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Techno is the youngest chef to head a three star Michelin restaurant.
L’Manburg is the collaborative effort of Phil (their unendingly patient maître d'hôtel who manages their eclectic front of house staff with an efficiency that puts smoothly running clockworks to shame), Wilbur (their musically talented sommelier who smooth talks guests into purchasing the most ridiculously priced wines with custom made songs created on the spot for entertainment value) and Tommy (who is too young to properly work at the restaurant, but acts as their unofficial mascot, being an annoyingly prolific and yet shockingly effective social media presence).
Then there’s Techno, the chef.
He’s been featured in magazines, flown to interviews across the world, and been asked to judge many a dish and competition.
That is to say, Techno is good at what he does.
He has clout.
And money.
So he has no idea what he’s doing here.
Damn Tommy and his stupid publicity stunts.
Why would collaborating with a few lucky lottery winners and social media influencers be a good idea?
Techno is terrible with people.
Case in point.
“Hellooo,” he greets calmly, striding into the observation room and unceremoniously dumping the bright purple Dora the Explorer backpack down onto the clean counter mounted on the podium.
It had been a gag gift from Tommy, which Techno now brings around to all important events to annoy the younger (because invariably, someone ends up tweeting or whatever it is to ask about the bag and Tommy has to re-explain the story again and again and again).
It drives Tommy up the wall and is, therefore, the greatest gift Techno has ever received.
The cheap plastic squeaks against the expensive marble when he nudges it over.
There is a beat of silence.
Someone starts laughing, a wheezing sound that makes Techno worry for the other’s lungs.
Techno squints up at his students for the day.
The man laughing is hunched over his own counter, his garish lime-green hoodie flashing like a beacon every time he pounds a fist against the counter.
His neighbour, an unimpressed looking man with a squid hoodie on, is scowling.
First lesson, Techno thinks dourly to himself, appropriate attire.
“Fantastic, glad to see you all in such good spirits,” Techno says blandly, “welcome to the-”
“No, hold up,” the green hoodie man interrupts, “are you seriously carrying a Dora the Explorer bag?”
Techno pauses.
As do the other students.
“Dream, shut up man, he can do what he likes, he’s a renowned master chef,” someone hisses.
“Well,” Techno demures politely, “I’m no Alain Ducasse, but I suppose I get by.”
“Who is that?” The man, Dream, Techno corrects himself, asks.
“You,” Techno gets out, unable to help the disbelieving look that comes over his face, “is that a joke?”
“I know Gordon Ramsay,” Dream calls back with a confident grin, “are you on his level?”
In the face of such incomprehensible ignorance, Techno does the only thing he can think of, and promptly walks out of the room and back into his private kitchen on site.
He is dragged back out of his private sanctuary ten minutes later by a screaming man-child.
“Technoblade, listen to me, you are on live stream, you cannot mess this up,” Tommy gripes, appearing to be foaming slightly at the mouth as he escorts Techno back to the observation room.
Techno edges away to be safe.
He’s not entirely certain that Tommy does not have rabies.
“Tommy,” he says reassuringly, “we have other chefs, why don’t you get someone else to-”
“It has to be YOU,” Tommy interrupts, leaning in close and jabbing a finger into Techno’s pristine and soft pink chef uniform, “do you understand Technoblade? This is meant to be a day with a master chef, as in you, as in you cannot back out on the day of the event. These people could ruin us.”
“Well, that seems like an oversight,” Techno remarks, slapping Tommy’s finger away, “I don’t train untalented noobs. It’s bad enough I have to tolerate the bumbling antics of my kitchen staff.”
“You’re real friendly, aren’t you?”
Techno looks up.
Dream is leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk on his, admittedly very attractive, face. “It’s such a shame that you don’t want to proceed, I even decided to do a face reveal for this event.”
Techno raises an eyebrow.
“I, I have no idea what you mean,” he says after a beat, when it appears that Tommy is about to faint and is therefore, unable to use his words like a normal human being. “Do you normally not reveal your face?” He pauses, then adds on in concern, “should you be here? Is there a mental hospital that might be missing your presence-”
Techno chokes when Tommy elbows him so hard on the side that he swears his right lung collapses inward with a sad whimper.
“What the-”
“Dream!” Tommy shouts, “it is amazing to have you here. We are so glad that you chose to work with us!”
Techno wheezes when Tommy jabs him again.
