Chapter 1: Americano Coffee
Chapter Text
“American coffee is a brew of espresso and hot water”.
Missa was tired, studying nursing and having a part-time job wasn't doing his poor, failing mental health and his even poorer, non-existent sleep schedule any favours.
At least his shifts matched his best friend, Phillip, he was working to pay for his degree, the son of a bitch didn't have a single scholarship, and his parents could only afford to pay for his accommodation on the island, so he had to fund it somehow.
It was freezing cold when Missa took one foot out of bed, he rubbed his eye and looked at the clock, it was half past four in the morning, Virgencita, what one does for money, he thought to himself.
He took his dressing gown from behind the door, making love to Luis Miguel, What I would give to live like this dog, he eats better than me. He gave the doggie a smile and went into the bathroom. His day was going to be long enough.
He opened his fridge, to at least get something in his stomach, other than coffee, all he had was two beers, a piece of mouldy cheese, a ham of dubious origin and a bit of milk. He would have to go shopping.
Resigned, he gulped down the bit of milk and ate the rest of the cereal, leaving Spreen’s allowance on the counter and a quick note to let him know when he went to the supermarket to deposit what he was missing. He gave Luismi a couple more strokes and left to work.
It was around five in the morning when he arrived at the shop, Phillip was heating up the espresso machine and the smell of pastries and coffee was already filling the air.
“Good morning, little star, the earth says hello.” Said Phillip, too happy and too energetic for five in the morning, “Would you like some coffee? I need to warm up the machine before the licenciado arrives.”
“Yeah, give me one.” Missa said, putting on his apron to start setting up the tables.
Phillip set a steaming mug on the counter, and began to arrange the pastries in the machine, “Your coffee, princess.”
“Thank you,” Missa took a sip from his American coffee cup, looking at the phrase on his hand Hey mate, can I have an American coffee, five espresso, no sugar. That was the reason he'd taken the job, waiting for this stupid, itching-to-die-for, yeah, Missa was pretty sure his soul mate was an architecture student or something, they were the only ones, (apart from those who studied pedagogy, but Missa knows he wasn't a pedagogy student, because he had already had a fight with all of them) who consumed so much caffeine.
“Good morning! How's the gang?” Quackity said entering the café with a smile, he was wearing his blue suit and a red tie, as well as his trademark blue cap. “Phillip's pouring me a latte, I've got some gossip for you.”
At the sound of the coffee machine, Quackity sat at the bar while the other two Latinos went about their business.
“Okay,” Phillip said, placing the coffee in front of Quackity, “tell us, tell us.”
Missa went about his day, not really interested in Quackity's old wives' tales, finished his coffee, mopped the floors, got the pastries and served the first 5 customers when Quackity finally got to the point.
“So I guess he's my soul mate.” Quackity said finishing his latte.
Missa took the cup out of his hands to wipe the counter, “Just for that? It could be anyone.”
“You just don't get it, Missa,” Quackity said, handing the money to Phillip, “I swear it is my soul mate.”
Missa rolled his eyes, Quackity had a habit of ‘finding’ his soul mate every week, the news was getting old.
So the hours passed, Quackity said his goodbyes to go to his legal law class, Missa and Phillip continued to serve people, being the only source of caffeine on campus was no doubt a pain in the ass for everyone involved.
It was 8:50, they had finally had a moment of peace, when Missa noticed his best friend's hand, the phrase ‘How many shots of espresso can you legally put in a cup?’ was gone.
“Phillip,” Missa said, taking his friend's hand, “it's gone!”
The Chilean shrieked, taking his hand to get a better look at it, he hadn't even noticed that the phrase was gone.
“How the fuck did I not notice? It's not like it's a very common question.”
Missa laughed, “It's your luck, I swear. Just think, who would ask something like that?”
Phillip sighed, these things only happened to him, he tried to remember, but no one came to mind.
“I'm guessing a morning guy?” the Chilean said, trying to think who it could be.
Missa patted him on the back a couple of times, “Give or take, a hundred people came in this morning, 70 or so were men.”
The Chilean stood up and mumbled a soft ‘puta la wea’ to start cleaning the coffee machine. Missa laughed and started refilling the blueberry muffins, he knew the boy genius and his guard dog would come for their coffees and muffins.
They both work in silence, until Missa's light bulb went off, he knew who Phillip's soul mate was, well, he didn't know his name, but he knew who he was.
“The boy with the pink hair, who sits in the corner with those dusty books on the history of the island.” He said to Phillip when they had finally finished with the second wave of customers.
‘What?’ Phillip said, scratching the back of his head.
Missa snorted in annoyance and brought her palm up to his face, “The one you're afraid of and never want to serve?”
All the colour drained from Phillip's face, Tatita Dios really hated him, why did his soul mate have to be the most capable assassin in the entire Quesadilla Island mob?
“The… The mobster?” he said, almost in a shriek.
Missa started laughing, ‘That's hearsay Phillip, besides, if he's a mobster at least he has money.’
Phillip was still pale, unable to process the idea that his soul mate was someone so intimidating, “It couldn't be, Missa. How could I…?” He started, but was interrupted by the sound of the bell.
They both turned to see a tall boy entering the café. His pink hair was unmistakable, and his red eyes scanned the place before heading towards the usual corner. He sat down without a word, opening one of those dusty books.
Missa nudged Phillip. “There it is. It's your chance.”
“My chance to what, die of a heart attack?” Phillip muttered, glancing warily toward the corner.
“To meet your soul mate, you idiot,” Missa shot back, nudging him gently. “You go and service him. I'll cover the counter.”
Phillip made the most loaded coffee he could legally brew and a heart biscuit with strawberry jam in the centre, and shakily approached the table.
