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The gentle scratch of a feathered fountain pen against paper is the only sound to be heard. Loops and lines bleed across the paper in long sentences across the recycled paper of a leatherbound journal, warn and flimsy from use. A bottle of black ink sits just underneath a lantern, which casts the hotel room in a warm soft glow, flickering and dancing shadows up and down the walls. There's an untouched bed just to the side of the occupied desk, a small worn-out bag tossed atop, the contents spilled out over the white blankets.
Chip doesn't think much; He merely lets his hands do the work as he spaces out. He found that writing helped a lot when his thoughts were out of place, far too jumbled to make sense to him at first glance. Stroke after stroke, the chiseled tip of his pen glided over the textured paper, leaving dark streaks that represented everything Chip could never put into words. It felt good, surprisingly. It felt like healing.
He only slows down when the creak of a board echoes from the hallway outside his door, catching his attention enough to cause his flow to falter. It had to be well past midnight, given the quiet nature of the building and the serene emptiness of the town streets below him. Not many people would be checking into a hotel this late. Even so, Chip knew already that the rooms on this floor were full.
Listening closer, Chip placed his pen in its respective holder and slowly stood, readying himself mentally in the case of danger. He could hear the shuffling of feet somewhere close by, creaking that board once again. The sound paused and the hotel was once again plunged into silence, before a new sound took its place. The metal clanking of a doorknob trying to be opened.
Without thinking much, Chip rushed across his room to his door and quickly opened it. He was already forming a confrontation, the words just on the tip of his tongue. But they quickly died off when he met the sight of green skin and frosty glowing eyes.
"Gill?" Chip asked quietly, voice rumbly from disuse. He leaned further out into the hall to inspect what exactly Gillion was attempting to do. One hand was still on the doorknob to the room next to him --the one that Chip knew led to Jay's room. "What are you doing? Your room is on the other side."
Gillion blinked once, his ears pulled flush against his head as he let the doorknob go. He took a step away from Jay's door, simultaneously getting a little closer to Chip's, and looked the brunet in the eyes, "Yes, I know. I…I seem to have gotten locked out of my room. I thought one of you might have a spare."
Chip wanted to ask why Gillion was out of his room in the first place, but decided against it. Gillion looked more tired than usual, the glow of his eyes a bit dimmer, his posture a little more sagged. That conversation could wait until morning, when the triton was well rested.
He let out a small sigh and shook his head, opening the door a little more, "Locks don't work that way, Gill. Not every key here will open every lock."
"Ah…my apologies for waking you then, Chip."
"No, it's fine. Just- Just come in here, okay? You can stay with me for tonight."
There was a look of hesitance that flashed across his face, but was then quickly hidden by a more neutral expression. "Are you sure? I would not want to intrude."
"Yeah, I'm sure. Just get in here before we wake someone else up."
Chip moved away to pull the door open wider as Gillion steps in, eyes wandering around the room despite the interior being near-identical to his own. Chip closed and locked the handle if only to settle his mind, then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants and looked at Gill. The triton was hovering in the space between the bed and the desk, eyeing the journal Chip had left open. If it were anyone but Gill, Chip probably would've rushed over and slammed the damn thing shut, but Chip knew better than anyone else that Gill would be the last person to judge anything he's written so far.
"Go ahead and get comfortable, I'm gonna wash up real quick," Chip said with a wave of his hand. Gill didn't say anything, or at least Chip didn't hear a response, as he walked into the bathroom and gently closed the door.
It took Chip no more than a few minutes to scrub any dirt and grime off of his hands and face, quickly drying himself with one of the washcloths the hotel stocked in every room. When he returned from the bathroom, Gillion was now sitting in the desk chair, head resting in one of his hands, reading one of the pages more closely. Chip could only roll his eyes as he crossed the room, pulling the triton's attention away from his reading session.
"Your thoughts are fascinating," Gillion says, tracing the loops of a word Chip can barely read. The softness in his voice makes Chip’s face heat up, a smile twitching at his lips.
“Thanks, I think,” he mumbled.
It’s here that Chip notices the subtle disarray of Gillion Tidestrider. The wrinkle of his clothes (which Chip just realized he was still wearing instead of his pajamas), the flexing of his fins, the crease in his brow that all points to a night of fitful rest. Chip was not blind to the effects of being stuck in your head for too long, and though he knew little of the struggles Gillion fought day after day, he can pick the little details out easily. Chip’s seen the same expression on himself enough times to know them anywhere.
