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Chip hummed under his breath, settling with his back against the railing of the deck as he plopped down right on the ground where he stood. The waves pushed against the side of the Albatross, rocking him back and forth along with it. The Crescent Moon sailed silently beside them, cutting through the water as the two ships traveled intertwined in fate for the time being.
Between them, the crashing of the waves seemed to echo, pushing and building against each other before settling in a whirlwind of louder noise than Chip was used to. But he just reassured himself that it was the two ships together making the noise and that it should be more of a relief than a concern. It just meant that they were together and that for the time being, they were able to travel in the same waters at the same time without worry.
They would be there to protect each other if needed, and that added protection made it easier for Chip to rest soundly, knowing that they weren’t alone in the vast endless ocean.
He crossed his legs in front of himself, bringing his guitar around to his front to cradle in his lap, the body of the guitar almost the same size as his torso. But he liked the feel of it in his arms and the way that if he curled around it, he could feel the vibrations in his stomach and his body. It was a comforting feeling.
It fit perfectly in his arms, snug, as if it were meant to be there. And when he placed the body against his knee, he wrapped his other arm around the front, hugging it tightly and leaning forward so that his shoulders were curled, chin resting on the wooden surface when he leaned over. Chip plucked at the strings experimentally, dragging his thumbnail down the length of them and listening to the sounds ring out in the air, vibrating against his jaw.
His guitar was out of tune. As it always was. It was at the point where no matter what Chip did, he could never get the thing to stay in tune. But that was just the curse of owning the most battered, beaten-up guitar known to man. It was a miracle that it had lasted this long with the way that Chip treated it (accidentally, he didn’t mean to damage it).
Using one of Jay’s pliers that Chip had expertly swiped from her toolbox, Chip used the item to twist the broken-off tuning pegs on the strings, plucking them experimentally as he went, going until it sounded like they were in tune. He did this a few times to each string, using the pliers to tune the strings while experimenting with the sound. Then, by the time he finished, he had to go back to the first few strings that he tuned up since they had already gone out of tune.
It was an endless back and forth. One that could probably go on for the rest of the night if Chip let it. But after the third round of re-tuning the same strings over and over again, Chip called it quits. It was good enough how it was, it wasn’t like anyone would hear him anyway, so it didn’t matter if he was in tune.
Jay and Gillion were both asleep below decks, tucked away in their shared sleeping quarters and hopefully resting peacefully. The rest of the crew had hunkered down as well for the night, gathering in their respective quarters to get some much-needed shut-eye.
And at the same time, Chip was getting his much-needed alone time to be able to stop and unwind from the rest of the day. He loved Jay and Gillion, really, he did. But it was always so overwhelming sometimes being around them. Gillion was so loud and had so much energy, and even when Jay always had an air of exhaustion around her, she made the time and energy to match with Gillion. And Jay would bounce off of whatever stupid idea Chip had for the day, or she would think it was too stupid for her and so Chip would go to Gillion or Ollie with his plan.
He loved doing it. But it was a lot. Chip was tired at the end of the day, and he needed a moment to compress. He loved his crew with his entire chest, and he wanted to love his co-captains with everything that he had. But sometimes he needed to step away, and they understood that.
Chip was sure that Jay or Gillion probably wouldn’t approve very much of him going out in the middle of the night to sit on the top deck and play his guitar. He was sure that they would both insist that he needed his rest and that he could have some time to be alone during the day, he just needed to let them know and they would leave him be for an hour or two so Chip could take a moment to settle. They definitely wouldn’t like him sitting out here for hours on end plucking at the strings until he realized that it was almost three in the morning and he hadn’t slept at all.
But there was something about the nighttime that was much more peaceful than being alone during the day. At night, it gave more of a reassurance that Chip had chosen this time alone, he had purposely snuck out of their quarters with his guitar so that he could sit out and enjoy the stars and the darkness without the judgement of the world. He didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing him, or what might come from their stares. They never judged the way he played, but Chip couldn’t help but feel self-conscious sometimes.
And if he was alone during the day, Chip found that it was easier for his mind to wander into places he didn’t want to go to. It made him feel like he was isolating himself, and while he technically was, the word “isolate” didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t want to be lonely, he just wanted to be alone for an hour or so. Then he would tuck back into bed and get some sleep, and neither of his co-captains would be none the wiser.
