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Missa was unlike any master Phil had ever had before.
There was just... something in the way he handled Phil that was almost the exact opposite of everything he'd come to expect. Phil knew what he was; a weapon, an unfeeling tool for his masters to put to use, a thing that could be sent out so real people wouldn't die. Even now, standing in the middle of a room the size of his old holding cell, his face nauseatingly bare, all he could do was stand guard as Missa nervously plucked at the strings of his instrument, the noise of it discordant and hesitant. Missa's eyes flicked up towards him and Phil straightened, awaiting instruction, but then Missa looked away again.
Phil wasn't supposed to question his masters in any capacity, but it seemed obvious enough that Missa didn't seem to know what to do with him.
Phil let himself fade into the background, ears perked for any wayward noise outside of the irregular crackle of the fireplace before them- at least it was warm, though Phil almost wished it wasn't. The warmth made it that much harder to keep himself present, and he'd already been having difficulties sleeping in general since arriving, which was more his fault than anyone else, of course. Missa had gone out of his way to provide Phil an 'air mattress', and had even gone so far as to promise to eventually get Phil his own bed, which Phil was quick to assure him was unnecessary. As far as Phil could tell, his lack of sleep was simply due to his new surroundings and the noises they made- something he would need to grow used to quickly.
"You can sit down, wey." Missa offered hesitantly, a wry smile on his face as Phil snapped back to attention, eyes flicking to Missa's face and focusing just underneath his eyes, as was proper. "You've been standing and staring at me all day, you know? Me pone un poco nervioso."
"Forgive me." Phil said immediately- he still had a poor grasp on spanish in general, which would've been grounds for a punishment anyways, but 'nervioso' wasn't a hard word to glean. "I can wait outside or in another room if it would make you more comfortable, ma- Missa."
Missa's smile became more of a grimace, but he shook his head, and Phil was glad he was going to let his slip go. He'd struggled with referring to his master as anything other than 'master', let alone their given name. It might've made Phil uncomfortable, if he'd been able to feel anything at all, but as it stood it was just something else he needed to get used to, another rule for him to follow. Phil glanced towards the window- one of Missa's neighbors across the river was roaming around their dock. Bagi, he thought her name was, with her little child in tow behind her, setting up to fish. Keeping their distance. Phil looked to Missa again, who's expression had morphed into something a little sad.
It did that a lot. Phil didn't know if he was supposed to do something about that.
"You're alright, man, just-" he huffed a sigh that made the hairs on the back of Phil's neck stand on end and set his instrument aside, making a dull thunking noise against the ground. Missa patted the empty couch cushion beside him, looking up at Phil expectantly. "Come sit down, Philza, you'll never relax like that."
Phil bit back the urge to make a face at the word 'relax'- another one of those new rules he couldn't quite get the hang of- and made himself sit down on the couch, far enough away that no part of him was touching Missa. He didn't look over even when Missa gave another sigh, this one more disappointed than the last but... Phil still didn't know what to expect when that noise came out of Missa. There'd been no training or drills like there'd been before when he'd fuck up, no self-flagellation or anything akin to it. Those kinds of things didn't even seem to occur to Missa, which- again, Phil probably might've been glad for it if he wasn't at a loss as to how to conduct himself around Missa, or even brace himself for what was to come.
"Él no sabe nada mejor, está bien." Missa murmured to himself, and when Phil spared a glance towards him he had closed his eyes at some point, and he took in another deep breath before he turned to Phil again, reaching to pat Phil on the shoulder. "Stay there for a second, okay? I'll be right back."
Phil tracked him as he disappeared around the corner into the kitchen, a deeply unsettled feeling rising in his chest the second Missa was out of sight. That was another thing he needed to get used to, a sort of... a worry for Missa that he hadn't carried for his masters before, or at least not beyond the capacity of worrying what punishment he might've brought down on his head for his mistake. He couldn't quite blame it on Missa's lack of experience- he wasn't some great warrior but he could carry his own weight when needed- but it persisted all the same. Phil glanced out the window again, watching for a moment as Bagi and her child withdrew a wriggling fish from the water. It was dark out, but their home was like a beacon in the dark, lit up enough that it could've been mistaken for day, all light pinks and warm yellows, just like mother and daughter.
Nothing to worry about.
