Work Text:
For once, Phil is doing well. He and Chayanne had spent their day on the farm, tending to crops as well as keeping up the general image of the Wall. After all, living and building on top of a place everyone visits comes with a responsibility, and they take it (ignoring the dirt-roof house, that's a work in progress). Not that Phil ever cared about image, really, but seeing how seriously Chayanne takes on his duty, it might as well be a nice learning exercise for the growing child.
He should do more of those, Philza thinks. A few weeks into the Quesadilla island, it's still easy to forget the roles he was given. A mentor, a keeper. A father. Frankly he's never been good at any of those, and it likely shows.
It's not a pleasant nor a new thought - it's rotten, like some of the crop he'd picked today. Overriped from not being picked on time, forgotten in the depths of mind, never to be processed in the end. He knows he needs to do better, give Chayanne the life he deserves, even when they've known eachother for so little, deep in his heart Phil does want a better future for his... child.
A hand softly brushes Philza's, rooting him back to reality of the moment. That's right, Missa joined them a couple hours ago, finally free of his duties. Even though he didn't help with the physical labour, his presence is always valued, not to mention he provided some much needed ambiance in a form of his guitar and melodic voice.
And that's Missa's role here, isn't it? He doesn't show up often, but whenever he does it's as if all problems are suddenly lifted from Phil's shoulders. He hears the familiar guitar strumming, Missa's infectious laughter or his soft singing, and his mind goes numb, replacing thoughts with a gentle buzz of surety and safety. He doesn't know if that's what others feel too, if there's something wrong with Phil, but it's as if for a moment he's back home, singing familiar songs, even though in reality it's the first time Philza has ever heard them.
The sun is starting to set and they're at a perfect spot to view it. Chayanne, full of energy despite the massive amount of labour they've performed, is now only a tiny dot far in the field, farming away for as long as he can. He and Missa have called it quits recently and are left alone on a treetop near their house. Honestly, Phil wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.
He turns away from the sun when he feels Missa's fingers trace shapes on top of his hand, and looks at the other's face. Phil can't help a soft smile when Missa turns as well and sees the gesture returned tenfold. They're both quiet, and it's unusual after listening to so much of eachother's excited blabbering, but Missa suddenly chuckles and it's the only sound Phil wants to hear till the end of his life.
"Do i have something on my face?" Missa teases, but there's a hint of worry in his voice as if of genuine concern.
Whatever spell is cast on Philza, he finds himself lifting his palm to barely brush a few fingers atop Missa's cheek. "Just a bit of dirt" he says, despite it being perfectly clean. Phil's palm lingers, barely connecting with skin of the other and it is suddenly the toughest task to pull away and not cup the face in front of him.
Phil doesn't know what it would mean for them. They are partners in taking care of Chayanne: you could call them friends. But a suspicion creeps up Philza's mind, just like Missa's hand, trailing upwards to cup his hand and guide it closer into the skin. Maybe Missa doesn't mind. It's too late now, as all Phil can think about is how soft Missa's cheek is, cold from the breeze on top of the wall and hot from... . "Is this okay?" Phil finds himself asking.
Missa's voice comes out quiet and tranquil when he replies, like the rustle of leaves around them and the only thing Phil ever wanted is to drift towards it, get swallowed by it, for it to be the only thing he hears. "It's perfect." Phil swears Missa's skull mask is drifting closer. "You're perfect."
Phil can't help but chuckle at that. "I am far from." He feels Missa freeze, but their faces are so close that their noses brush and words lose sense as Phil breathes in his partner's presence. He wants to close his eyes, get lost in the sensation, but when he glances back up he meets slight judgement in Missa's eyes. "You know it's not true. You do so much for me and Chayanne, you've been basically saving us this entire time. Damn it, you're Felipe Minecraft!"
This time Philza bursts out in laughter, pulling away to hide his red face in Missa's shoulder. He hears him laugh as well, but soon they calm down and Phil feels a hand interlace in his golden hair near the scalp and guide his head upwards. Once more he meets Missa's gaze, soft and affectionate and damn it, Philza is the happiest man alive. He glances to Missa's lips, the part of face not covered by the mask; his own hand that shifted to slightly cover them as he was cackling away, thumb touching corner of the crease the lips formed.
Fuck it, Philza thinks, and covers them with his own.
Missa's lips are slightly cold and chipped, but Phil finds he doesn't mind. He adds a bit of pressure and feels Missa sigh through his nose, adjusting the angle. It's not anything crazy, just lips interlocking and pressing into one another, but it is fulfilling enough to stay in the comfort of eachother. For the first time in years Phil wishes the sun never set. He wishes for the pink hues to never change purple, for the light not to die out, for them not to part.
But once they do, Phil meets Missa's beaming face and for once, he is certain he's doing well.