Missa laughed as he watched his best friend walk like Bambi to the pink-haired boy's table, and continued to serve the people. He had finally finished his morning shift, he had enough time to go to his flat, take a shower, and get to his Pathophysiology class on time, even get something to eat before that.
“Phillip, I have time to get something to eat, do you want a grilled cheese?”
Missa turned around, expecting his best friend to nod or hold up his thumb for Missa to make him a loaf, but Phillip was shivering behind the counter watching the pink haired boy eat the heart shaped cracker.
“Phillip?” Said Missa waving his hand in front of his friend's face, “wey, talk to him, don't be an idiot.”
“I can't,” Phillip said, “he told me he didn't order anything and I didn't know what to say to him.”
Missa sighed, “Well, good luck, I left your bread in the oven, see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, see you.”
(…)
His Physiopathology class lasted longer than Missa thought it would, he was tired, he had been awake since five in the morning, and it was seven in the evening, he really didn't know how he was still standing.
He left the E building, really hoping he could go home and sleep in, when a suspicious DIN! Distracted him, looking at his mobile phone, he saw the text from his brother.
Bad abortion attempt
Forgot to go to the shop 😔.
You go.
Missa grunted, his day was long enough, now he would have to go to the shop. What Missa didn't know was that someone was following him. That someone was Philza Craft, who had realised that the chestnut was his soul mate, and that clearly the other hadn't noticed.
In fact, Philza was waiting for the perfect moment to approach his soul mate. He waited for him to come out of the shop so he could approach him and talk to him, maybe even help him get the bags into his cart.
“Hey, mate!” said the blond trying to get the brunet's attention, “I saw you today at the campus cafeteria, and I'm not really a student, but I wanted to get a coffee for a friend and -”
Philza didn't get to finish his sentence when the pretty boy, knocked him out, with a quick hip bump hit him in the back and as he moved with the beat of the music hit him in the stomach and fell into the boot of his soul mate's little 2004 Subaru Impreza, who apparently hadn't noticed the man in his boot.
Missa sat behind the wheel, exhausted, the only thing he wanted to do when he got to his flat was to take a long, hot shower and sleep until the next day without waking up once. What Missa didn't know was that his night was going to be ruined because of a certain blond in his boot.
He finally arrived at his destination, he sat for a couple of minutes with his head on the steering wheel, totally exhausted, he really didn't want to have to come home and be the responsible adult, but that was his responsibility. He sighed, and opened his boot to take out his groceries, what he didn't expect was to see a handsome man lying on the side of his food.
“AAA!”
Chapter 2: Latte
Chapter Text
“Latte is an espresso preparation with steamed milk and a touch of foam”.
Techno was exhausted, he had come home from college at nine in the evening, his body ached, and he had an insane amount of homework. He had left his keys on the small table at the entrance, a little surprised not to find Philza's keys in the glass bowl on the table.
“I'm home!” He called out, expecting to hear his older brother's voice, but the classic 'did you bring dinner' never came. A little strangely, he walked towards the living room, he could hear the sound of a movie and voices coming from there.
He expected to find his older brother, but instead there were his two younger brothers, Tommy and Tubbo, watching a colourful troll movie.
“My girl's like candy,” said Tommy, stopping abruptly when he heard one of the stupid colourful trolls sing, “a candy treat.”
“She knocks me right off my feet,” shouted Tubbo from where he was lying on the couch, fiddling with some of his inventions.
“Guys,” said Techno, interrupting his brothers, “Where's Phil?”
“I don't know,” said Tommy dancing to the chorography, “doom, doom, da-dab, I don't care.”
“Thanks for the help, Thomas.” Said Techno, rolling his eyes, “What are you watching?”
“Trolls: Band together.” Said Tubbo as he swung his legs over for his big brother to sit down, “Where were you?”
“Brozone's back, alright!” shouted Tommy, throwing himself onto the couch. “Yeah Techno, did you bring dinner?”
Techno sighed in exasperation, “Yeah, Tommy I brought dinner, after being at college all day,” he said, then looked at his watch, “I don't know if you can tell, but they are,” he went to check the time, but noticed something else, his soul mate's sentence was gone.
Good morning! Just to let you know we don't have latte's, the phrase was gone, he had met his soul mate and hadn't even noticed.
“Techno?” Said Tommy looking at his older brother, confused, “Are you okay, did you die, if you died can I have your room?” Said the boy jokingly.
“I met my soul mate,” said Techno, to no one in particular, “and I didn't even realise it.”
(…)
Spreen was laughing out loud at the sight of the blond sitting in their living room, after calming down a bit he turned his gaze to his brother in the kitchen and couldn't help but let out more giggles.
“Would you stop laughing,” Missa said, handing a cup of tea to his… soul mate? “It was an accident.”
Spreen tried to swallow a chuckle, “it was quite an accident, wasn't it?”
“Thank you very much, mate.” Philza said taking the cup of tea. “But I really need to go home, my brothers must be worried.”
Missa gave his brother a withering look, but sat down next to the blond, “Do you need a ride? It's the last thing I can do.”
Philza looked at his soul mate, the boy looked utterly exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes looked almost black, his posture was doing him no favours and probably driving from the flat to his house and from his house to the flat would leave him exhausted and could be dangerous to his soul mate's well-being.
“No, thanks, mate.” Said the blond with a smile. “I can call a taxi or something,” Philza took his soulmate's hand, “I wouldn't want my soulmate to get hurt because of me.”
'Whoa, Philza's hands are soft and warm, my hands are always cold.' Missa thought as he felt Philza's hands in his, he smiled a little as he saw the differences in their hands, his were tan and his fingers were long in comparison, Philza's hand was pale, and his fingers were smaller but thicker in comparison.
