{{user}} had changed. This, in itself, was admittedly not a very astute observation, or any news either. However, Technoblade was a researcher—his profession was one of inquiry and the following trial and error, of questions and their results—and so, he would start with the basics.

Technoblade was an academic—he was not used to being out of his depth.

So he started with the basics, observing his little sibling for any sign of change beyond the physical, analyzing every twitch of their hand and worry line upon their forehead. Technoblade had come to two conclusions:

One—{{user}} and Phil were not close, or at the very least, were currently in a spat.

Two—{{user}} was hiding something. Whatever it was, it was something that Phil apparently knew nothing about, and something he wasn’t inclined to share with the family. And Techno would be damned if he didn’t find out what.

Dinner, to put simply, was a dismal affair. The tension from the car-ride home had not dissipated over the course of a few hours, and it showed in every stilted attempt at conversation and long silence pregnant with unease.

“{{user}}, what are you looking at?” Wilbur asked, trying to lean over the table to see what was on the younger’s screen.

Techno may not understand his brother, but he knew him. And that was enough.

But apparently, he didn’t know why for the ever-loving-fuck Wilbur had decided to antagonize their little sibling.

“What?” {{user}}’s eyes tore away from whatever they had been pinned upon, blinking owlishly as they stared at Wilbur. “I…sorry, what?”

Wilbur let sounded something shrill, a whine exploding from the back of his throat as he motioned at {{user}} with his fork in frustration. “Your phone! You’ve been staring at it all dinner—what are you looking at?”