Work Text:
Ah.
What a wonderful morning.
The air is a crisp ten degrees celsius, which means Wilbur has the kitchen windows open to combat the heat radiating from his oven. There's a cauldron bubbling over the very much not lease-approved open fire he magicked into the corner of their kitchen, a batch of lavender bread with healing properties baking in the oven, and another batch of rosemary buns rising atop the refrigerator. There has been only minimal screaming thus far, which means Tommy is probably still asleep, and not a single magical mishap originating from Techno's room. Usually, they'd already be putting out a small unextinguishable fire by now. Or something similarly irritating.
Wilbur sighs happily and flicks his hand to make the oven door transparent so he can check on the bread. It looks absolutely divine, but not quite done. He straightens up and begins to make his way into the living room to fetch his cup of tea, but Tommy stomps into the kitchen, shoving past him, and plops down at the table with a sleepy groan. A rather large bumblebee floats behind him and lands daintily on the back of his head. "I want food," he demands. "Make me food, Wilby."
Wilbur, who had originally decided to just ignore Tommy and was halfway out the kitchen to get his tea, turns around with an impish grin. "Wilby?" he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows. "Awww, Tommy, that's adorable. 'Wilby.' That's―"
"No, no, n―" Tommy tries to cut him off. He sits up abruptly, and the bumblebee startles away from him before floating back to land on his shoulder.
"―so fucking cute, Tommy! You should call me Wilby all the time. I'd love that."
"Absolutely not."
Wilbur stares at him for a moment, then shrugs and starts walking away. "Make your own breakfast, then."
And of course, because not one day can ever go by without Mr. Techno Blade fucking up one of his highly experimental chaos magick spells, a loud boom rings through the apartment, followed by a loud but rather casual, "Well, that's not good," floating through Techno's bedroom door into the living room.
"This house is a fucking nightmare," Tommy mumbles into the table, now back to lying face first on it with his arms dangling at his sides. Wilbur sighs, pulling his hand back from where it paused two inches from his tea to cross his arms as Techno's door swings open and he stumbles out covered in what looks like dark purple sand.
"What went wrong this time?"
"Uhhhhhhhhhhh..." Techno wipes their nose and tries to dust a bit of the...whatever it is....off their clothes. It dissolves in midair before touching the ground, but only because Wilbur is very much concentrating on a simple cleaning spell he just cast in a bubble around Techno. "Nothing. This was completely intentional. Very much something that was supposed to happen. Incredibly well planned and thought out." They sniff and lift their arm to watch the stuff spill off it and dissolve after floating down about two feet. "Huh."
"I don't believe that for a motherfucking second," Tommy says, still with his head planted on the table.
"Yeeeahhh..." Wilbur tilts his head and looks Techno up and down. Their skin is still noticeably pink, and their face is still...half-pig, just a tad, but they've come a long way since Wilbur turned them human. Or. Well. Mostly human. The purple doesn't really compliment their skin tone, to be honest, but whatever they did just now does seem to have. Buffed them up a bit. "Were you making magickal steroids?"
Techno is silent for a moment. "...Perhaps," they finally say. "Can you fix me?"
Wilbur puts his hand on Techno's face and pats it twice. When he pulls his hand back, Techno is back to normal, all the purple stuff gone as well, but they're grimacing slightly. "Why couldn't you just do it without rubbing your hand all over my face?" they complain. "I know you don't have to touch me to do that."
"People need eight meaningful touches a day, Technoblade."
"I'm not a people."
"Shhhhhh," Wilbur replies, putting his finger over Techno's lips. "two. You're a people in our hearts, Techno―"
"Not in mine!" Tommy shouts from the kitchen. Wilbur ignores him.
"Just accept it," he finishes. He removes his finger and nods, satisfied. "We are done here."
He returns to the kitchen, Techno returns to their room, and the bumblebee, Tubbo, drifts over to the cauldron to take a peek inside. Wilbur carefully scoops Tubbo up and places him back on the table beside Tommy. "Careful, Tubbo, it's hot," he chides.
As he's getting the bread out of the oven, he hears Tommy say in a small voice, "May I have some breakfast?" A moment passes. "ᵂᶦˡᵇʸ. ᵂᶦˡᵇʸ, ᵐᵃʸ ᶦ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏᶠᵃˢᵗˀ"