Oneshot: Gray Or Blue
Title: Gray Or Blue
Pairing: CrissColfer
Rating: PG
Word count: 2900+ words (this part)
Summary: Darren, on an impulse, makes a tiny mistake that might have screwed up his friendship with Chris.
Notes: Inspired by Jaymay's song, Gray Or Blue. Listen to it, it's adorable and fluff. Not my best, I should work on Chris, but well..
The ceiling was white, smooth and perfect. It had no cracks or humidity stains which was actually good, but on the other hand, it stripped his conscience from using it as an excuse. He knew he was letting time tick by while he did nothing. He could even be watching a movie, reading a book, studying his script for next week's episode, taking a shower -which he had refused to do the day before-, thinking what he'd do for dinner that night. Anything; he was a free man and in his day off, what was he doing? Chest and head resting on his bed, both feet on the floor, not blinking and eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Even his guitar seemed a pathetic argument to stop himself from musing.
He glanced around and almost had to roll his eyes before reaching out for his cell phone. The screen lightened up but all he could see was the familiar picture of Naya doing a funny face, which Kevin had taken and set as his background image without Darren's knowledge. He also saw it was 4:29 pm on a Monday. But no missed calls, no texts.
No nothing.
He let out a frustrated and infuriated sigh, heavily plopping down his phone again on the wooden bedside table.
"Jesus," the words mashed with the mattress when he rolled over and felt his nose smashing against it. The rain was still hitting the left-ajar window, tickling the curtains which were also being danced around by the wind and slightly covering the floor, filling it with thin motes.
It was relaxing, really, when from time to time, a cold, not as slim breeze would go into Darren's room and carry some drops with it and pleasantly spray his face.
How had they come to this, anyway?
Weren't they like… best friends less than a week ago? And now, well… Now, Darren was like this: in this pathetic, regretful, longing state of his.
His mind went to places he wasn't sure he wanted to relive, remember and go back to or moments he just wanted to bury in a distant island, far, far away from both.
---
"I swear to God, I cried for an hour afterwards," Chris assured him, shrugging in desperate need for Darren's acceptance.
"You might've cried longer than I did, but I'm certain that I cried stronger than you did," he insisted, shaking his head with a soft grin.
"Just… No! Darren, no! No way," he banged the table in a completely childish way, returning an exasperated smile "There's no way the intensity of your crying can equally match the continuity of mine, seriously," he threw his head back and so did Darren, but the latter one laughing.
"Why is this so important for you, anyway?" he asked, taking a bite of his sandwich, elbow on the table.
"Because, I want you to give in and say that we like it, at least, as much as the other does," he said full of pride. Darren's eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead and he bobbed his head.
"Are you honestly insinuating you like Harry Fucking Potter as much as I do?" Darren beamed incredulously.
"Shit, yes!" he swore.
"Whoa, big motherfucking words, Colfer!" the other continued to laugh and smile broadly, raising his hands and looking around.
"God, I hate you!" he stood up and placed his empty dish next to the sink.
"Yeah, as if you could believe that tale yourself," Darren hummed, grabbing his own and walking up to him.
"You're too much of an asshole to buy it," he teased with a smirk.
Darren chuckled and sat on the counter top, consciously ignoring Chris' glare; he knew how much it bothered him when he did that "If the marble cracks or something and you fall, I will laugh and I will not help you, mister," he had sang to him about a thousand times.
"You're hopeless," he muttered under his breath and started scrubbing the dishes. Darren grinned and swayed his feet, trying not to hit the wooden cupboard beneath him. He turned his eyes to Chris and his severe concentration on the plate and his pale hands blending with the foam, his faintly stretched neck and the muscles that were being highlighted because of it, his obnoxious and flashy collar bone, his elegant posture and flexing arms. The tongue flickering between his teeth in annoyance to the water being too hot and then the tip of it slipping among his dry lips, his eyelashes concealing his eyes, his mind-blowing, strangely colored eyes, his rebel, untidy hair; all a perfect mixture between sickeningly adorable and insanely hot. That was what Chris was and felt like most of the times Darren was around him, as much as he refused to believe "No, it's fine, thank you, I don't need any help," Chris chuckled kind of condescendingly and ironic and led his eyes from the plate to Darren. His smile decreased a little, but the innocence and amiability in his eyes didn't die when the boy with curly hair continued to stare at him intently and with a slight frown "Darren?" his delicate, feverishly sweet voice squeaked softly.
