’t quit trying to exert some form of control over their direction. “And I’m assuming absolutely no one taught you. Why are you at this party. It’s days of travel away from your lands.”

“I may be territorial, but I’m not allergic to visiting other places,” the rabbit’s waist is corded with strength and burns warm under Techno’s hand. There’s also the outline of a dagger, there, pressed close under the tight fabric. “Why are you here. Don’t tell me it’s expressly to get a mercenary’s attention.”

“Mm, yes, my plan all along…” Techno mumbles distractedly, catching the gold mask in the crowd again over Dream’s shoulder.

Dream’s shoulder.

Dream’s shoulders are in cutoff sleeves, ones that, unlike his manhunt attire, are white and end in skin-tight, complex lace. Same with the high turtle-neck collar. There’s gold string following some of the patterns. Probably cost a fortune.

Right. The gold mask in the crowd was cause for his momentary distraction. Not Dream’s shoulder.

“Do you know who that is?” Dream asks.

“No,” Techno leads them along with those who share the dance floor with them in a fast, spinning waltz. And thank god his years of doing exactly this have left it so engrained into his brain, that holding conversation and scanning the crowd puts no falter to his step. “I’m assuming you do. How.”

Dream growls quietly. Techno switches to staring at Dream without hiding whatever mix of incredulous bafflement crashes onto his face. Dream immediately hisses, “What? Don’t give me that look. Fucker got paid to do this with my money.”

“Did you order a hit on me, Dream,” Techno asks, mostly as a joke, the exact moment everyone, himself included, send their dance partners into a spin. Out on an arm, then back in.

“Do you want me to be?” Dream asks a bit louder than all his previous words, face invisible but voice clearly surprised.

Techno scowls and knows the skull mask ends short enough to keep his mouth in full view, “Well I’d rather you not.”

He practically feels Dream lose some of his straight-backed, beautiful posture right there, shoulders curling a bit, step lagging, “Aw, shame.” He sounds genuinely upset. Techno starts getting a notion- okay, the voices tell him: something something you two are talking about different things.

Their insight is rarely valuable, but Techno scowls harder, “Why is it a shame I don’t want you sending assassins after me.” His grip on Dream tightens out of annoyance.

The rabbit mask looks at him. Three steps of their dance that glide in silence. The music, the chatter of crowds, the bright yellow light of glowstone and fire.

And then, Dream’s posture changes again. God, even with yet another mask, he manages to be dangerously expressive. This time, he straightens, like waking up, peppy again, "Oh you said ‘A hit on you’. You don’t want me ‘ordering a hit on you’."

“What did you hear?” Techno hisses at him.

A wink of that golden mask in the crowd again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dream’s voice is smiling and light, “Anyway, someone made a deal with me. To borrow some considerable riches. And then I learned what they used that money on. After they failed to pay it back – with percentages of course – two weeks past due.” The gold chains on Dream’s porcelain rabbit ears clink as they spin, “When I learned about the hit ordered on you at an upcoming masquerade, I thought I’d pay a visit.”

Techno sighs quietly, the adrenaline ebbs. This is far from the first time someone’s been paid grand sums to go after him. However, this might just take the cake by every other parameter. The setting, the parties involved, the extravagance, and now, it seems, his form of escape. “Why?”

“Why what? I like parties…”

The dance’s next stage brings them closer, no longer a cordial distance, chest to chest for a few beats, “Why help me,” Techno asks very quietly, feeling them breathe out of sync.

Dream hums, very theatrically. The hand in Techno’s own taps its pointer on his knuckles in thought, “Perhaps then you’d owe me?”

“Simp behavior,” Techno shuts him down immediately, and before Dream can get all ruffled about it, Techno spins him out again on an arm.

Dream does not go smoothly, and when he returns, he pulls on Techno’s arm a bit too much and almost upsets the dance’s form. Techno grumbles, and catches Dream back into his hold with too much force.

“I have unsettled score with this mercenary,” Dream bites out, a bit too loud, and Techno hisses a shh. The music would hide any words exchanged, but you can never be too careful. The shush earns the skin of his hand a pinch. “Thought, hey, show up, enjoy the party itself, and then kill two birds with one stone.”

“Some cultures say two rabbits with one arrow,” Techno cuts in and spins them both.

The comment goes unanswered, Dream continues, all business, “Enjoy a party, get under the guy’s skin, get to uh-”

“Dance with me?” Techno asks.

Dream’s voice remains impassive, yet with that characteristic audible smile, “Perhaps. This wasn’t my original plan, but I saw him heading to you for the first time with too much intent.”

“Been watching me all party? That’s not very surpri-”

Dream steps on his foot. Techno bites his words off and quickly puts distance between their chests, making the altered waltz far less personal. Dream continues calmly, “I came here primarily to prevent your untimely death. Of course I’d watch you.”

“Really?” Techno finds himself smiling rather insincerely. Something closer to baring teeth, “Because by at least two other eyewitness accounts, you watch me at parties that don’t endanger my life too.”