The fire before him was still crackling away, spreading warmth and light even more intensely now that he was sitting down directly in front of it, and he fought against his own growing tiredness. He would've stood, but Missa had been very clear with his instructions, and Phil wasn't going to throw what easy good-will he could get out the window. He caught Missa leaving the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, moving down the hallway towards their bedrooms before he returned again, this time with the thick quilt that had been sprawled over the foot of his bed folded over one arm. He shook it out when he stood in front of Phil before he gently wrapped it around Phil's shoulders, leaving him utterly baffled as Missa tucked the corners more securely around Phil before nodding to himself and disappearing into the kitchen again.
Phil looked down at the quilt he was now wearing, the heavily layered fabric only making the warmth of the room that much worse. It smelled sweet, like whatever soap Missa usually washed their clothes with, and the weight of it was... strangely pleasant, but in a way that made Phil want to take it off immediately. But Missa had put it on, so he couldn't. Phil wondered, at a bit of a loss, if this was meant to be a test of some kind- maybe making sure that he could withstand a little warmth and exhaustion, considering the house Missa lived in was far warmer than the building Phil had been kept in before.
Phil focused a bit more, trying to make sure he stayed present and aware even as the rest of him wanted to sink into the blanket a bit, the cushion he was seated on far more comfortable than a chair had any right to be.
It was only a few minutes more before Missa returned to the living room, two steaming mugs in his hands and a wide, if a little nervous, smile on his face.
"The Federation, they um, they said you weren't allergic to anything?" Missa said, like it was an explanation, holding one mug out for Phil to take, which he did, peering over the rim to some brown liquid that smelled... sweet. Phil glanced back up at Missa, not entirely sure.... Well, this couldn't be for him, right? "I didn't know what you liked, but I figured chocolate was a safe choice?"
So it was for him. Phil glanced at the 'chocolate' again, and then at Missa's own mug, which seemed to be full of the same, and then watched how Missa blew lightly over the surface of the liquid, making slight ripples, before he took a small sip.
"Hm! You might have to wait a second, it's still hot, but it-" His hand reached out to Phil's, pushing the mug a little closer to him. "It's good to keep you warm, you know? It's cold out there tonight."
Phil nodded slowly, looking down at his mug again before he looked to the window. Bagi was still out there, looking as though she were cleaning up a bit, her child nowhere to be seen. He wasn't sure how dangerous children were so he kept an ear out for any strange noises, the mug in his hands proving to be an even bigger distraction than even the blanket was, the steam wafting up right under his nose. He'd been given food and such as a test before, to make sure he couldn't be bought by such things, but this- even if Missa wanted him to have it, Phil still wasn't sure what to do with it. Even thinking of taking his own sip felt... wrong. Incorrect. Phil knew his job, and he was good at it, and he would keep being good at it for as long as Missa needed him.
They sat in silence on the couch for a while, Missa slowly sipping at his chocolate while Phil kept an ear and eye on the window and door, the fire making Phil feel even more on edge even as his eyes burned with exhaustion. The urge to remove himself entirely was strong- even just removing the quilt would make keeping his focus so much easier, but if this was meant to be a test...
"Philza?" Missa asked after a moment, his voice soft and sad again, and this time when he reached for the mug he'd given Phil, he lifted it up until the rim was pressed up against Phil's lips. "You can drink it, you know? It should be cooled off now."
Phil pursed his lips, everything in him wanting to refuse- if this was a genuine offer then he should tell Missa that such luxuries were wasted on him. If it was a test then, for some reason, this felt so much harder than all the other test offers of food and gifts before. Missa was looking at him, his eyes almost red in the firelight, and Phil met them once before his gaze fell to the mug again. Missa's hand was still holding it in place, and Phil- well there was a reason he was here, wasn't there? He was good at his job.
The chocolate was still warm as it spilled over his tongue, the taste... sweet, and rich, with just a hint of a spice that he couldn't name, and- before he knew it he'd drained the whole mug, left with an empty cup, flushed cheeks, and a slowly rising sense of dread. Missa's smile eased that fear a bit, but he still couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness that still rested inside of him, the sensation almost overwhelming as it weighed him down. The quilt was still warm and heavy where it rested across his shoulders, the fire still crackling away, and it was quiet for a moment.
