Hi everyone!
So I had this fun, fluffy idea and finally decided to just bite the bullet, sit down, and write. I'm a big shipper of the CrissColfer friendship (and, in my dreams-in-which-Darren-is-a-flaming-gay, romance), and this is just a feel-good piece about our two lovely boys! It will be in two chapters. Hope ya'll like it, and as always, feel free to tell me what you think! =)
Hugs, Drugs, and Friendly Spooning
From deep within the warmth of his thick cotton blankets, a young man groaned melodramatically when he heard the buzzing of a cell phone on his bedside table. Unpleasant thoughts of reaching out from beneath his bedding and into the chilly bedroom air made him recoil even further, but eventually, he had to face the inevitable.
Blindly, he slid an arm off the side of his mattress and stretched it toward the nightstand.
The buzzing continued, and the twenty-one-year old (allowing his inner teenager to get the best of him) continued the search by moving his hand lazily around the cool wooden surface of the nightstand, refusing to expose anymore of himself to the air that had made his arm break out into goose bumps.
Where the hell…
His search became more frantic as he did not want to miss the call, and when he could not locate the device after the fourth or fifth vibration, he groaned once more, forced his heavy, aching head off of the pillow, and threw back his blankets, bracing himself for the light and cold.
On the upside, there was very little light for which one would need to brace himself; the boy's curtains were half closed. Just as well, the sky was dark with thick stretches of grey cloud.
The cold, however, had to be ground-breaking, especially for Los Angeles.
Valiantly trying to ignore the goose bumps that were rapidly spreading across his entire upper body, he picked up his phone and fell back onto the bed with the device at his ear.
"Hel…" just as he began to answer, a tickle at the back of his throat caused him to break into a series of coughs that sounded like the phlegm-filled dying gasps of a very sick puppy dog. He tried to breathe in through his nose, only to realize that his airways were all but completely obstructed. He sniffled and instantly regretted it as the obstructing substances of his nasal cavity were forced into the back of his throat.
He took a deep breath. Eyes closed in frustration, he tried again.
"Hello?"
"Holy… dude, you okay?"
"… Darren?"
"Yeah Chris, it's me… and you sound like a cat that got run over by a truck and is dying a slow death on the side of the highway…"
Chris rolled his eyes, but smiled grimly nonetheless. "Ha, ha…" he stammered through another series of unsoundly coughs. "How're you, Mr. Potter?"
"I'm fine, other than the fact that I'm sitting in front of Starbucks, all by my lonesome on a seven-AM-breakfast run that was supposed to be a romantic man-date."
Chris sighed, bringing his hand to his forehead. He could practically see the childish pout on Darren's face. "Damn it," he muttered, his voice, he noted, getting hoarser by the minute, "I'm really sorry, Darren… I just… slept…"
Chris held his phone at arm's length right in the nick of time, keeping it safe from contamination. He sneezed so forcefully that he felt his ears and sinuses ache as though he were on an airplane coming in for a landing.
Making a hoarse, exasperated noise (that Darren heard distinctly), Chris reached over to his nightstand and retrieved a box of tissues. He set it down on the bed next to him before taking one, forcefully and thoroughly blowing his nose, then crumpling it up. He aimed for the wastebasket on the other side of the room near his dresser but, as per usual, he missed.
A second exasperated groan led Darren's worry to heighten.
"Okay man, this is not cool."
"Seriously, I'll be okay," Chris said quietly, attempting to save what little voice he had left, "There's just no way I'm going to make it out today… I'm really sorry… I should have called or… or something…"
"Give me fifteen minutes."
"Wha…?"
The line was cut off, and Chris vaguely wondered what Darren had been talking about before his heavy eyelids fell and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
The next thing Chris knew, two gentle hands with distinctly calloused fingertips were messaging his forehead, smoothing out the lines of discomfort. With a muffled cough, he began to open his eyes.
"… Darren?"
"Shhh… rest your voice, Chris."
"How… how did you get in, exactly?" Chris asked, dazed, confused, and genuinely curious.
Darren chuckled softly before reaching down to the floor and into his backpack, producing a bright pink karabiner that held at least a dozen different keys. Darren held the jangling mass of metal by one small, silver key, which Chris recognized as the key to his front door.
