#andermelon

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, AMAZING, GORGEOUS, FANTASTIC BEST FRIEND (and future wife, but she’s like, in denial. I got this though. it’s chill. it’s happening.) 

I LOVE YOU SO DAMN MUCH. HAPPY 22ND BDAY. (go blast t-swift. you only get one day of ratchetry. ONE DAY IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. and that is today.) I never, ever, ever realized how incredibly important you’d be to me over two years ago when tumblr and fandom and that one negative RL incident brought us together. and yet, HERE WE ARE. really proves something good always comes out of the bad. in this case, something out of this world fantastic! our best friendship. a day without texting you feels incomplete, and if you were here, I’d be that annoying ass person who would never leave your side. 

AND GUESS WHAT. YOU WILL BE HERE. IN EXACTLY 20 DAYS. and I am, man, I am going to be a puddle of fucking tears soon. because who knew? who knew 2015 would be our year? who knew WE’D FINALLY FINALLY MEET IN PERSON THIS YEAR? WHO KNEW OUR FIRST TIME WATCHING DARREN ON BROADWAY WOULD BE TOGETHER? WE TALKED ABOUT THIS DAY SO MUCH AND IT IS FUCKING HAPPENING. I am counting my fucking lucky stars right now. I feel so sosos happy and so lucky that not are you coming here this summer, but that I even have you in my life to begin with. 

“Chris, I hate to tell you…” he starts, and it’s no surprise that Chris’s heart is already racing, pumping violently with dread.  His hands sit on his steering wheel, his car parked in his garage. Bill’s voice comes on through the car radio, Chris’s phone still connected via Bluetooth. He’s only just arrived back home after a meeting and was calling Darren in his spare time to ask about his week, as they still do regularly. They may not have lasted as lovers, but as friends, undoubtedly. So as soon as Bill mutters “heart attack”, Chris’s car is in drive, his foot off the brake pedal. He clicks on the garage door opener and races to the hospital.

Once there, his heart feels too tight in his chest, again beating wildly, the way it often does when he’s nervous, when he feels an impending sense of doom washing over him. Fear crawls up his throat, and he struggles to swallow the lump now formed. His mouth is dry, but his eyes are not, and everything feels backwards. Wandering down the hall towards Darren’s room, catching glimpses of jogging nurses and somber doctors and ailing patients, all Chris can think is Darren should not be here, lying on that bed, frail and pained and debilitated. His heart hurts at the thought, physically aches, and at the door to Darren’s room, he thinks maybe he too might have a heart attack. Good thing he’s already at the hospital.

This foreign sense of fear scares him, but… if he’s honest with himself, he knows it already. Knows it all too well. He first felt it when he was younger, still in his 20s, fresh-faced and innocent and very much in love with Darren. Back then, it made sense to feel fear for his significant other. It was an extension of his love. Yet despite the tumultuous end to their romantic relationship, the fearful feeling has never left him, and it returns whenever he’s afraid for Darren. He wonders if it is still an extension of that other feeling that’s never left him.

Or rather, he hasn’t let go.

“Darren,” he says in a breath when he finally opens the door, and one look at those hazel eyes sends his hand to his heart, silently calming it down, shushing it, soothing. “Honey, what happened to you?”

“Just a little heart attack,” Darren jokes, his disposition cheerful but his voice, feeble. Within it, Chris hears Darren’s fragility, and though he’s grinning because Darren is clearly okay, his eyes water even more. Chris pushes Darren’s hair back, running his fingers softly through the familiar curls, now speckled with gray. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it this way too. He plants a kiss on Darren’s forehead just as Darren mocks pretentiously, “I’m sorry. I meant a coronary artery spasm.”

He follows it with, “It’s no big deal.” And Chris’s jaw drops in shock jokingly, although he’s really not kidding. “It’s no big deal? Are you kidding me, you asshole? Of course it’s a big deal!” He smacks Darren’s arm gently.

Darren looks at his parents pointedly. “This is the kind of behavior that caused the spasm. Please remove him from my room.” And then chuckles softly. And the sound has Chris laughing too, tears spilling freely out of his eyes. When his chest feels tight again, he knows this feeling even better than the last one, his love shining bright in his smile and his eyes. He usually hushes it, but tonight, there’s no need.

“I hate you,” he says, and he only feels like he can smile because his gorgeous Darren is smiling too. Bright and beautiful and the way he always has around him.

“Mm, you don’t,” Darren responds, their eyes meeting, and he’s reaching forward to wipe Chris’s tears away though his hand is wrapped in gauze and medical tape, firmly holding in his IV. Chris closes his eyes and revels in the comfort, trying hard not to think about the imagery, how Darren has always taken care of him—and still takes care of him—first even when he’s been the one in desperate need.

---

Darren’s parents leave only after the nurses insist visiting hours are over. In truth, originally Cerina was designated to stay with her son, but after seeing Darren’s eyes light up in Chris’s presence, his whole self suddenly jumping from weak to lively, she practically demanded Chris stay. Thus, after some disagreement, whispered arguments of “But you’re his mother! He would want to be with you!” amidst Darren’s light snoring, Chris does so. When the lights are dim and his parents gone, Darren is still fast asleep, so Chris leaves him that way, lets him enjoy his rest, and instead flicks on the TV and cuddles into his new trusty chair beside Darren’s bed.

At first, he flips to the local news, but once the anchorwoman begins, “Actor and singer-songwriter Darren Criss was rushed to the hospital earlier today after several…” He changes the channel and settles on old Nick-at-Nite reruns, lowering the volume to avoid waking Darren. He rests his head against the side of his chair to pay attention, but it isn’t long before his eyes move away to Darren, and suddenly, the pain in his chest flares up again. He thinks about a million different scenarios in which Darren isn’t okay, and his tears return in full force. He’s sure by now his face is splotchy with red, but he can’t control his emotion, and frankly, a very small part of him begs him not to.