Without a warning, Darren stretched his own neck still from the counter and leaned in, tilting his head lightly and simply pressing his lips to Chris'. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He breathed in, without thinking how the other boy might be reacting, not braking to ponder if his shortness of breath was a good or bad sign. Chris didn't pull away, but he didn't show any signs of wanting to go further, either. Darren pushed gently to close any gap between their mouths and feel: It was all about feeling and not thinking much about it. His hands soared to his cheeks; it was his trademark, the tender grasp onto Chris' cute face.
But it didn't last long. They both pulled away, the younger boy faster with scared, denying eyes still closed. His eyelids flew open and bored into Darren hazel, glimmering and now cautious ones.
---
And just like that, he had left, without much of another word said.
Seriously, though, why had he done that? As difficult and defeating as it was, he had to admit he had a crush on Chris. And not just a Nah-don't-worry-man-I'll-get-over-it kind of crush: it was a deep crush. The kind of crush that had him daydreaming about what they would do as a couple and surprisingly enough, it didn't differ much of what they did as best friends.
Still, he had quite a couple of thing he could do differently. And the best part was that he wasn't even referring to dirty, sexual stuff.
But now that he came to consider it, it was things that he did as a friend, too. Things he had been doing for more than a month now. Not fully aware of it, though…
---
"Hey, Chris, where did you get this music from?" Darren called out, focusing and going through Chris' CDs. He kissed Adele's face when he came across 21 and turned his head when he heard his friend coming into the living room.
"Dianna forced me, actually," he uttered, placing their Diet Cokes on coasters, in the middle of his coffee table. Darren put records where he found them, lying on top of Chris' stereo and dropped all his weight on the couch.
"Nice," he said with a catty, joking smile making Chris roll his eyes.
"God, the thing is that you know how Dianna is, all delicate and cute and likes pretty stuff and blah, blah, blah, and she just had me sat down and played this, which she actually got from Dr. House's soundtrack and…" the usual giggle-like tone and bubbly tinge in Chris' voice turned into a soft background melody as Darren proceeded to study his every move.
The sun beams stroke Darren's back, while they impacted on Chris' locks of brown -and now kind of gold-ish- hair and crushed with his eyes, giving them a clearer, lighter nuance. His eyebrows -single and plural- shot up and down and his eyelids would flutter faintly, the corner of his lips would also tug and turn into a smile or a grimace as he talked, fluently and in his personal eloquent way. His hands caressed each other from time to time and he didn't breathe with his chest, but with his diaphragm, because of all the singing training they both had, Darren knew. His nose would wrinkle now and then showing either adoration or rejection towards something and his voice would also falter and change as to what he was saying. His whole persona was a tidal wave really and a very unstable one. It first was a rising hurricane and the next second it would smother and mold to a softer, suspensive murmur.
Other than all the obvious charms that flowed from Chris, Darren knew he was caught in him, as though he was pulling some amazing and intriguing trick of magic. And it was hard for him to give in and come to the realization that he just might have been falling in love with one Chris Colfer. But it was even harder not to act on those feelings.
So, Darren would just pretend to pay close attention to whatever he was saying, because, even as interesting as it was, it didn't leave him any time to mull over his moves and expressions and the so many colors in his wonderful personality.
Therefore, he would let his own eyes linger a bit more than necessary and trace the different lines in his face, the varying angles and so until Chris would stop talking, fortunately, not realizing if Darren was in fact contemplating him or just glancing.
---
And he had put a toe out of the line. He had allowed himself one slip one too many. And now it was all gone.
"So fucking gone!" he roared and his voice soared to the same ceiling he had been staring at for the past forty minutes. He clutched his phone once more with no new nothings. It was true, he hadn't sent Chris anything but he wasn't really supposed to, either. What would he say "Hey, dude, sorry I kissed you. Wanna grab some sushi?" Because that was normal "More normal than kissing him out the blue, sure, asshole," he taunted himself, rubbing his eyes.
And just like that, as if he was some fucking psychic or something, his cell phone vibrated strongly against the wood and he launched himself towards it. As he read Chris' name, his eyes shot wide open and he was grasping at his iPhone so hard one might thought it was made of gold.
"Can we talk?" it said. He didn't hide the relieved sigh struggling to leave his now lighter chest as he typed back a subtle response: "Please, I'm going nuts."