"Key-trade, remember? In case one of us dumbasses gets locked out of his house?"
Chris smiled amusedly. "Right, right," he remembered. "Well, good to know you're putting my trust in you to good… u… u…"
In record time, Darren grabbed four or five tissues from the box sitting on the bed and held them against Chris's nose and mouth, preventing any further contamination of their surroundings.
"Use," Chris finished weakly with a sniffle.
"God bless you."
"Thanks."
Darren gave him a comforting smile before crumpling up the tissue, standing up, and crossing the room to toss it into the wastebasket. He picked up and threw away Chris's earlier air ball as well, before picking up the entire wastebasket and bringing it over to Chris's bedside.
"You know you're going to get sick, Darren, and I don't think I can have that on my conscience."
"Nah, I'll brave it," Darren shrugged with a grin. "If I can improve your nothing-short-of-suckish situation in any way, it'll be worth it."
With that, Darren reached down to the floor and lifted two CVS/Pharmacy bags and a small, bright blue duffle onto Chris's desk. He bent down once more and produced a brown Panera bag as well.
"Oh my… Darren Criss…"
"I don't want to hear a reprimanding word out of your mouth, Colfer," Darren snapped playfully. "Now if you'll allow me…"
Darren unzipped the blue duffle bag and reached inside, pulling out what appeared to be a folded quilt. Looking quite proud of himself, he began to unfold it. "Now," he said, holding the quilt up for Chris to see its design, "Nothing says 'get well soon' like a flannel Harry Potter blanket. Am I right?"
Chris could not suppress a smile as he thought to himself; Only Darren Criss would own a flannel blanket that sports the Hogwarts crest, Latin phrases and all.
"As much as I want to argue and tell you to get the heck out of here before you catch the contagion, I have to admit: that is a thing of beauty."
"I knew you'd come 'round." Darren moved to Chris's side and spread the blanket over his goose-bump-covered body, tucking it snugly around his sides.
"How're you feeling?" Darren asked in a more serious tone, sitting down on the mattress as he adjusted the blankets, allowing Chris to sink a little deeper into his bed.
After a few sniffles, to which Darren attended by offering Chris another tissue, Chris answered glumly, "Like death wrapped in a sore throat."
Darren winced. "Any aches, pains…?"
"Every muscle in my body… or so it feels."
"Well, I brought some Tylenol and some Benadryl," Darren said, retrieving one of the plastic CVS bags and sitting back down on the mattress, "and it's like, ridiculously cold out there, so I turned the heat up on my way in. That should kick on in a little while."
Darren reached into the bag and began removing its contents one at a time: Tylenol, Benadryl, a bottle of water, a plastic spoon, a pale blue washcloth, a canister of vaporizing chest rub, and lastly, a thermometer.
"Darren?" Chris began as his friend unpackaged the thermometer from its plastic case.
"Mmhm?"
"Thank you."
Darren paused and looked back into Chris's eyes.
"Thank you for coming, and thank you for everything you're doing," he continued, softly yet hoarse as ever. "You honestly don't have to be here, but it means a lot that you are."
Chris could have sworn that Darren's cheeks became just the slightest bit pinker than usual right before he smiled warmly and responded, "You're welcome."
The two young actors were silent as Darren finished unwrapping the thermometer. After cleaning it quickly with some water and a tissue, Darren brought the tip to Chris's lips and quietly ordered, "Open up."
Chris obeyed, allowing Darren to gently slide the metal tip beneath his tongue. Chris held the device between his lips for a few moments while Darren disposed of the plastic bag and untwisted the cap of the bottle of cold medicine.
Glancing at the thermometer, Darren murmured affirmatively to himself before carefully removing it from Chris's mouth and examining the reading.
"Holy…"
"Bad?"
"101.3, man."
Chris gasped, but it came out as a series of throat-searing gags. "What?" he croaked.
"This is a high fever, legit. If you reach 102, we're going to have to get you to the ER."
Sighing in frustration, Chris brought his hands to his face and began to massage his heavy eyelids.
Darren just pressed his lips together for a moment before finally proposing what he considered the most sensible course of action.
"So, how about those drugs?"