Same spot too.
He’s going to bruise.
“Aren’t we Technoblade?”
“Oh yes,” Techno coughs out, stepping out of Tommy’s hitting range, “so glad.”
Dream peers at him, that stupidly amused smirk still playing about his lips. “You sound really glad.”
“Heh?!” Techno says, smacking Tommy when the gremlin tries to move closer, “yes, I can barely contain my excitement. I am so excited to have you here Dream. Would you like some coffee? Perhaps Tommy can shine your shoes?”
Inexplicably, Dream laughs, doubling over again in the same wheezy snickers as earlier.
“You’re so weird,” Dream observes, wiping away a tear, “are all chefs like you?”
“Believe me,” Tommy mutters darkly, “no one is as weird as Technoblade.”
“Did you say something?” Techno narrows his eyes at the unofficial mascot of L’Manburg, gratified when Tommy immediately flails.
“No, not at all! Technoblade is a master chef and, Dream, you’re a master speedrunner. Two masters in one room. Now smile! Let me post this heart-warming interaction as a teaser for instagram.” He pauses to breathe, “don’t worry big D, I’ll hide your face, so I won’t steal away your thunder when you do your sponsored post.”
Techno opens his mouth, because hey no, he did not sign up for photos.
He hates photos.
He picked cooking for a reason thanks very much and it’s to avoid the plebs milling about in his restaurant clamouring for photographs and autographs.
Except, before he can protest, Dream is slinging a casual arm behind his back and-
Dream is short, Techno marvels down in surprise. Despite the man’s loud personality, the other barely comes up to his chin. He also smells a bit like baked pastry crust?
Which is strange-
“Brilliant!”
Techo looks up in surprise and catches the unholy gleam in Tommy’s eyes mere seconds before the brat starts speedily typing.
“Wait-” Techno tries, holding up a hand.
Tommy offhandedly flaps a hand at him. “Yeah yeah, don’t worry, I’ll hide your face beneath a pig sticker. Seriously, you’re not ugly Technoblade, we’d get way more hits if you let me show your face more.”
“It’s true,” Dream agrees cheerfully from the side. “You’re a lot more attractive without the pig emoji hiding your face, but a lot less mysterious.”
“How am I mysterious?” Techno can’t help but ask, “I show my face in all the interviews and photoshoots?”
“Yeah, but you do like, two a year. You need a series, like Hell’s Kitchen or something, you know, something that will allow people to see you all the time.”
Techno gapes, something isn't adding up here.
“What,” he manages to get out weakly in the face of Dream’s mischievous green eyes and soft blond hair, “stop talking and get back in the room.”
“Yes chef,” Dream retorts sarcastically and does as told with a mocking salute.
Techno tries not to watch the man as he walks away.
Tommy whistles.
“Wow, they were not kidding,” the goblin child mutters, “guess there’s someone for everyone out there.”
“Tommy,” Techno says slowly, trying to breathe past the flustered embarrassment that’s fluttering about his chest, “get away before I throw a knife at you.”
“You mean another knife.”
“Do you like the Wüsthof or the Misono better?” Techno asks calmly, reaching to the back of his belt, where two of his many knives are carefully strapped.
Tommy winces and backs away.
“I’m going, I’m going,” he then pauses and sighs, “seriously Technoblade, we need the clout yeah? Now go in there and get us some more guests.”
---
“You,” Techno stares down at the monstrosity plated in front of him with barely concealed horror, “what is this?”
The man with the squid hoodie, Techno doesn’t recall any of their names and he’s not actually sure he had bothered to ask them to introduce themselves in the first place, winces in the face of Techno’s unrestrained disdain.
“It’s mashed potatoes?” He says weakly, twisting his hands in front of him.
Techno blinks, trying to come to terms with the wreckage his life has become.
“You have a chance to work with me to perfect one dish of your choosing,” he starts slowly, “and you chose to go with mashed potatoes.” Techno pointedly looks at the cardboard packaging he sees peeking out of the garbage bin by the man’s station. “And you chose to use instant mashed potato powder,” he continues.
Dream starts snickering in the background.
Techno studiously ignores it.
“Why did you not at least pick potato dauphinoise?” he asks, unable to help the morbid curiosity.
The man makes a confused face. “What? What’s that?”
Techno takes a deep and calming breath.
