He knows he's weak, but just like a moth seeks the light, the weak seek the strong; he can't help it. His very /being/ calls out to this man, even if he's scared.
He's scared, but strangely enough, he can't stop himself from seeking the light he is sure that will one day burn him.
Tesla doesn't know when he's first decided to be stupid. Was it when he first saw those two fight? Was it when Santa Teresa for the first time almost – almost – killed him, landing right next to his head? Or was it ways earlier, when he had first laid his brown eyes on that so very strange man?
It's strange indeed because he can't recall, all he knows is that it has become so very natural to him to follow the Espada's very step, being his shadow, that neither of them mind it anymore. It almost feels like he had been created for this very purpose, and seemingly, Nnoitora has come to accept it as well.
Certainly, it's not always been like that and if someone had bothered to ask Tesla how many insults he had heard, how often he had been threatened, he probably could give no answer to this either. He doesn't mind though. That's what his master is like, and he knew from the very beginning.
His master is moody – and Tesla knows. He's used to it though, to the fact that there is no such thing as certainty with him. He's used to the fact that they don't have a daily routine and actually, Tesla finds himself thinking, he doesn't mind it the least bit. It's exciting, just like the one he serves. Scary, too. Just like him.
He's scared of him. Of his outbursts of anger. Of the fact that his moodiness could kill him every day.
When they skip through the halls, they never walk on par with each other. "Don't wanna have those sons of bitches thinkin' we're some kinda twisted equal. Don't get too close, yer hear me, Tesla?" he says, and his Fracción understands. It's not like he's not used to walk in the shadow of his only light.
It's funny though, he finds, that when they're in private, his master doesn't mind them being close like that.
To be with Nnoitra, if anyone asks Tesla, isn't always the most pleasant thing. The Arrancar can't even bring himself to care about the insults anymore – oh he doesn't even want to remember the names he had been called, especially those before becoming Nnoitra's Fracción – and if there is one thing he is glad about, then it is at least the fact that the physical assaults have gone down a considerable amount.
He realizes, too, that his master had become softer, more lenient with him at night. When he wakes up in the morning, by now his body isn't fully covered with bruises anymore. He's glad.
Really, sometimes Tesla can't stress enough how moody his master is. The one moment he's casually talking to him, the next moment – as in, the moment someone else appears – the next few insults roll his way. Tesla can't help but sigh, trying to keep his composure. He knows, it's all because his master needs to show to others who's the strongest.
In the end, when they're together, all alone again – moving against each other, panting, sweaty, long and bony fingers caressing his skin, thin lips kissing his own, rough movements driving them mad – the only curses that leave his master's mouth aren't the ones meant to insult him.
When he lies on the ground, shredding a single tear for his fallen master, he realizes he never had a reason to be scared of his master.
Unspoken promises, gentle touches, silent kisses and unknown feelings; when it's too late, Tesla realizes it has always been his destiny to be with his master, and he has always been what Nnoitra had needed.
Nothing in this world could make him happier than the fact that he gets to die with him.