"Ditto. Care to meet me?" his heart accelerated. Chris was going nuts. Because of him, he assumed. He also cared to assume correctly that he was probably behaving like a teenage, smitten girl. Did he care? No. Not really.
Sure. -D.
Is this a good or a bad thing? -D.
That depends. -C.
On what? - D.
Just open the door, dork. -C.
Darren stared at the affective pet name Chris had so many times called him with a goofy grin growing across his face before realizing the other, more important part of the text. "Just open the door."
"What the fuck?" he let out aloud, without realizing. He frowned and his chest clenched when the meaning of the words sank in. He slowly turned around and fixed his eyes on the door of his apartment, through the door of his bedroom and beyond the couch in the living room and next to his bookshelves.
He gave slow, nervous steps until he reached the threshold and wrapped the cold knob with his hand. He twisted it and noticed how sweaty his hand was, right before looking up and finding a stunning jumble of green, gray and blue timidly smiling at him. His own thoughts returned and swam around his head: Sickeningly adorable and insanely hot.
Cheesy as it sounded, that line was Chris, especially right now, when he was slowly and just not fast enough, blending with Darren in their second embrace and kiss. Simple as the last one, but much more sparkling, burning and lighter; their lips connected this time more freely and relaxed. Swift, pale hands around a thicker neck and tangling with dark, fluffy curls and strong, firm arms wrapping onto a slender waist: breathings uneven and heartbeats synchronized.
Once again, they broke off, only this time the mutual gaze wasn't confused. It was hazier and goofy, dizzy.
"I told you, you didn't hate me," Darren recalled, his head spinning but his eyes fixed on Chris'.
"And I told you, you were a dork."
"That doesn't make any sense," he shook his head, with a light hearted smile.
"And you often do?" Chris asked befuddled before the hazel eyed boy shut him up, not allowing him to quite finish his sentence.
"Well, that was the most logic thing I've done in these last couple of days," he muttered giddily against the other pair of lips, which curled up in a nervous, infatuated giggle.
"Then let's hope you stay that," he muttered before diving in once more.
---
In another life my name probably was Silly McCheesy. Am I a Klaine roll myself?
That’s not Chris at all though.
Pairing: CrissColfer
Rating: PG
Word count: 2900+ words (this part)
Summary: Darren, on an impulse, makes a tiny mistake that might have screwed up his friendship with Chris.
Notes: Inspired by Jaymay's song, Gray Or Blue. Listen to it, it's adorable and fluff. Not my best, I should work on Chris, but well..
The ceiling was white, smooth and perfect. It had no cracks or humidity stains which was actually good, but on the other hand, it stripped his conscience from using it as an excuse. He knew he was letting time tick by while he did nothing. He could even be watching a movie, reading a book, studying his script for next week's episode, taking a shower -which he had refused to do the day before-, thinking what he'd do for dinner that night. Anything; he was a free man and in his day off, what was he doing? Chest and head resting on his bed, both feet on the floor, not blinking and eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Even his guitar seemed a pathetic argument to stop himself from musing.
He glanced around and almost had to roll his eyes before reaching out for his cell phone. The screen lightened up but all he could see was the familiar picture of Naya doing a funny face, which Kevin had taken and set as his background image without Darren's knowledge. He also saw it was 4:29 pm on a Monday. But no missed calls, no texts.
No nothing.
He let out a frustrated and infuriated sigh, heavily plopping down his phone again on the wooden bedside table.
"Jesus," the words mashed with the mattress when he rolled over and felt his nose smashing against it. The rain was still hitting the left-ajar window, tickling the curtains which were also being danced around by the wind and slightly covering the floor, filling it with thin motes.
It was relaxing, really, when from time to time, a cold, not as slim breeze would go into Darren's room and carry some drops with it and pleasantly spray his face.
How had they come to this, anyway?
Weren't they like… best friends less than a week ago? And now, well… Now, Darren was like this: in this pathetic, regretful, longing state of his.
His mind went to places he wasn't sure he wanted to relive, remember and go back to or moments he just wanted to bury in a distant island, far, far away from both.
---
"I swear to God, I cried for an hour afterwards," Chris assured him, shrugging in desperate need for Darren's acceptance.
"You might've cried longer than I did, but I'm certain that I cried stronger than you did," he insisted, shaking his head with a soft grin.