“I'm going to call a friend to come get me,” the blond said, “don't worry.”
“Are you sure?” asked the concerned Mexican, “I can really give you a ride, it doesn't cost me anything.” He said, starting to get up from the couch.
Philza smiled at him, “No offence mate, but you look like you're going to drop dead any minute.” The blond took the brunet's hand and forced him to sit back down, “Besides, Fit doesn't cost anything to come get me.”
Spreen, who was in the kitchen, dropped the cup of mate he was pouring himself for a snack. The name 'Fit' resonated with him from somewhere, he just couldn't remember from where.
“Are you all right, mate?” asked Philza, a little worried about the younger boy.
“Yeah, yeah,” Spreen took a sip of his mate, “I just thought the name sounded familiar.”
Missa grabbed his hair and started preparing dinner, “Fit of 2b2t?” he asked the blond.
“Yes,” Philza said with a smile,“ he's my best friend and right-hand man, why?”
Now it was Missa's turn to laugh at his brother. Philza didn't understand much of what was going on, all he saw was Spreen's ears turning red.
“It's my ex,” muttered Spreen.
Suddenly the memory of Spreen popped into Philza's memory, he remembered the younger one a little, it was a little funny to see the Italian man who normally doesn't let himself be bent by anyone, being scolded by an Argentinian boy a little shorter and much smaller than him.
“Well, if you don't mind, I'll call him to come and get me.”
Missa looked at his brother, he and Fit had broken up about 4 years ago, Spreen was 19 and Fit was 22. Spreen had told him he was over it, but clearly it wasn't true, the older man had noticed how sad his brother looked at the mere mention of the man.
“Are you okay?” the Mexican asked his brother worriedly. “You got me worried.”
“Yeah, nothing's wrong, che.” The boy murmured back. Missa was not very convinced.
Philza had finished his call, when he turned his gaze to the brothers, somehow he could see the resemblance between them, especially in the back, they both had jet black hair, and they had the same physical structure, slim and tall.
“Hey,” he said, trying to keep the tension out of the air, “Why don't you guys tell me more about yourselves? I don't want to leave without hearing more about you.”
Missa sat back down next to him, but Spreen remained in the kitchen, staring at his wrist with a deep longing.
“Well, my name is Missael De Luque, I'm the older brother, I'm studying nursing and I work in the cafeteria on campus.” Said the brunet with a smile.
Philza gave him a smile back, “I'm Philza Watson, I'm also the older brother, I studied finance and accounting, now I manage my father's companies.”
Spreen was still sitting in the kitchen and, it made Philza nervous, he may be a highly skilled person, and he had torture training, but apparently he couldn't lead with someone sad around him.
But Philza was saved from his discomfort by the sound of the doorbell. Missa got up to answer the door, opening it he was met by a broad-shouldered man with a bright smile, he wore a polished leather jacket and the light reflected off his head.
“Ah!” said the man with surprise in his voice, “Missa, good to see you again!”
It was only at the sound of his voice that he recognised who it was.
“Oh, Fit, you're…” Missa didn't know how to say what he was thinking, hastily, “Changed.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Fit said with a smile, “I've been working on my physique.”
Spreen was stunned to see his ex-boyfriend again, Fit was clearly changed.
“Why are you bald?” asked Spreen, unable to help the comment.
Fit let out a few laughs, “As honest as ever, Spreen.” He said with a smile between his lips.
Philza decided to ignore his best friend for a while and say goodbye to his soul mate.
“It was a pleasure, Missa.” The blond said with a smile, then reached inside his coat, pulling out a shiny black business card. “There's my number and my mail, call me as soon as you've had some rest.”
Missa held the card in his hands, it was certainly an expensive card, on the front in a frosted green it said Phil's name, on the back it said his number and mail, just as he had said.
“Will do,” Missa said, an almost shy little smile on his lips. “Thanks Phil, see ya.”
“See ya,” the blond said grabbing his jacket from the couch, “come on Fit, stop flirting with Spreen, we've got stuff to do.”
Fit let out a couple more guffaws and raising his arms in surrender headed for the door, “Okay, okay, see you guys.”
Before leaving, Philza turned to Missa, “Get some rest, okay? I promise to come see you tomorrow at the cafeteria.” He said walking out behind Fit.
Missa stared at the card in his hands, wondering where the fuck he had got into.
𝓟𝓱𝓲𝓵𝔃𝓪 𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓼𝓸𝓷
ᴡᴀᴛꜱᴏɴ & ᴄᴏ.
(…)
“Do you even remember where you saw him?” Philza asked Techno, who was leaning on the kitchen counter.
“No idea.” He mumbled with his head resting on the marble of the counter.
“Not even what your line said?” Phil asked his brother.
Techno lifted his head, his gaze filled with weariness and perhaps some sadness, “Of course I remember, I'm not an imbecile. I was saying, 'Good morning! Just to let you know we don't have latte's'” said Techno a little exasperated, “But I don't remember which coffee shop it was! I always go to the one on campus, but there's also the one on the way to the university!” He exclaimed in exasperation.
Philza patted him on the back a couple of times, “Why don't you ask around there? You always go to the campus cafeteria, and you say you're always served by Missa right?”
Techno nodded, not understanding what his brother was saying or what he was getting at.
“But Missa is my soul mate,” Phil told Techno with a possessive tone that was characteristic of his older brother. “So it can't be him, so it can be the other guy, the one who sings in Spanish.”
“Phillip?”
“That's the one,” said the man.
“But I scare him.” Techno muttered, how could he approach him without scaring him?
Philza started laughing, “But you're such a sweetie pie.”
Techno looked his brother in the eye, almost asking, 'really?' Then he pointed to himself. “I'm not exactly the picture of a 'sweetie pie' Phil.”
