Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Bitch!” Earl shouted, shoving hard against Chip's back as he tried to push him through the open glass doors of ‘Earl’s juice shoppe’.

“Hey– Earl! Wha– Would you stop trying to kick me out for three seconds, I’m fin–”

“No! Out!” Earl gave Chip one last shove that sent him sprawling onto the pavement just outside the shop. The, surprisingly strong, old man shut the doors and locked them, glaring at Chip through the smudged glass. “You,” he said, pointing at him, voice slightly muffled by the glass, “You are going to take a day for yourself.”

Chip, though frustrated and annoyed and ready to shove his boss into the new blender they just got, was vaguely touched by his care about his mental health.

The feeling vanished as Earl swiftly opened the door to toss Chip’s pirate themed backpack directly onto Chip’s stomach and shut the door before he could even register it. Chip let out a wheeze and glared right back up at him, getting to his feet with a groan.

Alright, time to change tactics.

“Earl, can I please, please, come in today? I know I’m the only one scheduled– and it's a Saturday, those are our busiest days! Please?” Chip gave his best puppy dog eyes, widening them impossibly and adding just the right amount of sparkle.

Earl’s face twisted and he hesitantly put his hand on the lock, opening it slowly. The door began to creak open until Earl was standing in front of him, smiling softly. Chip cheered in his head and began to walk forward, grinning smugly.

“No.” Earl said, dropping his smile and shoving a plastic water bottle into Chip’s stomach, shoving him out the door and back onto the sun baked pavement. The glass rattled as he slammed the door again, bell dinging cheerfully. Chip looked up from where he landed, scowling slightly. “Don’t you gimme that fuckin look! It’s 10am, business doesn’t pick up until after lunch, ya moron! Don’t forget to drink your fuckin water, you bitch! Out! You can come back when you’re not so fuckin depressed!” He stormed away from the door, presumably to finish emptying the boxes Chip was unpacking before he was so rudely thrown out.

“‘You can come back when you’re not so fuckin depressed,’” Chip mocked, pushing himself off the ground and glaring at the small orange trees that decorated the outside of the shop. He scoffed, picking an orange off the tree and shoving into his bag. “I’m not fuckin depressed.”

“Yeah you are! You cry yourself to sleep sometimes!” Ollie piped up from behind him. Chip let out a very manly, very not scared yelp, and whirled around to look at the scrawny young boy who snuck up from behind him.

“Ollie! You– how did you even–”

“I crouched! Like you said too!” He said, cheerfully, clutching both straps of his backpack and grinning up at him. “Bettcha were scared!”

“Wha– scared?! Me?! HA! Never! I– I’m never scared!” Chip sputtered defensively, poking at Ollie’s side. Ollie batted his hand away and grinned even wider.

“Yuh huh! You were super scared!”

“Oh that’s it–” Chip picked Ollie up and threw him over his shoulder, spinning around and cackling like a madman while the 12 year-old shrieked.

“Put me down! Chip!” Ollie demanded, flailing wildly and pounding his fists into Chip’s back. Chip laughed loudly and suddenly he was the one being spun around, 9 years old as large hands hoisting him up as he giggled and his uncles (they already had families, they didn’t need Chip–) lectured his dad on ship safety.

Chip put Ollie down quickly, forcing his smile to stay put and his hands to not shake so visibly.

“Hey, uh–” Chip coughed, looking down the road pointedly and scratching at the back of his head. “I should probably head out, I have to go get un-depressed so I can come back to work,”

“Ha! Earl kicked you out for being sad!” Ollie teased. Chip scowled and flicked his forehead, prompting a loud ‘hey!’.

“Yeah, yeah. Text me if you need anything, I’m going to go frolic in the waters blue,” Chip ruffled Ollie’s hair and started down the road towards the beach. Ollie called out,

“Bring back some sea shells for the end of summer sale! I want to paint stupid faces on them so we get pity tips!” A thumbs up was Ollie’s only indication that the message was received.

Luckily, the shoreline was only a twenty minute walk from the juice shoppe, so it was a somewhat short trip. He passed the different colorful storefronts of the Golden Circa Market, waving to their owners and smiling cheerfully. It was good to be known as the guy that smiled and waved at everyone.

That was something Chip had learned fairly early on in All-Port.