The hand he holds grows tighter with its grip. Almost painfully so.

“No clue what you mean.”

“I dunno, man.” Techno’s smile only grows wider. He’s glad the skull he wears lets Dream see it. “I used to think it was cause you wanted me dead or something, but I suppose now you’re working in the exact opposite direction. Saving my life and all.”

Another growls from Dream. Geez is the guy dramatic and off his human fucking rails, “I’m prone to switching sides, don’t test it.” Another spin of the dance, another look at the room. A change in form too. Oh god no.

He drops the topic of conversation, brings Dream a bit closer again, “We’re gonna have to switch partners.”

“What-” Dream’s voice drops all annoyance or comedy, he looks off to the side and notices the change in dance, they’re coming to the partner rotation. And then his grip on Techno’s shoulder gets stronger, unintentionally. The rabbit mask is looking over Techno’s shoulder. Dream’s voice is even and careful. He sounds like this during war too, “He’s joined the dance.”

Techno remembers this is far from a casual waltz with his- whatever Dream is. Associate? Coworker? The word friend doesn’t fit right, they’d never had enough time for friendship. Only favors, only the occasional spar, the occasional day of training, middle of nowhere. The occasional offer of a saving hand. Techno’s cut arrows out of midair before they could hit Dream, had bandaged Dream enough times to get sick of smelling his blood. Dream had saved his life, full stop. Has before, and perhaps, has once more done so today.

For a strange second, he’s more worried about trading Dream off to the assassin mid-dance, than getting himself paired with his doom. Worried about seeing red crawl over the sterile white of Dream’s fancy sleeveless costume.

Worry about yourself, the voices remind.

Techno looks around, sharp and awake, brain going a mile a minute. They can’t leave the dance. More people have joined, there’s now two rows of spinning couples in various masks between them and the crowd that simply stands and watches.

He opens his mouth to say something else, and then the music cue shoots any attempts at planning dead. Every couple around them parts. Techno’s deeply instinctual ability to dance betrays him and makes him let go of Dream, makes him move away, before his brain’s caught up.

There’s a shorter, yellow and green masked woman with him now. But his eyes are on Dream, neck twisting uncomfortably to try and keep Dream’s white and gold and green in his line of sight as they spin and spin and dance- Dream’s watching him too, he’s with a raven-themed partner, real feathers, ebony suit, and the porcelain rabbit face follows Techno with its blank desperation.

Another pair dances between them and interrupts the view. Techno tries to angle his neck around and sees someone else instead, still far away, but within the limits of the waltz, is that gold mask. Now closer, he can see it’s fashioned after the face of a gold coin.

The mask doesn’t watch him, doesn’t face his direction.

The lack of head-on attention is terrifying.

Like this won’t require any effort at all.

Like killing Technoblade is easy.

It’s not.

They switch partners again, Techno catches the sweaty, warm hands of another dancer, blue, traditional masquerade mask, dress patterned with fish and seaweed. He doesn’t even attempt to smile. He finds Dream again. Red partner this time, vine-esque embroidery up her fluffed up dress. He doesn’t process that the red is part of her costume at first, and in a too-familiar image of dying allies mid-battle, for a split-second Techno mistakes it for blood.

It almost makes him stumble.

The partners switch.

He glimpses the gold face of his pursuer again. This time-

Two rotations off.

Dream, he can’t find.

Techno’s new partner hisses in pain, and he eases the grip on their hand. He scans the ballroom, two main exists, three closer ones into the rest of the building, a crowd of people that’d notice a hurried, panicked escape if he were to cut through them. The dance is going in rings now, if he could transfer them to the outside circle-

Partners switch.

Techno angles his step, pivots more than he should, and catches his new partner without even looking. The wrong partner, by the dance’s rules, but exactly what he needs. Techno catches someone from the outer ring, moving himself out of range. By doing so, he passes the gold coin mask almost too closely.

The dance resumes. He sees Dream again- the rabbit mask isn’t watching him, its smooth features track Techno’s assassin. Dream still dances on the inner ring, and if things are timed- just well enough, Techno could break a few dance convention rules and get Dream next switch.

He’s already rotated himself into the wrong ring. It grates on his nerves, like brushing fur the wrong way, but he has to admit, dying’s probably worse.

Dream dances into view, and for a second, Techno thinks the music won’t time right and they’ll move right past each other.

Except he notices Dream’s leading again. If he’s leading, he controls the speed, miniscule power when sandwiched between other dancers, but enough.

The rabbit’s face locks on him, Techno nods once. The voices quiet.

Switch.

Techno avoids his next allotted dance partner, and Dream avoids his own. It puts a hiccup in the dance, people struck with a second’s uncertainty, attempting to discern who they should partner with, now that two participants have broken order and grabbed onto each other.

“Techno.”

“Dream.” He lets Dream lead.

