glass

4

ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

≾

techno's hands are together in his lap, his fingers pulling at themselves as he stares down at his football boots. he usually cleans them the night before game day but he forgot last night so there's dried dirt on the studs and their nice pink and blue colours are lost behind brown.

he didn't feel like doing anything last night, really. his dad still hasn't told him about his uncle dying but he mentioned something about the funeral at dinner so he's clearly under the impression that he did tell techno. he didn't. techno has gone over every memory he has from the last few weeks and he knows, without a doubt, that his dad forgot to tell him.

he's tried not to let it bother him because he knows the older man has a million more things to worry about, but it just feels like a lot for him to overlook. techno had gotten used to his dad forgetting little things, but this isn't little anymore and it feels consuming. he feels so unimportant and it burns down deep in his chest.

that's his dad. that man created him and taught him everything he knows. he has always looked up to his dad like an idol and it fucking burns to feel so put aside.

he feels like his brothers are made from precious gems and he's been chipped together from glass. he feels transparent. breakable.

dream huffs as he sits down beside him, folding over himself to strap on his shin pads. "how are you feeling?" he asks from beside the pinkette, glancing back over his shoulder.

techno shrugs. he leans his head back, ignoring how uncomfortable it is to be leaning back against his bag full of books. the pinkette needs to go outside and line up with the rest of their team but, instead, he's sitting in the changing room on an uncomfortable bench and waiting for his best friend to finish his pre-game routine.

it's a secondary school football game, it's not a big deal, and it isn't like dream is paranoid or superstitious or anything, he just likes sticking to a regular schedule and straying from it can spiral him to a breakdown. they don't want that right before a game.

they don't want that ever, but you get the point.

"i'm alright," techno answers, because he sort of is. he doesn't even feel that sad, he just has this weight inside him. being forgotten has led to endless overthinking, but not much sadness. techno thinks maybe it's because this isn't new and he's already so used to it, or it might be because he is so skilled at excusing his dad's behaviour that he doesn't feel like he's allowed to be upset.

his father lost the love of his life, his brother-in-law, and he's practically lost one of his sons - wilbur is nothing like who he was. the blond man is probably experiencing grief beyond imagine, techno can't even begin to compute how broken he must feel. it feels wrong to bring up his new feelings of transparency when it will only make his dad feel guilty.

"well, i know you're lying," dream says pointedly, getting up with his shin pads on and a knowing expression. techno moves to stand with him. "as long as you're in a good enough mood to play, we can talk about this later."