Soon enough, Chip’s sneakers crunched on the sand sprinkled pavement as he entered one of the many parking lots. The beach was somewhat empty that day, probably because it wasn’t quite noon, but regardless, he had a lot of room to lay out the tropical fruit themed blanket that he had ganked from Earl’s linen closet (and thoroughly sanitized).

Chip had been down to the beach many times in the two years he’d lived with Earl. Despite hating sand, the beach was Chip’s happy place. There was something calming about staring off into the waves and just listening to the loud quiet. It reminded him of home.

He stretched out his limbs, tossed off his plain white t-shirt, carefully removed and stowed his prosthetic pinky (he could not afford a replacement), and he was off towards the water.

A warning tapped against Chip’s mind anxiously. He glanced up at the sky and it flashed stormy before returning to its perfect blue. Brushing it off and rolling his shoulders back, he dove into the sea with a bright smile and swam towards the bigger waves just a bit away from the shore.

He’d planned out the day on his way down to the beach. He was going to go for a swim, get some ice cream, brood over his traumatic childhood, collect some seashells for Ollie and go home. A simple agenda for his impromptu day off.

Drowning in a riptide was not on the agenda.

He was pulled in, caught off guard and distracted by a shiny something or another he’d glimpsed off in the distance. By the time he’d noticed, it was too late.

He felt the cold, salty waters envelop him as he swam just a tiny bit too close, getting pulled under. He fought with everything he had, pushing back thoughts of that stormy night.

He fought, but as usual, it wasn’t enough.

He only really remembers flashes and pieces.

The water sapped his warmth, leaving him cold and empty and shadowy claws seemed to drag him away from the surface of the water as it was pelted with rain.

He remembers reaching upwards, hoping and praying someone had managed to stay on the ship and could pull him back on board and he could go home to–

No one did.

Then the dark.

A body floating just a few feet away, unmoving, the face changing from his sister to his dad, to Earl, and then to Ollie, then–

The body flickered in and out of existence, he couldn’t remember it right, why couldn’t he remember–

He couldn’t save them, no matter how hard he struggled and kicked.

He remembers the coast guard restraining his thrashing body as he reached out towards the endless black of the sea, the claws sinking into his flesh as he screamed–

And then someone grabbed his hand. They pulled him out of the water, onto a raft of some kind, a cool leathery texture. He panicked at the sudden touch, a little too familiar to that of the hard faces of the coast guard, and thrashed as they pulled him tight, swimming quickly and powerfully.

He wiggled an arm free, swinging wildly into the face of his rescuer. He made contact with something fleshy feeling and a plastic like something fell into his hands.

He heard a pained grunt and felt sand (sand, there wasn’t any sand that night, this was different) stick to face as he was tossed onto the ground a little rougher than what was probably necessary. He rolled over once and coughed sea water as he tried to breathe in the cool fall air, eyes shut tight, stinging from the salt water.

“Are you– ow– are you alright?” A voice said. Chip gripped whatever it was he was holding onto a little tighter and blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. The coast guard had only asked what happened, not if he was okay, this was different. He repeated that thought in his mind and felt a little more sane.

“I–” He started roughly, before coughing up even more sea water, the salt grating at his throat.

“Are you going to hit me again if I touch you?” the voice asked. Chip shook his head a little, rubbing at his eyes, mind clearing ever-so-slightly. He looked up at the voice, intending to choke out some kind of apology or thanks. Instead of doing that, Chip went slack jawed as he laid eyes on the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

They were probably average height. Deep brown skin that sparkled through the water that was still dripping from it. Wavy green hair with white tips that stuck to their defined face, so perfect it looked like it had been carved from marble with the gods of the seas in mind, Poseidon coming first to mind, minus the beard obviously, not that Chip didn’t think that beards were attractive, they just didn’t seem to fit on this person’s beautiful face. And that little scar on the bridge of their nose–

A tiny voice in his head, sounding a bit like Jay, pointed out that he was staring, open mouthed, and probably had been for quite some time. As per usual, this voice was correct.

Thanking the tiny Jay who lived in his brain, he slapped himself mentally.

“I– yeah, fine, thanks, uh…” He stammered out, jumping to his feet and immediately stumbling into the perfect looking person, who also saved his life a few minutes ago. Of course, the perfect looking person, who also saved his life a few minutes ago, caught him flawlessly. And of course, now they were looking down at him even more concernedly, brilliant blue eyes squinting as they inspected his face. Chip imagined it was probably bright red.