The spiraling anxiety of standing out, of breaking dance routine, is quelled. His heart still hammers, but Dream’s back. They latch on and blend into the outer ring’s rhythm. Dream’s hands are dry, there’s scars under Techno’s fingers.

“The crowd’s watching us.” Dream tells him.

“We stepped out of line. Let’s give them an explanation as to why,” Techno answers quietly, and as Dream spins them, he sees the golden mask again. It’s watching him blatantly, winking in and out of view across a sea of dancers. So much for stealth.

Perhaps he knows that Techno and Dream know. Perhaps he’s getting fed up with this grand, shifting and moving set piece, that infinitely delays Techno’s assassination. Techno mindlessly taps his fingers on Dream’s shoulder, Dream’s hand on his waist does the same. When Techno speaks, he smiles wide and mocking, “Do you know how to dip people?”

No answer comes, or maybe it’s interrupted by the musical cue of another partner switch.

Dream doesn’t let go of him, he spins them closer to the crowd, and before it can raise eyebrows, brings their dance to a natural stop:

He dips Techno. Hand sliding up under his armpit, to his shoulderblades, other hooking to support his waist. Techno slides a foot out as he’s lowered, one hand cast out in an elegant arc. Dream’s strong, and takes the dip far lower than necessary. Techno’s mocking grin turns into a surprised smile.

The voices hum along to strong instrumentals. Their audience is watching, Techno’s prospecting killer must be watching as well. It’s not rare for excited couples to retire with a dip. It’s far more common though, for another element to be present. They have to sell this escape as natural.

Barely a second has passed.

Techno whispers, “Kiss me.”

Dream fucking locks up.

His hands on Techno’s back dig in too hard, his posture loses the necessary fluidity of passable dancers. Too far, then. Techno’s blood runs cold. The voices sing a false note and stutter quiet. It hurts something inside his chest, that this is what reaction those words garner.

But…

The kiss is a bullet point in Techno’s survival, he won’t let confounding factors trip it up.

Focus. Sell the fact you’re in love, sell the fact you’re eager to leave the dance floor for private, silly, romantic reasons. Sell it. Sell whatever parts of that aren’t a lie, too.

Techno leans up and kisses the mask, where Dream’s mouth would be. He has to angle, so the bottom rim of his own mask doesn’t scrape. It’s good he didn’t cave to Phil’s demands and skipped out on the lipstick, otherwise he’d ruin the pristine ceramic. The thought of kissing Dream and leaving a mark lodges into his brain for no good reason.

Someone in the crowd claps and hoots, and dozens join. Dream’s movements remain stiff, but he brings Techno back up, until they’re both standing, and thank god this is a long time strategizer and warrior. He also knows to put personal hang-ups aside.

He hooks an elbow into Techno’s and stands tall, “Excuse us,” he tells the crowd with a crisp, audible grin. Techno smiles too, wider than he ever would, and lets Dream cut through the audience. They part like butter, and those whose masks leave a visible mouth, are smiling at them sweetly. Everyone knows the sight of a pair, rushing to leave the public eye after a display of something- Affection?

Techno drops his smile the second they’re out of sight, approaching a simple door, further into the building.

Before it closes behind him, he chances a look back at the ballroom. He catches a glimpse of that gold mask, still caught in the spin of waltz. It’s harder for a single person to leave the dance.

The door shuts quietly.

Techno turns and follows a quickly departing Dream.

The voices return. He casts them aside, no time for the opinion of thousands, and sighs, catching up to Dream’s rapid speed walk, “Look, bro, I geeeeeeeet it, sorry for making it awkward or whatever, but- Dream- my life was on the line. I wouldn’t expect you to really know the unspoken rules at gigs like this, but you can’t just leave without-” they turn a corner, down into a staff hallway, “Look. Thanks for the whole life saving thing, by the way, but it’s all business, right?” He scoffs, feeling his usual chummy attitude crawling over the unease left in his throat, “Let’s not make an elephant out of a fly.”

Dream stops dead in front of a large window. There’s a moment of silence, then his hands fly up and unlatch the window’s simple lock, swing it open. He hooks a leg over the edge. Techno just watches.

Sitting on the windowsill, one leg out the window, Dream finally pauses and looks at him.

“What if it’s not ‘all just business’?” Dream asks. Sharp, loud, and cautious.

Techno grits his teeth, and throws his hands up, “It’s your money that got used for this, you’re here to meddle, you have unsettled scores with this assassin, you probably want me to owe you. Of course it’s business.”

Cold air creeps in from outside.

The rabbit mask is somehow less expressive than Dream’s usual.

“What if I just wanted to dance?” His voice has lost all of its bravado.

“You were here because of a hit placed on me.” Techno waves his hand mid-air in panicked questioning, “Dream, you’re sending a lot of mixed, confusing signals. If you ‘just wanted to dance’ you could do that literally anywhere else, unrelated with someone out for my blood.”

