Postscript
Title: Postscript
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Length/Rating: ~2100 / G
Summary: Darren picks up a habit of leaving Chris little notes.
It starts with a neon pink Post-It on the fridge early one morning. The first note is nothing special, just a simple:
drank the last of your milk, sorry.
xo D
Chris shakes his head fondly as he plucks the paper off the door. So much for having a bowl of cereal for breakfast that morning. Sure enough, there’s an empty spot where the milk carton usually sits. He’s quite certain Darren will show up that night with two gallons of milk to replace it. Chris is getting used to the contents of his fridge being a surprise. He finds things he didn’t buy almost as often as he discovers he’s out of food he didn’t eat. Coconut water and chicken afritada in Tupperware from Darren’s mom and the organic oranges that are half as big as regular ones for twice the cost and taste just the same. Once, he opened the fridge to find it completely empty save for a giant cake the shape of the Hogwarts Quidditch field. He still doesn’t know where Darren stashed his food to make room for the cake.
For some reason, Chris keeps the Post-It, tucked away in a box in his closet where he stores other little mementos he’s collected over the years but doesn’t want to display on his shelves.
The next Post-It appears when Chris comes home late from one of his longer days of filming. He’s tired and hungry and he’s got a spot on his shoulder rubbed raw by a bad seam in his shirt that wardrobe was never quite able to fix. Brian immediately trots up to him, twining through his legs, and Chris barely has the energy to reach down to scratch behind his ears. He can’t wait to fall asleep.
A bright flash of pink from his normally boring kitchen keeps him from walking straight past it and heading upstairs to belly flop into bed.
Left you a little somethin-somethin. Thank me later.
xo D
Inside the fridge, there’s a casserole dish covered in tinfoil, but Chris can smell the tomatoes and onions. He’s already grinning as he pulls off the covering to reveal enchiladas. Darren likes to talk a big game of not being able to cook, but he’s got more than enough recipes under his belt to keep them both more than well fed. Chris stares at the mass of tortillas and cheese and salsa, all slathered in rich sour cream, and he hesitates for just a moment.
But stuck to the shelf is a second pink Post-It.
You better eat me!
Chris sighs, shoulders slumping, and grabs the enchiladas. They’re leftovers - Chris can see the marks of a fork and knows Darren didn’t bother to serve himself up a helping on a plate like a normal person. He can so easily picture Darren standing at the kitchen counter, leaning a hip into the cabinets, and eating straight out of dish, panting as the too hot cheese burns the roof of his mouth. Chris shakes his head and reheats himself a late night dinner. Brian appears moments later, begging for scraps at his feet.
“I’m sure you already had some of this from him,” Chris says to his cat and gives him more anyway.
***
It takes a few weeks for the notes to leave the kitchen. Chris wakes up one morning with a hot pink Post-It stuck to his forehead.
you were drooling this morning. Gross.
xo D
Chris would frown but he’s laughing too hard. He tosses the note into the box with the others ones, wondering what it is about the silly little squares of paper that keeps him from throwing them away. He can’t imagine going back and re-reading them one day, but maybe he will. Maybe one day they’ll be a reminder he didn’t know he needed.
He starts finding the Post-Its all over his house.
On the closet door:
See you at work.
xo D
Stuck to the coffee table:
I’m at my place. Come over.
xo D
Hanging from the lid of the trash:
pick up apples please
xo D
On a vase on the kitchen table:
I hope you like the flowers. They’re cheesy, but so am I.
xo Darren
And a few times, they even pop up in his trailer on set, though it’s rare, and leaves him wondering if there’s even the slightest chance that someone else has seen them.
take 4 was the best take.
xo D
(He doesn’t find the note stuck between the pages of an old, worn copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.)
***
There’s a note waiting for him when Chris comes back from an impromptu visit to his parents. He hadn’t told Darren he was leaving. Hadn’t told anyone at all. He’d desperately needed a day and a half away, to sit at a table with his mom and just talk, about anything and everything that spilled past his tongue. He’d thrown a shirt and a toothbrush into a backpack and gotten in his car without a text or message to anyone. The drive was long, but relaxing, even if he had to turn his iPod off after the third song in a row that made his throat close up and his eyes burn as the road blurred in front of him.