“Do you… do you need to go to a doctor? You might have a fever.” Perfect looking person put a hand on his forehead and Chip jumped a good three feet back and stared at them in horror. They looked at their hands somewhat bashfully and explained, “Ah, sorry, I have cold hands. Bad circulation.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, I was just startled, it’s not your fault. I also have something similar, haha. Thank you so much for saving me. I have to go home now, my boss is expecting me back before three.” Chip said, completely calmly, and then he went home with his dignity firmly intact.

At least in his head.

What actually came out was:

“BLOOD DON’T WORK, NO HEART, HAVE TO FEED MY OLD AS SHIT FATHER FIGURE, GOODBYE, FISH MAN.”

Nailed it, Chip thought as he turned before he could see the bewilderment on the Fish Man’s face and sprinted for his things. He stooped down low, fell flat on his face and popped back up seamlessly, running all the way home and never looking back once.

And I never saw him again.

Chapter Text

If there was a God, they probably hated Chip. Or at the very least took great pleasure in watching the shit show that was his life. This idea was only solidified by the flying sandal that smacked him dead in the face the second he attempted to enter Earl’s juice shoppe.

“OUT! Ya bitch-faced pussy!” Earl shouted, one shoeless foot on the counter, his other sandal in his hand, posed to launch at Chip’s crooked nose. Chip quickly raised his sand covered backpack in front of said crooked nose.

“Earl! Knock it off!” Chip yelled back. Customers began to peer over at the two, across from each other in a duel-like formation. The regulars knew to keep their heads down.

“Knock it off?! KNOCK IT– Ya goddamned fuckin– I ought to toss–” Earl sputtered angrily, scrambling off the counter, assumingly to kick the shit out of Chip’s ankles. Chip sighed heavily and slung his bag over his shoulder, brushing past the charging bull that was Old Man Earl. Normally, he’d find the energy to fight back and indulge in the flurry of playful punches and kicks to the shins, but today was different. He was dripping wet, traumatized, tired, and terribly embarrassed. His face was still red from the encounter with The Fish Man (as he’d named the beautiful stranger) and Chip doubted he’d ever emotionally recover from punching the guy that saved him from drowning.

“CHIP!” Ollie shouted from behind the counter. He’d probably rushed out of the kitchen the moment he’d heard Earl start cursing. “You’re back! Hi!” Ollie waved excitedly. Chip offered him a tired smile and gave a tiny wave back. Only to be launched stomach first into the counter he’d been approaching by a heavy kick to the back of his legs.

“EARL! Ow!” Chip complained, hopping over the counter. “What the fuck, man!” Earl huffed and started to say something before he was abruptly cut off by Ollie’s horrified gasp.

“Your leg!” Ollie shouted, pointing to the back of Chip’s left leg. Chip, confused, turned his head to see where Ollie was pointing. And– yep. That was a lot of blood. Why it was there, he had zero idea. Chip racked his brain for possible explanations before a stinging pain clued him in on a long, shallow cut.

“Huh.” Chip remarked intelligently. Earl smacked him on the back of the head before ushering the two of them into the kitchen and glaring over his shoulder at the customers who had gotten a little too comfortable staring at the interaction. Said customers immediately turned back to their glasses of juice and continued in their own conversations or scrollings on their phones.

“Now how in the fuck–” Earl started, as he handed Chip the first aid kit. Chip took it and shrugged from the metal barstool he’d situated himself on, Ollie flitting about him nervously.

“I’m not entirely sure, after the whole nearly dying thing, I kinda lost track of what was happening?” Ollie stopped fussing and gave him a deadpan stare. Earl also stared, somehow even more deadpan. Eventually, Chip got uncomfortable and prompted, “...What?”

They erupted at once:

“YOU NEARLY DIED AND YOU–”

“YOU FUCKIN BITCH, YOU SHOULD HAVE STARTED WI–”

“HOW DID YOU EVEN–”

“I SENT YOU TO THE FUCKIN BEACH, NOT A GODAMNED–”

“I’M FINE–” Chip attempted to shout over them, only to be immediately cut off with more scolding from Earl and Ollie.

