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After giving up his wish at Grimm’s party, Chip surrendered himself to the nightmares once again. The idea of sleeping came just a bit easier knowing that his co-captains were near him, physically within grasp. And so jay and gill would sleep by him in rotation, night by night, bringing our rogue to the present where a wet body is rested peacefully besides his own.
The triton fell asleep fast
Toss and turn as he might, Chip just couldn’t find it in him to face the black void of unconsciousness. The shadows sneer like black sludge staining his lungs.His paranoia is hitting harder than ever, every minor noise or trick of the light sets him into a barely concealed panic, a faint tremble that has only lessen with practice. The shadows whip with every rock of the boat, like inky tendrils in his blurry vision.
Deep breaths Chip, deep breaths...
His wake is a bold lie to the sleeping figure next to him, good old Gillion that gleefully snoozed off within 5 minutes of Chip faking it. Stupid naive fish man and his stupid stupid limbs-
The aforementioned appendages tangled with his, a fishing net tied up in knots. They draped over Chip like a weighted blanket, a hefty puddle of scaly limbs chaning him to the bed. No escape in sight, not that he had any intention to. Chip lets himself melt in Gillion’s hold, arms laid uselessly at his side. His back was against the wooden planks, Gill insisted that he took the edge of the cot, exclaiming how he will “protect you Chip” and how “it is my destiny to fall off our bed!”. He leaned back just a bit, taking in his co-captain’s visage. Lunadaea’s light blessed the paladin wherever he went, silvery rays leaking through the yellowed window of the captains quarters cant seem to help but caress their champion’s face in reverence, mind not the shadow it casts upon Chip. Gill looked peaceful during rest, a low purring sound reverberating in his chest once in a while as his fins twitched.
…Cute
Fuck.
Seeing the almighty Gillion Tidestrider—champion of the underseas, hero of the deep (it echoed in his mind with haunting clarity)—so relaxed, so uncharacteristically soft… It made Chip’s heart ache in ways he’d rather not understand. He wanted to give Gillion that reprieve. For however wild a soul Gillion was, Chip wanted to be his footing, his peace. The triton was beautiful in combat—lighting speckled hair, wild divinity in his eyes—Chip will admit, he's caught himself staring a lot mid-fight. How could he not when Gill’s hair frame his chiseled jawline with such delicate regality, how his eyes danced with starry golden flecks. Breathtaking is he amidst blood and gore, a striking beauty, the type you’ll find at the mercy of a blade. Chip would know first hand.
Selfishly, Chip wanted to be his anchor and his bed. He wanted to own the still waters in those storm-filled eyes. He wanted to be the early sun on gills’ scars, so as the dying light colouring his cheeks, perpetually kissing his stupid, handsome face.
He should stop indulging himself in such thoughts.
When the morning comes everything will go back to normal. Gillion will be Gillion, the champion and the best there can be, and Chip will still be foolish little Chip, forever clinging on to feelings that won’t be, breaking pieces of his heart into sealed bottles, setting them off to sea with no expectation of return. He will kill this moment dead when he is strong enough.
But for now, Chip lets himself be. His quickly-numbing arm trails up the triton’s back, from the base of his tail, along his finned spine. His hands sneaks onto Gill’s broad shoulders, tracing the faint glow of his arm markings in a dazed trance. Lichtenberg figures wraps those strong biceps like tattoos, Chip pictures how they would line the muscles on Gill’s back, intricate designs etched into skin by mother nature herself. His face gets a bit hotter. The domesticity almost scared him, he wished it did. He could imagine himself doing this forevermore: hands tangled in seaweed locks while he commits every expanse of teal skin to memory. He would etch his portrait into the stars, a guiding constellation beautiful and bright. Somewhere in his heart, he’d like to reserve a darkened corner of the galaxy, engrave the silent story of them two, a far off cluster only known to lovers of astronomy. But he doesn't have forever, only tonight. He will have to simply make do (much far from simple), he’s always been good at rush jobs anyways. Just one night, several hours left to play make believe, when the shadows become leeway for fantasies.
Steadily, pain bubbles up his throat, as if a fishbone (hah fish) has made itself a home in his windpipe. Blinking back a familiar wetness, the brunet buries his face in Gillion’s chest, cheeks nuzzling the cool temperature of his friend’s body. Chip decides doesn't want to let go, ever. Carefully, he hikes a leg over Gillion’s, pressing his body close. He needed this. The skin to skin sent shivers crackling up his spine, cold jolts wrack through his being, oddly warm. He can feel lighting in his veins as thunder roared in his head, raging tides splashes about in his chest.
He's not dreaming. It's not a dream. This is not a dream. He’s positively awake, he’s aware, but it feels all too much like a dream. It’s a complete antithesis of Kuba Kenta’s curse, a sober dream so pleasant it would kill you to wake up from. The ticking time warns of the end nearing. Still he persists. His fingers dig just a bit harder into Gill’s shirt; a reverie unbroken
The early sun peeks behind the horizon, and in the few minutes left of his private bliss, Chip lets his eyes close. He thinks about waking up to his own image reflected in cerulean eyes, a him tinted with glassy hope. Eyebrows furrowed, he wordlessly begs that maybe, even someone like him can fit in his the champion’s grand epic. He makes a place for himself in between strong arms, curled up like he could burrow beneath his “friend’s” ribs and feel every heartbeat, to drink upon the triton’s essence, the very elixir keeping him alive. Those heartbeats fade out into the sound of waves crashing against shore, as the edges of Chip’s consciousness soon fray.
Oceanic hums lull a lonely boy to sleep as he lets himself drown in five feet and an inch (or nine) worth of home.