#ccvalentines2018

Chris blinks the sleep out of his eyes and lets Darren draw him into his arms, nudging into the palm of his hand when Darren traces the side of his jaw.

He lets Darren kiss him, lets him clutch at his hands excitedly, says okay and smiles when the surprise on Darren’s face makes his eyebrows rise and knees momentarily stop jogging- before he’s being kissed fiercely, the unspoken words I love you searing themselves into Chris’ mind.

(all of the lights land on you)

The run of the tires is whisper quiet in Darren’s expensive car, a blur in the background beneath their beating hearts and twined fingers. Chris holds Darren’s hand in his lap as they drive, the pad of his thumb tracing a mindless pattern as they trace a well-worn path through the hills, one Chris likes to think only they know.

Where they are going is a place which Chris holds closer to his heart than any other.

It is where Chris found Darren several years ago, drunk out of his mind and truly scared, where Chris held him until his shirt grew stained and his knees began to ache. It is where bruises have blossomed that only each other’s touch could heal, where words were said that changed everything.

It is where Darren made a decision that both broke their lives apart and sewed them back together with love-laden string- where Darren went to a knee and Chris left with a promise on his left ring finger.

(i promise you the truth can't hurt us now)

The sand is soft under his feet, damp with the curling waves. Darren drags him out into the water, far enough that he is soaked to his waist. Chris doesn’t argue, doesn’t care that his sleep clothes are wet, doesn’t care that the water is so cold that his skin has grown stark white.

He used to complain about this, back when their only worry was a dropped rating or a bad review. He used to complain about the sand that ended up everywhere, about the interrupted sleep, about the ice cold water.

Now, Chris holds it close to his heart, like someone is quite literally trying to tear it away from him.

Darren grins at him, delirious and high on the sudden and spontaneous happiness that Chris used to see so often but now is graced with so rarely. His hair is the same colour as the water, midnight blue and shining. Chris can’t help but marvel at how beautiful he really is, can’t help but bow into Darren’s body when broad palms curve around his waist.

They sway there in the swirling water, and Chris watches over Darren’s shoulder as the water paints the sand black.

(so let the words slip out of your mouth)

Darren’s lips are cool against his skin, parted gently as they rest on Chris’ shoulder. He begins to sing quietly, scraps of a song that sends shivers down Chris’ spine.

Glorious as we transcend,

Into a psychedelic silhouette

At these words, Chris pulls away to look down at him, at his tousled hair and bright eyes.

He speaks for the first time since they stepped out of the house, keys dangling from Darren’s restless fingers.

Why are we here?

Chris’ words are almost quiet enough to get lost in the wind and the tumbling waves. Darren tugs him close, clutches his waterlogged clothes, and kisses him.

His lips taste like salt.

To escape, Darren whispers, tucking his arms under Chris without warning, and lifting him up. Chris yelps and squeezes his eyes shut as Darren manages a few spins before he staggers and lets Chris back down, who is laughing so hard he’s sure he can hear the sand rattling in his lungs.

(and in the wind there's a heavy choice)

They stay until they begin to shiver, counting few what stars they can see, and talking about days long gone, memories that still burn bright in this haven of theirs.

When they get home, Chris lays out a blanket on the cold wooden floor. They’re too tired to shower and sand is a nightmare to get out of their bedding, so the living room is where they’ll sleep.

Darren peels off Chris’ salt-stiff clothes, kisses his tacky skin, and they lose themselves for just another night.

Chris’ head snaps up to look at Darren in shock. He’s never heard him sound this at a loss, this dejected, this genuinely questioning.

“What are you talking about?”

Darren sighs shakily, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, the newest of his nervous tics. “I look at you, and I wonder what I did to deserve you, and that’s when I realize. I don’t.”

Chris feels like someone’s taken his intestines and tied them into knots.

“What are you talking about?” he whispers hotly, even though they’re alone in Chris’ home, in their home. “I love you.”

His heart clenches when he sees Darren’s eyes grow dull, as if he hasn’t even heard him.

“I can’t give you anything,” he explains quietly. “I can’t give you a life free of secrecy, I can’t give you love which you don’t have to hide. I can’t be the husband that you need, I- I can’t give you children- how could we- how could we bring a child into this whole mess?”