"Just… No! Darren, no! No way," he banged the table in a completely childish way, returning an exasperated smile "There's no way the intensity of your crying can equally match the continuity of mine, seriously," he threw his head back and so did Darren, but the latter one laughing.
"Why is this so important for you, anyway?" he asked, taking a bite of his sandwich, elbow on the table.
"Because, I want you to give in and say that we like it, at least, as much as the other does," he said full of pride. Darren's eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead and he bobbed his head.
"Are you honestly insinuating you like Harry Fucking Potter as much as I do?" Darren beamed incredulously.
"Shit, yes!" he swore.
"Whoa, big motherfucking words, Colfer!" the other continued to laugh and smile broadly, raising his hands and looking around.
"God, I hate you!" he stood up and placed his empty dish next to the sink.
"Yeah, as if you could believe that tale yourself," Darren hummed, grabbing his own and walking up to him.
"You're too much of an asshole to buy it," he teased with a smirk.
Darren chuckled and sat on the counter top, consciously ignoring Chris' glare; he knew how much it bothered him when he did that "If the marble cracks or something and you fall, I will laugh and I will not help you, mister," he had sang to him about a thousand times.
"You're hopeless," he muttered under his breath and started scrubbing the dishes. Darren grinned and swayed his feet, trying not to hit the wooden cupboard beneath him. He turned his eyes to Chris and his severe concentration on the plate and his pale hands blending with the foam, his faintly stretched neck and the muscles that were being highlighted because of it, his obnoxious and flashy collar bone, his elegant posture and flexing arms. The tongue flickering between his teeth in annoyance to the water being too hot and then the tip of it slipping among his dry lips, his eyelashes concealing his eyes, his mind-blowing, strangely colored eyes, his rebel, untidy hair; all a perfect mixture between sickeningly adorable and insanely hot. That was what Chris was and felt like most of the times Darren was around him, as much as he refused to believe "No, it's fine, thank you, I don't need any help," Chris chuckled kind of condescendingly and ironic and led his eyes from the plate to Darren. His smile decreased a little, but the innocence and amiability in his eyes didn't die when the boy with curly hair continued to stare at him intently and with a slight frown "Darren?" his delicate, feverishly sweet voice squeaked softly.
Without a warning, Darren stretched his own neck still from the counter and leaned in, tilting his head lightly and simply pressing his lips to Chris'. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He breathed in, without thinking how the other boy might be reacting, not braking to ponder if his shortness of breath was a good or bad sign. Chris didn't pull away, but he didn't show any signs of wanting to go further, either. Darren pushed gently to close any gap between their mouths and feel: It was all about feeling and not thinking much about it. His hands soared to his cheeks; it was his trademark, the tender grasp onto Chris' cute face.
But it didn't last long. They both pulled away, the younger boy faster with scared, denying eyes still closed. His eyelids flew open and bored into Darren hazel, glimmering and now cautious ones.
---
And just like that, he had left, without much of another word said.
Seriously, though, why had he done that? As difficult and defeating as it was, he had to admit he had a crush on Chris. And not just a Nah-don't-worry-man-I'll-get-over-it kind of crush: it was a deep crush. The kind of crush that had him daydreaming about what they would do as a couple and surprisingly enough, it didn't differ much of what they did as best friends.
Still, he had quite a couple of thing he could do differently. And the best part was that he wasn't even referring to dirty, sexual stuff.
But now that he came to consider it, it was things that he did as a friend, too. Things he had been doing for more than a month now. Not fully aware of it, though…
---
"Hey, Chris, where did you get this music from?" Darren called out, focusing and going through Chris' CDs. He kissed Adele's face when he came across 21 and turned his head when he heard his friend coming into the living room.
"Dianna forced me, actually," he uttered, placing their Diet Cokes on coasters, in the middle of his coffee table. Darren put records where he found them, lying on top of Chris' stereo and dropped all his weight on the couch.
"Nice," he said with a catty, joking smile making Chris roll his eyes.
"God, the thing is that you know how Dianna is, all delicate and cute and likes pretty stuff and blah, blah, blah, and she just had me sat down and played this, which she actually got from Dr. House's soundtrack and…" the usual giggle-like tone and bubbly tinge in Chris' voice turned into a soft background melody as Darren proceeded to study his every move.
