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A few days had passed since Missa returned and his head was still buzzing, trying to keep up with everything that happened in his absence.
Monster attacks? A presidential election? New inhabitants that just happened to be locked in jail? It was hard to keep up with the state of the island.
What shocked him the most though, was that all this time Phil had waited on him. Crafted him an armour and wore his symbol on his backpack like a token of good luck.
There never had been a question of whether they were a family to Phil, even when their marriage had been one of convenience.
(Were they even married? The Federation had assigned them as partners, so that was a little bit like marriage, right? Missa at least hoped so.)
Though Phil’s unwavering loyalty wasn't the only surprise waiting for him at home. Somehow he had adopted a new child. And Tallulah was lovely - a sweet, imaginative girl with unruly curls who loved playing the flute.
Chayanne was ridiculously protective of her. He was such a good big brother.
And Phil was such a good father.
Missa hadn't thought it was possible to admire his partner even more. Seeing him work twice as hard as everyone else and raising their children with so much love, he felt an emotion bloom in his chest he didn't dare name yet.
It was about the time to thank Phil, still, words never seemed sufficient.
He wanted to do something nice for his husband, but what could he possibly offer him? The man that protected him and their children so fiercely, who was kind and patient, as well as strong and dependable?
There were little suitable gifts to express the affection and gratitude he felt. He had no access to materials strong enough to craft a sword or gems fine enough to make jewelry.
He didn’t even know Phil’s favorite colour- scratch that, he didn’t know Chayanne’s favorite colour and that was his son !
The longer he thought about it, the more Missa felt like a failure. Some sort of husband and father he was.
His gift had to prove how much he deserved a place in this family. That they hadn’t waited for him in vain. That he could provide too.
So he settled on the most logical conclusion: preparing a nice dinner for the people he loved.
It seemed like a good idea at first, Phil and the kids had eaten avocado toast for so long, a break would be welcome. And to make it extra special for Phil, Missa wanted it to be something that reminded him of home.
Too bad he didn't know much about Phil’s home, much less of the food they served there.
There weren’t many other Brits on the island; his stepson ( and how weird it was to think that he had an adult stepson) was running wild with his band mates somewhere, Tubbo was brand new and Missa was a little too flustered to approach him.
After all the kid had just broken out of jail, he shouldn’t be burdened with Missa’s marriage troubles and inferiority complexes.
Just when Missa was starting to become desperate, he recalled that Quackity had always spent an awful lot of time around Wilbur so he sought him out for advice.
When he asked, Quackity blinked at him in surprise, seemingly struggling to take in his unusual request.
“Why on earth would you want to do that,” he replied dryly. His lack of enthusiasm didn’t bode well for British cooking.
“Uhh...for Phil.”
“Ah, all those happy couples.” Quackity grimaced. “Gross.”
Missa knew the other was likely just jealous, still he shifted around uncomfortably at Quackity’s comment. Were he and Phil a happy couple?
Phil had seemed glad enough to see him return home. Maybe it was just out of politeness or to save face in front of the kids. Maybe his enthusiasm had a completely platonic character that manifested in confusing ways.
“Why are you asking me?” Quackity continued. “I’m not British and I haven’t cooked since Tilin died.”
“You're close to Wilbur, right? I thought maybe…”
“You thought maybe I absorbed some recipes from him via osmosis?”
“No, I mean, I thought maybe you two cooked together,” Missa felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment all of a sudden. This had been a really stupid plan. Of course Quackity would prove to be as useless as him.
“We did cook together.” Quackity began rubbing his temple in annoyance, as if he was trying to dispel a headache. “Okay, how about you try ‘Toad in a hole’.”
“Is that a euphemism?”
“No, it's sausages baked in dough.”
“Oh, so definitely a euphemism,” Missa muttered. “Quackity, please take this seriously, my marriage depends on you.”
“What about ‘Spotted Dick’?”
“That’s not a real thing, you just made that up.”
“No I didn’t, it’s a pudding! It’s not my fault the Brits name their food weird shit.”
Missa sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than he had originally anticipated. What sort of homemaker was he if he couldn’t even find the right recipe to cook for his family?
“Look, I just need something and all around British to make Phil feel more at home.”