"Good, huh?" Missa said finally, taking the mug from Phil's hands as he swirled his own, glancing down at it before offering that to Phil too. "You can have mine if you want more, Philza, no te precupes por eso!"
"N-no, no, I-" Phil finally managed, shaking his head, his tongue thick and useless in his mouth. "Mast- Missa, sir, I couldn't-"
"If you want it." Missa said, a little more insistent in a way that made Phil want to buckle, but- this was too much, Missa was too much, offering things that were a waste on Phil. He'd assumed that Missa might not know how to handle him, but it was abundantly clear now, wrapping him in a blanket and offering him sweet things. "Philza, it is okay to have a little more. I was almost done anyways-"
He seemed to realize something then, pausing mid-sentence as he looked Phil over, and then much to Phil's relief, he retracted his mug with another little sigh.
"Sorry, sorry, Philza, I- I'll be right back, okay?" Missa said, and Phil could only watch him go again, feeling more at a loss than he could ever remember being before, not sure how he was supposed to behave here when Missa was so different, expected such different things. Bagi's dock was empty when he frantically looked outside, the porch light off and the ones inside only casting a soft glow that shifted over the river's waves. He was warm and the taste of chocolate was still in his mouth and it all felt wrong in a way he couldn't describe, couldn't fix, couldn't even begin to untangle. He stared at Missa when the other finally came into view, offering a sad little smile before he sat down on the couch again, this time far closer to Phil than before, his knee pressing against Phil's thigh in a way that sent tinglings running down Phil's spine. "Hey, Philza."
"Yes, Missa?" Phil returned, and he might've been proud of how level his voice was, if it hadn't been for all the other ways he was failing.
"I want to try something with you, okay?" Missa said, and this close his voice was much softer than Phil could ever remember hearing it, Phil's heart ached involuntarily in his chest, but he made himself nod- he was there for whatever Missa needed, was meant to serve in any way he was capable of. He needed to do this. Missa's hand reached out to rest lightly on Phil's wrist, and suddenly it was like all his focus had shrunk down to that one point of contact, everything else falling away and- that was bad, that was so fucking bad, he needed to- "Here, follow me?"
And Phil was helpless to do anything but follow, horribly horribly entranced as Missa's grip moved to make sure the quilt stayed wrapped around Phil, using the blanket to gently tug Phil along towards Missa's room, and past the guest room he'd given to Phil.
Missa giggled a little bit when he looked at Phil again, and he could only imagine the face he was making, lost and bewildered and... hopeless maybe was the best word for it. Far beyond fixing or saving or anything else.
He didn't go into Missa's room often- it was one of the first rules Missa had put in place, after he woke up to Phil standing guard beside his headboard, which had startled him so much he'd fallen out of his bed. Phil felt a little bad about that, but that'd been part of his job too, keeping tabs on his master at all hours to make sure nothing happened while Phil was just out of sight. It didn't help with how well he slept, if he were being honest, but he doubted much could help with that.
It was cozy enough, if a little cluttered- Missa plopped his guitar right inside the door, this dresser and desk covered in papers a little knick knacks and pictures, his camera perched on top of a pile of books at one end. The bed was big, more than enough room for three or four people by Phil's estimation, the regular comforter messed up and folded back from where Missa had apparently tossed it off of himself that morning.
"Here, sit." Missa said, pulling Phil right beside the bed and then pushing him down onto the mattress by his shoulders, and when Phil looked up at him, Missa was still smiling. He bit his lip, looking almost on the verge of laughter before he moved to the dresser to snag his camera and pointed it right at Phil. "Sorry, sorry, just hold still for a second-"
The flash of light in his eyes made everything in him seize for a moment, surprise and instinct wanting to strike out at the nearest thing- but that was Missa, and Phil couldn't- he couldn't-
"Sorry, Philza." Missa said, still smiling as the picture slid out of the camera, indistinguishable from a piece of paper when Missa took hold of it. "I promise that someday you'll think this is as- Que paso, Philza, are you okay?"
He dropped his camera- and that wasn't good, that was important to him wasn't it?- and moved to sit beside Phil, one hand reaching out to press against Phil's back and slowly rub up and down. There was something in Phil, when Missa touched him, that felt strained and huge in his chest, pressing to rise to the surface before Phil forced it back down again, afraid of what it would mean if he just... let it go. It was worse now, with Missa's face so close to his, his wide brown eyes almost black in the low light of his room and fixed solely on Phil. It was a kind of focus that would've scared him before, if it'd been from anyone besides Missa.