About an hour and a half later, Chip found himself sitting at the kitchen counter of his and Earl’s shared apartment space, just above the Juice Shoppe. In front of him was a glaring Earl, a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich, and a large glass of cold orange juice. Ollie had been left downstairs to man the shoppe. Chip gulped audibly and shifted on his swiveling bar stool before opening his mouth to speak. Earl slapped the table with his sandal, making Chip jump.

“Save it, you bitch!” Earl snapped. “Eat your goddamned lunch.” Chip picked up his sandwich and took a bite. He continued to eat under Earl’s glare. When he finished his sandwich and juice, Chip stood up to put his plate away. Earl, though much shorter than Chip, pushed him back onto his seat and snatched the plate away. Again, Chip tried to speak.

“Earl, I can–”

“You really fuckin scared us today, Chip, you know that?”

You really fucking messed up. You know that right, Chip?

Chip swallowed, suddenly finding the counter much more interesting.

“Yeah.” He croaked out. “I’m– I’m so sorr–”

“If you fuckin finish that.” Earl threatened, putting the plate and glass into the sink and turning to face him. Chip glanced up and Earl’s glare softened a bit at the guilt painted on Chip’s face. He sighed heavily and moved to sit down next to him. “I know you didn’t mean to scare us. Hell– You didn’t even mean to get hurt. I– I’m not good with all the fuckin– you know. Touchy-feely bullshit. Or whatever it is you fuckin millennials call it these days.” Chip huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, I know. I just–” Chip thought back to the deep cold and the endless sinking. “I just… am having a pretty shit day.” Earl nodded, seeming to take the answer for the question he didn’t ask.

“Hmph. Well, don’t let me ruin your bitch-brooding. Take the day off, don’t try to come down for work.” Chip started to protest and Earl slapped the back of his head. “Don’t try that bullshit! I know where you sleep, bitch! Day off!” He punctuated his words with a final slap on Chip’s head and began to stomp away, bare feet slapping against the blue and brown patterned tiles. Chip smiled with mild fondness.

“Thanks Earl!” He called after the angry bald man. A middle finger was said bald man’s response. Chip decided then to spend the rest of the day trying to sneak down for work.

It went something like this:

Chip took a shower and scrubbed himself thoroughly of salt, sand, and trauma.

Pulling on his waist high, black pants and his softest white button-up, wrapping a leather bracelet around his wrist and securing his prosthetic, he did his best to ignore the events of the day, pushing them far back into his mind.

Then Chip pulled on his black boots, fiddled with his hair in the mirror, and deemed himself presentable enough for his first ‘escape’ attempt.

It failed.

Horribly.

Ollie was at the bottom of the staircase, carrying a box of fruit to Earl who immediately used him as target practice for blueberry throwing. Chip scurried back up the stairs like a frightened raccoon and began to plan his next attempt.

It took about six attempts for him to finally give up, if only because the shoppe was two hours from closing and it was getting dark out. Ollie should have been fine to get home– he lived right next door in the apartment building.

And also living in said apartment building was one Jay Ferin, who was always there for Chip to annoy when life got hard. And that day, Chip decided that life was hard. So, he did what any good friend would do and shot her a text that simply read, “Have booze, be over in a minute.”

Locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket, Chip snatched up the bottle of whiskey he’d stored under his bed for special occasions, along with a bag of his overnight things, and cracked open his window, slipping out with ease.

Albatross apartments had been a fairly new addition to Loffinlot street. It had popped up sometime around Chip’s arrival, two years prior. The building was four stories tall, housing two apartments on each floor. Rent was fair enough and the landlord kept the place in good condition.

Still, Chip much preferred the attic room of the apartment above the juice shoppe. It was quiet, dark, and reminded him of his room in Skullslice, though that had burned down ages ago. Chip clung to that normality like a lifeline. It didn’t stop him from spending the night on the couch in Jay’s apartment every other night though.

Jay Ferin, unlike Chip, did not want to live in the attic of Old Man Earl, and paid for her rent in the second apartment on the fourth floor of Albatross Apartments like the stand-up, independent citizen she was. Chip, being on the technical third floor of the Juice Shoppe and having the fire escape right next to his window, made sure to make her regret that decision as much as he physically could, using all his seven years of gymnastics to clear the gaps between fire escapes and scale them up to Jay’s window.

