BLIND | DreamSMP

XVI - Honey and Cream

Tommy awoke from his nightmare to a smell he couldn't quite place.

It was rich and sweet, and carried with it a mouth-watering familiarity that danced around the tip of his tongue like an impish ballerina, elegantly twirling and leaping away from his grasp, grinning devilishly all the while.

He sat up, intrigued. Somebody was moving around behind him, footsteps thumping lightly from the kitchenette to the table, where what sounded like a plate and utensils were gently set.

"Phil?" Tommy called out.

"Actually, it's Techno."

Tommy gulped, apprehension turning his nerves to ice. After last night, he wasn't sure if Techno was more likely to poison his food or outright stab him.

"Er, is Phil here?"

"Nope, just me and you. Phil went back to L'Manberg for a bit."

Shit. Not only was he alone with a man who hated his guts- and had the skills to remove them- but the one person who could help was miles away, in a country he was exiled from.

"Do you want honey or cream with your pancakes?"

"W-what?"

The simple question sounded menacing to Tommy's panicked brain. Were honey and cream code for some secret, advanced killing technique? Was Techno asking him how he'd like to perish?

"I was wondering if you preferred honey or cream to go on your pancakes. I can make them plain too, if you'd like."

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

An awkward second passed.

"Uh, alright. So, honey or cream?"

—————

Tommy sat on a hard-wood chair, hands clenching the table in front of him. His back was pressed against the firm vertical backing, the swirling, ornate designs carved into the slats growing more and more uncomfortable, slowly tattooing his spine with their crests and spirals as he waited.

Having come to the conclusion that Techno was not, in fact, going to murder him- after all, there could be no threat of evisceration when pancakes were involved- Tommy was now merely concerned about how agonizingly strained today would be. Sure, a torturous death was off the table, but compared to spending the day with a man he could barely call his brother, who had destroyed every facet of his life in one swift and fatal move and disappeared while he was forced to pick up the pieces, excruciating demise sounded like the merciful option.

What bothered him most about the whole situation was the damned unfairness of it all. Why should he have to be the one blind and defenseless? Furthermore, why hadn't Techno or Phil made more of an effort to find the antidote he so desperately needed? Did they even give a shit about helping him?

A chair was pulled out across from him, interrupting his thoughts, as Techno sat down.

"Right, there's a fork to your left, and the pancakes are right in front of you."

Though he tensed, reluctant to accept the help, he had to admit the dictation of his surroundings was invaluable, and begrudgingly lifted the utensil, using one side to cut a small slice before spearing the fluffy and delicious-smelling sliver, raising it to his mouth and inhaling the scent.

The nostalgia hit him with the first bite, carrying with it memories of cool, cloudy mornings spent with family, Techno and Phil weaving around the kitchen in a practiced dance of hissing bacon and sizzling batter while he, Wilbur, and Tubbo set the table with pretty blue cloth and fine porcelain, all five sitting down together and sharing the meal, laughing, smiling, happy; a family.