“I think you should run,” he advises the squid hoodie man, quite kindly in his opinion, “unless you’ve inherited Tommy’s ability to dodge flying projectiles, this is no longer a safe space for you.”
The man pales.
“Andddddd, on that note,” Tommy cuts in, flying up the stairs and inserting himself in between Techno and the man, “super funny joke Technoblade, haha everyone, what a funny man! What a jokester!”
“Oh yeah,” Dream chimes in encouragingly from the side.
Techno turns his head so he can pin his glare at the green menace, as he’s grown to think of the man.
“Such a good joke.”
“How is your ability to dodge knives?” Techno asks seriously.
Dream doesn’t even hesitate, “was trained in a circus bitch, bring it on.”
“No!” Tommy shouts, “DO NOT-”
Techno ignores him and pulls O.O., short for Orphan Obliterator, a Kai Shun Premier Santoku knife he’s favoured for the past year out of his knife belt.
Dream tenses but, unexpectedly, does not retract his comment.
There is a brief moment in time where Techno simply stares at the other and waits for the idiot to back down.
In his peripheral vision, he sees several people take out their phones or cameras.
“Technoblade,” Tommy hisses quietly, urgently, tugging on a rolled up sleeve, “you’re on live stream, do not chuck that, I repeat, do not- oh you bloody stupid argh!”
To be fair to all involved.
Dream does dodge the knife.
Which embeds itself into the wooden panelling by his right leg with a satisfying and hefty thunk.
Techno is quite proud of himself for his restraint.
He normally aims for the head, but had, at the last second, felt bad and aimed for something a little less vital.
“HOLY FUCK, DID YOU SEE THAT?” Someone screams and Techno feels a brief moment of sorrow for anyone in said person’s immediate vicinity.
“LANGUAGE,” someone else squawks loudly in response, “Skeppy, you muffinhead, language!”
“What is with your priorities? He threw a knife and you’re telling me to watch my language!?”
Amidst the chaos, the hooting shrieks from the other stations and the way Tommy is desperately trying to bury his face into his hands to hide his screaming, Techno finds himself simply standing and staring at Dream.
Who is, like the eye of the storm, a pinpoint of calm and joy amid the mayhem.
The other man is laughing again, face red and apron askew. He’s hunched over on the ground, holding his stomach as he wheezes.
And it makes something warm unfurl in the pit of Techno’s stomach.
He can’t recall the last time he made someone this happy-
Only, then Techno blinks and the moment passes.
Now, there are two others by Dream’s side, both brunets looking torn between laughing and yelling.
“Mate, you’re mad,” one is saying, sounding genuinely concerned.
The other is shaking his head, “can’t believe you actually did it.”
Techno turns away, inexplicably flustered by the sight of Dream’s openly beaming face when the man looks up at his companions.
What is wrong with him?
“Buckle up you clowns,” Techno says, loud enough to be heard over the panicked shouts whilst trying to calm his own erratic thoughts, “there are more knives where that came from.”
---
Techno spends the rest of the morning avoiding his “students” and quietly losing his mind.
In his defense, he had walked about the room after the incident with Dream, ostensibly to see how everyone was doing and spent the next half an hour trying not to relapse into panic attacks at their respective creations.
He had actively avoided stopping by Dream’s station, remarking out loud that the man appears to be efficiently navigating his station with the speed of someone who’s had sufficient cooking experience, and that he wouldn’t want to ruin Dream’s focus.
He had then ignored Tommy’s disbelieving snorts and Dream’s faux crying and complaints about favouritism.
After Techno had reduced two more influencers to actual tears and caused one lucky winner to run off to the washroom to hyperventilate in peace, Tommy had given up on the idea of Techno running the event and recruited in a few other chefs from L’Manburg. They’ve been walking around the room to provide the patient guidance that Techno was supposed to give and to make pleasant conversation to offset Techno’s increasingly agitated presence in the front of the room.
Techno would feel a bit bad, but then he recalls how Tommy orchestrated this whole mess without informing him and the guilt magically goes away.
Still.
He’s not sure why he tenses whenever he hears Dream’s occasional laugh, but he’s beginning to worry about the fact that, after only a few hours, he can readily distinguish Dream’s voice from all the others.
Or that he appears to be attentively listening for the influencer’s voice.
It’s all rather perplexing.
As he does when he is stressed or confused, Techno bakes.
He is half-way through measuring out the ingredients when he realizes that he’s gathered everything needed to make a matcha mille-feuille cake.