The blond laughed, “Well then be nicer, do like you do with scared dogs, go less intimidating.”
“Thanks,” Techno said sarcastically, “very good advice.”
Notes:
HELLO, HELLO, HELLO!!!
Yes I know I said I was going to update next week but again, college is beating me up.
Well, here's the new chapter, I hope you liked it.
XOXOXO,
Your friend, Speaker.
Chapter 3: Espresso
Summary:
Philza's backstory and more lore.
Chapter Text
“Espresso is a concentrated coffee, created by forcing hot water through ground coffee”.
Philza could still remember the sound of a gun firing, the screams of people running around him and the blood running free in the streets. At times, he could still smell the scent of gunpowder and blood. He could even hear his parents' screams for mercy.
That was the last mission his parents did, that was the last time he heard their voices, saw their eyes and smelled his mother's perfume.
“It's okay baby,” Philza could remember his mother's voice, “mum will be fine, just promise me one thing, take care of your little brothers, okay?”
He woke up startled, shaking and sweating. He sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to catch his breath. Nonetheless, he was having this dream a lot lately, it was starting to worry him.
Philza sighed, getting up from his bed, still feeling his hands shaking and sweat rolling down his face. He stood up, thundering on his back, and taking on his dressing gown, decided to walk around to see if his brothers were alright.
The first thing he saw was the light in Techno's room was on, he was surprised to see it, he could have sworn Techno was going to fall asleep as soon as he hit the pillow. Apparently he had been mistaken.
“Techno?” He said, knocking on the door, but the door opened, “Are you still awake?”
He looked for his brother in his bed, waiting for him reading in his bed, but no, Techno was asleep at his desk, a history book and notebook open on the desk and his head resting on his hand, drooling and snoring.
Philza let out a chuckle, “Hey Techno,” he said shaking his brother, “go to bed, your neck is going to hurt tomorrow.”
Techno, almost zombie-like, got up from his desk and plopped down on his bed, his glasses, and shoes still on. Philza rolled his eyes and settled Techno better, turned off the light and left.
He crossed the hallway, and opened the door to Tommy's room, the boy was lying on his bed, the sheets on the floor, he had only one sock on, the other sock Philza assumed was lost in the middle of the sheets.
Philza smiled, put Tommy back to bed, trying not to wake the boy.
“Dad?” the boy mumbled in confusion.
Philza stood still for a moment, his heart leaping in his chest. Although he knew that Tommy and Tubbo were the youngest and that he had done his best, he could never replace his parents.
“No, no Toms,” he said settling his brother on his bed, “it's me, Philza.”
Tommy mumbled something intelligible and fell asleep again. Philza sighed and left Tommy's room and went to Tubbo's, to make sure the boy wasn't choking on his own pillows.
To his relief, Tubbo was buried in his mountain of stuffed animals, but none of them were clogging his airway. He uncovered him a little so he wouldn't wake up so sweaty.
Outside in the dark hallway, Philza stood for a moment leaning against the wall, letting the weight of his responsibilities catch up with him. Caring for his siblings was not just an obligation for him; it was his way of honouring the promise he had made to his mother. But sometimes, at times like this, he felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of what it meant to be everything to them.
Sometimes Philza needed advice. And he knew where to go. His father before he died left him the number of his right-hand man, the man was a bit eccentric, but at this point the blond was desperate.
(…)
When Philza thought of his father's right-hand man, he had a clear image of the tall, cinnamon-skinned man with cold green eyes and brown hair combed back. From the meetings his father had had with the man in his presence, he was always serious and neatly tidy.
But when he arrived at the blue house he was not greeted by the serious man he had met years ago, but a tired looking man with a child in his arms, a rag hanging from his shoulders and his clothes stained with something.
“Can Ah help ye wi' somethin’, lad?” the man asked, looking him up and down, almost judging him.
“Speaker?” he asked in confusion.
For a moment, Philza could see the man his memory recalled, the green eyes hardened, and his body tensed.
“Who’s askin’?” Said the man, looking suspiciously.
Philza was a little surprised, many of his father's friends said they looked just like him, but the man looked like he couldn't recognise his own mother if he had her in front of him.
“Philza, sir, Philza Watson.” Said the young man, a little nervously.
The man seemed to realise who he was talking to. “Philza, mah boy” Said the man with a smile, “come on in, come on in, sorry fer the mess, we wurnae expectin’ visitors”
Philza pondered the 'we weren't expecting', he couldn't believe that the man he considered the toughest man in the galaxy was married, let alone that the child in his arms was his.
“Love!” the man shouted, “Could ye come get Ixki?”
The child in the man's arms looked up at the sound of his name, so apparently his father's right-hand man had married.
“I'm trying to get the gum out of your daughter's hair!” a woman shouted from somewhere inside the house.
“Why is it that whenever they dae somethin’ bad, they’re mah kids, but when they dae somethin’ good, they’re yer kids?” the man shouted back, motioning for Phil to sit on the couch.
“Because I'm smart, you're dumb!” the voice replied.
Philza tried to hold in his laughter, almost failing as he saw the defeated look on the man's face, who released his son to go play on his own.
“What can A do fer ye, lad?” the man said with an exhausted smile.
Philza, for a moment, felt like sitting in his father's office, with some stupid teenage problem waiting for advice from his father.
“I need help,” he expressed defeatedly, “my father was always coming to you for answers, so I thought I'd do the same.”
Speaker smiled, “Well, wee Watson, Ah'm all ears.”
“You know the Spanish mafia?” He asked, after receiving a nod from the man, he continued, “I've been doing some research, and one of their men was the one who killed my parents, but they're too big a threat to seek revenge, and it really has me nervous.” He let out a shaky sigh and spoke, “I'm afraid they're coming to finish the job.”
