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thanotaphobia · 11 months

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STAR-CROSSED LOVER BOYS.

purgatory is going to destroy me

crossposted to ao3

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“There you are.”

Missa yelps, his whole body flinching– the ax in his hand drops to the ground with a thud. For a second he thinks about running, but then the words register, and the voice, and he whirls around.

“Philza,” he says, a mixture of delight and anxiety thrumming through him. “How did you–”

“Your guys’ base is not hard to find,” Phil says, hands in his pockets as he surveys the area around them with a critical eye. Missa wonders if he's trying to hide the blood underneath his nails. “You should probably move underground.”

“Maybe,” Missa says. “What’s up? Need something?” He’s a little wary– people have been killing, he knows that very well. He trusts Phil, but still. He’s seen the chat messages.

“Not really,” Phil says. “Most of my team is out and around I got bored. Wanna walk?”

“Walk where?” Missa looks around the wasteland they’re calling home for now.

“I dunno. Somewhere?” Phil smiles at him and Missa smiles back, unsure.

“This feels like a trap,” he says.

Missa kicks his ax to the side where it will be safe and taking Phil’s hand when it’s offered. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I would never,” Phil promises, and they start walking together. “Ye of little faith, man.”

“Everything’s just gone crazy,” Missa says with a laugh, swinging their hands between them. The camp turns to beach turns to forest, both of them relishing in the shade of the trees as they amble along. “I hope we get to go home soon. I miss it.”

“I hope they leave our houses alone,” Phil nods. “Something weird is going on, and I don’t trust it. Yesterday was nuts but I feel clearer today. My head. Less tired.”

“Same,” Missa nods. “I kept getting killed and the respawn was awful.” He’s not exaggerating– something about the respawn on this island is different, lingering in his limbs and sending pins and needles up his body every time he wakes up. The pain echoes, and he knows he’s not the only one because Phil just nods, mouth set in a firm line.

“It’s probably on purpose,” he says. “To mess with us. I think a lot of things are. It’s definitely getting to some of the others.”

“Not you?” Missa asks, pausing mid step to look at Phil. “Are you alright?” He reaches out, takes Phil’s other hand. Phil smiles at him and gives his fingers a warm squeeze, and Missa giggles softly.

“No dreams, at least,” Phil tells him.

“I’m glad,” Missa says earnestly. He’s glad to hear Phil’s doing okay– as okay as he can be, but like he said, purgatory is getting to some of the others. Missa knows what he means. He’s seen the looks in some of their eyes, the way people are quicker to snap. With Phil, it seems impossible that it could happen, but he’s heard shouting across the hills and felt the blade of a sword too many times now to deny it.

“I think they want an excuse to go a little crazy,” Phil tells him and Missa laughs again. “Like, this is some fucked up social experiment and we all just went yeah, sure, why not?”

“You guys were so weird,” Missa says and Phil laughs with him now, both of them giggling. “Like, man, we were just trying to do stuff and failing and you guys were shouting in the distance–”

Both of them are laughing together now, and Missa basks in it. He missed Phil, so fucking much. He’s nervous here, but happy too, happy Phil is with him and smiling. Phil looks at him and opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something back, then pauses. Lets go of one of Missa’s hands and turns slightly, peering out into the trees. Missa makes a face at him, looking out in the same direction, but then Phil is nudging him backward and behind one of the bigger trees with wide eyes and a small smile still on his face.

“What?” Missa asks, dropping his voice into a whisper. “Philza, what–”

“Shh.” Phil presses him up against the tree and Missa lets him, lets the hand clamp over his mouth as Phil looks over his shoulder. This is ridiculous, Missa thinks to himself, and he can’t help the giggling bubbling up within him. His laughter is stifled thanks to Phil’s hand, and Phil is also still grinning, biting his lip as they stand there in the shade. It takes a second for Missa to register what Phil heard– footsteps in the leaves, voices. Fit, by the sound of it, and Etoiles. Now Missa gets it; those two have been on more than a few killing sprees, and who knows what’d they say if they came upon Phil and Missa out here. Missa holds his breath, staring hard in the direction of the sound, and while Phil seems insistent they stay quiet he doesn’t seem too frightened. After a few moments the sounds of their footsteps fade, and Missa is left staring down at Phil instead, who slowly pulls his hand away from Missa’s mouth.

Once he thinks it’s safe, Missa whispers, “So are you and– you know. Are you?”