Which is green.
He stares down at the teaspoons of high quality organic matcha powder he’s scooped into the bowl in dismayed betrayal.
He is not a simp.
Why is he making a green dessert instead of his usual preference for pink dishes?
So what if he’s never met anyone this attractive or quick on his feet before?
“So chef,” Dream’s bright green hoodie slides into his peripheral view, “you got a mean throwing arm.”
Techno clears his throat and tries to act as if making a green dessert had been his goal all along and not an attempt from his subconscious to screw him over.
“Bruh,” he replies, not looking up, “circus or not, should you be tempting fate by leaving your station?”
Dream hums and taps his fingers against the counter top. “I’m done actually,” he confides cheerfully, “just waiting for it to bake.”
“Bake?”
Despite himself, Techno is intrigued.
“Yep,” Dream grins at him and the charming asshole leans over the counter enough that, for the briefest moment, all Techno can see is the green of his eyes, “gonna blow your mind.”
“Heh?!” Techno drawls out, trying not to flush at the man’s proximity, “awfully arrogant, aren’t you?”
“It’s not arrogance if it’s based on facts, then it’s just self-confidence,” Dream points out pleasantly.
Techno eyes him even as he allows himself to settle into the rhythm of making the crepe batter, but looks away when Dream simply continues to stand, looking perfectly happy to remain in front of Techno’s station despite the lack of reply.
Techno focuses on his hands to combine the milk and sugar in a small saucepan, moving it to the electric stove and carefully stirring to gently mix the ingredients.
“What are you making?”
Techno glances up.
“Please leave my station.”
Dream raises an eyebrow, “but we’re here to make content?”
Which.
Right.
Techno is suddenly, and with an odd pang in his chest, reminded of the fact that Dream is a professional influencer.
It comes as no surprise that the blond, being both handsome and charming, is a notable and influential figure on social media. What does cause Techno to mentally balk is how much the idea that Dream only views this event as a business opportunity meant to attract more viewers and acclaim, stings.
Still.
Everything makes sense now.
Dream wasn’t trying to flirt with him.
He was simply looking to get good content.
This is more like the world that Techno knows, one in which attractive men do not compliment him or seem interested in his weird knife throwing hobby.
“Matcha mille-feuille cake,” Techno says after a beat, schooling himself back into his usual dismissive self, “if you’re going to stay down here, make yourself useful.”
He gestures at the other ingredients without another word.
It’s a bit cruel, to assume that Dream might be able to figure out what to do without any instructions, but Techno is feeling spiteful.
“Are you going to throw me out if I make a mistake?” Dream asks drily, eyeing the many remaining ingredients.
Techno shrugs. “Are you going to make a mistake?”
Instead of taking offense or backing off, Dream simply smirks at him. “No. Do all of those eggs need beating?”
“Yes.”
Dream moves over to behind the counter and smoothly takes out a large bowl, easily cracking open the eggs and giving them an efficient beating.
Techno spends a few seconds wondering how Dream knows where he keeps all his equipment before he moves on, deciding that Tommy probably had provided a brief layout of the room and the location of the key appliances.
“Want me to add in the milk and melted butter or move onto the dry ingredients?”
Techno, having moved the warm milk and sugar mixture off of the stove, openly stares.
“Why are you here?” He demands incredulously.
Dream shrugs, an easy roll of his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I come? Free publicity? Also, I bet Sapnap and George that my dish would win.”
Right.
Publicity.
Techno does not suppress his grimace in time. “Yeah, let me handle the wet ingredients, move onto the dry mixture.”
Dream looks as if he was going to say something, before he visibly controls himself and stops. “Yes chef,” he retorts, giving another sassy salute and slyly commenting, “you can keep giving me orders if you’d like.”
Techno bites his tongue in his haste to stop the immediate response of yes that sprang up.
“Hold your horses cowboy,” he manages to say instead, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Dream gives him another easy grin but does as bid, his actions quick and efficient, making it clear to Techno that the other definitely has baked before.
Hell, with the way he anticipates how Techno will need a fine sieve to introduce the dry ingredients into the wet mixture, Techno’s fairly certain that Dream might even have made this type of dessert before.
As the minutes tick on, Techno can even admit that sharing the space with Dream is unexpectedly nice, as the other seems to instinctively know where to go and what to do to assist but to never become obtrusive.
