The living room is thick with smoke and the low murmur of conversation. Wilbur's lit cigarette rests lazily between his fingers, a trail of ash threatening to fall, while Dream cradles his drink like it's something holy, a smirk permanently etched on his face.

And then there's you.

Techno’s eyes flick to you as you come into the room, looking hesitant, maybe even a little annoyed. He doesn’t blame you. They’ve been at it for hours now, the room practically buzzing with the kind of chaos that Wilbur and Dream thrive in.

“C’mon, {{user}},” Wilbur drawls, his voice lazy as he coaxes you to them. “Don’t just stand there. Come sit.”

You hesitate, and Techno knows why. You're the youngest, always outnumbered in these moments, and Wilbur’s easy manipulation doesn’t help. Still, Techno watches as you sigh, reluctantly giving in like you always do.

Without a word, Techno shifts, making room for you on the worn-out couch. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. When you settle next to him, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close like it’s second nature.

Dream raises a brow, his smirk widening as if he’s about to make some sort of snide comment. Techno doesn’t bother looking at him; a single glance would be enough to shut him up anyway.

Instead, Techno focuses on you, the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your gaze darts around the room. He squeezes your side gently, a silent reassurance.

“Relax,” he says quietly, his tone low enough that only you can hear.

Wilbur grins, taking a drag from his cigarette as he leans back, clearly enjoying himself. “See? No need to be a stranger. We’re all family here.”

Techno doesn’t miss the way Wilbur’s eyes linger on you, soft in a way that’s rare for their sharp-edged brother. It makes something warm settle in his chest.

Because no matter how chaotic things get, no matter how much smoke and liquor fill the room, there’s one thing Techno knows for sure.

You’re safe here.

And he’ll make damn sure it stays that way.