He was still scared, but for a different reason now. One he couldn't even explain to himself.
"You're okay, Philza, esta bien." Missa said lowly when Phil couldn't manage, his hand never ceasing its movements, leaving a tingling trail along Phil's skin that he couldn't ignore, couldn't shove away, was taking too much space in his mind even from such a small, insignificant point of contact, what was wrong with him- "Lo siento Philza, you just looked so.... ah, uh bonito."
"I- I know what that means." Phil managed, a little indignant despite everything.
"Well, uh, it's true!" Missa said, sounding distinctly more embarrassed, which almost, almost made Phil crack a smile. Because it was Missa, and because Phil was.... Phil. "You are very, very... bonito."
That did make Phil laugh, just a little bit, nothing more than a slight hitch of his breath, but Missa's pause in his motion was enough to let Phil catch it. But he didn't say anything, just continued to rub the flat of his hand down Phil's spine, and when Phil dared to glance up at him he was smiling softly. Everything about him made Phil want to keep looking, but he flicked his eyes down when Missa looked at him too.
"Can I... Dios, qué estoy haciendo?" Missa muttered to himself, face all twisted and nose wrinkled, his hand still resting on Phil's back, burning into his skin like a brand. He wanted to shiver at the feel of it, the slight twitching movements of Missa's fingers, but he was almost afraid to, like it would ruin whatever it was that was suddenly between them. "Okay, Philza, can I give you a hug?"
Phil blinked. Opened his mouth, then closed it again, baffled. "What?"
"A hug, un abrazo?" Missa said again, hand moving away so he could spread both out towards Philza like some kind of demonstration.
Phil blinked again, but forced himself forward, hands lightly brushing along Missa's ribs until he realized what he was doing and curled them into fists instead, finding a semi-safe resting point right between Missa's shoulder blades. It was impossible not to touch like this, Phil very quickly found, and Missa clearly had no such compunctions, draping his arms loosely around Phil's shoulders and neck. There was a moment of tension where he was pulling Phil in even closer than he'd allowed himself too, but it was Missa, so Phil folded the second his thoughts caught back up with him.
That strained feeling in Phil's chest ached now, his front pressed flush to Missa's, the sweet smell of the soap he used to wash his clothes almost all Phil could smell. He was horrifically aware of every inch of skin Missa was touching, the sensation feeling as though it had trapped his brain in a net of useless fuzz, everything distant and elusive. This was bad, he- he was supposed to be paying attention, was supposed to be on the alert, everyone was always saying how this island wasn't safe, that no one was-
"Philza?" Missa said, and pressed this close, Phil could feel the way his voice vibrated right down to Phil's bones. He pressed his eyes closed, every inch of him stiff and warm and wrong.
"Yes sir?" He said, his voice just barely managing to maintain its levelness.
"Relax for me, si?" Missa said, asked, ordered, his hand patting Phil's back twice like he could ease Phil into doing just that. And- an order, right, he followed those, even if they didn't make sense, even if he didn't understand why. It took longer than it should have, given that it was an order, but Phil first focused on his shoulders, down his back and then his arms, instinctively tensing up all over again when his brain caught up with just how much he was leaning against Missa now, but Missa just clucked his tongue and leaned back against the pillows piled up at the head of the bed, petting down Phil's back again. "Asi es, chico, that's good."
And that- helped. More than it should have, probably but. Phil leaned against Missa a little more, slowly letting out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. It still felt wrong, like he was laying something vital bare for all the world to see, but Missa- this was what Missa wanted so...
There was a fuzzy warmth in Phil that pooled in his chest, that exhaustion from before slowly creeping back. Missa's hand came up to rest on the back of Phil's neck, his palm warm and firm. It would be stupid of Phil to think of that as safety, to feel Missa's arms over his back and a hand cupping the back of his neck like protection, but he couldn't shake the feeling either. he wanted to get up again, to pace and check the windows one more time- he'd forgotten to do that, they were in bed already, he needed to check again.