The sun beams stroke Darren's back, while they impacted on Chris' locks of brown -and now kind of gold-ish- hair and crushed with his eyes, giving them a clearer, lighter nuance. His eyebrows -single and plural- shot up and down and his eyelids would flutter faintly, the corner of his lips would also tug and turn into a smile or a grimace as he talked, fluently and in his personal eloquent way. His hands caressed each other from time to time and he didn't breathe with his chest, but with his diaphragm, because of all the singing training they both had, Darren knew. His nose would wrinkle now and then showing either adoration or rejection towards something and his voice would also falter and change as to what he was saying. His whole persona was a tidal wave really and a very unstable one. It first was a rising hurricane and the next second it would smother and mold to a softer, suspensive murmur.
Other than all the obvious charms that flowed from Chris, Darren knew he was caught in him, as though he was pulling some amazing and intriguing trick of magic. And it was hard for him to give in and come to the realization that he just might have been falling in love with one Chris Colfer. But it was even harder not to act on those feelings.
So, Darren would just pretend to pay close attention to whatever he was saying, because, even as interesting as it was, it didn't leave him any time to mull over his moves and expressions and the so many colors in his wonderful personality.
Therefore, he would let his own eyes linger a bit more than necessary and trace the different lines in his face, the varying angles and so until Chris would stop talking, fortunately, not realizing if Darren was in fact contemplating him or just glancing.
---
And he had put a toe out of the line. He had allowed himself one slip one too many. And now it was all gone.
"So fucking gone!" he roared and his voice soared to the same ceiling he had been staring at for the past forty minutes. He clutched his phone once more with no new nothings. It was true, he hadn't sent Chris anything but he wasn't really supposed to, either. What would he say "Hey, dude, sorry I kissed you. Wanna grab some sushi?" Because that was normal "More normal than kissing him out the blue, sure, asshole," he taunted himself, rubbing his eyes.
And just like that, as if he was some fucking psychic or something, his cell phone vibrated strongly against the wood and he launched himself towards it. As he read Chris' name, his eyes shot wide open and he was grasping at his iPhone so hard one might thought it was made of gold.
"Can we talk?" it said. He didn't hide the relieved sigh struggling to leave his now lighter chest as he typed back a subtle response: "Please, I'm going nuts."
"Ditto. Care to meet me?" his heart accelerated. Chris was going nuts. Because of him, he assumed. He also cared to assume correctly that he was probably behaving like a teenage, smitten girl. Did he care? No. Not really.
Sure. -D.
Is this a good or a bad thing? -D.
That depends. -C.
On what? - D.
Just open the door, dork. -C.
Darren stared at the affective pet name Chris had so many times called him with a goofy grin growing across his face before realizing the other, more important part of the text. "Just open the door."
"What the fuck?" he let out aloud, without realizing. He frowned and his chest clenched when the meaning of the words sank in. He slowly turned around and fixed his eyes on the door of his apartment, through the door of his bedroom and beyond the couch in the living room and next to his bookshelves.
He gave slow, nervous steps until he reached the threshold and wrapped the cold knob with his hand. He twisted it and noticed how sweaty his hand was, right before looking up and finding a stunning jumble of green, gray and blue timidly smiling at him. His own thoughts returned and swam around his head: Sickeningly adorable and insanely hot.
Cheesy as it sounded, that line was Chris, especially right now, when he was slowly and just not fast enough, blending with Darren in their second embrace and kiss. Simple as the last one, but much more sparkling, burning and lighter; their lips connected this time more freely and relaxed. Swift, pale hands around a thicker neck and tangling with dark, fluffy curls and strong, firm arms wrapping onto a slender waist: breathings uneven and heartbeats synchronized.
Once again, they broke off, only this time the mutual gaze wasn't confused. It was hazier and goofy, dizzy.
"I told you, you didn't hate me," Darren recalled, his head spinning but his eyes fixed on Chris'.
"And I told you, you were a dork."
"That doesn't make any sense," he shook his head, with a light hearted smile.
"And you often do?" Chris asked befuddled before the hazel eyed boy shut him up, not allowing him to quite finish his sentence.
"Well, that was the most logic thing I've done in these last couple of days," he muttered giddily against the other pair of lips, which curled up in a nervous, infatuated giggle.
"Then let's hope you stay that," he muttered before diving in once more.
---
In another life my name probably was Silly McCheesy. Am I a Klaine roll myself?
That’s not Chris at all though.