“Yeah?” Dream also spreads his arms, balance immaculate on the sill, “Could I? You always make it seem like I need excuses- Excuses to show up, the excuse of some mercenary being hired with my borrowed money, all to justify coming to help you, the excuse of escape to dance with you, and then-” He growls again and turns to look out the window. “I’m tired of looking for excuses.”

God, he’d always been dramatic and easy to rile.

Techno kind of feels like he can’t breathe. Not in a good way. In a I have no fucking clue what’s going on way.

“So you’re saying-”

“I’m saying that if I asked you to dance, back at some banquet at home, without looming danger getting you to agree, you’d say no.”

Techno crosses his arms, “Yeah and? I hate events like this, of course I’d say no, it’s so awkward. People here at least don’t know who you are, so I won’t be subject to too much gossip later. God.” He looks at the floor, “People probably recognize me though… I didn’t go all out with the whole mask thing… Word will travel, Technoblade danced with someone at the autumn ball, Technoblade kissed someone at the autumn ball. Phil won’t let me hear the end of it. Jesus. He’s gonna be all ‘what happened to your I hate people attitude’… Dream this is a disaster.”

He looks back up and the rabbit mask is watching him again.

“So you’d only say no because you don’t like dancing in public?”

Way to go focusing on only one part of Techno’s admittedly unwarranted rant, but hey. Techno sighs, “Yeah. I mean, man, getting watched by people who know you is so awkward-”

“But you’d say yes if it was in private? Like-”

“Why would you ask me to dance in private, what’s the point.”

Dream makes some kind of illegible noise and leans back on the window frame, “Fucking hell I mean like- you wouldn’t say no cause you- cause you like hate me or something? Or like you’re not interested- or…” Dream comes to a weird slow stop with his loud demanding tone, and the rabbit mask rather comically looks down at the floor. Its earrings shift.

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re trying to ask. I don’t hate you?” Techno tries, “You’re reliable and- Ok, this is just fishing for compliments now, I’m not falling for it.”

The rabbit mask faces him again. Its blank stare is tiring. Techno wants to make Dream change back into his smiley one. If he was any less polite, he’d want to rip it off, but Dream is Dream. If you want to be around him, you’re going to be around a mask. Techno’s got no issues being around him, wanting to be around him, and being around the mask. Just not this one. This one feels dead.

There’s a pause. When conversation restarts, the edge is somewhat lost.

“Sorry I freaked out.” Dream says.

Techno can’t help but snort, “The kiss got to you that bad?”

The reply is instantaneous. “Yeah.”

It catches Techno off guard badly. So badly, his brain wipes clean of any previous joking tones that could’ve saved this conversation in his humble, avoidant opinion.

“Um.” He manages. “God, well. Sorry.” Then, a second later, “Don’t tell me you’re straight. Or homophobic.”

There’s too much of a pause.

Really? Really? Of all people? Maybe it’s something blonde-exclusive to be straight. Tommy… Philza… Now this guy. Techno thinks that’d be just his luck again, get too into their charade of a dance, fall victim to whatever unwelcome way Dream makes his chest feel ‘hyped up’. He wouldn’t normally ask for a kiss, not with anyone else he can think of.

“I didn’t wanna kiss you for like a joke or a lie or a scheme or something.” Dream finally answers.

Before Techno can make much sense of that, the rabbit’s face snaps to look behind Techno- and then Dream’s shooting an arm out, shouting his name, latching onto Techno, pulling-

Before Techno falls through the window along with Dream, he catches the sight of a golden mask rounding the corner, crossbow poised.

And then he’s falling.

It’s cold, it’s fast, it’s familiar.

He angles his fall without thinking, all in the span of seconds, registers they’re bound to land into hay- Dream’s hand is still fisted into his dress shirt right above Techno’s heart-

It vanishes the second they land, pain shooting up Techno’s legs, but he rolls, hears the terrible snap of a bone- not his own- hears Dream grunt-

He rolls off the hay mound- about one story worth of it- gets up- it’s dark outside, wind, wind’s good, wind misaligns arrows- locates Dream. Dream’s getting up too- is he okay? Is he okay? Scream both the voices and Techno’s brain, back in full gear-

Dream stands and points into the shade of garden trees: “Techno! Horses!”

“Are you okay?” Techno shouts back, but they’re both already running to where Dream’s hidden their way of escape.

An arrow whizzes past Techno and he dodges sideways, begins to zig-zag, and then they’re skidding to where horses are already alert and riled from the commotion. He unhooks the reins of one and hears Dream do the same- gets onto the horse-

Smells blood.

He can’t afford to look at Dream. Not for long enough to see in the evening’s dark. They spur both horses into almost immediate gallop- another arrow- this one digs into a tree Techno rides past- he’s breathing fast and hard, and Dream’s a few paces ahead- their horses make fast work of trimmed, low hedges, Dream navigates the garden- god he’d prepared for escape- prepared for escape with Techno- and finally they break out of the front gates-

His eyes train on Dream’s back. He is, for once, more visible than not, bathed in moonlight, far from his usual dark green getup that’s easy to lose in the trees and in the night. He’s a beacon now, and Techno thanks god he went with a black suit instead of red or white. It could’ve cost him his life. Made him an easy target. The whip of arrows still echo in his ears. Not unfamiliar, but very, deeply unwelcome.

