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Slow to Wake

"Gate, wake up!!" Chipper was an early bird; a goldfinch with a penchant for surprisingly unharmonious singing. He had passion and gusto- but lacked the finesse most attributed to one of his nature. Especially today, on this particular morning.

"Damn it Gate, wake UP," he trilled, futilely flapping at Gates back. His wings brushed over his scales causing nothing more than a ruffling of his feathers which was soon rectified by an agitated preening into good shape. Chipper realized what he had to do. "I'm sorry baby," he whispered to his feathers, right before he plunged them in to the Alligators snout.

There was a large amount of snorting and snuffling and flailing of appendages, but soon enough the two were awake and standing, unharmed, but with a few less feathers and a few less mucous membranes. "Geez, Chip. I was gonna get up. It's only, like, one."

Their was a twitch of his beak but nothing more. "Yuh-huh," he tweeped, folding his wings. Gate made no move other than the slow sweeping of his tail across the floor, like he always did when he didn't know what he did wrong. Chipper sighed. "We have an engagement tonight, at the Bayou. At six. In five hours." Gate made no response. Chippers feathers started to fan out before Gate began his hastey reply.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah I know!! Just had to get my, uh, beauty sleep!! You know how my scales grey if I don't get my twelve hours!" He laughed his deep rumbling laugh, and Chipper relaxed his gaze. "Don't worry, Chip, I'll be there, smokin' hot as the first time you laid eyes on me at the Savannah Bar!" He winked, and Chipper looked away, still as embarrassed as he had been when he ungracefully threw the rest of his Apple-Tini in Gates face after a lewd joke. But the way that poisonously lime green drink reflected of Gate's dark green scales as it dripped down his stony body...

Chipper covered his face then furiously beat his wings to bat away the memory, and the flush from his face. "Five years since today, you know? Eight O'clock, or round abouts," he reminisced, before becoming self aware, "but, anyways! Tonight, six O'clock Gate!! Don't you dare be late!" Chipper started leaving in a hurry, leaving Gate with a chiseled outer, but inward wondering feeling. He forgot about it instantly as he wondered what he should wear. Maybe his black slacks, with his wooly vest. "And remember," Chipper called as he stuck his head back through Gates door before fleeing the apartment, "Wear your nicest clothes!! This ain't no Savannah, it's the Bayou--if you even think about wearing that catastrophe you call a vest, I will peck out those devices of fashion disgrace you call eyes right out of your head! And please, it's about time you take off that watch--you've never had that stupid thing in working condition anyways!" And with that, he was gone.

"Fuck," muttered Gate. He waited a few minutes, not moving an inch, until he was sure Chip didn't try and remind him of anything else. Then he went back to bed.

---

Chipper sat dejectedly at his table for two, staring at the flicker of the candle in its romantically red holder with increasing depression. It was nearly seven. He was going to blow out the candle, drink the rest of his nearly full third Apple-Tini and leave. After increasingly loud attempts at extinguishing the candle with his breath and several looks from the nearby couples enjoying their oh-so-sweet dates, he picked up the candle holder and looked inside. It was fake.

He knew he should've never listened to Gate. He should've gone to pick him up, or at least check on him. He was never on time. Tonight was supposed to be perfect, how could he not think tonight would be any different then other date nights, just because this was "The Most Romantic Restaurant off the Mainland." He furiously twittered under his breath for several moments until he felt a cool hand on his shoulder.

"Heyya Chip," a voice murmured seductively into his ear.

With tears in his eyes, Chipper stood and spun, tossing with a the ferocity of a four-year-old the remains of his drink in his face. "How could you," he whispered, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. "You told me about this months ago. I knew you'd forget. You always forget! I thought, for once, because you made the plans, you'd actually remember, and maybe even be on time! I should've know that would never happen, even with me reminding you! It's so stupid!" He could feel hot wetness on his cheeks.

"You know me so well, Chip-a-roo," Gate rumbled affectionately, pinning Chips wings against his body, to make sure he wouldn't try to hurt him, while in affect only hurting himself, as Gate licked away Chippers salty tears. "I did forget something. But I didn't forget today, and I didn't forget five years ago," he paused for a few seconds, and looked at his watch. "To this very minute. Seven twenty-two. That night at the Savannah, you--well, you did what you did just a minute ago. No one's ever challenged me like that. Especially not one as scrawny as you."

In an attempt to disprove his point, Chipper struggled to free his pinned wings, to no avail. "You--," Chip started, but was muffled by a sweet kiss from Gate. Chip was stunned an speechless, which Gate took as an opportunity to let go and fish something out of his pocket.

"I... I forgot this thing here." Gate had the nerve to look bashful. "It's something I hid, to make sure you never found it. But then... I... I forgot where it was. It took me awhile to find it, cause it was under a lot of clothes I haven't washed yet." Chipper s mouth gaped in horror. "No it's--it's clean and doesn't smell or nothin', really," he insisted earnestly, then dropped to one knee.

"Chip... Chipper... My Chippy-roo... I knew, since the first day I met you, that I could never let someone with such fire in their spirit out of my life. I know that sometimes I can be... forgetful, sometimes... but I could never forget you." He pulled the box out from his pocket and opened it. There was a ring.

"You'll never have too," Chipper cried, "I do, I love you, I do!!"