He did his acrobatic act, landing effortlessly on the windowsill of Jay Ferin’s apartment and picked the lock on the window with ease. Jay had, afterall, gotten better ones in the past few weeks and Chip was determined to make sure they were un-pickable. They were not, which was a disappointment that he was definitely telling her later on.

Sliding into the darkening apartment, Chip’s feet just barely creaked against the wood beneath the plush blue rug Jay had in her living room. He looked around the dark room covered in nice things, because Jay was someone who liked to have nice things, and felt a little bit better about his day.

The feeling quickly vanished, when a plate shattered against the wall right next to his head with a loud crash.

Instinctively, Chip crouched to the floor, hands over his head, the bottle of whiskey rolling under the sofa. Panic filled him as he immediately began looking for exits. But he couldn’t see, it was too dark–

An unfamiliar voice echoed through the room,

“Don’t you move another inch, so help me gods–”

“What the fuck is going on in here!?” The lights clicked on and Jay Ferin stood in the doorway of the apartment. Chip looked up at her quickly before his eyes caught a glimpse of strangely familiar green hair.

Somehow, he managed to become even more handsome in the few hours that had passed, blue eyes almost glowing in the dim lighting of Jay’s living room. He held another plate in perfectly manicured hands, aimed directly at Chip’s head.

And Chip knew that a God was definitely howling with laughter by that point.

Because in front of him was none other than Fish Man.

“What the actual fu–”

Chapter Text

Jay Ferin considered herself to be a fairly calm and sane woman. She had a job, an education, and a handful of friends she regularly socialized with. She was a perfectly normal young adult living in a small university town. There were very few strange things in her life. 

This all, however, changed when Chip quite literally dropped into it, drunk off his ass and spewing bullshit about pirates while crying over his severely damaged prosthetic finger. 

Jay hadn’t looked back once and found she’d been happier for it. 

Chip wasn’t, in fact, a pirate. He was training to be a lawyer for criminal justice. When he’d told Jay this, she’d laughed for about fifteen minutes before realizing he wasn’t joking. Chip had graduated highschool two years early at sixteen through a lot of online courses. He’d just barely managed to get a scholarship to the local university and finished his bachelors in criminal justice, passing the LSAT with a score of 178. He’d complained how he was just a point below Elle Woods. And he was currently in a program for young and eager lawyers at Mana Law just down the road from Royale Blue University, where Jay was finishing up her masters in mechanical engineering. 

And yet somehow. Somehow he was the dumbest fucking person Jay had ever encountered. Maybe that was just the friendship talking, but honestly! No man who eats instant ramen with a pair of unsharpened pencils because he couldn’t find the chopsticks that he had right in front of him could possibly have graduated college at the age of nineteen. But Chip did. 

Jay had never pried into Chip’s life before they’d met– she hadn’t needed to. Once Chip figured out she was a Ferin, coming from a long line of law enforcement officers, he’d spilled just about every story he had about the Black Rose fishing company. Her estranged uncle, Drey Ferin, had been on its crew. In Chip’s words, there had been no one better at harpooning the bigger fish straight through the eye. Drey Sureshot Ferin. That’s what Chip had told her. 

But she only really knew up until he turned nine. After that, Chip usually went quiet. 

Jay Ferin wasn’t stupid, she couldn’t be, growing up in the family she did. She could see the way Chip flinched whenever there was thunder or whenever he got too close to a flame. The way he never looked at the people smoking in the street when they walked to lectures together. The way he fumbled his words and avoided and lied through his teeth whenever she mentioned what happened after the Black Rose. 

Regardless of Chip’s horrific trauma he insisted on carrying by himself, Jay trusted Chip and considered him to be one of her best friends. 

So when she found him crouched in the dark of her apartment, her newest roommate aiming dinner plates at him, she naturally had a few questions. 

“What the fuck is going on in here!?” Chip’s face was panicked and confused and Gillion looked mildly terrified, if not equally panicked. A draft was coming in from the open window. It wasn’t hard to put together the pieces. 

“Jay!” Chip yelled, “Why is there a random ass dude in your fucking apartment?!” 

“Miss Ferin!” Gillion yelled, at the same time, “There’s been a break-in!” 

Jay rubbed her temples at the chaos and sighed heavily. 