Besides, what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
Chip pressed his lips into a thin line, peering up at the stars above him and listening for a moment at the whipping of the wind in their sails. The air was slightly humid tonight, warm with a touch of the late-night chill that could easily settle deep in his bones. But there was still some remnant heat from the barreling sun in the air, and Chip soaked it up, taking a deep breath and breathing in the salty air.
It felt nice. The air felt fresh and crisp, it felt light in his lungs and made the rest of his body feel just a bit lighter after he had been breathing in the stuffy air of their quarters for the past few hours below decks.
Chip shook out his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, pressing down on the joints in his fingers and listening to them pop, the weight of his guitar reassuring in his lap. He delicately pressed his fingers to the fretboard, sliding his hand up and down, feeling out the notes as if the guitar would tell him exactly what it wanted him to play.
A small sigh spilled from his lips, and Chip turned his attention from the sky, down to the fretboard beneath his palms. He pressed down the shape of a familiar A minor chord and allowed his fingers to drag lightly over the strings, plucking note after note in a gentle arpeggio. The pattern came to him easily as one that he had heard and played many times before, it was a familiar song. Not one from the Black Rose, but a few years after, while on the streets looking for a place to stay.
He plucked each note gently, conscious so as to not be too loud, and end up waking Jay (who always slept lightly). With his left hand, he held down each chord, switching in tune with the song as the natural progression took him from note to note, chord to chord. And with his right hand, he gently plucked the strings to allow the melody to sing from the hollow body of the guitar, ringing out into the clear, starry night.
Chip didn’t even really need the glowing lantern he had lit nearby to see. The light of the moon, as well as his pure muscle memory, made playing the song easy. It was as easy as breathing, it just came naturally to him. Music came as naturally as just existing in this world.
Chip plucked the strings of his old beat-up guitar, one that he had owned for years and had gotten surprisingly attached to. It had survived with Chip all this time, they had to be bonded for something at least. Chip survived, and as a reward, his guitar played gentle melodies when he plucked the strings and held down chords.
Sure, Chip did most of the work when it came to playing the songs. But even so, he couldn’t form the notes on his own, not without the strings to guide his hand, or the lines on the fretboard telling him what note to play. He couldn’t make any sound without the hollow body or the delicate opening that allowed music to spill from its gaping maw and bless the air around Chip with a gentle, brassy tone that signaled old, dirty strings.
Chip hadn’t been able to find any place to get his guitar replaced, at least not in the downtime that they had. It wasn’t a high priority on his list, so the strings of his guitar had been regretfully neglected, even as Chip continued to play and pray he didn’t break a string. He didn’t know what he would do if he did. He would certainly be inconsolable at least. Who knew the next time they would be able to stop at an island that could fix guitars or even provide him with new strings.
But that didn’t matter at the moment, so Chip didn’t dwell on it. As he held his fingers to the metal strings, he weighed that they didn’t feel any tenser than normal. There was no odd tug or weird creaking that made his song distorted or warped. His strings were fine.
Chip let out a heavy sigh and breathed in the warm ocean air. He allowed himself to lean back a little bit until his shoulders pressed against the wooden railing. With a small grunt, he stretched his legs out in front of himself and settled into a more comfortable position, his guitar still cradled protectively in his chest.
He jumped into a new song, fingers dancing along the fretboard as his right hand kept up with the movement of the rhythm. A jumpy, fast-paced song filled the air, jovial melodies bouncing back and forth around Chip’s head as he played, intense tremolos vibrating against the strings. He played and found himself getting a little carried away in one of his favorite pieces to play, forgetting where he was momentarily.
It was as if a spell had passed over him, a gentle whirlwind of music and comfort, a familiar jumble of every good part of his life. In between all the bad, there had always been some kind of music there to cheer him up, there were never any bad times without the joy of music. Or without the joy of Chip’s ability to play his guitar and spread that joy and high energy throughout the ship.
Maybe Chip had been playing too loudly. Maybe he had forgotten about the other ship sailing nearby, and that he hadn’t really talked to Lizzie about the way that they ran their shifts late at night. Or maybe it was just the plot of fate and the inevitability of being discovered. But as Chip played, he allowed the rest of the world to slip away from him, other sounds and sensations falling between his fingers until it was just him and the vibrations of his guitar.