He struggles to convince himself that it’s okay to feel this strongly for a friend, especially his best friend of nearly thirty years, but deep within him, he knows. He can’t deny it. Thirty years has done nothing to remove his deep feelings for Darren. Closing his eyes, he lays his head down across his arms and wills himself to fall asleep and just… sleep it off.

However, Darren, awake by the sound of Chris’s soft sobbing, has a different idea, and he moves on his bed, making space. “Chris,” he says, patting the space next to him.

“Oh my god, did I wake you?” Chris asks, lifting his head up. “I really shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I just… I’m having a lot of trouble seeing you on that hospital bed.”

“It’s okay,” Darren responds. “Come here.”

Chris doesn’t think he should invade Darren’s bed space and says as much, but Darren persists, so Chris gives in and does. He settles beside Darren, curving his tall frame into the small space provided. His mind wanders to the other times he’s shared a bed with Darren, and though right now, their intention is nowhere near sexual, their proximity on the bed forces them to touch just as much. Chris, swearing it’s for better comfort, innocently rests an arm across Darren’s waist and splays his hand protectively across Darren’s lower back.

“We might be getting too old for this,” he quips, and Darren smiles softly, his hands coming up to move Chris’s hair away from his face. His touch is gentle, familiar, and it doesn’t startle Chris as it used to, but damn it, if it still doesn’t take his breath away. Chris’s heart (still) threatens to jump out of his chest every time Darren touches him.

“You know, when my dad picked up the phone,” Darren divulges, his thumb swiping away the tears on Chris’s cheeks, “He didn’t want to tell you. I told them to. They didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Chris says quietly, because anything above a whisper feels too loud in the quiet room. “I have every right to be worried about you.” On the bed too small to properly fit the both of them, their eyes intently gazing into each other’s, everything suddenly feels too intimate. Yet all the same, just right. Like this, right here, lying next to each other, holding each other gently, is in their nature.

“I’m fine, I promise. This was just… a scare.”

“You’re not fine, Darren Criss. You had a heart attack.”

“Ah, coronary artery spasm,” he corrects with a grin, and Chris rolls his eyes.

“Fine. You know what I mean. But you need to take it slow from now on. Take it down a notch. The doctor specifically told me to tell you to settle down.”

“He’s right.” Suddenly, Darren’s tucking his body even closer to Chris’s, and if it weren’t for their setting, Chris would swear it was 2012 again, when most of their time together consisted of stolen caresses and hushed whispers in the dark. “I do need to settle down.”

“Mm, good. You better. I’m glad you agree.”

“I need to settle down… with you.”

Chris pulls back, face serious, and his heart is speeding up again but it’s a whole different feeling. Nerves? Anxiousness? Apprehension? Why is this feeling so similar to the anticipation that just doesn’t sit right in his stomach when he’s awaiting news or an important decision? “That isn’t funny, Darren.”

Darren’s actions speak volumes before he does, and instinctively, he pulls Chris’s body back in, settling his hands on his hips. “Chris, I’m serious. What are we doing? I’m fifty-four, and I just had a fucking heart attack—”

“Spasm,” Chris jokes and lifts up his index finger in a matter-of-factly way, but it’s immediately clear to him that Darren is no longer joking. His lips are pressed together tightly, and his eyes are pleading Chris to listen. Chris stops and does so, but his insides have become nothing but a pile of nerves.

Darren’s voice is mixed with an emotion Chris recognizes. But he hasn’t heard it in years. Or maybe, he chose not to listen. “All I could think about the whole time was fuck, I’m about to die, and I didn’t spend my life with the man I love.”

Still, something urges Chris towards skepticism. How can Darren still possibly love him after all these years? Him?  “That’s not what you were thinking about,” he says, but only part of him stands behind the statement. The other part wants more than anything for it to be true. “It’s been years.”

“So? You don’t think I’ve still loved you all this time? How could I not?” When Chris doesn’t respond, too busy processing Darren’s confession and his resurging emotions, Darren continues to admit, “I do love you. So much. I can’t believe I’ve wasted all this time without you.”

Chris fights his disbelief. “Darren…”  

“Life’s too short…” Then, unexpectedly, in a moment’s notice, Darren’s entire demeanor changes, and there’s a panic in his eyes, wrapped in sadness. “D-do you still love me?”

And with that one sentence, Chris’s entire body is shaking lightly, goosebumps trailing across his skin. His heart beats to an accustomed rhythm, and he welcomes it. But he has spent so much time hiding and packing away this emotion that he feels it breaking through a surface inside him. He’s never been able to hide anything from Darren, so he confesses. “I do. I love you.”

And just like that, they are Chris and Darren again, and Chris settles more comfortably on the bed, sliding easily into Darren’s open arms, the same way his love for Darren is settling back in his heart.

“So, what are we doing?” Darren asks, and Chris knows exactly what he means. Though he speaks in present terms, there is no question what happens now. Darren only wants to know why they wasted all this time.

“I don’t know,” Chris answers honestly.

Only after his eyes shoot down to Chris’s lips, his characteristic way of asking permission, Darren closes the little space between them, locking their lips together. Chris moans softly, and he’s closing his eyes and melting into the familiar feeling, both of Darren’s lips and his deep-set feelings for the man beside him. There are no fireworks in this kiss. No giant sparks that make his whole body tingle. Not the way it was when they were younger and passionately lusting after each other anyway. It’s different in the best way possible. Innocent, but natural and familiar, mingled with a delicious taste of home. As if they’d spent all those lost years still tied by their lips, devolving their love into something much more than fiery passion.