Speaker looked at him almost sadly, perhaps fatherhood had softened him, or perhaps the man had always had a soft side.
“The Spanish mafia, eh?” He said almost as if he was remembering something funny, “Ah don’t think Ah’m the person who can help ye wi’ that, lad, but Ah know someone who can.”
Just then a woman walked in, her hair was a reddish brown, her eyes a deep blue and her skin pale, she had a little girl by the shoulder, the younger girl had reddish hair and green eyes just like Speaker.
“Daddy, mummy wants to cut my hair.” Said the little girl, running into her father's arms.
“Well,” said the man sitting his daughter on his knee, “you stuck your gum on it, Tsuki.”
As the man and the girl were having their discussion, the woman's gaze shifted to Philza.
“So you want to know about the Spanish mafia?” She asked, still sitting next to her husband.
Philza nodded, “That's right, Mrs…?”
“Ally, Ally Carrera.” The woman replied. “Tristan, why don't you take the children into the kitchen? The snack is on the table.”
“Aeyi, Aeyi, love,” the man said giving her a kiss on the cheek, “come on children, snack time.”
The man pushed them out of the room, all Philza could hear was, “Crow! Let go of Cheto, I know his name is Cheto, but he's a cat, not a cheto.”
The woman let out a giggle and then turned her gaze to him, her blue eyes sending a shiver down his spine.
“What makes you think it was the Spanish mafia?” She said, almost annoyed. “You can't go making those kinds of accusations willy-nilly.”
Philza didn't know what to say to her, the woman in front of him, she looked like she had the ability to kill him without even trying.
“The lobo nocturno, ma'am.”
“El lobo nocturno?” The woman let out a sarcastic laugh, “he's a vigilante, he's not part of the mafia, cabro weón.”
“But… I thought he was part of the mafia.” Philza said in surprise.
“The mafia is a family,” said Ally, unimpressed, “el lobo nocturno has no family.”
Notes:
HELLO, HELLO, HELLO!!!
If I had a nickel for every time I inserted myself into a story, I'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'll see you in the next one, because it's going to get more angsty the further we go.
XOXOXO,
Your Friend Speaker.
PD: I have a slightly Scottish accent and I thought that it's funny to write.
Chapter 4: Ristretto
Chapter Text
‘A more concentrated and stronger espresso, as it uses less water during extraction.’
Techno had made up his mind to talk to Phillip, simply to find out if they really were soul mates. The thought had plagued him ever since Philza had mentioned it, and the more he thought about it, the more necessary it became for him to solve that conundrum.
So he put on one of his pink sweatshirts, trying not to look so intimidating, plus Phillip usually wore a Kirby beanie, maybe he could get to the Chilean's heart that way. He also put on a long coat, because he didn't want to freeze in the cold of the Quesadilla Island winter.
Armed with a pink sweatshirt and his history book, he made up his mind to go to the cafeteria.
“Are you going out without breakfast?” asked Philza in the kitchen, ’I made banana pancakes.’
Techno turned his gaze to the kitchen, his brothers were eating quietly at the kitchen table.
“I'm going to have breakfast in the café…” said Techno, a little sorry to turn down the offer.
“He's ditching us for a man,” Tommy said, downing his orange juice in one gulp.
“Like a common whore.” Tubbo said judging him, though joking.
Techno rolled his eyes, “Do you need anything from the shop for when I get back?” He said stealing Tubbo's glass of milk.
“Bread and jam.” Philza said, sitting down with a large cup of coffee at the table.
“Jam and bread,” Techno muttered to himself, grabbing his backpack and his keys from the entrance, “See you in the afternoon.”
(…)
Techno stepped out of the house, the cold morning air hitting his face. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “It's just coffee,” he told himself. “It's not a high-risk mission.”
But somehow, facing Phillip felt scarier than any job he had ever done before.
When he reached the café, he stopped in front of the door, peering through the glass. Phillip was there, wiping down the counter with quick, efficient movements. Techno admired the grace with which the Chilean moved for a moment, before shaking his head to focus.
“Here we go,” he muttered, pushing open the door.
The bell rang, announcing his entrance. Phillip looked up and, for a second, Techno saw panic cross his face before the Batista managed to compose himself.
“G-good morning,” Phillip stammered, his hand squeezing the wiping cloth as if it were a lifeline. “What can I get you today?”
Techno approached the counter, trying to look as inoffensive as possible. “Good morning,” he said, making an effort to smile in a friendly manner. “I'd like a coffee, please. A… What's it called? A ristretto?”
Phillip blinked, surprised. “You know the ristretto?”
“Yeah, well,” Techno shrugged, “I like to study… things. Like coffee. And history. Not dangerous stuff or anything like that.”
“Sure,” Phillip said, still eyeing him suspiciously as he turned to make the coffee. “Anything else?”
“A muffin would be nice,” Techno said, then, in an attempt to make conversation, added, “I like your hat, by the way. Kirby is… cute.”
Phillip froze for a moment, then slowly turned around. “Do you… like Kirby?”
“Oh, yeah,” Techno said, relieved to have found a topic of conversation. “He's a formidable warrior. His ability to absorb the abilities of his enemies is tactically brilliant. In a real combat situation, he would be an invaluable asset.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Phillip stared at it with wide eyes, his hand trembling slightly as he held the coffee cup.
“It's… it's a child's game,” Phillip finally said.
“Oh. Sure. Of course,” Techno nodded vigorously. “I meant in a purely theoretical, non-violent context. Like a… Philosophical debate?”
Phillip handed him the coffee and muffin without another word, his eyes never leaving Techno's.
“Thank you,” Techno said, taking his order. “It's been a very… enlightening conversation.”
