Ok, so this is my first Glee fic, and my first RPF ever published on . (I used to have a ton of fics on here, but then I realized my early writings really sucked so I deleted them... all but one at least.) I am a Gleeaholic, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to write Blaine/Kurt. Maybe it's because those two are still teenagers in high school and I have long since left that world. Besided, I absolutely ADORE Darren and Chris, and it seems like they have such an awesome relationship, which I decided to take full advantage of with this fic.
For what ever the reason, this little plot bunny crawled into my head and would NOT let go.
P.S. I don't own anything you may recognize... cause if I did, I would force these two to sing me to sleep every night.
PLEASE R&R... I'M LIKE A FIVE STAR RESTAURANT... I NEED REVIEWS TO LIVE!
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"Oh my GaGa… this is an absolute nightmare! He can't do this! What the hell is wrong with people?" Chris squeaked, tossing the tabloid down on the table in front of a very confused Darren. Knowing his younger cast mate had a knack for blowing things far out of proportion, Darren began to laugh and reach for the discarded paper. Chris stopped pacing and his eyes widened as he watched Darren turn the paper over. He dove for the paper, trying desperately to snatch it from the curly haired man's hands who then got up from the table and began running around the kitchen giggling.
If he only knew what was on the front of that damn thing, he wouldn't be laughing. Chris chased Darren out of the small kitchen of the apartment they had been sharing for the last six months and down the hall to their bedroom. Chris quickly ducked the pillow that was thrown at his head, and cringed as it slammed into the lamp on the dresser. Thankfully, nothing had gotten broken, at least not yet. Placing his hands on his hips, the younger man shook his head as he watched his friend bounce on the bed like a five year old, still giggling at being able to outrun Chris.
"Darren. Please," Chris pleaded. The tone is his voice stopped Darren in mid-bounce. He had a look of bewilderment on his face that would have been funny in any other situation, but not now and not with the paper in his hands. Sighing, Chris crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, where Darren joined him. Reluctantly, Darren handed over the paper and for a split second Chris contemplated just throwing it away and never showing it to his best friend and co-star, although according to the paper they were so much more than that.
"We need to talk."
Darren cringed, his eyebrows bunching unnaturally as he stared at Chris, trying to decipher the look on his face. Damn him for being such a good actor. We need to talk. Those words kicked around in his head and caused a dull throb to start. Never in his life had he ever had a conversation end well when it began with those words. Those four little words. That's all they are. Four little words can't hurt you, but they can turn your whole world upside down. Darren's world had been topsy-turvy for quite some time, but ever since meeting the sandy haired man that sat next to him staring at the floor, it had been set on its ear. It would be hard to deny the fact that he had feelings for him, but he was straight for Pete's sake. Straight guys don't crush on their gay co-stars.
But Darren, you seem to forget, a small voice in his head said. You are about as straight as a windy road in the farthest of the far of back country roads in the middle of nowhere that tend to lead to absolutely nowhere whatsoever. I have serious issues. Where do I come up with this stuff? Why is Chris staring at me?
"Darren, why do you look like you're in pain?" Chris asked, rolling the newspaper in his hand. Had the other man already seen the headline? Judging by the look on his face, it was still undetermined.
"Nope, I'm good. So, what's going on babe? Why on earth have you been so bent on keeping that paper from my hands? Afraid I'll read some raunchy untrue story about you and some back alley shenanigans?"
"I wish it were that simple, Dare." Chris sighed, unrolling the paper he still had clenched in his now sweating hands. Chris took a deep breath and decided to bite the bullet. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep this from Darren forever, but he wished he could somehow delay it at least another two or three decades. By then, both of them would be too old to care.
Ok, that tone was kinda concerning, Darren thought to himself. Chris was acting really weird, even by their standards. Something was definitely not right, and he had a feeling he was about to find out exactly what it was. Looking down he saw what Chris had been trying to hide from him. Darren's jaw came unhinged and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a squeak. His mind was trying to comprehend the words he saw in front of him, but he couldn't bring himself to understand. Who would have done such a thing, and even more… why?
In bold letters across the front page was Darren Criss: Glee's Resident Closet Case. Underneath the headline was a picture of Darren from Coachella. Didn't people know that all of that was just in good fun? And why are people so damn concerned with labels anyway? Love is love. PERIOD. It was the line in the lower corner of the magazine that caused Darren's chest to clench: Falchuk says it's time for him to go.
"Darren?" It was just a whisper but it hit the curly haired man's ears like a shout, and he recoiled. Chris reached out and placed a hand on the other man's arm, who quickly scooted away from him and scrambled to the other side of the room. The walls were caving in around him rapidly, and he knew he had to get out of there before the weight of the situation completely crushed him. Darren looked back down at the crumbled paper and debating on going over to it and stomping it, but the look in Chris's eyes stopped it. He wasn't sure what all he saw there. Anger? Sadness? Remorse? There seemed to be something else that sparked ever so briefly in those shallow pools of blue, but it was gone before he could put his finger on it. Not only was he about to lose his best friend, but he had apparently lost his livelihood as well.
"Darren." This time it was more of a demand; a gentle urging to get him to speak. Again, the shorter man opened his mouth to speak, but as Chris approached him he reacted swiftly and bolted from the room.
Standing in the middle of their shared bedroom, Chris looked down at the fallen periodical with cloudy eyes. As the tears blazed hot, angry trails down his cheeks, he picked up the offensive article and tossed it across the room, screaming in anger as he heard the front door slam. Why was someone always so hell bent on ruining his life? What had he ever done to anyone? He began to think he had seriously pissed someone off in a former life, and this was his punishment. If that were the case, then fine. He could handle the humiliation; he was used to it. But why did people insist on bringing down everyone in his life?
Chris stalked towards the kitchen and flung open the refrigerator and felt more tears escape his eyes as he saw the remnants of their dinner tucked away neatly in bowls on the top shelf. Just a few hours ago, everything in his life had been right. He was finally doing what he loved, and what made it even more special was he was sharing it with someone he loved. He scoffed as he thought about those miserable people in the world who refused to allow others to be happy. He hadn't even gotten a chance to tell Darren how he really felt before someone else put the words in his mouth and turned them into something ugly. Reaching to the back of the fridge, he pulled out a bottle of watermelon schnapps and turned the bottle upside down. He knew downing that much sugary alcohol at once was only going to end badly, but at the moment he didn't care. He was wanted to cease to feel, even if for just a little while. He felt hid cell phone vibrate in his pocked, followed by The Warbler's version of Hey, Soul Sister which meant only one thing: Darren. Chris dug in his pocket to check his phone, and felt his heart drop when he read the message.
Talked 2 RIB. I'm out. Prolly not b home 2nite. Gonna go crash w/ some of the guyz.
Chris fumbled a reply, then deleted it. He tried yet again, but still ended up deleting his message. There was so much he wanted to say to Darren, but yet nothing sounded right. He wanted to tell him he loved him and wanted him to come home, but he doubted Darren wanted to even look at him at this point. Sighing, Chris replied:
K. Pls b careful. Call if u want 2 talk. I will c u when u get home 2morrow.
I'll b by to get my stuff sumtime. I'm going back to SF 2morrow. I'm sorry.
Those words hit Chris like a ton of bricks, and he collapsed to the floor, no longer able to repress the sobs that now shook his entire body.
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So, what do you think? Something I should continue? Or should I just go back to my boring life and accept the fact that my life will never be that damn exciting? Remember, a review to me is like a Golden Globe to Chris. I will love on it and hug it and pet it forever.