it's one am and you're (still) gone | technoblade/dream|

realizations and mud

it was at about month four of the great potato war dream realized techno had gone too far. he was watching a man fall apart, slowly unraveling like a spool of string. late nights and early mornings filled with farming, farming, farming, the rest used for eating, sleeping (even if it wasn't for long) and calculations. techno would arrive at his home dripping sweat and swaying due to the long day of working in the summer heat. he didn't know when to rest, didn't know how to rest.

dream was getting worried, to say the least.

it had started when technoblade had notified him (by letter) that he couldn't attend the groups regular shared lunch. dream had been the first to get the letter, and had passed it on to the other members of their little circle (george, sapnap and badboyhalo, to name a few). he had spent that night insistently trying to figure out the reason why. it all lead to the potato war. you see, techno had always been.. hyperactive, per-say. the newly discovered condition, dubbed adhd, (attention-deficit / hyperactivity disorder) made a lot of sense when applied to the hardworking man. techno had scheduled an appointment for.. saturday, which was a day after their friday lunch. among the symptoms of this condition, hyperfixation stood out the most. it wasn't his constant stimming or over awareness that waved freely in the skies, no, certainly not. it only took a few moments of consideration to finally realize quite what his friend was going through.

technoblade had hyperfixated on becoming the potato king.

hyperfixation was a new term in the medical world, admittedly, but it was really the only answer. the total disregard of his own damn health also played a factor into it. hell, techno is probably farming right now, under the perfectly porcelain moonlight.

dream rolls over in his bed, pulling the wool quilt over his shoulders, the thought riling him up and making him worry a lot more than he thought he'd ever be. tommorow, he'll try and check on techno. tommorow.

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techno groans as he stands straight, pressing his fist to his sweat covered back and grimacing at the loud pop it created. looking over his seemingly infinite land, he sighs, grabbing his hoe and hesitating. his feet dig deep into the soil, his boots weighing down on him like they were trying to sabotage him, begging to keep his feet planted in the shallow mud puddle. the warm, thick liquid had stained the once pristine leather, deepening it's shade and creating an ashy layer over the hide, cracking with every movement he makes. the moons dim light does nothing to light up his workspace, the small torch to his right the only source of bright light. the flickering, glistening flames were inviting him in, but he shakes his head. sweat drips down every single part of his body, and he finds himself wiping it off from his forehead, scrunching his nose up in disgust as it drips from his dirty fingertips. his muscles cry and plea for rest, stance unsteady as he desperately tries to lift the hoe once more, rake the ground just a little more before he plants the potatoes.

he has to do this. he knows he does, but he can't.

his mouth is absolutely dry, throat scratchy and skin hot to the touch, the humid, spring air clinging to every single part of his body. the loose, beige shirt that hangs from his shoulders is worn down to the point of no return, pink locks falling in front of his eyes as he gazes at the moon, reflecting from the water. it's not even half full, a gentle sliver of porcelain the only sign of it ever being there. jumbled, desperate thoughts quiet down considerably as he turns his gaze to the world above him, a fond look in his eyes as he gazes up to the stars above. it had to be around two am, really, the clear sky home to a million possible homes. he tries to make the planets out from the clusters, the inky black of the night sky making it near impossible. the expanse was covered in what seemed to be a thousand stars, twinkling, greeting him. just the sight of it fills his body with hope as he gets back to work, even with the insistent ache in his bones.

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three knocks on a weathered wooden door. that's all it takes to break techno from his sleep, the man jumping up. every single part of his body disagrees, and he's leaning up against the wall of his home. he hadn't even managed to get a bath in before he had fallen asleep. his shoulders cry out as he pushes himself from the clean, birch walls, unlocking and opening his door.

his pink hair is dirtied and caked with mud, his skin having a few stray smears from last night. bags hang low from his eyes, purple and green, giving him that sickly look that seemed to follow everyone these days. he looked positively horrible, chapped lips and red rimmed eyes punctuating the argument. his shoulders show great tension yet this serene exhaustion. exhaustion with life, with war, with farming, farming, farming.  if it weren't for the soy candles techno kept lit, the entire house would smell with sweat and bare earth.

"m-whaddya want?" he grumbles, rubbing at his sore neck as he squints at the form at his door. since when was the sun so bright? especially at five in the.. it doesn't take long for him to realize that it is certainly not five in the morning. recognition falls over his features as he's met with a familiar, smiling mask. "dream?" he slurs, rubbing at his eyes and regretting it as dirt gets underneath his lashes.

"jesus, techno! you look dead," dream remarks, worry taking over his tone. his lips are slightly down turned in an exaggerated way, the mask covering a little too much than dream was comfortable with. he liked being known.

"I feel dead. do you have any water on you?" he mumbles, still half awake.

dream takes his leather canteen and passes it to the man, "did I wake you up?"

"no," techno responds, sarcasm dripping from his monotone words. "I was just doing some spring cleaning,"