The tears are rolling down Chris’ cheeks and he doesn’t even know it, not until they trace tracks down his jaw and pool at his collar.

(Take me as I am, take my life.)

They’ve not spoken about it before, not properly, but Chris knows how desperately Darren wants children. He knows it in the way Darren holds his niece like she’s the most precious thing on earth, he knows it in the way Darren speaks to kids and genuinely listens, he knows it in the way Darren will start sometimes start sentences with, I’m going to teach my children...

“I’m with you because I love you,” Chris says quietly.

Darren looks at him like he doesn’t believe it, and that’s what breaks Chris.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s saying, and Darren’s falling into him like he’s succumbing to Chris’ gravity, head falling heavily against his chest- the most familiar weight Chris has ever known:

Darren’s body on his.

(Don’t tell me it’s not worth trying for.)

“When I first met you,” Chris starts, “I thought you were perfect.”

Darren is unmoving against his chest, tears bleeding from beneath his lashes.

“You were everything I thought I had ever wanted in a guy- confident, creative, unashamed, invincible.” He cradles Darren’s shoulders, pressing a kiss through his hair. “I was chasing a fantasy. Not because you weren’t any of those things, but because you were so much more.

“And I think, discovering you, the real you, has been the best adventure of my life. I fell in love with the man of my dreams, the dreams that I would always forget when I woke up. And Darren Criss, I swear to you, I will never, ever let you try to make me forget you. And I will never let you forget that I love you.”

(Everything I do,)

Chris holds Darren until their hearts begin to beat in unison.

It’s all Darren can think as he watches him, fidgeting with the microphone as he looks to Darren for advice. He’s been helping Chris with performance tips before their first show, mentoring him as he figures out exactly how singing solos live works.

Chris has been understandably nervous; he seemed not to like the sound of his voice unless it was caged up in a studio, complaining that it was too high and too pitchy.

Darren had been quick to disagree. He doesn’t really understand how anyone can dislike having a voice like that, one that sounds like honey-sweet syrup, the timbre of it impossibly gentle. Darren had told Chris about as much- he hates how Chris doesn’t know how incredible he really is- and Chris had blushed and brushed it aside.

(Something’s there we can’t deny...)

The deafening whistle of the feedback from the microphone brings Darren out of his reverie, and he sees Chris lower himself to perch at the lip of the stage.  

Darren walks down one of the side aisles to meet him, switching off the two-way radio that connects him to the sound techs. He slides the microphone out of Chris’ hands, and then rests his arms on Chris’ knees so that he can look up at him.

Chris chews his lips and then lets out a little huff of a sigh. “I sound like a cross between a five-year old and an old lady.”

Darren grins at him; they’ve been through this about a thousand times before. “You do not. You’re doing so much better with your breath control, and you’ve gotten more used to owning your stage space. You sound great, Chris.”

“My hands shake, and then that makes the microphone shake, and then it just fucks up everything,” Chris says quietly.

Darren stills Chris’ hands, which have been worrying the neck of his t-shirt. “The nerves go away eventually.”

Chris eyes him skeptically and Darren laughs, pushing back the hair that’s fallen over his forehead. “I’m serious. Think of it as clouds giving way to the sun. You’ll be so nervous, and you’ll feel sick, but after a few moments you’ll never want to stop singing. That feeling- it’s incredible, Chris.”

“Is that why we can’t get you to shut up then, Mr Attention Whore?” Chris teases, tugging on a loose curl.

“Hey, I’m serious!” Darren settles his chin on his hands. “If it doesn’t get better, find something to ground you. Sing to a pole at the back of the arena, or to an empty seat. You’ll forget just how surrounded you are.”

“What about you?” Chris whispers, and something in Darren’s chest catches.

“I- I won’t actually be in the audience,” he says, and Chris smiles slightly at the way he stutters for a moment.

“I can imagine you’re there, though.”

“Okay,” Darren says quietly, and Chris tips his chin up with his fingers.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, closing the space between them and kissing him softly. The kiss feels like what hearing Chris’ voice feels like:

A satin ribbon wrapping up the length of his body, curling around his heart, and pulling Darren home.

(And when I first knew