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Phil was curled up on an armchair in the small living room by the fireplace. If you could even call it that. Every shelf was full of miscellaneous supplies - fermented spider eyes, raw potatoes, name tags, gapples - and dwelling for too long on the disorganized space made Phil cringe, but he knew that once he started stress-cleaning he’d scarce be able to stop.
So he didn’t dwell on it, he sat in the early rays of the morning sun as they spilled from the window onto his back, making his sand-colored hair glow like strands of gold. He sighs in contentment, peeling back the cracked leather cover of an old book. Phil has no idea what book it is, the title having been long since worn away, but judging by it’s well-loved state, it was one Techno had read several times over.
He’s just about to get into it when said piglin hybrid comes down the latter into the kitchen slash living room slash extra storage room.
Techno doesn’t have his glasses on, not noticing Phil watching him from his sun-warmed perch on the armchair. Phil holds a hand to his mouth in an effort not to let out a snort at his friend’s appearance.
Unruly pink hair is sticking out in every direction, almost hiding the bleary expression and tired ruby eyes the man sported. His shirt is rumpled and his movements are sluggish as he bends over to rummage under a counter just as Phil turns back to the book in his hands.
“Morning,” he says calmly, not realizing the poor timing of his words.
There's a sharp intake of breath coming from the kitchen, followed swiftly by a thunk and a groan of pain that makes Phil turn back again to look.
“Ow…” Techno rubs the back of his head, eyes squeezed shut and pouting slightly behind his blunt tusks.
Phil absolutely laughs at his friend's expense, but walks over to dote on him nonetheless.
“Aw, fuck, I’m sorry mate-” The glare Phil recieves is enough to send him out of his comforting tone and back into his fit of giggles. “I hate to break it to you, you’re horribly unintimidating right now,”
Techno scoffs, “You’ve seen me take down entire armies, Philza, it would serve you well to remember that,” Phil raises his eyebrows at him, though he knows the younger is teasing.
“And it seems it would serve you well to go back to bed, prick,”
They stare each other down, Phil playing stern and Techno completely deadpan, until Phil breaks out in giggles and puts his hand on Techno’s shoulder to move past him to the pantry. He does, however, make sure to catch the twitch upwards in the corner of his friend’s mouth as he looks back down at the counter.
“What do you want for breakfast?”
Techno is taken aback at the question, staring blankly at Phil for a few beats before Phil turns back to the pantry to list off suggestions.
“I… could probably make pancakes? Or eggs, I’m actually not sure how you feel about sweets…” He trails off, finger on his chin as he tries to think if Techno had ever mentioned something he liked to eat.
“You don’t have to... I don’t eat breakfast?” Comes the confused drawl behind him.
Phil turns to look at him, brow furrowed. “Why not?”
His friend looks away, shrugs, “Dunno, just never think about it I guess,”
Phil frowns and, having made up his mind, reaches back into the pantry to pull out the necessary ingredients.
“What are you doin’?”
“I’m making pancakes.” He moves to turn on the stove.
“Why?”
“Breakfast,” Phil says, smiling over his shoulder at his friend. When Techno continues to blink at him, Phil turns, waving him over. “Come help,”
~
After a good few attempts at trying to crack an egg without any shell falling into the bowl and a sneeze that sent flour covering every surface (including Techno’s face and hair, the sight of which sent Phil howling with laughter), breakfast had been made.
They sat down together on the floor in front of the fireplace, as Techno hadn’t bothered to make any sort of dining table when he'd built his cozy cabin in the tundra.
They ate mostly in silence, leaned up against the couch and arms brushing in their proximity. They stayed almost pressed together even after they had finished, enjoying each other's company.
After a few minutes Phil spared a glance at Techno. The hybrid’s eyes were closed, and Phil only then noticed his relaxed posture and the calm breaths that escaped past his lips as he sat in a rare display of vulnerability that made Phil’s chest ache.
Phil smiled as he moved to stand up, only to feel a gentle but firm tug on the hem of his shirt.
Techno, still asleep, had one large hand grasping the hem of Phil’s shirt and refused to let go. Phil sat with wide eyes before he started to chuckle quietly, resigning himself to staying by his friend's side.
He leans back against the couch and closes the gap between his head and the far taller man’s shoulder, smiling as he let his eyes slip shut.
Maybe after everything- After the festival, after Wilbur… Maybe things would still be okay.