They cut through the plains preluding the castle, don’t slow, because if given chase, they need to keep that head start. There’s no talking, just loud breaths, the louder drum beat of hooves. Techno’s clothes don’t sit comfortably with the fluidity of motion that gallop requires. He dares one hand off the reins to unbutton his suit and yank his cravat looser.

Dream finally turns into the woods- Techno follows his visible white shirt and the smell of blood. The voices scream that this blood is for them, for him, for the blood god. Techno grunts under his breath: “Leave him alone.”

Dream either knows these woods, or knows how to navigate any forest, or maybe it’s something else, because Techno’s sure he can’t be the only one ever aided by some greater knowledge. But Dream eventually slows the gallop, slows again, and leads them out onto a small clearing bisected by the glint of running water.

Techno catches his breath, pulls the horse into a trot, and waits for it to calm down enough for a walk and an eventual stop. Dream’s already dismounted his, standing stock still, not moving, not looking at Techno. Just standing.

The second his horse stops, Techno’s swinging off it, landing too harshly, and sprinting to Dream. His steps thud along grass and moss.

“Dream- man, oh that was close-” He transitions to a jog, and finally stops at Dream’s side, “Are you uh, are you okay? You smell like blood.”

Dream exhales slowly, it turns into a light laugh. The rabbit masks turns to him, “You can smell blood?” It looks black in the moonlight, the thin streak of blood running out from under Dream’s mask and turning his high collar dark. The question is honest and curious.

He stares at the dark stream, “Blood god and all, yeah. Man. You alright?” He looks up and notices, for the first time, that one rabbit ear has snapped off, leaving a thick crack running down the side of the mask, through the eye. It must’ve been the noise he heard. “Oh thank god, I thought you’d broken a bone.”

The rabbit mask turns away again, Dream’s voice is light, “It’s why my usual’s just a circle. I’d go for something way cooler but it begins posing a danger in battle.”

“Your mask’s already cool,” Techno brushes him off, shimmying in his suit to try and fix its awkward rumpled quality, “Head wounds bleed more than others, you’ll be fiiine. Wow did you have that planned out though, kudos to you, that’s pretty dedicated. You sure he won’t follow us here?”

Dream nods, then exhales, and seems to wake back up, taking a sweeping look at the clearing and heading to the stream. Techno follows.

There’s a huge, smooth rock, big enough to seat three people that outcrops into the water, sanded down on the sides by perhaps years of water.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. That went far better than I expected- Or, hm.” Dream steps onto the rock, then squats and sticks his hands into the water, “The ballroom part- the first part went pretty well, and actually getting away too…”

Right. But not the middle. Not the kiss. A failing on both sides. On Techno’s for getting too caught up in the fantasy of Dream and asking in the first place, and on Dream’s for letting it shock him into locking up.

Dream sits down on the rock.

Techno stands a few paces away, hands nervously fisting into the bottom corners of his suit jacket, “Would you have reacted differently if the kiss wasn’t like for show.”

“Hm?” Dream turns to look at Techno over his shoulder. The smell of blood mixes with that of forest water. A bright-green firefly awakens behind Dream and lazily floats into the air.

“If I said ‘kiss me’- like back at the ballroom- if I said that and it wasn’t for a bit, would you still freeze up like a corpse in the arctic, Dream?” Techno talks like he’s throwing accusations, heart in his throat. “Would you still go all dead and weird if I kissed you elsewhere?”

“Like right here?” Dream asks. Another firefly wakes in the grass and lifts off into the night air. “You wanna kiss me, right here? Right now?” He sounds very careful.

“I didn’t say that.”

They stare at each other in silence.

Yeah so what Techno sometimes thinks about Dream. In all sorts of contexts. It’s nothing. It’d plagued him for months, back when it started, and so what? It’s fine now, he’s digested it and let it sit and come to terms with that the thoughts about Dream are there to stay, so best learn to shove em down and ignore them. They don’t have time for this.

He didn’t say he wanted to kiss the mask again. He really didn’t.

He just asked.

If maybe it wouldn’t be an unwelcome effort.

“It’s…” Dream stops, like he’d started speaking without yet knowing what to say. “There’s always a point in trying. Bet.”

“Okay. Bet.”

“Okay.”

They stare at each other again. The voices make some kind of ungodly giggle. The sound of it follows Techno as he steps onto the rock as well, bends at the waist, and comes face to face with the rabbit mask. It watches him.

He won’t back down. Really.

He kisses its cold surface.

Different this time, the angle’s reversed, this time he kisses down instead of up. This time there’s a sharp crack to its smooth ceramic. It doesn’t cut his lip, but it threatens to. And then they’d both bleed.

