Chapter Text
“To trust is a greater compliment than being loved.” -George Macdonald
Techno was six years old when he met Phil Watson.
It was a cold day in November, icy enough to frost over his local pond. His mom drove him, kissing his already-red cheeks before ushering him onto the pond. His skates slipped and slid, but the feeling of being out on the ice, swirling as clumps of snow gathered in his hair and his eyelashes, was exhilarating, freeing. His mom sat off to the side, cheering and snapping picture after picture of her tiny son stumbling happily in the snow.
On the other side of the pond, Phil, wrapped up in clothing in every shade of green imaginable, was skating, graceful yet sharp as he darted around. It took a few minutes for Techno to notice him, but once he did, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the older man spinning on the ice, hands above his head and eyes closed.
Phil eventually noticed him staring, and smiled, skating over to circle around Techno.
“You like skating?” He asked, waving cheerfully at Techno’s mom, who waved back.
Techno nodded, breathless. Phil reached out a gloved hand, offering to teach him, Techno took it, and his life was never the same.
Now, here he was, fourteen years later, sitting in a booth next to Phil as his hockey team argued and talked and ate, all with enough energy to power the sun. Tucked next to Techno was Tommy, slouched against him and looking around at the table, not talking, simply observing with eyes glimmering in the restaurant fluorescent lights. Next to Tommy, Wilbur chatted happily with Tina and Rae, occasionally snatching French fries from Schlatt’s plate across the table. The latter simply shot Wilbur a look that said, You’re only getting away with this because you’re my best friend.
On one side of Schlatt, Minx had procured a deck of cards from nowhere and was destroying Sapnap and Quackity in a vicious game of Go Fish. As Techno watched them, she triumphantly snatched a three from Quackity as he swore at her in Spanish.
On the other side of Schlatt, Lizzie and Poki were trading a bottle of root beer back and forth, and when Techno remarked, “You know that’s not real alcohol,” Poki glared and tossed a crouton at him.
“They do this every time we go out,” Qt murmured from Phil’s other side, sipping a Fanta. “It was a compromise we all made since Lizzie and Poki are a literal nightmare when they are drunk.”
Techno laughed quietly, basking in the calm, friendly atmosphere of the evening. The feeling lingered as they packed up and drove back to the Vancouver hotel, as he got ready for bed, as he laid among the covers, listening to Schlatt’s soft snores.
This is what home feels like .