Chapter Text
Now, Philza talked to him more than just the usual "good morning" that Missa had already gotten used to. Every morning, when Mariana didn’t accompany him to university because he was either with his boyfriend or running late, there was Philza, walking by his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Philza spoke with a calmness that contrasted with the whirlwind of thoughts in the younger’s head. He would tell stories about his life in other countries, anecdotes about his son, and even strange reflections on life.
Missa, nervous and with his eyes glued to the ground, could barely nod or drop a quick comment when it was absolutely necessary.
At some point, he had resigned himself.
It had become routine to see a tall, well-dressed blonde with a friendly smile, leaving the residence at the exact same time as Missa.
Now that he thought about it... Philza was everything Missa aspired to be. A real adult: responsible, with a stable job, someone who knew how to balance his life, even being a father. His house was probably perfectly tidy.
Missa barely measured up to Philza, literally and figuratively. The guy was tall, confident, and, to top it off, had a life that seemed straight out of a manual: organized, balanced, perfect.
So why the hell did he feel this need to learn from Missa?
It made no sense. Philza and he were like two different worlds; one shone and the other barely survived the daily chaos.
And yet, there he was, observing the chaos out of the corner of his eye.
So, with a simple routine trip to university, his already wobbly self-esteem was sinking to the ground.
To console himself, he excused it with the only argument he could find: Philza was older than him. He had probably lived more.
He must be about three... or maybe even eight years older, he kept repeating to himself.
“See you at lunch, Missael.” Philza’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He saw how the blonde casually waved his hand before walking into the teacher’s office. Thanks to an awkward chat with him, he had discovered that Philza was something like a supervisor or assistant to the teachers. Well, sometimes, because he wasn’t even sure if that was his main job.
Wait, did he say "See you?" Since when are we friends?
He felt how the discomfort climbed up to his ears. He gripped his backpack harder than necessary and kept walking, still hearing Philza’s words echoing in his head.
Nah, I don’t think he’ll bother looking for me.
Missa convinced himself that Philza had just been being polite. Though it was true, he was one of the few students the blonde bothered to interact with.
Most of the time, Philza only conversed with teachers or supervisors like him, rarely with students.
Bah, he probably just feels sorry for my existence.
But no. Apparently, his great neighbor did keep his promises.
Missa was in the middle of a conversation with one of his friends, who was asking how his job hunt was going, when he felt a familiar presence approaching.
“Good morning, Missael,” Philza said formally, so much so that it seemed like a joke. He pulled out some money from his worn wallet and walked up to the vending machine, just a few inches from where Missa was sitting.
The blonde put the coins in, and without even looking at him, his voice echoed in Missa’s ears.
“You owe me a dinner.”
Huh???
What kind of question is that?
Philza pressed a button on the machine and only then looked at him, with that usual calmness and a perfect curve on his lips, while the dark-haired guy could barely breathe properly.
“Did you forget?”
Missa opened his mouth to protest but was left speechless.
Philza 4, Missa 0.
Missa felt his tongue getting stuck.
“Well, uh… I… I didn’t forget, just… uh… I’m busy.”
“Busy?”
“Yes!”
He realized he had literally shouted right in the blonde’s face.
Not even coherent sounds came from Missa’s mouth to apologize.
But there was no reaction; Philza didn’t say anything, just popped open his can with a click and took a sip, watching him with the patience of a saint.
“Alright, then let me know when you’re no longer busy. I could cook something else.”
Huh??
He gave a couple of pats on Missa’s shoulder before walking away casually, leaving him there, his brain almost exploding.
It wasn’t a big deal; clearly, it wasn’t.
He was just his neighbor. A nice, sociable guy, with the confidence of someone whose life is figured out.
Why the hell would he talk to someone who can’t even form a sentence when they’re face-to-face?
Maybe Philza saw him as a charity project.
Missa let out a sigh and slumped over the table.
Damn, weird blonde.
No, he didn’t hate him, he was just weird, that’s all.
He wasn’t his enemy, he wasn’t an annoying guy, nor someone who would try to mess with him on purpose.
And if Missa felt like every time they talked, his soul was being drained, it was purely coincidence.
The problem was him.
His lack of social skills. His terrible luck. His awful organization. His irresponsibility.
…And his weird neighbor.
He couldn’t blame anyone but himself.
He had gone out to look for a job, but instead of finding something decent, he concluded that being an adult was the most fucked-up thing he’d experience in the next 30 years.