“Etoiles?” Phil asks, and Missa blinks, then shakes his head. “Oh, Fit? Nah, it’s just fun. He’s gone fucking bonkers since we’ve gotten here, though.”

“I think we all have,” Missa says, giggling nervously.

“Did it make you jealous? Before?”

“No,” Missa says, and he’s honest about it. He also… kinda gets it. You just have to look at Fit to understand, honestly. “You come back to me anyway.”

Phil looks at him then, the smile dropping from his lips. He stares, something open and honest and brutal on his face at Missa, as though he’s just had a realization. Missa’s about to open his mouth and ask what it is, what’s the matter– but before he can, Phil surges up onto his feet and pushes his mask away from his face, kissing him harshly on the mouth as he slings an arm around Missa’s shoulders.

They’ve kissed before, but never like this. It’s always been on hands and shoulders and foreheads, soft intimate presses of closed mouths as reassurance and comfort. This is more. This is open lips, warm mouth, noses pressed uncomfortably together. This feels like desperation mixed with anguish, and Phil presses Missa harder against the trunk of the tree and Missa grabs at his waist with both hands and kisses back.

“I wish we were on the same team,” Phil tells him, pulling back a half inch and leaving Missa gasping for air. He feels like he’s on fire, all of Phil’s wild nature igniting him at once, leaving him to boil over. Red and blue– Missa feels the distance now more than anything.

“We could make our own team,” Missa says, dragging him closer, trying to drown himself in Phil. “Maybe.”

Phil doesn’t bother responding to him; just kisses him again. Missa is going crazy, he thinks. Maybe it’s the place– purgatory sending them all spiraling into their own little wells of madness. There’s something about Philza here that makes this feel dangerous, like at any moment someone might pop around the corner of a tree and yell GOTCHA at the two of them. It’s– well, they’re husbands, everyone had pretty much assumed they were doing this anyway, but something about that thought makes Missa squirm a little, which makes Phil press him harder into the tree, which makes Missa duck his head and kiss him back even more.

They do that for a while, kissing back and forth until Missa’s lips feel swollen and tender. At some point his knees go out, and they both sink to the forest floor. Phil’s in his lap, Missa can’t feel his toes or his lips, and yet he still wants more, somehow.

“Man,” Phil says between kisses, words punctuated by his face against Missa’s. “What the fuck did they put in the water?”

“I like it,” Missa says. He feels loopy, out of it. Maybe there was something in the water. Nothing feels real. He never wants it to end.

Phil laughs at him, pulling back from the kissing to grin at Missa lazily, nonchalant, like they do this every damn day. If Missa wasn’t already on the ground, he thinks he’d collapse. Phil tucks his warm nose into the crook of his neck and they sit there. The sticks and leaves press uncomfortably into Missa’s back and ass, but he doesn’t care. Phil is heavy on his lap, arms tight around his shoulders, and Missa holds him like he wants to every day.

Selfishly, Missa thinks maybe purgatory is a good thing. Ignoring the death, and the dehydration, and the sun and the apples and the betrayals– he at least gets this out of it. He’s a selfish man. He’ll admit that much.

“Do you think we’ll get the eggs back?” Phil asks quietly. Missa plays with the loose strands of his hand, twirling them in between his fingers, alternating between that and running his hand down the long line of Phil’s spine. Tracing the bumps of his bound wings beneath his jacket.

“I don’t know,” Missa says honestly.

“It feels like a trick,” Phil says, turning his head. Missa can’t see his face, but Phil’s gaze is directed outwards, towards where Missa knows the sea is. “All of this.”

“Yeah.” Missa can at least agree with that. It does feel like a trick. It makes him uncomfortable. “I’m still useless here, though.”

“Are you kidding me?” Phil turns his head to look up at Missa now, eyebrows furrowed. “Dude, you and your team have been doing better than us. That’s crazy.”

“Still,” Missa says. “It’s mostly Bad Boy Halo.”

“Bruh, BBH is just cracked. Don’t base your worth off of him.” Phil snuggles closer into Missa’s chest, and on impulse Missa leans down. Phil tips his head up and kisses him back with gentle care, and Missa’s heart rate soars.

“I love you,” Missa says into the kiss.

“I know,” Phil murmurs back into his lips. Missa snorts.

“You nerdy motherfuck,” he says, and Phil laughs, kissing Missa again, and again. “Star Wars?”