Then Chip sees Gillion’s hair, frizzy and tangled and stuck in a bun that’s been left up for a day too-long. And he gets an idea.
“Can I do your hair?” he asks, using the same soft voice Gillion had used just prior.
The triton stops tracing Chip’s loopy handwriting and looks up with mild surprise. There’s a hesitance there, in the way he opens his mouth as if to speak but nothing comes out, and the way his ears pin close to his head. The brunet feels bad for even offering, getting ready to apologize.
But then Gill nods; the smallest form of permission, the slightest bit of apprehension in his eyes.
“You sure?”
“Yes, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” Chip feels himself smile, then thinks. He has hair ties in his bag, but no hair brush. Doing his hair would require him to get rid of the knots and lessen the frizz. "I'll need to wash your hair first. Is that okay?"
Another pause, another nod. Gillion stands from the chair and begins the struggle of trying to undo his messy bun, and Chip goes into the bathroom to run the water. He keeps it on the cold side of lukewarm and digs in a separate bag he brought that holds toiletries, retrieving out a soap bar and some leave-in conditioner for afterwards.
Gillion appears in the doorway not long after with a blank expression, his eyes darting between the water and the objects in Chip’s hands. He’s wearing nothing but his wetsuit now, his hair akin to a lion's mane with the way it's puffed up and sticking every-which-way.
He doesn't say anything as he steps into the tub, slinking down into a sitting position with his back facing Chip. He puts a hand beneath the faucet and lets the water trickle over it and down his arm; he lets a warm sound from the back of his throat, akin to the purr of a cat.
"'S the water a good temp?"
"Perfect. Thank you."
Chip hums, then reaches up to pull the shower head off a hook while simultaneously pulling a small tab on the top of the faucet. He tells Gillion what he's doing as he does them, knowing well that small moves tend to startle the man when he's tired. The water begins pouring from the shower head instead, and then he gets to work.
Gillion's hair is as long as it is thick, reaching down past his shoulder blades when dry and only lengthening further when it's wet. The vibrant green shines with the added moisture and the more Chip soaks it, the more he can see the triton's beautiful curls peek through. His coral, a beautiful growth of deep green birdsnest, glows as Chip suds his hair with the soap bar, massaging it gently into his hair with nimble fingers. Gillion tenses at the touch, his ears pinned back and his shoulders as stiff as a board, and lets out a small whine that he swallows as soon as he lets it out.
Chip stops immediately when he hears it, peering around the other man's side to look him in the face, "Are you okay? I'm not hurting you am I?"
Gillion's face has turned a shade darker, frosted eyes trained to the wall in front of him. He speaks in a leveled voice, "I am okay. You're not hurting me."
It sounds as though he's trying to convince himself of that fact, but Chip chooses not to comment and instead washes the soap from his hair. He pays extra attention to the budding deep-sea flowers growing through his hair near the coral, rinsing them thoroughly of soap, washing gently behind his ears with a wet rag. The finned appendages smack against his hand with every twitch, making the brunet chuckle.
The water is turned off shortly after, plunging the room back into silence as Chip grabs a towel and stands up, his knees and lower back protesting the move. Gillion rises with him, water dripping off the tips of his fingers and the ends of his hair, making him look shiny and a little more vibrant than before.
"Here, uhh," Chip pats the toilet seat with one hand as he wiggles the towel free of its folded position, "Sit here for now so I can untangle your hair."
The triton does what he says, creating a small pool of water on the floor as gravity begins to dry him out. Chip tries his best to divide the long green curls into sections for maximum detangling, then opens the bottle of leave-in conditioner and pours a good amount in his hands.
The whole time, Gillion stays quiet. The silence isn't bad; it feels serene, like watching the sunset at sea; like sitting on the beach and letting sand fall through the gaps between his fingers. Like late nights curled in the warm bed of an inn, eyes trained on the window overlooking quiet townscapes. Chip felt at peace in this silence, standing in this small bathroom late at night, hands and fingers gently coaxing the knots out of one of the only two people in this life that he holds dear. Gillion is still tense, but far less than before, and his head seems to droop the longer time goes on.