“I’m too sober for this.” She muttered, entering the apartment and closing the door behind her. She put her hands on her hips and turned towards Chip and Gillion. Both shut their mouths instantly at the annoyance radiating from her. “Gillion, Chip. Chip, Gillion.” She explained, pointing at them respectively. 

“Who the hell–” Chip started before Jay abruptly cut him off. 

“Roommate. New one. Rent increased over the summer, I needed extra help. This is a two bedroom apartment.” Gillion frowned, looking at Chip, still aiming one of her ceramic plates at him. She winced inwardly. Those were the good plates with the little dolphins on them. 

“Jay, if I may–”

“Friend of like sixish months. Similar to a wild raccoon, he breaks in a lot because he likes to test my window locks and my fucking patience. Not a threat, just a bastard.” Chip let out an indignant ‘hey!’.

“I apologize, um, Chip. For the… plates. And also to you, Jay. Also for the plates.” Gillion said awkwardly, lowering the plate and looking out the window sheepishly. Chip snorted, his general panic seeming to have subsided. Jay sighed heavily and walked over to Chip to help him up. And then immediately dropped him as a thought popped into her head. 

“Wait, Chip, what the fuck are you doing in my house?!” Chip let out a dramatic groan from his spot on the floor. 

“Do you just not check your texts? Jesus– who raised you Jay?” 

Jay frowned at him and brought out her phone, opening up her messages. Gillion shuffled awkwardly towards the kitchenette to grab a dust pan for the shards of ceramic that were scattered on the wooden floor. 

“This just says ‘have booze, be over in a minute’ with fourteen fucking emojis–” 

“Those are for extra context.” Chip explained sagely, jumping up with expert precision and searching the floor. He let out an ‘aha’ when he found a bottle of firebolt. Jay wrinkled her nose. 

“Firebolt? Really?” Chip shrugged, walking over to the kitchen cabinets to get glasses. 

“I like the name, what can I say? Makes me feel like I'm a wizard or some shit.” 

The cabinet door slammed shut loudly and all three of them winced at the noise. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room for a moment before Chip cleared his throat. 

“Well I’m hungry. Pizza?” Jay rolled her eyes fondly. 

“Sure. Then you can tell me why you’re in my house.” Chip let out an indignant squawk. 

“I nearly died today you asshole!” Gillion winced and Chip glanced at him for a second too long. Jay frowned at him. 

“The fuck did you do?” 

“...don’t worry about it.” Chip said after a moment, the theatrical indignation leaving his face as the familiar haunted look appeared. And just as quickly, it was gone and he was grinning widely. “Honestly, tonight is just the kind of night to get fucked up, you know? Saturday!” He hopped the kitchen counter to get to the cabinets and brought out two glasses before turning to Gillion. “You drinking tonight, Fish Boy?” Gillion sputtered at the strange nickname.

“I– I really shouldn’t be– I have… I have to–” 

“No problemo, Buddy! Do you want us to leave? I can probably convince Earl to let me bring Jay over for a drink.” He said thoughtfully. 

“N-no that’s alright, I’ll be perfectly fine in my room–”

“Who said Jay’s drinking?!” Jay piped up, ignoring Gillion’s stuttering. Chip rolled his eyes.

“Jay. Jay-bird. Sureshot. Pendeja. You’re my best friend. You can’t let me drink alone, you’d lose your title!” Chip explained, sitting on the counter, and opening the bottle up. 

“Chip, I have work in the morning!” 

“Oh come on! Don’t make me pull the orphan card, Jay, you know I’m not above that.” 

Jay crossed her arms and glared at him sternly. Chip gave her his most infamous look and– damn him– Jay felt her resolve crack just a tiny bit. 

Absolutely not Jay Ferin, you will not fall to those fucking puppy dog eyes! Pull yourself together!

“Chip, I–” Jay paused as she remembered something. It was that Saturday wasn’t it? Jay felt the guilt well up in her. A terrible friend and an even worse niece. Forgetting the day of your uncle’s disappearance and the day your friend lost everything ? Great job, Ferin. “...one drink. I’ll have one drink.” Chip looked shocked for a minute that his puppy dog eyes actually worked before his mischievous grin was plastered right back on. 

“Let’s go! Pizza and booze!” He cheered.

