Cold Stew - One Shot

Cold Stew (Revised)

"Hey Phil, we're going out," Phil perked up at the sound of Wilbur's voice and turned to see Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno standing at the door. It was cracked open, swords in their hands and a foot halfway out the door. He glanced down at the stew he was making, which simmered with bellows of steam gracing his hand. It gave the house an aroma that could make any stomach growl.

Phil sighed and looked back to the stew. "Please be back before 6, dinner's going to be ready then."

Tommy huffed and scooted closer to the door. "Ok Phil, we will. Bye!" They ran off before he could utter a goodbye, voices muffled once the door slammed shut. He doesn't know what the three were up to without him, they don't explain much. Perhaps they were starting another war at the Dream Smp. He wasn't sure what was going on there, but Will wore a trench coat almost every day, he had never worn trench coats before.

Luckily, the three visited their house often, and Phil spent most of his time there. Since it was so close to his hardcore world, he would fly there, do some chores, fly back, and make dinner for the boys. They often came back hungry or exhausted, small wounds littering their skin, and rambling about their day at the Smp. Sometimes, they didn't come back at all. Those days Phil ate alone, imagining three voices chittering around his table like little chicks.

Phil gently stirred the stew, dipped the ladle inside, and pooled the broth into it. He brought the ladle to his lips and took a small sip. He hummed, it was creamy and smooth, a wonderful soup to fill one's heart.

"They'll love this!" Phil exclaimed. He put the ladle aside and turned the stove to low heat, letting the soup simmer under a lid.

Potato stew was one of their favorite stews. Phil remembered the days of his family gathered around the stove, hands scrambling to get a taste when his back was turned. They were always caught by him, as far as Phil knew. He heard the three were having a rough time, a nice warm meal would cheer them up. The stew would bring warmth to their hearts.

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"It's almost six," Phil muttered as he took out four bowls. He poured the stew into each one and set the steaming soup on the table. He laid spoons and napkins next to the bowls, ready to be used and dirtied.

Phil sat down and stared at the stew, with all its chunks of creamy goodness, before watching the door. He waited for it to slam open, for comforting chaos to envelop the quaint home. He wouldn't eat yet, not until they came back. Phil looked back at the stew, his stomach rumbling at the smell. Maybe one sip wouldn't hurt. He picked up the spoon, dipped it in, and took a sip, humming as the warm liquid pooled in his mouth and warmed his entire being. No wonder Techno loved this, it truly was a soup for the soul.

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It was 7 pm. The door lay unlocked and unopened, they hadn't come home. Phil's bowl was now empty, he already ate all of his soup. But the other three lay cold. Spoons untouched and soup no longer steaming. It felt lonely sitting at a huge table as if he had invited people to a party and no one came. Phil sighed and picked up his bowl, it looked like they didn't come for dinner today. He dropped it into the sink, carefully picking up the other bowls and pouring them back into the pot. He stirred it and laid the now empty bowls next to the pot. They could serve themselves once they came back.

Phil had hoped to eat with them and talk, to listen to Wilbur and Tommy banter, to Techno jumping in with a few quips. Or Tommy rambling about the events of the server, or complaining, as he did more often these days. Will would go silent when L'manburg was brought up now. Sometimes Wilbur would sing a song. Techno would brag about a fight he won and the amount of potatoes he farmed.