"No, no-" Missa murmured, and the disappointment in his voice made something in Phil freeze until that hand on his back started petting along his spine again, bringing attention to the tension that had been building in him without him having even realized it. "You're good, Philza, if you want to go to sleep, you know-"
"I should check the doors." Phil said before he could stop himself, and instead of the dread that usually accompanied Missa's sigh, guilt rose up, threatening to choke him.
But then Missa's arms shifted off and away. "Go check then, and when you're done just come back, okay?"
"...Yes, sir." Phil said after a too-long moment of pause, and as much as being pressed so close to Missa felt wrong, pulling away felt worse- he was starting to think he really was broken, everything in him tingly and raw and useless to help anyone, and especially not his master.
He focused on his task, rather than linger more than he'd already had, the idea of doing at least one thing right tonight a little too good to ignore- but nothing had changed in the hour since Phil had last checked the locks, all firmly in place, light all turned out and everything outside quiet. Even the windows of Bagi's house were quiet and dark, almost lost to the dim night around them. Then there wasn't anything between him and Missa, no task to turn to, which was already a stupid thought considering Missa was meant to be his task but.... there was something a little to the left of fear that was taking up space in his brain at the thought of returning to the dark room.
His skin itched, burned with a need that did scare him, a desire that felt as foreign as it felt fitting, filling out every inch of him as he stared down the hall at that partially-open door.
His feet were moving before he had time to think twice about it, dragging as much as he was able to, any noise he made felt as though it were grating him down to nothing. Missa was still laid out in his bed, hands folded over his stomach and his eyes caught Phil after a moment, not even jumping in surprise like he used to. He smiled instead, and Phil felt like he was on the verge of catching fire, a stack of kindling next to a proper blaze, too close for its own good.
"Everything okay?" He asked, and Phil nodded, straightening ever so slightly, though he felt like collapsing in on himself when Missa smiled and held out his hands again. Not an order or even a question, but Phil felt himself move all the same, the mattress sinking under his weight in a way that made the idea of pulling away even more difficult. Missa's hands brushed over Phil's ribs, his palms flat over the bone, and Phil couldn't focus on anything else all of a sudden, hovering over Missa, unsure what he was allowed to touch. Protecting was nothing like this, even if they'd been shoved into close quarters once to twice before- he'd always had an objective to focus on then, getting Missa out or keeping him hidden, but here he had no such luxury. "You're so stiff! Cálmate, cálmate, Philza, you have nothing to worry about, right?"
"Sorry, sir." Phil said stiffly, though he had little choice but to follow Missa's guiding hands, pulling Phil down on top of him, Missa's body warm and plush beneath his own. The touch felt all-consuming, every inch of him buzzing with it, his mind feeling as though it were being stuffed to the brim with wordless, useless static. His eyes were already burning before, but it felt worse now, every inch of himself fighting a civil battle against relaxing and staying on alert, instincts against orders.
Missa's hand ran through Phil's hair slowly, working through all the little knots with a care that made it feel as though Phil were choking on something, and he crushed his eyes tightly shut for a single second before he forced them open again.
"We are just two bros cuddling, you know?" Missa was saying, laughing a little bit to himself as his hand slowly continued those sweeping motions up and down Phil's spine, and he couldn't- couldn't- "You don't have to worry Philza, I want you to be here with me, okay? I want you to relax, just for a little bit. We're probably as safe as we can be here anyways, it's not good to worry so much. I can take care of you for a little bit, no worries."
"Yes, sir." Phil managed, his voice far, far weaker than it should've been, but Missa didn't comment.
Missa didn't even acknowledge the struggle Phil was suffering through, instead continuing to slowly rub down Phil's back. He was meant to relax, he knew, and it was almost terrifying how quickly the tension left him now, allowing him to sink further into Missa's arms. That sensation of safety was still there, however false it might've been and... Even if this was all a test, even if it was one he hadn't yet failed somehow, he was finding that he wanted to fail anyways, if it meant he got to have this, even for a moment. He pressed his face as subtly as he could to Missa's shoulder, childishly trying to hide himself away, but still Missa didn't say anything.
Instead he hummed a little song, one Phil hadn't heard from him yet, his motions along Phil's back never ceasing.
It was so, so stupid of him to think of being in Missa's arms as safety, but he found himself falling asleep there anyways. There was a reason he was with Missa after all, and even knowing that, too, was a failure on his part, for the first time, it didn't feel like it.