Darren isn’t there when he gets home, but Brian’s food bowl is full and his litter box is fresh. Brian doesn’t even look annoyed that he was gone and Chris wonders how long Darren had stayed.
And there’s a Post-It on Chris’ pillow.
Missed you
It’s blue this time, neon blue, but still, it’s not pink. The paper is slightly crinkled, as though it’d been gripped tightly between someone’s fingers. Chris can feel the edges of his mouth tugging down into a frown. Even the handwriting looks off, a little shaky, as though Darren was hesitating while writing it out, unsure of the words. Chris wonders how many different versions of the note found their way into the trash before this one made the cut.
Chris knows he fucked up this time. He should have told Darren he was going home, even if just by text. He should have told Darren about the ache behind his eyes and the anxious churning in his gut that he couldn’t put a name to, couldn’t make go away. But laying it all out there has never really been his strong suit, even with Darren. He keeps things close and quiet, where they’re safe and private and can’t be used against him. But now there’s a different kind of ache in his belly, and it flares sharply when he picks up the blue Post-It and tucks it gently into the box with the rest. It stands out against the pink and Chris knows it’s time for him to do something for Darren in return.
He knows Darren is at the studio that day, cramming in some work in the few free hours he has before the season wraps. Without letting himself over think it, Chris gets back into his car and hopes he doesn’t get lost.
The guys at the studio give him a weird look when he shows up and he wonders if they don’t recognize him. He’s wearing a hat and an old sweater but they let him back to the booth Darren’s in all the same. He doesn’t say anything to the producers already in there; he just sits down behind the console and watches Darren through the glass.
He’s scruffy and wearing a beanie. There are dark circles under his eyes as he takes notes on a piece of paper and Chris wonders if he’s slept at all the last couple of nights. Chris clenches his fists on his thighs, hating himself. Darren doesn’t notice Chris for a few long moments, absorbed in whatever it is that he’s writing, until he looks up.
Chris swallows heavily and his stomach lurches as their eyes meet. He can see the hitch in Darren’s throat, the way his lips part ever so slightly, how his pupils blow wide. He wants to say something, but doesn’t know what, and anything he should say, he doesn’t want heard by Darren’s producers. So he raises his hand, palm out, in greeting. It’s all he can offer in that moment and he hopes it’s enough.
There’s a heartbeat of time, too slow and terrible, and then Darren’s face breaks into a bright smile. The tightness in Chris’ chest eases.
***
It escalates beyond notes after that. Chris steps out of the shower one morning to find shaving cream all over the bathroom mirror.
Lookin good Colfer!
Chris would be scandalized that Darren was in there while he was showering and didn’t say anything, but he just can’t bring himself to be. Darren is one of those boys who can pee while Chris is brushing his teeth. It startled him so badly the first time it happened he squeaked and toothpaste ran down his chin. At least Darren had washed his hands before grabbing Chris’ face and planting a messy kiss on his mint-streaked lips.
Chris is sitting on the couch one evening, scrolling through the growing number of photos on his phone. He’d be embarrassed by how many of them are of Brian, but he really doesn’t care. He does delete the ones that are blurry though. He has standards.
He hears the thump-thump of Brian coming down the stairs and looks back over his shoulder, expecting to see Darren just behind him. Brian is sort of in love with Darren and tends to follow him around the house. Darren’s been disconcertingly quiet for long enough that evening to make Chris a little nervous, but he knows better than to try and figure out just what Darren is up to. But his cat is alone. And he has something around his neck.
Brian comes around the couch and stops at Chris’ feet and Chris stares down at him. There’s a tightly rolled piece of paper attached to his collar with a length of twine.
“What’cha got there, mister?” Chris slides off the couch and kneels down on the floor. Closer, he can see a second scrap of paper hanging from Brian’s collar, taped to a bit of string - it’s a bright pink Post-It folded up small. When he unfolds it, his name and a note is written inside in Darren’s unmistakable scrawl.
sing me another song
xo D
“Oh god, did he turn you into a messenger pigeon?”
