Penciled Lines
(Cross-posted on ao3, if you prefer to read it there. Reblogs still appreciated!)
Missa wakes up, and he thinks he might be doomed. This doesn’t scare him nearly as much as it should.
Missa is awake early—by his own metric, anyway. His nocturnal nature causes “early” for him to mean “early night” and not “early morning.” Regardless, “early” means that Philza is not asleep yet, still going through his nightly rituals. “Early” means that Philza is sitting up in (his? their?) the bed, pillows propped up behind him, notebook in his lap, sketching away.
And when Missa wakes up to the soft scritch-scratch of a charcoal pencil on textured paper, his forehead just so happens to be brushing Philza’s hip.
Missa can hardly breathe.
Oh no.
He knows that if he gives any indication that he is awake, Philza will stop sketching, close his notebook, shift himself over until he is politely seated on his side of the bed, and greet Missa with a friendly smile. Philza has done it before, when Missa wakes up early. That’s how Missa knows he’ll do it again.
Thus, Missa can hardly breathe—his breaths have to be the slow in-out of sleep. He can’t so much as twitch, either. He has to keep quiet and play dead or else he’ll be found out. Seen. Caught living the lie.
“Husband,” Philza calls him. They’re not married. They share a bed. They’re hardly ever in it at the same time. They have a son and a daughter. Neither of them know Missa very well. Philza has had an extra set of armor and a skull on his backpack for months, waiting for Missa. Missa doesn’t even know Philza’s last name.
Philza is a good man and a good friend—and Missa doesn't deserve him. Still, he takes what he can get. Curls around it. Hoarding every innocent kindness Philza extends like a starving creature: the generosity of a backpack fully stocked with equipment; the trust Philza places in Missa to watch the kids when he’s asleep; and now, the courtesy of not moving his hip from Missa’s forehead to ensure his “sleeping” isn’t disturbed. Missa clutches all of these little offerings in his greedy claws and hugs them into his chest, even as the guilt eats away at him.
Because, regardless of the lack of mutual feeling, he loves Philza. He loves him so, so much, and that is why he is doomed. He can’t afford to lose what little he has. He can’t cross that line.
So Missa lies beside Philza, forehead pressed against Philza’s hip, pretending to sleep so he can imagine that they’re not just lying in bed together, but lying in bed, together; and later, when Missa truly wakes, he will sit on his side of the bed and look at Philza’s face soft with sleep and think about how lucky he is that he still has a side-of-the-bed to begin with.
Missa doesn’t mean to drift off. When it starts to happen, he’s hopelessly torn between shaking himself awake and thus giving himself away, or remaining how he is, silently fending off the inevitable. In the end, Missa clings to that scritch-scratch sound of Philza’s pencil on the paper for as long as he can before the fog at last pulls him under.
Eventually, he dreams. In fact, he dreams of the calloused fingers he dreams of every night, hands like his own, an artist of Death, cradling and shading the contours of his face—a softness dashing charcoal across his jaw, and over his cheekbones, and perhaps on his lips, too, if he’s lucky. Defining every edge of him.
~*~
A deep sigh. Phil stops sketching as Missa shifts in his sleep. He tilts his head up so that the tip of his nose is now just nearly brushing against Phil’s hip. The motion disturbs the wild splay of his dark hair, revealing more of his face: eyelashes, cheeks, warmth. Tender blush of something Stygian and otherworldly. New.
Phil’s lips tilt upwards. He turns to a fresh page, and he starts again.
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Any number? 23 and saïx :)
couldn't count all the ways that i've died for you
[ID: a digital drawing of saix from kingdom hearts. He is shown from the hip up, his body in 3/4's and his face in profile. He is shadowed in warm tones. He has a neutral expression, and he's standing straight.
The background is transparent except for a circle that lays from the middle of his shoulders and upwards, with three sections that have a slightly bigger circumference where one to three, seven to eight, and eight to nine would be on a clock. All scenes are blue tones with a noise overlay. these three are all from saix's perspective.
In the first, there is a cloaked figure shown from the waist down, the tip end of young xehanort's keyblade leans forward and some of it goes out of bound, tiled floor as a background. The second one is saix's hand reaching for kingdom hearts. The third is his hand reaching towards Lea, who lies on the floor of radiant garden's lab.
The rest of the circumference is a labyrinth wall in keyblade's graveyard, with a harsh diagonal line of light on the upper half. Most of the circumference is lined black, except from nine to one o'clock, lined white. /End ID.]
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◁ || ▷ now playing
Syx: I’ll be right back. Hey, you.
Icarus: I come in peace.
Syx: As you should, I’d kick you out otherwise.
Icarus: I actually came to apologize.
Syx: Ooo, we’re fighting?
Icarus: I might’ve been a bit of a jackass.
Syx: Uh-huh, anything else?
Icarus: And you might’ve been right.
Syx: Ah, there you go. Come on. Careful, the floor is slippery.
Icarus: Shit!
Syx: Told you. So tell me, what happened?
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been reflecting on it now for a bit and I really enjoy that when PL started, and I did not trust or even really like So Mi– but listening to all her superiors being like "Ohhhh we love So Mi, she's great, but... y'know, we're going to have to put her in ultra mega jail for a billion years because she's crazy and dangerous like a bomb" like HEY. QUICK QUESTION. why does So Mi feel like she has to crash the President and make friends with a warlord for the slimmest chance to a) survive past 35 b) have any sort of life worth living? no? oh we're all "taking one for the team" and "upholding something bigger than individual people" okay, she's mine now lmao. I'm so sorry that part of your calculation did not factor in the human cost of what you are doing and now your lack of planning is an emergency you want me to clean up. Maybe if you were smarter you wouldn't be in this mess, eh? Actions have consequences dipshit. Yeah of course So Mi is lying to me I'd lie to me too, and yes I'm angry about it, but the chance to specifically piss Myers and Reed off? worth the blood tbh.
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