Techno’s kitchen staff can learn from the man.
In no amount of time, the batter is ready and Dream readily opens the fridge to the side of the preparation area.
Techno pauses, baffled again at how the other has managed to anticipate his next action.
“Seriously,” he says, “do you even win anything? What’s the point of being here if you can already cook?”
Dream looks surprised for a moment, before he waggles his eyebrows with an exaggerated smirk. “Spending time with you?”
“Wow.”
Techno swears, but thankfully, years of experience with Tommy allows him to hold the bowl with the cake batter steady even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest.
“Tommy,” he starts.
“Really simping hard there,” Tommy observes despite the obvious warning in Techno’s voice, looking entirely too gleeful and pulling out his smartphone, “how about a progress photo for your legions of fans fellas?”
“Fellas?” Techno questions testily, “what era are you from?”
“Shut up,” Tommy replies immediately, “do you want that photo of you in the pink frilly apron-”
“I will kill you,” Techno grits out, stomping over to shove the bowl into the still open fridge, pointedly ignoring Dream’s interested expression at the mention of the accursed photo.
Now that the bowl is safe, he rounds on Tommy, “again, the Wüsthof or the Misono Tommy?”
“It’s so sad,” Tommy says with a fake sniffle, “you won’t even threaten me with your favourite knife. Why is Dream so special? I thought I was your favourite-”
“I’ll give you a head start,” Techno says pleasantly, moving to unsheath the Misono.
“I’m joking,” Tommy wheezes with laughter, backing away, “Dream, help!”
And Techno could do nothing but freeze when arms come around his stomach and he’s hugged back into a warm chest.
There is a moment of silence.
During which Techno realizes that Tommy is not the only person with a camera or phone in the room and that almost all of the conversations have stopped and most of the glittering lens are pointed their way.
“Bruh,” he says, ignoring the frantic thumping of his heart, “you uh, you wanna let go?”
When Dream laughs, Techno feels the tremors all the way down to his toes.
“Can’t, protecting my income,” Dream gasps out against Techno’s back, “promise not to kill Tommy first?”
Techno’s chest, which has just started to warm at the proximity and gesture, chills again.
Right.
Publicity and money.
Stop wishing for more, he reminds himself firmly.
“I promise no such thing,” he says stiffly instead, “unhand me.”
He feels Dream tense at the sudden change from playful banter to seriousness. The other backs away rapidly, looking confused and contrite. “Shit,” Dream murmurs, “sorry, it, I, sorry, didn’t mean-”
“It’s fine,” Techno dismisses the other’s attempt at an apology. He tries to sound unaffected, but judging by the rueful look on Dream’s face, he has a suspicion that he does not come off as cool and unbothered as he had hoped, “maybe you should check on whatever monstrosity you’re baking so it doesn’t burn.”
“Right.”
He resolutely does not look up at Dream, Tommy or the rest of the class. Conscious of the many cameras, Techno turns jerkily and begins to sort through his fridge to hide his face and to give himself something to do.
He hears more than sees Tommy move over.
“That’s real cold Technoblade.”
Techno tries not to scoff. “Are you really surprised Tommy?” he asks, a touch more bitterly than he’d like, “since when have I ever been a friendly person?”
“Yeah, but, just, Dream was-” Tommy seem to be grasping at straws, “nevermind, but you can be a right arsehole, you know.”
Techno stays silent.
He knows.
---
The rest of the time before lunch passes by in an awkward silence for Techno, who keeps his head down and resolutely does not engage in any further conversation, choosing instead to work on his new menu on the laptop he pulls out of the Dora the Explorer backpack.
Phil and Wilbur stop by just before noon, going around and greeting the participants, posing for photos, doing funny promotional videos and generally being great at networking and socializing. Both of them are also well acquainted enough with Techno to know when to just leave him to sort himself out, so in short order, the two start ushering everyone out.
There are some curious looks and polite nods as people shuffle out, but in no time, Techno is left alone in the room.
After a few more minutes, when it becomes obvious that no one would be coming back or had forgotten anything, Techno closes his laptop and uses both of his hands to rub at his face.
He’s acting like a child.
He knows better.
He’s met attractive people before, none of them might have been as snarky or as forward as Dream but Techno hasn't gone through life without any romantic experience whatsoever.
So why is he dwelling on Dream?
What? Just because the man appear to be a decent cook and seems more amused than put off by Techno's knife throwing hobby?