As he made his way to a table, Techno couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was going to be harder than he had anticipated.
Phillip stared at Techno, wondering how to talk to the pink-haired boy, until Carre approached him.
“He's kind of a weirdo, isn't he?” He asked in a whisper, “I can't imagine having him as a soul mate.”
“He's my soul mate.”
Carre gapes, looking at Phillip as if he's grown a second head. “What? Really? But… but…”
“I know,” Phillip sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “It's crazy, isn't it?”
“Well,” Carre said, trying to be diplomatic, “at least he's cute. And he seems to like coffee.”
Phillip glanced at Techno, who was sitting alone at a table, apparently very focused on his history book. Occasionally, the pink-haired boy would look up, his eyes briefly meeting Phillip's before quickly returning to his book.
“I mean… He's still cool…” Phillip said, looking at Techno sideways, “but what if he kills me, dude? And not in the hot way, like, kill me, kill me, kill me.”
Carre looked at Techno, and if it wasn't for the reputation the guy carried with him, he could have sworn he was a supermodel. Carre looked at Phillip with a mixture of awe and amusement, “Look, Phillip, I don't know if he's going to kill you, but if he does, at least he's hot.”
“I love your priorities, fucker.” Phillip said, rolling his eyes.
The Argentinian patted him on the back a couple of times, “Always a pleasure to help poor souls in misfortune.” He said and then went to attend to Rivers who was looking at them with a smirk between her lips.
Phillip continued wiping the counter for what seemed like the ninth time today. But he wasn't concentrating on what he was doing, all he was thinking about was that if Techno really was connected to the mob, his student visa was going to go down the drain, and he was going to be deported for being connected to the mob.
So focused was he on his wave of negative thoughts that he didn't notice Techno talking to him.
“Excuse me,” Techno said, in a surprisingly soft voice. “Can I have another ristretto?”
Phillip nodded, taking the cup, trying not to let his hands shake. “Sure, yeah, coffee.”
As he brewed the coffee, Phillip noticed that Techno didn't move away from the counter. He stood there, seemingly fascinated by the coffee beans on display.
“So…” began Techno, clearly uncomfortable. “Do you… like working here?”
Phillip nearly spilled his coffee in surprise. Was Techno trying to start a casual conversation?
“Uh… yeah, okay,” Phillip replied, casting nervous glances around, looking for an escape route in case this was the start of some kind of interrogation. “It pays the bills, you know?”
Techno nodded seriously. “The bills are important. I work, too. In… stuff.”
“Stuff?” asked Phillip, his voice a little higher pitched than usual.
“Yes, stuff. Legal. Very legal.” Techno coughed uncomfortably. “Like… Consulting?”
They both laughed uncomfortably, Techno took a sip of his coffee and Phillip wiped the rag for the tenth time across the counter.
“I…” they both said at the same time, then laughed.
“I should get back to work.” Phillip said, a little less nervous.
“Yeah, I…” Techno tried to tell him the question he wanted to ask, “I should get back to my book too.”
Phillip went back to wiping the counter, this time with more vigor than necessary, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. ‘I'm such a dick,’ he thought, ‘I didn't even think to say anything to him, I could have got more conversation out of him and told him he was my soul mate.’
Meanwhile, Techno returned to his table, sinking into his chair and hiding his face behind his history book. ‘Great, Techno,’ he mentally chided himself, ‘really impressive. ‘I should get back to my book, too.’ Is that the best you could come up with? You couldn't even ask him about the soulmate phrase’
The two of them would sneak glances at each other from time to time, each catching the other in the act and quickly averting their gaze, their cheeks flushing.
Phillip was still wiping the same area of the counter, lost in thought. ‘I have to learn to talk to people like a normal person, other people now think I'm afraid of him’ he thought to himself, ‘Still, I am afraid of him… but he's supposed to be my soul mate, so he can't be that bad of a person… Or can he?’
Techno, for his part, had been reading the same page for the last 20 minutes, without processing a single word. ‘I should have said something else to him, something to not sound so creepy, I'm sure now he thinks all the rumours about me are true… yes they are, but it doesn't mean I'm a bad person.’
The rest of the morning passed similarly, with both of them stealing glances and missing opportunities to talk, each feeling dumber than before.
When it was finally time for Techno to leave, he approached the counter to pay, his hands sweating as he reached for his wallet.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
“You're welcome,” Phillip replied, his voice barely a whisper. “Have a good day, come back soon.”
“Thanks, you too, I mean not that you'll be back soon at the café, have a good day, of course you have to come back, but… I'd better shut up.” Techno said, and for a moment it looked like he was going to say something else. But then he shut his mouth, nodded awkwardly and headed for the door.
Phillip watched him go, berating himself for not saying more. Techno, for his part, walked out of the cafeteria, mentally beating himself up for his lack of eloquence.
Both were left with the feeling of having missed an opportunity, but also with a spark of hope. After all, there would always be tomorrow, another cup of coffee, another chance to finally say what they really wanted to say.
Notes:
HELLO, HELLO, HELL0!!!
Sorry for disappearing, college is driving me to a slow and painful death. C':
Well this chapter isn't so much Death Duo, but these two deserve a little bit of story before I disappear and I couldn't get them out of my head.
BTW, the name I came up with for them is ‘Chanco en piedra’ it's a Chilean dish (Phillip) and Chancho is Chilean for pig (Techno) well that's it, I don't know when we'll see each other again.
XOXOXO,
Your Friend, Speaker.
P.D: please leave comments, I need them to survive my exam weeks
Chapter 5: Machiato
Chapter Text
"An espresso with a touch of milk foam."