“Only if we go to a bar!” Jay shouted over him. “You are NOT drinking firebolt in my apartment.” Chip frowned slightly, but seemed to agree anyway. 

“Wooo, pretzel bites and booze…” He cheered less excitedly. 

“They have pizza at the bar near the game store.” Jay assured. 

Chip let another ‘woo’ and tossed his bag on the couch, practically racing towards the door. 

“Gillion, you should come, get to know everyone a little bit better.” Jay suggested, grabbing her purse and other essentials. Chip was already halfway down the hall.. 

“Everyone?” Gillion asked, having moved over to clean up the broken plate during her mild crisis. 

“A couple people in the building, John and Alphonze from the apartments below us. Maybe Gryffon and Queen from the first floor.” 

“Queen’s working tonight, and Ollie’s going to some movie with Alphonze!” Chip called. Jay frowned. 

“Gryffon’s kind of antisocial without Queen, we should probably leave him alone.” She mused. “So, you in?” Gillion dumped the ceramic shards into an empty plastic grocery bag and tied it tightly. 

“I have to pick up my dog tonight… I already unpacked most of her stuff, so she’s pretty much set…” 

“That’s right, your service dog, right?” Gillion nodded. 

“Yes, her name’s Pretzel, she’s a beagle. I believe you already knew she was going to be living with me?” 

“I did.” Jay confirmed. “I’ll be back in maybe 3 hours? It’s still pretty early in the night, so maybe longer. Oh! And Chip might stay the night, so if you see him sleeping on the couch in the morning, try not to murder him.” Gillion blushed a little, embarrassed. 

“I will try to refrain from being startled by your friend,” He agreed. 

“Jay! Com’on!” Chip shouted from down the hall. Jay rolled her eyes fondly and gave Gillion a nod. 

“Okay, be safe.” Gillion hesitated. 

“Jay, your friend… Chip. I…” He trailed off for a moment before finishing awkwardly, “I am glad to have met him. This evening. He is… an interesting person.” 

Something told Jay that he was hiding something. Most likely to do with the whole ‘I nearly died today’ thing that Chip had been so shaken about. He might have been mentioning whatever happened to him a decade ago, but this felt a little too fresh. She could connect the dots pretty easily that Gillion saved him. But why had neither of them mentioned it? Jay shrugged off the thoughts and followed Chip as he raced around the apartment building. 

She’d figure out why those two were being weird eventually. 

Chapter Text

“Hello. You are on the floor.” Gillion informed the man who was currently lying on the carpeted floor just outside of his apartment.

“M’not on the floor.” The man informed back. He was burly with tanned, tattooed skin and a brown crew cut. He wore a black tank top, a sleeveless jean jacket, army print cargo pants, and big black combat boots. He would have been very imposing if it weren’t for the fact that he was blearily blinking up at him with distaste. “M’ Marshal John.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Gillion Tidestrider, fencing champion of the Undersea Academy, hero to the small dogs of the Deep Animal Rescue Center, and Fish Boy.”

“Fish Boy?”

“Yes, it’s a recent title. I’m hoping to collect more.”

“Huh.” Marshal John attempted to pull himself from the ugly seashell printed carpet– quite literally, he held his own hand and pulled upwards– and, upon being unsuccessful, examined Gillion thoughtfully.

“You just move in?” He asked with a wave of his hand. Gillion nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! I live in the apartment right behind you.” Marshal John squinted at him.

“This is my apartment.”

“401?”

“This is your apartment.” He decided, attempting to pull himself up again. Gillion moved Pretzel’s crate to his hip and offered out his hand. John took it with little complaint, and after hoisting himself up, immediately stumbled into a wall with a thud. Pretzel huffed from inside her crate and Gillion helped him stand a little straighter. He received a nod as the man leaned on him for support.

“Do you live here as well?” Gillion asked, opening the door to the apartment. A little painted bluebird above the lock taunted him as he struggled with the key.

“Downstairs. 302.” Gillion hummed as the door clicked.

“If you let me put Pretzel down, I can walk you there?”

“...You got yourself a deal, Gillion.”

The walk to Marshal John’s apartment took much longer than expected. Nearly a half hour to walk to the elevator and to the plain and peeling brown door down the hall from said elevator.