He’s not this desperate.
Techno groans.
Then he gives into the temptation he’d been resisting since Dream dodged the damned knife earlier and stalks up to the man’s cooking station.
He is expecting something exquisite and difficult, given what he’s seen of the man’s culinary skills this morning, and is therefore surprised when he sees what appears to be a simple pie resting on a plate.
He stares at it for a moment, contemplating if he can get away with sneaking a bite then blaming it on Tommy before he notices a piece of paper hastily tucked underneath the plate, almost hanging off the table.
Unable to help his curiosity, Techno carefully tugs the paper out and scans the badly scribbled message, raising an eyebrow at the messily crossed out words and the notable change in tone between sentences.
Technoblade,
We have no idea who the fuck you are, but Dream is weirdly into you. We’ve had to watch many of your stupid cooking tutorials, and we seriously can’t take it anymore. We entered him into this god damn social media campaign and tagged along so he doesn’t chicken out. Please fuck him so we can stop listening to his bitching about how the way you lick sugar off your fingertips is hot. Please give him a chance, he’s probably going to mess this up by flirting outrageously with you but just know this.
He’s a terrible cook.
And if that pie is anything halfway decent, then you’ll know how hard he practiced to impress you.
Jesus fuck, I need a break from the stupidity,
Sincerely,
Sapnap and George
Techno turns to look at the pie and, before he could talk himself out of it, grabs a nearby knife and slices the pie down the middle.
It’s a huntsman pie.
Techno experiences the simultaneous desire to throttle and kiss Dream.
It’s a strange sensation.
But trust the man to make a pie with the one protein that Techno actively avoids.
Somehow, Techno is absolutely certain that Dream is aware of his aversion to pork and went out of his merry way to specifically pick a recipe which called for just that.
The man is confounding and frustrating and Techno wants to press him into a wall and-
Techno shakes his head to rid himself of the thought.
Carefully, he topples the pie to its side and peers at the cross section critically.
The top crust is thin and flaky, and a lovely golden brown from the egg wash.
The bottom crust is well-cooked, no sign of a soggy bottom, which is the real surprise.
Especially if Dream is as inexperienced at cooking as his friends would lead Techno to believe.
With a sigh, Techno picks out a small piece of filling, and tastes it. He picks out hints of celery and onion, cooked down pleasantly so it's not a chunky, crunchy textured bite. The meat, a mixture of chicken thigh and pork belly, possibly also bacon, is nicely cooked, flavourful and tender. The seasoning is interesting, a mixture of parsley, sage, pepper, salt and cayenne pepper?
Techno is fairly certain the normal recipe doesn’t usually call for cayenne pepper.
Though it does give the filling a nice kick.
He pauses.
Techno likes cayenne pepper.
It’s one of the small things he sneaks into a recipe for himself, and he’s joked about it once, a long time ago, before the fame and clout and the Michelin stars.
When he was just another aspiring chef trying to make a name for himself on YouTube-
“Techno?”
Techno looks up.
Dream shifts uncomfortably on the stairs leading up to his prep station. “You, uh, you tried it?”
“Why a huntsman pie?”
Dream tries to smile, but it looks a bit off, too awkward and uncertain for someone as confident as Techno perceives the blond influencer to be. “Family recipe.”
“Really?” Techno asks, gripping a bit tighter onto the confusing note Dream’s friends left him. “Your family is from the UK?”
“Ah, yes,” Dream mutters, a slight flush to his cheeks, “you know how it is, immigrants.”
“And the cayenne pepper?”
Dream grins sheepishly at him, “I thought it needed a kick?”
Techno peers at him. “So you’re not a simp,” he asks quietly, “and I was mistaken to think that maybe you li-” He stops himself and scrunches up the note.
He’s suddenly reminded that this whole day was a publicity stunt.
As much as he hates to think it, there is a chance that this note was a prank.
Only.
He’s not sure any of them would have realized how cruel a joke this was.
It hurts to hope again and again and have it dashed every single time.
Dream looks confused again. “Wait, what?”
“Forget it,” Techno snaps, moving away from the station, intent to push past Dream and head back down to the front of the room where he can shove everything back into his bag and retreat back to his private kitchen.
He’s going to chuck the matcha batter down the drain and watch it swirl down, all the while reminding himself to never hope.