Missa was desperate, frantically cleaning the flat. His father was supposed to come stay with them for a couple of days due to a pending business trip, but this had Missa on edge. To him, his father was practically a stranger—the man who gave him just enough money to survive but not enough for clothes or small luxuries. So saying he was nervous wasn’t an exaggeration.
He was so focused on cleaning that he barely heard the doorbell, and when he did, it startled him.
“Coming!” he called out, rushing to open the door and tossing the yellow cleaning rag into the sink in a last-ditch effort to hide the mess.
“Misael,” his father said with a soft smile—rare, very rare. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
“Likewise,” Missa murmured, stepping aside to let his father in. “Do you want something to drink?”
Vegetta entered the flat, his eyes discreetly scanning every corner—a habit he’d never been able to shake. He noticed the poorly hidden yellow rag in the sink, Spreen’s sneakers tossed by the sofa, and Luis Miguel’s collar glinting under the table. An almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
“Coffee would be nice,” he replied, loosening his tie slightly. “Do you still have that Colombian coffee I sent you?”
Missa blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected his father to remember what kind of coffee he’d sent, much less mention it. “Yeah, I save it for special occasions.”
As Missa prepared the coffee, Vegetta approached the fridge, where several photos were held up by magnets. He paused at one where a younger Missa and Spreen grinned at the camera, their faces smeared with ice cream.
“Your mother always said you inherited her talent for making a mess while eating ice cream,” he remarked softly.
The sound of a cup shattering on the floor startled them both. Missa had never heard his father speak about his mother.
“Sorry,” he stammered, bending down to pick up the pieces. “I—”
“Let me help you,” Vegetta knelt beside his son, and for a moment, Missa noticed a scar on his father’s neck that he’d never seen before, partially hidden by his shirt collar.
As they silently gathered the fragments, Missa’s phone buzzed with a message.
Phil: Hey mate! I’m near your place. Can I drop by? Got a surprise for ya.
Vegetta noticed how his son’s face lit up reading the message—but also how quickly worry clouded his features.
“Everything alright?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. He’d thoroughly investigated Philza Watson from the moment he discovered he was his son’s soulmate. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him.
“Yeah, it’s just…” Missa hesitated, biting his lip. “A friend wants to come over.”
“A friend?” Vegetta kept his voice neutral, though his hand unconsciously moved toward where he usually kept his knife. “Or your soulmate?”
Missa’s head snapped up so fast he nearly hit the edge of the table. “How…?”
“I’m your father, Misael,” he replied simply, as if that explained everything. He stood, brushing off his pants. “Tell him to come. I’d like to meet him.”
The way he said it sent a chill down Missa’s spine. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order, wrapped in a casual tone.
As Missa typed a shaky reply to Phil, Vegetta gazed out the window, his face a mask of calm hiding the storm within. The son of the man DreamXD had killed was about to walk through that door, believing *he* was the one who murdered his parents.
Life had a twisted sense of humour.
Philza nervously clutched the small purple-wrapped package as he climbed the stairs to Missa’s flat. His soulmate’s message had been strange— “You can come, but… my dad’s here.” It was the first time Missa had ever mentioned his father, and something about the tone had unsettled him.
He paused at the door, adjusting his signature striped hat. For a moment, he considered coming back another day, but the thought of disappointing Missa outweighed his unease.
He rang the bell.
The door opened, revealing Missa, who looked even more nervous than usual. Behind him, sitting on the couch with a coffee cup, was a stern-looking man. Something about his posture felt vaguely familiar to Philza—like a half-remembered dream.
“Phil,” Missa smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Come in. This is my father, Vegetta De Luque.”
The man stood with a fluid motion that set off Philza’s instincts. There was something about the way he moved…
“Philza Watson,” Vegetta said, extending his hand. His voice was deep and controlled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Philza shook his hand, noting the calluses and small scars. Hands used to hard work—or maybe fighting. The thought slipped into his mind unbidden.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Philza replied, keeping his voice steady. “I hope it was all good things.”
A faint smile crossed Vegetta’s face. “My son seems quite… taken with you.”
There was something in the way he said it that sent a chill down Philza’s spine. Not quite a threat, but his words carried weight.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” Missa asked, pointing at the package in Philza’s hands, clearly trying to ease the tension.
“Oh, it’s…” Philza cleared his throat. “A gift. For you.”
As Missa unwrapped it, revealing a sleek manual espresso machine, Philza noticed Vegetta watching his every move. His piercing purple eyes seemed to assess him, judge him.
“Thought you could use it at home,” Philza explained, feeling like he was being silently interrogated. “Since you always miss the café’s coffee when you’re here.”
“It’s perfect,” Missa smiled, and this time, it reached his eyes.
“A very thoughtful gift,” Vegetta remarked, and for a second, Philza swore he saw something like pain flicker across his face. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Philza?”
The invitation caught him off guard. “I… would be honoured, sir.”
“Excellent,” Vegetta stood. “Misael, why don’t you break in your new coffee machine? I’d like a word with Philza.”
Missa looked like he wanted to protest, but a glance from his father silenced him. As his soulmate headed to the kitchen, Philza found himself alone with the man he unknowingly believed was responsible for his parents’ deaths.
Vegetta studied him, and for a moment, Philza felt like he was being watched by something far older and more dangerous than a mere businessman. But the sensation passed as quickly as it came.
“So, Philza,” Vegetta began, his voice soft but firm. “Tell me about your family.”
Missa tried to make coffee with trembling hands, cursing internally as he nearly spilled boiling water for the third time. Phil’s new machine was beautiful, but his nerves wouldn’t let him appreciate it properly.
Dude, I swear if you don’t get here in 10 minutes, I’m gonna die.
He quickly texted Spreen, leaning subtly toward the living room to eavesdrop.