This wasn’t Marshal John’s fault, of course. He was very polite in his drunken stumbling to his apartment. No, it was more the fact that Marshal John was probably 270 pounds or more of pure muscle. Gillion was very proud of how much he could lift, he’d been training strength for most of his life after being told he lacked the finesse for fencing. Still, 270 pounds was a decent amount of weight. And deadweight just made it worse.

Despite this, they made it. Eventually. Gillion’s passenger seemed to be half asleep and drooling on his shoulder, but Gillion found that he didn’t really mind. It had been a while since someone had leaned on him. It was weirdly comfortable.

The door, which was decorated in a similar way to his own apartment door in it’s colorful doodle paintings, was open. Only a sliver of a messy apartment, dimly lit by a floor lamp could be seen through the crack. Gillion tried not to frown as he shouldered the door open, carefully bracing John’s body against his own. Frowning was rude and he didn’t want to be rude, even if he didn’t think John could see his face. Or if anyone else could see his face. The apartment in front of him was seemingly void of any life, which was… concerning.

“Marshal John… Do you have someone? Who lives with you, or near you, or… just someone who can maybe help you get into bed?” Gillion asked softly, trying not to startle the man on his shoulder.

“Ollie’s at Alphonze's right now. He’s probably gonna stay the night, doesn’t like the bed in the office.” Marshal John mumbled back.

“Ollie is your…?”

“Just drop me off on the couch, I’ll be fine.”

Gillion looked at the brown leather couch which was currently covered in unfolded laundry. He frowned.

“I’ll drop you off in your room, it’s no trouble.” Gillion reasoned, hefting the man up further and moving towards an open bedroom door.

The room Marshal John ended up in was much cleaner than the rest of the apartment. All keepsakes were neatly organized on shelves that looked thoroughly dusted. The bed was along the far left wall, and was made with military precision. In Gillion’s opinion, it looked more like a soldier's barracks than a bedroom, but he could hardly judge. His own bedroom at the academy had looked incredibly similar.

Gillion deposited Marshal John on the impeccably made bed and stood, unsure of what to do next. Marshal John lay motionless, seemingly fast asleep.

“Marshal John?” Gillion whispered. John let out an impossibly loud snore in response. “Okay.”

Gillion snuck his way towards the door, trying his best to avoid stepping on anything that would make noise. John’s room was clean enough, but the living room was a minefield of children’s play balls, wrappers, and a pair of glasses that sat innocently beside three pairs of colorful CVS sandals.

There was something… strange. About walking through this stranger’s apartment. Gillion felt like he was the stranger. Like he didn’t quite belong in the chaotic mess of Marshal John and this Ollie person. Maybe Ollie was a son? Did Marshal John have a partner? Was that who Alphonze was? Dozens of questions raced through Gillion’s mind as he attempted to discern anything else about the man sleeping in the bedroom just a few feet away.

Gillion paused at the door, having made it there with minimal noise and without realizing it. He found he didn’t want to leave just yet. To go up to a mostly empty apartment in a new city with people he didn’t know, who had history he wasn’t a part of.

Dare he say he was… scared.

Being in Marshal John’s apartment with Marshal John dead asleep was better than being alone in Jay Ferin’s with Jay Ferin away with her friend who hated him.

Jay’s friend, Chip, most certainly hated him. Gillion didn’t really know why, but it was the only explanation for why Chip looked at him like… that. Eyes wide, face red. Like he didn’t know what to say or do. Paralyzed in doubt and fear. Gillion didn’t know how to feel about that expression. He couldn’t even begin to decipher it.

Chip didn’t mention that they’d already met. When Jay introduced them to each other after Gillion had… thrown a plate at his head (he needed to remember to replace that), Chip had just stared at him. With that expression. Like he was seeing Gillion for the first time.

Maybe Chip had just thoroughly blocked out their meeting from his mind. It wouldn’t be a surprise, he’d nearly drowned and had punched his glasses off of his face (he needed to remember to replace those as well). To Chip’s credit, it was a very good punch. He had clearly trained that skill to some degree. Maybe Chip would hate Gillion less if they trained together?

Considering how much he liked the people he trained with growing up, it was unlikely.

He stayed in the door for a few minutes more, soaking up the image of the apartment, committing as much as he could to memory, before steeling himself and moving towards the elevator.

Pretzel was probably wondering where he’d been.