He didn’t care about the rest of the world around him, and with the casual, comfortable sounds of the Albatross and the Crescent Moon side by side, he could just let himself sink into the warm hammock of the brassy tones of his guitar. The pressing of the metal strings against his fingers had long since stopped hurting now that he had developed such thick calluses, but he could still feel the pressure.
And since Chip was so caught up in his own little world of guitar playing and his music, he didn’t even notice the other presence awake so late at night until a small crash and the sound of quiet swearing violently jolted him out of concentration mid-song.
Chip nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise, holding his guitar tighter to his chest as he sat up on his knees to look around. It wasn’t the sound of anything on his own ship falling, Chip was sure of that. Everything he could see with the warm circle of light around him from his one lantern seemed to be in the proper place. Not to mention the fact that pretty much everything was secured down, with no chance of being knocked over without an incredibly loud clatter.
So, deciding that everything on his own ship was in order, Chip remembered the other ship sailing next to his and cautiously looked over.
For the second time tonight, Chip nearly jumped out of his skin with a loud yelp, this time almost throwing his guitar in his surprise (thankful that the strap had been resting across the back of his shoulders so his prized item couldn’t go further than his lap). A figure across the water stared back at Chip, seeming just as startled at Chip’s sudden exclamation.
Standing on the deck of the Crescent Moon, in a white outfit that reflected the glow of the moon so well, for a moment it almost seemed like a ghost, stood a familiar figure. White hair cascaded down delicate shoulders, moving as if underwater with the texture of foam bubbling up and curling around his head, spreading down his cheeks and splaying across his back in a mix of beautiful foam. Glistening scales reflected like stars across his skin, too subtle to be seen in broad daylight since they blended in so easily with his skin, but in the darkness, they practically glowed with calming bioluminescence.
From where Chip was, he couldn’t make out the expression, or anything else besides the larger details that he was already familiar with. But it was completely, and unmistakably the form of Caspian on the other side of the water, staring Chip down from the Crescent Moon.
He seemed startled as well at Chip’s sudden outburst of surprise, almost a bit sheepish as he had been righting a knocked-over lantern that he must have bumped into. He reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck, his soft, breathy laugh traveling across the waves. Even from where he was standing several feet away, Chip could almost see him trembling.
“My gods, Caspian,” Chip complained, leaning his weight on the railing and allowing his forehead to touch the slightly damp, salty wood, “Scared me half to death.”
“My apologies, Chip,” Caspian said calmly, in that smooth, even tone that he always used. But there was a hint of bashfulness in his voice that Chip hadn’t heard from him before, he seemed embarrassed.
“The hell are you doing up here, man?” Chip pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, holding his hand over the neck of his guitar protectively as he made a move to stand, pulling it to his side so it was out of the way. He tapped his fingertips on the body of the guitar and listened to the satisfying resounding thump each time his finger hit the wood.
“Well,” Caspian turned his head away from Chip, the rippling of his scales and the way that his hair reflected the moonlight being the only thing that allowed Chip to see what direction he was facing. “I woke up and heard some interesting music and thought I should investigate.”
Chip mentally chided himself. He had been playing too loud after all. He had gotten so used to Jay being such a light sleeper that he had done his best to accommodate her, he had completely forgotten the other crew that was sailing right next to their ship. Caspian was probably much lighter of a sleeper than Jay, and Chip had accidentally woken him up.
“Sorry,” Chip shook his head and let out a small sigh, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, no,” Caspian waved his hand dismissively, voice trembling minutely, “I was already awake… it was… it was nice to hear.”
Chip felt his face flush, eyes widening slightly at Caspian’s words, “Oh, thanks…”
A few seconds of silence stretched between the two of them. Then a minute. Chip felt increasingly more awkward as the time went by with just him and Caspian staring at each other, both too embarrassed to know what to say. Caspian kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, wringing his hands as if he had something to say and didn’t exactly know how to say it.
He was acting weirdly. It was a lot different than the Caspian that Chip was used to seeing during the day. While he had the same cool, smooth attitude about him, there was almost something softer, a bit more insecure, a bit more embarrassed about the entire situation that they had found themselves in. It was as if Caspian hadn’t meant to come out here in the first place and was figuring out a way to progress the situation.