“…about your family.” His father’s voice was clear, using *that* tone—the one he used when interrogating, not conversing.
His phone buzzed.
Bad abortion attempt
Bad timing, Fit’s here.
Missa groaned. Of course his brother was wrapped up in his own drama right now.
IDGAF if the president himself is there, Dad’s grilling Phil and I have a bad feeling.
As he waited for a reply, he edged closer to the kitchen door, pretending to search the cabinets.
“Family businesses can be complicated,” his father was saying, and Missa could practically see that calculating smile. “Especially when there’s… loss involved.”
The espresso machine beeped, startling him so badly he nearly dropped his phone.
Bad abortion attempt
Wait, isn’t your soulmate’s dad the one they say Dad…? On my way.
HURRY UP
Missa typed frantically as he poured coffee into cups, trying to remember how his father took it—black, no sugar, with that bitter edge that always seemed fitting.
“Your father was telling me about his work,” Phil’s voice came from the living room, tense but controlled. “Seems… fascinating.”
Missa almost dropped the cup. What were they *really* talking about? How much had his father said? How much did Phil know?
Bad abortion attempt
15 mins. Hang in there. Don’t let Dad grab the kitchen knives.
Missa glanced nervously at the knife drawer. His father wouldn’t… would he?
“Need help with that coffee, son?”
His father’s voice, now right behind him, nearly gave him a heart attack.
“Dad!” he squeaked, spinning around so fast some coffee spilled. “No—I—it’s almost ready—”
Vegetta looked at the coffee cups, then at his son, and a small smile appeared. “Relax, Misael. We’re just talking.”
Something in his tone suggested ‘just talking’ could mean many things.
“Phil is a very… interesting young man,” his father added, taking two cups. “Very interesting.”
As his father returned to the living room, Missa pulled out his phone one last time.
SPREEN I SWEAR IF YOU DON’T GET HERE SOON I’M GONNA DIE OF A HEART ATTACK
He pocketed his phone, took a deep breath, and picked up the last cup. It was time to face whatever was happening in his living room.
He just hoped his brother arrived before things got ugly.
The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife—though Missa desperately hoped no one would try. Just as Vegetta was about to ask another thinly veiled threatening question, the door burst open.
“HEY DAD!”
Spreen’s voice boomed through the flat like a ray of sunshine breaking through storm clouds. He swept in like a whirlwind, his chaotic energy instantly lighting up the room.
“Spreen!” Vegetta stood immediately, his entire demeanour shifting. The intimidating businessman vanished, replaced by a genuine smile reserved only for his youngest son.
“Missed you, old man!” Spreen threw himself into his father’s arms like he was still five years old, completely ignoring the tension he’d just shattered. “Did you see Missa’s got a new boyfriend? Dude’s real handsome!”
Missa nearly choked on his coffee. Philza, meanwhile, looked torn between relief and terror at being so casually outed.
“We were… getting acquainted,” Vegetta replied, patting Spreen’s back.
“Oh no, Dad, don’t tell me you were doing the ‘overprotective dad’ routine!” Spreen rolled his eyes dramatically. “Philza’s good people. He even bought Missa a coffee machine! And he doesn’t even know we’re broke.”
“Spreen!” Missa hissed, mortified.
“What? It’s true! Well, technically we’re not broke ‘cause you’re loaded, Dad, but you make us work anyway ‘cause ‘it builds character’ or whatever…”
Vegetta chuckled softly—the kind of laugh Missa rarely heard. “Shouldn’t you be studying?”
“It’s Friday, Dad! Besides…” Spreen plopped onto the couch between Philza and his father, creating a physical barrier. “I had to see you. You staying for dinner? We could order pizza! I mean, since you’re here and all…”
“Spreen, I was in the middle of an important conversation with—”
“C’mon, Dad! *Pizza!*” Spreen was already pulling out his phone. “You still like pepperoni? Missa, Phil, what do you guys want? My treat! Well, technically *Dad’s* treat since it’s his card, but the sentiment’s mine.”
Missa watched in awe as his father surrendered to Spreen’s whirlwind energy. The tension in his shoulders had eased, and though he still eyed Philza, the look no longer promised imminent death.
“Fine,” Vegetta finally relented. “Pizza it is.”
“Yes!” Spreen started typing, then paused to grin at Philza. “Hey Phil, you’re staying, right? I gotta tell Dad about that time you saved Missa from burning down the café.”
“I didn’t—” Missa started, but Philza cut in.
“I’d love to stay,” he said, smiling genuinely for the first time since arriving. “If Mr. De Luque doesn’t mind.”
“Of course he doesn’t mind,” Spreen answered before his father could speak. “Right, Dad?”
Vegetta looked at his youngest son, who beamed back with a silent message in his eyes: Behave, old man.
“Of course not,” he conceded. “It’ll be… interesting to get to know your brother’s soulmate better.”
Missa exhaled in relief as Spreen launched into pizza orders and embarrassing stories. He shot his brother a grateful look.
Spreen winked back. After all, that’s what little brothers were for.
Notes:
*blows away the dust that has accumulated*
HELLO, HELLO, HELLO!
I didn't die, it's just that adult life isn't like in the movies, unfortunately. :c
Well, I hope you like this chapter, now I'm going to disappear again.
XOXOXO,
Your friend, Speaker.
ElliandXanny on Chapter 1 Wed 07 Aug 2024 10:59PM UTC
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Nelijeb on Chapter 1 Mon 17 Mar 2025 06:37PM UTC
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By_Speaker on Chapter 1 Thu 19 Jun 2025 01:46PM UTC
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Jan_just_me on Chapter 5 Wed 18 Jun 2025 08:11AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 18 Jun 2025 08:12AM UTC
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