Dream doesn’t freeze up. Techno feels hands catch the dangling frills of his cravat.

It’s a chaste kiss, there’s not much else to do to a mask-

Oh but there is, but there is, but there is, the voices cackle, lick it. Techno sighs and starts leaning back up. The hands on his cravat don’t let go. He’s caught mid-lean. The mask is unreadable. Techno waits.

“Sit down?” Dream asks.

Techno, relieved with the lack of backlash, folds down onto the rock. The hands pull him down a bit faster.

His eyes trail off to watch another firefly, but then Dream speaks, finally letting go of Techno’s collar, “I can’t see out of my left eye.” Techno snorts. By accident, but it shocks a laugh out of him. Dream looks over and kinda laughs too, “What? No, really. I think there’s blood in it.”

“God- I’ll uh, I’ll turn away if you need to wash your face or something.” Techno says through bubbling, nervous laughter. The dance, the chase, the… the kiss too, sure, the kiss makes him jittery.

“Or you could uh. You could help. You know. Since I helped you so much in surviving a party.” Dream shrugs far too casually. Purposefully casually. Like he hasn’t just invited Techno to straight up see his face. Or whatever is under every mask Dream’s ever worn.

Techno swallows. The rock is cold but not unbearable. The stream whispers pleasantly.

“You’re a good sport when it comes to cleaning injuries,” Techno offers with a smile and then a cringe at many a memory of a screaming, kicking Tommy. He sees Dream falter, though, and bites the inside of his lip before offering, “I’ll make it even, I suppose.”

He reaches up and unhooks the skull off his face easily. His field of vision instantly expands, cool air hitting his face.

Dream tracks the skull, “It’s a good replica.”

“What makes you think this isn’t a real wither skull I sawed the back off of?” Techno huffs a laugh, and offers it to Dream for examination, “Straight from the nether, my guy.”

Dream accepts it, rotates it in his hands, then laughs, “Crazy. You have two more with you just in case? Some sand, too?”

It gets a louder chuckle out of Techno, “Perhaps. You never know.”

Dream’s buying time, and Techno’s about to tell him: forget it, about all that mask business, but Dream sets the skull down, careful so it won’t roll off, and then-

Okay.

The rabbit mask is lifted off.

The first thing Techno sees is still blood.

Like he’s hotwired to look for that, before anything else. He notes where the stream starts, up on Dream’s forehead, down in a thick line over a split eyebrow, into the dip of an eye, closed, lashes short but thick, blonde, the ones that aren’t bloody, at least. Then, onto a soft cheekbone, the kind that makes one look young, the blood streak splitting in half, down, down, the skin is perhaps freckled, it’s hard to see, but definitely scarred, heavily enough on the jaw, old but deep. Blood follows the carve of the scar and vanishes under the chin to Dream’s neck.

The blood is all he sees, but it’s vessel enough to begin learning Dream’s face.

To avoid saying anything at all, Techno takes the red handkerchief in his suit pocket and leans down to the stream, waits for it to wet with ice cold water, and reaches for Dream.

Dream hasn’t moved, hasn’t even opened his eyes. There’s a good chance he isn’t breathing.

“Don’t move,” Techno says quietly, and leans over.

One hand coming up to hold the clean part of Dream’s face, so he’ll stay in place, and the other moves to begin cleaning blood out of his eye. Dream’s skin is warm and soft, and Dream flinches, sharply and almost violently. Not at the cold water. At the touch.

Techno lowers his hand and waits.

“Sorry,” eyes still closed. “Not used to it, is all.” Finally, a breath. Dream relaxes just a bit, “You can.”

“Alright.”

Reaching for him again feels somehow religious. Feels like sacrificing blood during battle. Feels like ringing his bell. Except new. Scary, unknown. Not for a god but for something else.

He holds Dream’s face. There’s no reaction this time. Not a negative one at least, Dream just relaxes further.

He lifts the handkerchief that’s been steadily dribbling cold water into his own sleeve. He wipes at Dream’s brow and eye, careful, and finally composed enough to actually comprehend what he’s looking at-

Dream looks deceptively young, what with the shape of his jaw, but there’s years hidden in the carved eyebags, not heavy but clearly terminal. The beginnings of stubble returning after a long day, the scar left from some bone-deep cut to his chin. Thin lips, chapped and bitten. Smile lines. 

The blood doesn’t come off easy, his forehead and brow haven’t stopped bleeding yet. Techno finds Dream’s hand where they’d been limp politely in his lap, and puts the wet handkerchief in it, lifts it to his brow, and tells him to press. Dream complies, and Techno gets up to get the medical supplies he knows Dream keeps on the saddlebag of every horse he dresses.

When he sits back onto the stone, Dream hasn’t moved. Fireflies dot the scenery behind him, turning into moving dots of gaussian blur when he looks at Dream’s face.

