Chapter Text
Humid fall, your midnight call
Sweet pool of sweat on skin
“...Hummer?”
Wifies opened his eyes, blinking against the sharp sting of saltwater. The kelp towered overhead, talldark and looming, leaves swaying gently in the current of the ocean. The sand, coarse under his feet, the cold seeping through his clothes, into his bones.
And, Hummer.
The man stood before him, head down, neon-streaked hair shifting with the light pull of the water. Wifies reached for him, hands heavy as lead. He stepped forward, once, twice, pushing against the tide, just to reach his friend, just to touch him.
“Hummer,” he repeated, the words thick, bubbles momentarily clouding his vision. He reached again, fingers straining until they ghosted against the coarse fabric of Hummer’s dress shirt, and he curled his grip into it, pulling the man toward him.
Wifies blinked hard, clearing his blurry vision of the sea-water, just enough to see the other man lift his head, locking his gaze onto Wifies’. He tipped his head to the side ever so slightly, his eyes glowing with something akin to the rainbow of an oil spill, and he lifted a hand to clutch at Wifies’ shoulder. As his grip tightened, the grim look faded from his face, and a smile grew, his cheeks red from the cold, lips tinted blue. And he laughed - what a beautiful sound, Wifies thought hazily - and shook his head slightly, dropping that iridescent gaze lower, as his other hand came to clutch at Wifies’ arm.
“You believed in me,” Hummer said softly, voice hoarse, and Wifies laughed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the other’s, heart light and relief sweet on his tongue.
“Of course I did,” he breathed. “Of course I did.”
Hummer laughed again, quieter this time, but he didn’t lift his gaze again, instead leaving it resting on Wifies’ mouth. The man wasn’t oblivious, and in the euphoria of survival, he lifted his hand to brush over Hummer’s cheek, his cerulean-tinted bottom lip, and his stomach tightened with something like joy at the sound of the other man catching his breath.
“I’ll always believe in you,” Wifies whispered, and Hummer finally raised his eyes to meet his gaze, a juvenile grin turning his cheeks redder than before. He drew in one short breath before leaning forward, tilting his head up, and Wifies blinked, once, twice, before tightening his grip on Hummer’s chin and pulling him in. The space between was closed save for a hairsbreadth, Wifies could feel the warmth of Hummer’s lips on his, the flush of his skin under his fingers, his breath so close like oxygen going straight to his lungs. And he could almost taste it, the blue tint on those cracked lips, he could almost fall into the high of the closeness, the intimacy. The kiss.
Almost is a strong word, though.
When Wifies woke up, it was alone. And it was cold.
But it’s not real, just an hour of relief
Til my eyes adjust to the lighting
The life of a sailor was never one Wifies was cut out for.
There was something about the combination of bitter-cold morning air and the constant ocean spray that left him in a perpetual state of moodiness. Everything was damp, everything was cold, and everything made a squelching sound. And he was sick of eating fish.
He’d returned to Hummer’s world, taking over the ship they had once shared and tending to the parts that needed repairing. He took his time getting it ready for travel, days turning into weeks spent in stoic solitude, working away at the small craft. A part of him had hoped, as he worked, that at some point Hummer would show up. That part of him pushed him to slow his progress, to intentionally make repairs take longer than they should’ve, but at the end of two months he stood on a fully functional ship, more than ready to go. It had everything, all the bells and whistles, even a new insignia painted on the sail.
It had everything, but it had nothing, because it didn’t have Hummer.
Wifies sat on the steps to the quarterdeck, blood seeping in and staining the knees of his trousers as he gutted a fresh salmon. His hands shook, partly from the cold he was sure, but more likely since he hadn’t eaten since the morning before. The thick blood sinking into the creases of his hands was a momentary warmth, although it was less than comforting, he still could appreciate the temporary respite. He turned the fish over in his hands, reaching the knife to cut around the neck of it.
It must have been something in the evening sun, or a bad reflection off the open water, or maybe he’d finally begun to lose his mind after months of isolation. But for a moment the scales on the salmon caught the light in such a way that they seemed to glow with a deep, luminous blueish color. Not quite blue, though, it was more of an-
The knife stilled in Wifies’ hand.
“What’s your favorite color then?”
A laugh. “It’s a little late for small talk, don’t you think?” It was that last ride they’d taken together, speeding across the floor of the deep ocean, seated across each other in the small confines of the submarine.
“Never too late to get to know someone a bit better.” A flash of a blinding smile, oil-spill gaze squinting, that familiar head tilt.
A scoff, a pause. “My favorite color… probably would be yellow, I suppose.”
“What, yellow like the crayons kids draw with?”
“No, moron. Yellow like… yellow like dandelions, or the evening sun.” Or your eyes, he’d wanted to add. How they reflect that hue in that moment of midday light.
A beat of silence. “That’s quite lovely. I didn’t take you for a poetic man.”
“I wouldn’t call myself that. What’s yours?”
“My what now?”
“Your favorite color.”
“Oh.” A long pause, then, “Indigo, I’d say. That deep mix between blue and purple. Not fully either color, just… somewhere in between. Not quite whole. Not quite belonging to either side.”
A tinge of pain in the other’s voice that Wifies didn’t dare to push. The man hummed slightly. “And you called me poetic.”
There was that laugh again. “I try my best.”
“Well,” Wifies pondered, “indigo is still a beautiful color. I see it less as being neither of each side, but instead being just enough of each to create something unique. Something special.”
“You think so?”
Wifies caught Hummer’s gaze across the length of the submarine and smiled. “Yeah, I do. Wouldn’t you agree, ‘Indigo’?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Too late.”
Wifies’ hands shook, eyes glued to where he’d gripped the knife so tightly his finger had slipped against the blade, his dark crimson blood mixing with that of the salmon.
“Shoot,” he muttered, forcing his limbs to move to stand. He took the dripping fish down to the cabin with him, hanging it beside the woodstove before heading to his supply of freshwater to clean and bandage his wound.
As he stood at the sink, he absentmindedly rocked his foot back and forth on the floorboards, listening to the irritable squeak of uneven planks. I should take a look at that, he thought, finishing up his bandage and going to finish gutting and roasting the fish.