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The world felt like it was failing, it’d been failing him for eons and yet something kept pushing him back. The whisper of the winds, the fantasy of the clouds, even the salt in his heart that thrived from the Albatross. All of it was swept away by one thing.
Yearning.
If there was one thing Gillion Tidestrider was, it was Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep, it was ingrained into his psyche by elders that never even showed their faces. He was the Chosen one, he didn’t get to be normal, to be a person, it wasn’t his job like everyone else's. There was some inert primal fear that came with an equally primal envy. His heart ached and pulsed with ice and fire, warming at his heartache and freezing at reality. He couldn’t bear to let the Undersea down.
But is it so wrong to live for once, to beat with the Earth in its song of life? Love and loving is natural, afterall, if there was nothing Gillion knew, he’d still know that love is a blessing, not a curse. He recalls the evenings he could spend with Eden, her thin fingers draping his hair across his back elegantly. She would hum songs of requiem, songs of conquest, and most importantly to Gillion, songs of requited love. No matter how many times the Elders told Gillion to be nothing more than a tool, they could never take away his passion, his will to love and be loved in return.
Chip was nothing to the Gods, where Gillion was beloved and blessed by their splendor, Chip was laid bare and still bypassed by their gaze. Chip was given nothing but conjecture and strife, and Gillion was in love with him. How crass, the Gods beloved intrinsically connected to their forgotten child, and in love with him no less.
Gillion would fight the gods ten times over if it meant Chip was as revered as he. Chip could hang the stars and earn nothing in return, Chip could destroy the moons and planets and still be left to rot. But some part of Gillion thinks that if he’s there for Chip, that he wouldn’t have to be the god's favorite to feel worth it, and in return, maybe Chip would feel seen.
His palms ache, the teal skin rubbed raw from Caspian's sword, he overdid it with the training. His shoulders held stiff with the ache of a warrior, the night mist swirling to hide the ocean in its curtain. The waves shake with laughter, the Albatross swaying gently with it. The stars above flicker with life, winking down on those astute enough to catch. Finally lays the moon, resplendent in its half crescent glory. A cruel reminder of Gillions ineptitude, but that taunts no one but himself.
Green swirls with the wind, half tucked into a small ponytail, loose and messy with movement. Gillion pokes at his palms, nails digging into the skin. He exhales smoothly, the night exhaling with him, this is where he belongs.
Light steps stop behind him.
“You’re still up?”
He turns.
There he fixes his eyes upon none other than Chip. His bandana is nowhere to be seen, unevenly cut hair fluffed into a mocking rendition of a chicken. Freckles flank his cheeks beautifully, they speckle and curve against his skin, akin to the constellations above. A scar traces one of his cheeks, it disturbs a few freckles in its wake and leads Gillion to feel shallow.
He wants nothing more than to grace it with a kiss.
Chip flicks his head to the side
“You alright there, Gill?
“Quite alright Chip, just pondering a bit.”
Chip seems to sigh, his shoulders relaxing to the lack of air, easing into a softer position. The blanket in his grasp is pulled tighter around his shoulders. Gillion finds himself dreaming once more.
A small tender hold, hand in hand, the blanket easing loose and Gillion finding himself in front of Chip’s chapped lips. A singular freckle lays just on the top left of his upper lip and Gillion wants to run his thumb over it. A gentle reminder.
I see you.
Chip idles over to where Gillion sits. His precarious position on the ledge does nothing to deter Chip’s movement to sit next to him. He opts to sit facing inward instead of Gillion’s outward. They shift to bump shoulders, a tiny noticeable thing that makes Gillon want to smite the Gods.
This is my beloved. He means more to me than destiny.
“Chip?”
“Hm?”
Gillion leans back, his palms, still aching, resting on the railing to keep his posture even.
“You…”
Gillion hesitates. Is now the time? How can he do this in good consciousness? The shadows of elders watch from the mist, the air becomes stifling and the gods look down in shame. How could Gillion do this? He doesn’t deserve it, Chip doesn’t deserve to have someone as broken as Gillion. Chip deserves the gods, and yet they do nothing for him.
You are my destiny.
“You mean more to me than you could know.”
Chip gazes at Gill’s hand, it’s so close to his, it’s thinner and longer than chips chunky calloused hands, and yet there's something so familiar to Chip that he just keeps staring.
“Thanks, Gill.”
It’s quiet. The ocean waves create a symphony for no one else by them, the lumination above shining like stage lights below. Gillion gathers his courage. He’s nothing but a coward. This is his destiny, so why can’t he convince himself it is?
“I…Chip, I seem to have, missaid what I spoke earlier.”
Chip raises an eyebrow, a small smile grazes his lips.
“Okay Gill, you don’t have to be so formal with me y’know. Just say what you gotta man.”
This is it. Now is the time.
The gods mean nothing now.
“Chip.”
He holds onto the calloused hand of his beloved, both his spindly hands cradling the palm with such care that it aches with tenderness.
“You are my destiny, and if you would have it, I would be honored to be yours.”
Then comes the silence, the silence that comes with longing and contemplation, it turns in Gillion’s gut, his passion souring into doubt. He made a mistake, the elders look on in shame from their podiums, Eden stops her humming, and even worse, Gillions heart burns with love.
Chip slowly moves his hand, the one not cradled by Gill comes to rest on his jaw, a small gesture that turns Gill into mush. Chip slowly moves it to cup his cheek.
“Gillion Tidestrider, can I kiss you?”
“Of course, Chip no last-name.”
With the affirmation, Chip sweeps forward, his hand grasping onto Gillions while the other turns to tilt with Gill’s face.
The gods favorite and the gods forgotten sit on the railing of a strong boat. The Albatross. They tenderly embrace and tell the gods that they are no longer needed, for in each other, they have found their purpose.