“Why keep your eyes closed?” He asks, taking Dream’s hand off the wound and beginning to dry it with folded bandages. He wants to add something else. Wants to say something specific, really, really badly. He huffs a laugh, “Don’t wanna see me without my mask?”

Dream exhales a half-hearted laugh, it fans over Techno’s thumb. “Uh, no… Really, no.” A mean smile, “I’d love to look at you.”

Techno presses harder than he has to onto Dream’s cut brow, “Don’t get comfortable.” Dream hisses and chuckles in a way that’s too soft, too relaxed, and keeps smiling. It’s wonderous to feel that smile stay, feel how it moves Dream’s face where Techno’s cupped his jaw. 

When he cleans the blood off Dream’s eyelid, Techno notices something immediately: it feels nothing like a human eye. The pressure from its other side isn’t of a normal, present, eyeball. He doesn’t let it pause his hand. Cleans the blood away, off the lashes, off the eye, but it makes him more aware.

More aware that no one knows, not really, what Dream is.

He starts noticing it. Noticing how the shell of Dream’s ear, while round like a human’s, doesn’t follow the same internal structure. That when Dream talks, this close up, he can see…

He needs to check.

Techno searches for some topic to get Dream speaking. “Why a rabbit?”

Dream answers, and Techno watches his mouth, “Fast, fine tuned to survive. Makes people let their guard down, unlike whatever effect wearing a wither skull would have on someone.”

He chuckles as a response, just to make the interaction seem without ulterior motive. But paid attention and he’d bee right. Confirmed something that crossed his mind only briefly.  

There’s two rows of teeth. Human teeth, but two rows.

This certainly has no effect on Technoblade. It’d be very very weird if watching Dream’s mouth a bit too intently had any effect on Technoblade.

He sets the wet handkerchief aside. He’s rung it out into the stream a few times. Bandaged Dream’s head. There’s still smudges of blood, he can still smell it, but Dream’s face is cleaner.

“I’m cold.”

It’s maybe not a lie. Techno sighs, “I’m not giving you my jacket.” He remembers to lower his hand from Dream’s face, where it’d been cupping his jaw. His palm feels cold.

Dream laughs, loud and alive, “So, like the face reveal?”

You’re beautiful.

I want to kiss you.

“Four outta ten,” Techno says with a grin, “Setting too dark, blood related occasion.”

Dream swats him blindly, chuckling, “Asshole.” His smile is radiant. The way it makes his closed eyes squint, the way it’s wide and brave and oh boy is it a shame it’s so often hidden from the world.

Or maybe, the complete opposite. Maybe Techno’s greed riles back up, out of the abyss, overtakes him for a burning second: no one gets to see this but you.

“I do like this smile better,” Techno tells him, but makes sure it doesn’t sound anywhere near a compliment, “Lesser of two evils.”

“You like my smile.”

“Not if you say it so adoringly,” Techno immediately counters, “Then no.” His brain’s working on half-capacity. The other half being dedicated to search for an excuse, a challenge, a way to present this as a bet: a way to get another kiss without having to admit a single thing.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Dream says.

“Thinking of ways to break some bad news,” Techno defends himself, unable to look away from Dream’s lips. And he’d been so good at avoiding exactly this. For over a year now. And then what? He’s pulled into a dance, he’s pulled into a dip, he’s pulled out a window. He’s pulled back into the deep end, where he’d long drowned every passing thought of Dream he’d ever had.

“And what would that be?”

That you look like the most average guy. Techno wants to say. Anything mean. Anything to save his life. He’s still looking for an excuse to lean in.

The voices remind him of something Dream said just under an hour ago: I’m tired of looking for excuses.

They remind him of that, but they also scream man up, man up, don’t be cringe, just spit it out.

They fucking L him.

Techno swallows the greed, the adrenaline, the anxiety of talking out of line.

Stops wracking his brain for excuses.

“I wanna kiss you.”

Dream just smiles wider, “Really? Why.”

“Fishing for praise again, you’re awful.” But Techno’s grinning. The lack of immediate rejection is addicting.

Dream breaks out in flitty laughter, he’s nervous too, “No, just- I wanna know if it’s for a bit. Funny joke, good content, I dunno. Why, Techno?”

“You’re gonna make me say some of the worst things possible, Dream, you’re atrocious.” But he chuckles. The voices chip in all sorts of adjectives, reasons, excuses. Techno fights back a grin, even if Dream’s still got his eyes closed. It’s a thing of honor, to not grin like an idiot. “Not for a bit. Just wanna.”

Have wanted for a long time. Have learned to stop wanting.

Dream’s smile is so wide, Techno sees where dry skin splits a bit and reopens a chapped scab. “Alright then. In the words of a great warrior and dancer, go on: kiss me.” He still speaks like it’s the highest point of entertainment.

Techno leans in and tries to kiss past Dream’s grin, his own smile, it falls apart and doesn’t work, and Dream’s the first to start laughing into it, hands coming up to dig into Techno’s dress shirt. Techno keeps trying to kiss him, fighting down laughter and mumbling against his mouth, “Stop giggling. Cut it out. Quit it. I’m tryna comply here. You’re getting in the way.”