Quackity shrugged. “I mean, you can’t go wrong with fish and chips.”
That seemed like an easy enough idea. Thanks to Chayanne’s potato farm he’d have access to as many potatoes as he needed and how hard could it possibly be to go fishing?
He watched Quackity scribble down a list of ingredients onto a napkin.
“Are you sure this is the right recipe ? Why so much vinegar? It doesn’t sound like it would taste very good.”
“It doesn’t. That’s the thing.”
Missa nodded along at Quackity’s explanations, trying to ignore the jabs at the British culinary world. He didn’t consider himself a judgemental person, he wanted to try it himself before forming an opinion.
He just hoped he wouldn't grow to hate something Phil loved. Or grew to love something Phil hated.
Missa spent the rest of the afternoon acquiring everything he needed for his meal. Fishing turned out to be his biggest problem in that regard - after a few hours he did manage to reel in a sizable fish, just for it to slip out of his fingers and land back into the river with a wet splash.
Okay, that was less than ideal, but that didn't mean his plan was doomed. The sun was still high, he could always try for another fish. And who knew, maybe the next fish was bigger and tasted better anyway.
His family only deserved to eat the best the river had to offer.
The sun was already setting when Missa returned home with his catch - it wasn’t as big as he hoped, nothing to brag about, but enough to feed their small family.
One would think chopping up something dead would come natural to a grim reaper, but Missa had to resist the urge to gag multiple times as he gutted the fish with clumsy movements.
At some point he had stopped counting the many cuts he accidently inflicted on his own hand because after he reached 26, it had just gotten too embarrassing. He was trying very hard not to bleed all over the kitchen counter. Too bad they had run out of band-aids.
When the fish was fileted and doused in the batter he had prepared earlier (the stains from mixing were still all over the kitchen cabinets. It looked like someone had murdered the Muffin Man in their kitchen), and finally sizzling in the pan, Missa took a deep swig from a bottle to his right he assumed to be whiskey.
He had put out some liquid courage before he began with dinner preparations, just in case he needed it - now he felt like he did.
Only it wasn’t whiskey - it was vinegar. He spat it out and still he could feel his throat burn, the taste in his mouth absolutely foul.
That was definitely an embarrassing moment he would take to the grave.
Hurrying to the bathroom to wash out his mouth, Missa left behind the chips in the oven and the fish in the pan. And as he was trying to get the taste of vinegar off his tongue, a new, just as unpleasant sensation attacked his senses.
This time it was in his nose. Something smelled….burnt.
Fuck.
He rushed back to the kitchen as fast as his feet would carry him, only to stumble over his own feet and land face-first on the floor.
His nose luckily didn't seem broken, still the throbbing pain didn’t make the situation any better. He peeled himself off the ground, to inspect the charred thing in the pan that used to be fish.
Oh, he was so fucked. It was getting dark out, he was running out of time. Any moment Phil would walk in with the kids, and there would be no set dinner table like Missa had planned.
There wasn’t even edible food. Tears of frustration were springing into Missa’s eyes.
In his inner eye he had already replayed the scene dozens of times; Phil coming to greet him with a kiss on the cheek, asking what smelled so good, what smelled of home and Missa bashfully telling him about the surprise and how he spent the whole day just to make this perfect.
He had wanted to make this perfect.
Why wasn’t it perfect?
Why was he so goddamn useless?
The commotion of the front door opening and voices in the hallway pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.
Now it was too late to hide it. He’d just have to face being an embarrassment to his family.
“Papa, we’re back!” Chayanne called. Usually just hearing his son’s voice could alway put Missa in a better mood, but he feared this time it wasn't as simple.
“What smells so burned in here?”
Phil’s bright blue eyes regarded him with nothing but genuine concern as he walked into the kitchen. Of course he had to be so incredibly understanding. Missa rubbed his face, trying to keep the tears at bay.
He couldn't even greet his husband right. How pathetic.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Phil quickly ushered the kids out of the room and Missa into a tight hug as he spotted the unshed tears.
“I wanted to cook for us.”
“Oh, that’s really sweet of you. What were you making?”
“Fish and chips.” Missa tried to bury his face in his hands. “I’m useless! I wanted to make something to remind you of home, but I fucked it all up.”