“Wait no,” Dream says, stepping over to block his path, “Technoblade, I’m sorry I grabbed you earlier. I just.”
He groans.
“Okay, I’m going about this all wrong, but I-”
“You don’t have to explain,” Techno gets out, still feeling stupid that he allowed himself to believe for a second that Dream’s friends might have been telling the truth. “You want clout? You can have it, I declare you the winner okay? And I’m sure you got great footage of me reading the note and eating your pie, so can you just allow me some dignity and leave?”
“What? What note?”
Techno pauses.
“The one your friends wrote.”
Dream flushes a bright red. “Stop, wait what? They wrote a note? What does it say? Wait, did you read it? Shit, hand it over, don’t trust them.”
Something is clicking in Techno’s mind and, as much as he hates it, a glimmer of hope is shining through the self doubt previously clouding his thoughts.
He sighs internally.
This emotional rollercoaster of having his hopes constantly shifting from up to down is both jarring and incredibly draining.
“Dream,” he takes in a deep breath and asks calmly, “did you really just come here for the publicity alone?”
“I-” Dream looks torn, his whole neck is red now as well. He looks down with a groan, “no, I-”
“So why did you say that was the reason?”
“Wow, okay,” Dream sighs, looking more than a little out of his depths, “I lied okay? I joined the event because I wanted to meet you.”
Techno thinks about it.
“Why did you pretend and say you only knew of Gordon Ramsay?”
Dream mumbles something.
“What?”
“I said,” Dream mutters, “I was trying to be funny.”
Techno makes a face.
“Yeah,” Dream mirrors the expression, “I’m getting that it was not a funny joke.”
“No,” Techno concurs, but then realizes that he’s being a hypocrite. He’s terrible at talking to other humans on a whole, who is he to judge Dream’s attempt at a first impression?
“What about the promoted tweets or whatever it is that Tommy mentioned earlier?”
“Techno,” Dream says patiently, “have I been on my phone or any recording equipment at any point during our encounters?”
Techno frowns, thinking back, scouring his memory because surely-
Only.
No.
Dream hasn’t ever pointed anything remotely resembling a camera at Techno this entire time has he?
Huh.
“It was passable,” Techno says eventually.
Dream looks up from where he’s fidgeting visible in place. “What was-” He pauses, zoning in on his pie before looking back at Techno with wide eyes. “It was?”
“Just barely,” Techno admits. He clears his throat, “you might need a few more lessons.”
Dream must catch onto the implications fairly quickly because the cheeky smirk is back now.
“Private lessons?”
“We’ll see,” Techno grouses, feeling his cheeks heat, “maybe if you don’t ruin the matcha mille-feuille this afternoon, I can see if I can find some time to try your terrible attempts, but you’ll need a lot of guidance, don’t cry at me when I work you to the bone-”
The kiss is just a tentative brush of lips and yet, it causes Techno’s heart to stutter wildly in his chest.
He gives Dream a stunned look.
Dream grins smugly back.
“I’m in. Like I said, I like it when you give me orders, chef.”
(A few months later, Techno will randomly walk in on Dream while the latter is streaming and break the internet.
No.
That is not an exaggeration.
Twitter’s servers actually experience a notable delay because of the amount of traffic to the site and app caused by the inadvertent reveal of their relationship.
All because Dream somehow has 20 million followers.
It’s terrifying.
Techno stares down at his phone, horrified by the silent wall of tweets that’s steadily scrolling up his screen.
“What is happening? I’m getting wrecked in mentions here.”
Dream peers over at his phone. “Aww,” Dream says, “it’s cute, they’re happy for us. Look, #dreamnoblade is even trending.”
“What does that even mean?” Techno grumbles, relenting only when Dream presses a conciliatory kiss to his cheek.
“Means they ship us.”
Techno sighs. “I can’t, I have no idea what any of this means.”
Dream wheezes out a laugh. “It means they’ve thought we were in a relationship since the promo day and they’re excited to be proven correct. I mean, I did spend a good month re-watching all of your recipe videos and practicing that pie. I even went silent on social media just so I can focus.”
He pauses and looks away, a hint of red in his cheeks.
“And uh,” Dream clears his throat, “there ah, there might have been some clip compilations and photos of me trying to flirt with you from that day.”
“Cringe,” Techno mutters, but even to his own ears, he sounds fond, “but I suppose it can’t be helped. You were simping pretty hard that day.”
“Only for you.”)