Dream just cackles back, sorry, sorry, sorry, and it’s terrible, nothing like Techno’s ever imagined late at night. He wouldn’t trade it for any riches. He breaks into suppressed laughter too. Dream’s hands meanwhile snake under his suit jacket and over his shoulders-

“Dream, are you-” he still speaks against Dream’s mouth, still trying to kiss him, “Are you trying to steal my jacket?”

“I’m fucking cold,” Dream whines against his jaw, and then manages to cut off any upcoming giggle, composes himself, and leans into Techno, mouth relaxed enough to kiss for god’s sake.

It catches Techno off guard, it makes him lose any traces of accusatory laughter, makes warm gold spread through his chest, like ink in water, burning through his lungs with too much of everything.

Dream gets the jacket off his shoulders in the meantime, and Techno thinks fuck it, if he’s getting kissed so intently he can’t breathe, he might as well give something up in return. That, and Dream starts licking into his mouth.

The rustle of fabric, Dream doesn’t let up, his lips scratch and taste like blood, they’re warm, and it’s exhilarating, knowing that the voice Techno’s become so familiar with – the laugh that’s let him recognize Dream at the beginning of the night – has all come from these lips. And when Dream backs down a bit, beginning to blindly slip the jacket on, Techno cups his face and tries to return as much as he’d been given.

He sucks on Dream’s bottom lip until it’s no longer dry and prickly, he marvels at the feeling of twice the teeth. He drowns in the smell of blood and sweat and some kind of cologne or perfume. Dream’s hands return to his shirt, and Techno really needs that breath back.

So he pulls away, and tries to joke without sounding severely out of breath: “Gonna steal my shirt too? Scam-”

The rest of it dies in his throat.

There are no eyes looking back at him. Instead, blonde lashes frame void. Void that stretches far beyond the logical confines of Dream’s skull, somewhere into his head, and at the very back, far, far away, floats a single golden X, uneven, as if cut into the fabric of darkness. He’s seen it on a god’s face before.

Techno tilts his head to the side, Dream doesn’t move. With any change in perspective, the X remains directly behind the eyes, and if one is anywhere else instead of head-on looking at Dream, the X is barely visible. Like trying to examine something far away through a wall of paper, in which you’d cut two eye-sized holes.

Dream licks beading blood off his lip.

“Can I have my jacket back?” He goes back to looking at Dream’s mouth.

Dream’s eyebrows shoot up, the eyelids blink over nothing, even though they retain the form and shape of a hypothetical eyeball perfectly. “That’s what you ask? I show you- I show you this?” Dream waves vaguely at his face, “And you ask about your jacket?”

“Well- Now I’m cold.” Techno fires back, “What do you want me to say? Nice eyes? Like the color? Well- okay, I suppose I’ve always been fond of gold so maybe that’s not actually a joke-”

Dream kisses him again, unexpected and fast, practically launches at him with enough force for Techno to tip backwards, shooting a hand out behind himself to prevent a fall. He tastes blood again, his own too, just a bit, from where Dream’s collided their gums on accident. The other’s practically in his lap now, crawling on, and Techno’s not in the most comfortable of positions, but this is heaven, this is it. What is he going to do, aside from drink it all in and drown in the kiss? Dream’s warm, heavy, and kisses the same way he does everything else, fast, passionate, daring.

When he finally lets Technoblade have a breath, Dream’s not-eyes crinkle with a smile. He straddles Techno and says, “You’re beautiful.”

“Let’s not,” Techno mumbles, attempting to regain braincells, “Let’s not just say things.”

Dream kisses him again, just once, leans back up. The X dances somewhere in the back of the void as he marvels down at Techno. The black suit jacket over his white shirt matches wonderfully. His smile is radiant, his lips bleed and he pays no notice, “Far from how I’d planned the evening to go, but I’m pretty fond of the turnout. You were scared I’d con you into owing me by saving your life.”

“You’re still gonna bring this up,” Techno grumbles, “You’ve also just exposed yourself massively. Basically admitting you care, huh? Nerd.”

Stripped of his mask and examined up close, Dream looks nothing like a human, never could. But he acts like one, smiles like one, breathes and talks and kisses like one, and Techno’s free hand’s on his waist, like in the dance, but no longer bound by proper waltz etiquette to be anything but chaste. He holds on like he means it, like he wants Dream there, like he wouldn’t let him leave.

Dream just smiles, and it’s such an alive and complex gesture, that the mask’s smiley could never do him justice. “Sure. I do. I hate to, but I care.” He states it like fact, and Techno understands. They’d both much rather track back, never catch feelings. But when Dream speaks again, it locks all this into place. It’s an invitation to something real: “Do you?”

He’s run out of excuses to pretend the answer is anything but yes.

Techno leans in and confesses against Dream’s lips.