Just as Caspian had started to say, “Perhaps I should go back to my quarters—” Chip had blurted out at the same time:
“Do you want to come over?”
Then, they both paused and stared at each other for a few more seconds. Chip really wished he could see Caspian’s expression so that he could gauge how this social situation was about to go.
“You’d invite me to listen?” Caspian asked, tilting his head to the side, a hint of a smile in his words. He held his hands in front of himself and wrung them gently, swaying with the rocking of his ship.
“If you’d like to,” Chip shrugged and averted his gaze, tracing his eyes along the edge of his yellow circle of light, feeling along the wooden edge of his guitar. He continued to drum his fingers against it, knuckles hitting the wood and causing a resounding thump that almost made him flinch.
“I think I will take you up on that offer,” Caspian took a deep breath and nodded, foamy hair falling in front of his face before going back to cascading down his shoulders.
“I’m open to an audience,” Chip slid his tongue over his lips and smiled, almost glad that it was Caspian that had discovered him tonight. Caspian huffed out a breathy laugh, that same laughter that he always used whenever he was slightly amused by anything, it told Chip that he was at least doing a good job in this social situation.
Caspian trailed his hand over the railing of the Crescent Moon as he made his way over to the plank that connected their two ships. He moved slowly, cautiously, almost like a shark stalking through the water as he felt his way across the ship with the light of the moon to guide him and Chip’s warm lantern light as a reward. Chip watched him walk over casually, the sight of his thin, barbed tail swishing back and forth at a casual rhythm making him smile. He was just like Gillion in much more ways than they thought, even if their body language didn’t match up as well.
Caspian crossed the stretch of wood and hopped down, he wasn’t even wearing shoes, and now that he was closer, it was obvious that he was just wearing pajamas. He wore a white button-up that hung baggy on his form, sleeves short enough to expose the soft blue skin of his arms and the tattoos that curled all the way up his forearm and biceps. They were either tattoos or just markings, Chip wasn’t sure and he didn’t think it was a good idea to ask at the moment.
As well as the loose-fitting, much more comfortable shirt, he wore a baggy pair of pants with a low crotch, similar to the ones that Gillion wore casually every day. It was much less than the tighter, fancier pants that Caspian normally wore. They were cinched tightly at the waist with a thread of string, pulling it tight around his torso and keeping them in place while he casually shuffled over to where Chip was.
Caspian yawned and his face lit up in a small smile as he approached Chip. His tail stilled when he paused a few feet away from Gillion, the end of it flicking back and forth curiously with a tired, almost sluggish motion. Chip had to pull his eyes away from the long, spindly limb in order to avoid staring.
“I heard only a bit of your playing,” Caspian said through his tired gaze, seeming much more exhausted now that Chip could actually see his face. He reached up and pushed a handful of foam-like hair out of his face and Chip watched as it fell right back over Caspian’s forehead. “It was wonderful, really.”
“If I knew you’d be such a fan, I would play more during the day,” Chip smiled softly, sitting back down on the deck and waiting for Caspian to join him. Caspian sat down with a small exhale, crossing his legs in front of himself as his ears fanned out around his face, twitching in each direction curiously for a second before settling in Chip’s direction.
“I did not know you played,” Caspian slid his tongue over his lips and sighed, a small smile spreading across his face, “I’d like to hear more.”
“I’m a little out of tune, but it’s the best I can do,” Chip held up the pair of pliers that he had been forced to use to tune his guitar and waved them tauntingly so Caspian could see.
“I do not mind.”
Chip smiled playfully and leaned back against the railing, staring at Caspian’s form in front of him. He had crossed his legs in front of himself, hands resting gently in his lap as he allowed his shoulders to slump a little bit, not caring about his perfect posture so late in the night. He yawned again and Chip could see the exhaustion riddling his features.
He could tell Caspian to go back to bed, but that would just make Chip a hypocrite. And besides, Caspian wanted to hear him play.
So, gently, and much quieter this time so he didn’t accidentally wake anyone else, Chip began playing. He played a slow, delicate waltz, one that he had learned a long time ago, and was sure that Caspian would enjoy. Chip didn’t know what kind of music the Water Genasi liked, but if he had to take a guess, this would be it.
He plucked gently at the strings, fingers working expertly with the crafted tune. Chip worked mostly on muscle memory, occasionally looking down at the fretboard to guide where he needed his hand to go when he got to the higher notes up the fretboard. But he just went back to glancing up at Caspian, then back down at his hands.