Phil’s gaze wandered from the blackened burnt something in the pan to Missa in his arms.
“Oh, Missa- I am home. With Chayanne, Tallulah and with you. That’s where my home is.”
“But the food-”
“Let me tell you a secret…I don't even like fish and chips that much.”
“No?”
“Yeah,” Phil cradled his cheeks, forcing him to meet his gaze. “It’s just too much vinegar for me.”
Finally, Missa cracked his first real smile of the evening, even if he was still sniffling slightly. “Philzaaaa,” he muttered. “You’re so good to me.”
“I’m your husband. If I’m not good to you, feel free to make me sleep on the couch.”
“I don't deserve you-”
“Stop, nothing of that.” Phil interrupted Missa before he had the chance to continue, “I’m glad they paired us together. I couldn't have asked for a better partner.”
“Thank you.” Missa had to avert his eyes in embarrassment, Phil’s grip on his face as comforting as it was awkward.
“And next time, why don’t we cook something from your home- together? Chayanne is at that age where he’ll take any chance to run around with a knife he gets, even if it’s just to chop vegetables.”
Just the thought alone was enough to force a small laugh out of Missa. “I’d like that,” he agreed.
He could already imagine it, the kitchen alight with the erratic energy of their kids running around and Phil in the middle of it, calm and collected like the eye of a storm.
Suddenly everything didn’t seem so bad anymore. Even the lingering taste of vinegar on his tongue was forgotten.
“But…what are we gonna eat now?”
“I think we’re taking the kids to Chico Malo’s Pizza Place tonight. It’s been a while since we went out to eat as a family anyway.”
Phil really was an amazing husband and father. And to be honest, Missa was really in the mood for pizza.
———
A few weeks later
The picnic had been Phil’s idea. Show me how to cook something from your home and I’ll show you something from mine. We’ll do it together.
And it worked surprisingly well this time.
Phil had been patient every step of the way, coming up behind Missa to show him how to handle a knife, making sure he didn't hurt himself on accident.
When Missa did cut himself, only once thanks to the strong hand guiding him, Phil had cleaned the wound and wrapped it in a band aid.
“You need to kiss it!” Tallulah had insisted. “Kisses make everything better!”
And well, Phil never had been able to say no to their little girl.
Missa had to agree with Tallulah. Kisses did make everything better, the pain of the cut had been immediately forgotten as Phil’s lips brushed his hand.
Their kitchen was full of chatter, laughter and music. This was the home Missa had imagined for his family - and he was just as much part of it as everyone else.
Now he got to reap the fruits of his labour, lounging in the afternoon sun, watching his husband enjoy what they had cooked together. A warm, comforting feeling was extending in Missa’s chest, like being wrapped into a blanket.
“I’m gonna be honest,” Phil muttered between bites, “I did not think chocolate and chicken would go together this well. But you convinced me. I’ve seen the light.”
Missa was grateful for his skull mask at this moment, hiding the slight tinge of red in his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it,” he murmured.
“Papa, can I have more?” Chayanne thrust his plate forward with an expecting gaze.
“Of course, mijo.” Missa placed another piece of chicken breast on the plate and handed it back to his son. It was his third helping and Missa was glowing with pride.
His kids liked what he cooked. They wanted more .
While the rest of his family were still busy with the Mole Poblano, Missa had already moved on to dessert, heaping lots of clotted cream of strawberry jam on top of the scones he and Phil had baked this morning.
Turns out Quackity had been wrong - there was British food that tasted absolutely delicious. Maybe he would suggest baking some scones with Quackity too, after Wilbur returned.
He could go for a few more picnics before the weather turned cold.
“You know, we should cook together more often,” Phil said then, his expression unreadable. A quiet, gentle suggestion that made Missa’s heart leap.
He scooted closer to his husband and gathered some courage - then he pressed a kiss to Phil’s cheek.
“Missa-!” Phil called, exasperated. “You’re sticky! You still have jam at the side of your mouth!”
“It just makes the kiss sweeter.”
Chayanne rolled his eyes at their public displays of affection. Tallulah giggled before stuffing another scone into her mouth.
And Missa couldn’t imagine anything better than this.
He had only been this happy since returning home and the more time he spent here, the more he couldn’t remember why he had left at all.
This was all he needed. His family.