“Would you rather me just say it back?” Phil asks, and Missa stops, lips hovering a breath above Phil’s. For a moment neither of them move, and then Missa draws away, inhaling slightly.

“Would it be hard for you to?” he asks. Phil looks at him, eyes suddenly guarded, and then away. The uncomfortable shift makes Missa feel as though a bucket of cold water has been doused on him, trickling down his spine.

“If I say it, it makes shit real,” Phil says.

“And?” Missa demands. “Is me being real a bad thing?”

“No, no, I just–” Phil’s face contorts. “Missa, if it’s real, it means losing you becomes real too.”

“So you just avoid it,” Missa says, and slowly, things click into place. And it doesn’t make sense even then, it just makes him feel… angry. He hasn’t ever felt angry at Phil before, but here they are. His hands tighten around Phil, fingers catching in the rough cloth of his jacket. “Don’t you ever think it’s real for me?”

“I know it’s real for you,” Phil says, and he sounds more cautious now, like he’s seen Missa’s anger. “Missa–”

“No, no no no, Philza,” Missa says, and now he draws his hands back and away, staring at Phil’s conflicted face. “You can’t handle it, sure that’s fine, yeah. But that’s just not fair.”

Phil’s eyes flash. “You can’t force me to say shit.”

“And I’m not!” Missa scowls a little. “I’m just thinking, if I’m such a coward and I’m able to face the fact I love you and you can’t, what does that say about you–”

“Wow.” Phil pushes up and off him, untangling their limbs messily and staggering back onto his feet. Missa hurries to stand up, brushing off his knees as he does and leaning against the tree for support. “Wow, low fucking blow.”

“Says the one who won’t even say he loves me back,” Missa says, and it’s weird how the affection he’d been feeling only seconds ago can fade into animosity so quickly. Maybe Phil was right. Maybe it’s this place. “We split on to teams and yet you only come find me when you, what? Want comfort? Want a kiss?”

“Maybe I just like hanging out with you,” Phil says.

“I wouldn’t know, you never fucking say it,” Missa snaps.

Phil glares at him, raising a hand and wiping the back of it against his lips. Missa drags his skeleton mask back over his face. “Maybe it’s a good thing we’re on separate teams,” Phil says, voice cold. “You always needed your space.”

“Now who’s throwing low blows?” Missa says. The mask serves a few purposes– to match Phil’s energy for one, and two, to hide the way his eyes start to well up with tears. He’s always been a crybaby, but this hurts. It really, truly hurts. At least when they start to stream down his cheeks, they’re hidden behind the comfort of his mask. “Maybe you don’t love me. Maybe that’s why you won’t say it. Just break my heart already, get it over with.”

“Break your heart?” Phil laughs, shifting his stance to something more solid, feet spread apart in the leaves and hands balled into fists at his sides. Missa catches the warning before the actual fire gets spit– the words like venom lashing out across the forest. “Like you broke Chayanne’s?”

Missa can barely see when his hands hit Phil’s shoulders, shoving him backwards on uneven footsteps. “Get away,” he says, then he’s shouting, “Get away, get away, get away from me!”

The heartbreak, it turns out, is very much real in this place. Purgatory, the place between worlds, an eternal waiting room. There’s no going forward here, not unless you play the right cards. Missa’s face feels red and hot and he says nothing as Phil turns on his heel and walks away, not even bothering to look back. He waits until he’s sure Phil’s gone before he crumples to the ground and cries, whimpering into his hands like a baby because he’s gone and ruined everything now, hasn’t he?

But there is an itch at the back of his brain.

Maybe you did the right thing, the itch tells him, gentle hands on his shoulders and fingers petting through his hair. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re on separate teams, after all, and it couldn’t work. Stay away for the next few weeks, give each other space. Run away and let it all smooth over– he’ll forgive you, after all. He always has.

Missa wipes his eyes dry. Gets to his feet again, and looks in the direction Phil left. Maybe his subconscious is right. Maybe it’s just a waiting game. They can be angry at each other here, fight here, kill here, and when they get back to the island it can all go back to normal.

It’s just the stress, Missa tells himself, thinking of their son as he turns back towards the blue team base camp. There are things to do now, fights to be won, challenges to work on. He can think about Phil later. A small fight between couples never killed anyone.

…Right?

#qsmp #qsmp shipping #pissa #q!philza #q!missa #they kiss guys #wee oo wee oo #my writing

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