It's a rare sight to see. The triton, ever since Chip took his hand and pulled him aboard his ship, was nothing short of put together. Gillion is a man who radiates confidence. Who keeps his book of secrets tightly shut and close to his chest. Who fought Chip in an arena of ice to the point of near collapse just for his honor back, his whole body alight with rage and electricity so powerful the flowers in his hair died an hour later.
Chip still has the scars. They ache even now, as he brushes his fingers through the last of Gill's hair. With his hair wet like this, his curls were much more prominent, loose spirals cascading down his back like a green waterfall. The flowers surrounding his coral crown stood tall and glowed softly much like his coral, which was much more rich in its colors than what it had been when Chip first met him.
A wave of emotion surged through him. He leaned closer, just enough to plant a light kiss on the top of Gillion's head. The triton let out a guttural noise from the back of his throat similar to a happy gurgle.
"All done. Want me to braid it?" He asks softly, not wanting to break the peace they created.
Gillion was loose, leaning backwards just enough to rest some of his weight against Chip. He looked tired.
"Will it take long?"
"I promise I'll hurry."
Gillion lets out a long sigh, fiddling with his fingers. He says, "Can we move somewhere else?"
Chip chuckles lightheartedly, then looks down at the water still clinging to his wetsuit, puddling on the floor. "Yeah, but can you change first?"
"I do not have my pajamas. I left them in my hotel room before I was locked out."
"You can borrow my spare set. I just don't want you getting the whole bed wet."
Gillion nods, "I understand. Thank you, Chip."
The brunet retrieves his spare set from the bag on the bed, then waits patiently for Gillion to change. He places Gill's day clothes (which were already folded and neatly placed on the bed) on the dresser, and tosses his bag to the floor without much of a care. When the triton exits the bathroom, he looks much cozier, wearing blue pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. His eyes are bright with obvious happiness, only dimmed by the bags beneath his eyes.
"C'mere, I won't take long," he says, patting the bed.
Gillion situates himself on the bed, to which Chip immediately finds his spot beneath the other to begin his work. Starting was slow, as he had to separate his hair evenly, then find the right starting point to begin his Dutch braids. One piece, two pieces, three pieces, fold over; again, again, again until the braid moves down his head, holding close to his scalp but not tight enough to hurt.
"Where… did you learn to braid like this?" Gillion asks at some point, voice just above a whisper.
Chip flushes a little, but responds earnestly, "Lizzie taught me a few things way back when. Jay lets me do her hair sometimes, so I never lost the skill."
"That is oddly sweet."
"What can I say, I'm a sweet guy."
And Gillion grins, and laughs quietly. Chip shoves his shoulder with a playful pout.
The two sober quickly as Chip ties off the first braid, moving quickly to the next one.
"I have not had someone tend to my hair like this since…" He pauses, slowly blinking, "Since I was in the Undersea. My sister used to braid my hair every morning before I went to training."
"Oh," Chip says, mostly because he doesn't know what else to say. A little because his heart aches for the things that Gillion has lost. "I hope you don't mind me doing this, then."
"It is… odd. But nice. To have someone braid my hair again." To have someone care for me goes unsaid. Chip understands regardless.
When he ties off the second braid, he leans forward to press his head on Gillion's shoulder, which the triton responds to by leaning his head on Chip’s. He can feel the coolness of his skin radiating through his shirt, and it's here where he finally realizes how tired he actually is.
"I think it's time for bed, Gill."
The triton hums. Together, they shuffle around and slide the covers around until they're both settled underneath them. Gillion reaches over and puts out the lantern, plunging them both into darkness.
Not full darkness, of course. The glow of Gillion's eyes are dim but still open enough to cast light over his features, and the pulsing green of his coral makes him look like a holy being. Chip reaches out and pulls himself close, cuddling into the triton's space with one arm tossed over his waist, the other tucked between their chests. Here, as Gillion wraps his arms around him just tight enough to keep them close, Chip feels safer than he ever has. His eyes begin to close, his brain already filled with cotton as his body begins to shut down for sleep.
"Good night, Chip," Gillion says, and there's a press of lips to his hair.
Chip falls to sleep with a smile on his face, and Gillion follows him not long after.