It's written on his arm. ✔

XXI: a dummy and a smile.

Trigger warnings: implied self harm tendencies in the form of slight violence (there's no blood, no graphic details - only very minor injury - but I thought I'd mention it) and grieving.

(A few years ago...)

'Techno?'

He looked up from his book, too engrossed by the story of Theseus to notice his door had even opened. Even in the dim lighting, Techno could recognise the shadow of Phil hesitantly lingering at the entrance. The eldest King looked exhausted, every inch of his posture hunched downwards by the weight of fatigue. Rest apparently wasn't on the table, even after they had won a war mere days ago.

'Phil, it's been a while.' He continued skimming through the page, expecting the King to sit down. This wasn't an unusual occurrence, and Phil frequently came to find him after days of minimal rest. As he drifted off at the end of his bed, Techno would read Greek mythology until his own eyes blurred. After Dream's betrayal, his eyes being unable to flutter open was the only way sleep was able to consume him.

This night, though, none of that happened.

'Phil?' Now wedging the book shut with his thumb, his full attention was captured by the odd behaviour. 'I'm not going to lock you in my own room. You can still go back to your precious paperwork if you step inside.'

Techno waited for the strangled laugh, the comment about how much work there was to be done, or even a complaint about his previous attempts. None of that happened, and any joke died on his tongue when Phil finally stepped into the light.

His eyes were puffy; irritated, red patches coating his cheeks. The shine of his pupils wasn't one of softness, and the remainder of tears stubbornly clung to the King as crust. Despondence radiated from his expression, not even a minuscule of the emotion concealed from him.

'Phil?' Had he not been so disturbed, Techno would have winced at the concern in his own voice. 'What's happened?'

'Tech,' the King tentatively stood by his bed, a hand capturing his own. 'Fuck, Tech, I'm so sorry.'

'What are you sorry about?' He pushed, resting his unoccupied hand over Phil's. Warmth radiated from them, but Techno paid no consideration. 'Phil?'

'Techno, Dream's dead.' What?

He blinked at Phil, every and any thought leaving his brain. There was no way, Dream wasn't dead. Techno had watched him run into the enemy army, his very-much-alive smirk terrorising his dreams. Dream was alive. Just because Dream wasn't recorded as a survivor, doesn't mean he was dead. He couldn't be dead.

'No.' The whisper felt undeserved, almost as criminal as the pure sorrow that he tried to ignore. 'No. He's not dead.'

'Techno-'

He flung the covers upwards, struggling as his foot got caught in the flimsy material. Clambering to his feet, he could see Dream whenever his eyes fluttered. His pale skin, deadly sick, lying unmoving on the ground- No. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead.

'Tech,' Phil's hand was grasped softly on his arm, preventing him from fleeing.

'He's not dead, Phil.' Denial was dangerous, and Techno knew that. But this wasn't denial, because Dream wasn't dead. 'He's not. I need to go looking for him.'

'Techno-'

'Maybe he regrets it!' Panic was starting to seep into his voice and mind. 'He probably regrets it now, Phil. I can go find him, and he'll avoid apologising with that stupid smile on his face, you know the one. Dream will never betray us again; we'll make sure of it-'