With each chord that he held down, the gentle melodies filled the air, a calm and soothing rhythm spreading across the deck. It was one supposed to be danced to, but Chip had never learned how to waltz, and the mood didn’t seem right for dancing at the moment.
It especially didn’t seem right for a dance when it seemed that the longer Chip played, with the notes drifting through the air and the gentle, brassy sound of his guitar singing in the wind, Caspian himself seemed to be falling asleep. The other man leaned his chin on his hands, peering through half-lidded eyes at Chip, watching the way his fingers moved and listening intently to the song that he was playing.
And when that song finished, Chip seamlessly switched to a new one, following with the repertoire that he had developed in his head over the many years that he had been playing guitar. It was another slow song, not a waltz, but one that would certainly fit the mood.
Caspian’s eyes were drifting shut, a yawn pulling from his throat as he tried not to fall asleep, occasionally shaking himself back awake when he realized what was happening. Chip watched him with a small smile, taking a spare glance up at the sky to see that it was probably an hour or two after midnight, maybe a bit later. Chip had been out here for a long time, and he was sure that Caspian had been woken up in the middle of his sleep, leaving him more exhausted than normal.
It was cute, the way that he struggled to keep himself awake. He seemed much softer than normal, smaller, with less of a confident, cool energy to him and rather a gentle, tired mood that spread throughout his entire body. His tail hit the deck with a tired, tiny slap, the end of it making the same tapping noise as Chip’s fingertips on the body of his guitar.
Caspian hummed pleasantly to the tune of whatever song Chip was currently playing, voice carrying with the wind, and twisting into the melody of his notes. His eyes drifted shut and his head lolled forward. Chip couldn’t help but try and hold back a burst of small, amused laughter.
“Cas, why don’t you come over here,” Chip spoke up, holding his palm over the strings to mute the ringing note, the sudden lack of music causing Caspian to blink himself awake. He looked up almost confusedly before his eyes landed on Chip. He blinked and couldn’t help but yawn.
Chip patted the space on the deck next to him, and Caspian tiredly shuffled over to where Chip was sitting, leaning against the railing next to them. Their knees were practically touching, and with the close proximity, Chip could feel the chill radiating from Caspian. It was like being way too close to a block of ice, but Chip had spent enough time in Gillion’s arms that the cold didn’t really bother him. If anything, it was a nice contrast to his burning skin.
Even quieter than before, Chip went back to playing the guitar, watching Caspian out of the corner of his eye. The only downside of their new position was that it made it harder for Chip to really admire Caspian’s beauty or the adorableness of his current exhaustion.
But after a few minutes of playing, Caspian’s head dropped to Chip’s shoulder, causing Chip to startle, his fingers flubbing on a few notes as he plucked the wrong sting. He quickly got over his shock, turning his head to look over at Caspian, who had fallen against Chip’s side, his foamy hair getting in Chip’s face when he tried to look over and making Chip snort as it got in his nose.
When Chip leaned forward to look at Caspian’s face, the other man had his eyes closed, face settled in a calm, relaxed expression. He was asleep, chill radiating from his skin and into Chip’s side.
A small, almost fond smile spread across Chip’s face. He patted Caspian on the cheek, and with lack of better thought, even leaned down to press a small kiss to the top of his head. Caspian mumbled something in his sleep but didn’t stir.
Instead of trying to wake Caspian or move from their current situation, Chip just settled himself further against the railing of the deck, holding his guitar in his lap and pressing it against his chest. He lightly plucked the strings, continuing to play softly, hoping that the calming songs from the mouth of his guitar would help ease Caspian’s sleep, allowing him to get the rest that he so deserved.
While Caspian slept against Chip’s shoulder, Chip continued to play, until his eyes too began to droop, and his fingers got sloppy and numb from the pressure of the strings against his fingertips. Chip played until he was too tired to continue, and even then, he remained in that position, dropping his head to rest on top of Caspian’s with exhaustion weighing down his eyelids.
Chip, too, slowly began to drift off, hands stilling on the strings of his guitar as he allowed the chill radiating from Caspian to soothe his incessant heat, a reassuring feeling spreading through his entire body. He let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, allowing Caspian to sink against him, and for sleep to take him gently.