Brian doesn’t respond, but he looks so put out by being forced into this that Chris can’t help but laugh at his grumpy little face.
“Aww, sorry, buddy. Come here. Lemme see what else you’ve got for me.”
Chris loosens the rolled paper from Brian’s collar and as soon as it’s freed, Brian walks away, tail swishing in practiced annoyance behind him. Chris grins at him before unrolling the paper. He has to sit back on his heels when he sees what it is.
It’s a piece of sheet music, with the notes handwritten and bearing his initials as the title. His breath catches and his chest feels tight. He’s not a musician like Darren, but he reads enough music to be able to hum the melody just fine. It’s sweet and a little haunting. Entirely beautiful. He hums it again, wondering if there will be lyrics, and tries to time it to the rhythm of his heart.
He doesn’t notice Darren standing behind him until he hears Darren gently clearing his throat.
“Hey,” Darren says softly. He’s wearing Chris’ sweatpants and no shirt. There’s ink smudged along his finger and his cheeks are pink.
“Hey.” Chris gazes up at him, blinking slowly. He feels oddly vulnerable down on the floor. “Is this another for the album?” He asks, feeling his pulse in his throat.
“No.” Darren shakes his head and sinks down to the carpet on his knees in front of Chris. His eyes are very bright. “No, this one’s for you.”
Chris’ heart squeezes and his belly swoops. He doesn’t know how Darren does it, how he can say those things so easily and mean them every time. How he can lay himself out for Chris, knowing that Chris can’t always do the same.
“I - it’s lovely,” Chris says, wishing he had better words than that.
Darren shrugs. “It’s still unfinished, but I think it’s a good start.” He blinks and his eyelashes are a dark smudge against his cheek.
Chris bites his lip and reaches out for Darren’s hand. “It is.” He needs Darren to understand, even if he’s clumsy with it. “A work-in-progress is still good,” he says, staring into Darren’s wide eyes.
And Darren’s gentle smile is as beautiful as the melody now in Chris’ heart.
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Length/Rating: ~2100 / G
Summary: Darren picks up a habit of leaving Chris little notes.
It starts with a neon pink Post-It on the fridge early one morning. The first note is nothing special, just a simple:
drank the last of your milk, sorry.
xo D
Chris shakes his head fondly as he plucks the paper off the door. So much for having a bowl of cereal for breakfast that morning. Sure enough, there’s an empty spot where the milk carton usually sits. He’s quite certain Darren will show up that night with two gallons of milk to replace it. Chris is getting used to the contents of his fridge being a surprise. He finds things he didn’t buy almost as often as he discovers he’s out of food he didn’t eat. Coconut water and chicken afritada in Tupperware from Darren’s mom and the organic oranges that are half as big as regular ones for twice the cost and taste just the same. Once, he opened the fridge to find it completely empty save for a giant cake the shape of the Hogwarts Quidditch field. He still doesn’t know where Darren stashed his food to make room for the cake.
For some reason, Chris keeps the Post-It, tucked away in a box in his closet where he stores other little mementos he’s collected over the years but doesn’t want to display on his shelves.
The next Post-It appears when Chris comes home late from one of his longer days of filming. He’s tired and hungry and he’s got a spot on his shoulder rubbed raw by a bad seam in his shirt that wardrobe was never quite able to fix. Brian immediately trots up to him, twining through his legs, and Chris barely has the energy to reach down to scratch behind his ears. He can’t wait to fall asleep.
A bright flash of pink from his normally boring kitchen keeps him from walking straight past it and heading upstairs to belly flop into bed.
Left you a little somethin-somethin. Thank me later.
xo D
Inside the fridge, there’s a casserole dish covered in tinfoil, but Chris can smell the tomatoes and onions. He’s already grinning as he pulls off the covering to reveal enchiladas. Darren likes to talk a big game of not being able to cook, but he’s got more than enough recipes under his belt to keep them both more than well fed. Chris stares at the mass of tortillas and cheese and salsa, all slathered in rich sour cream, and he hesitates for just a moment.
But stuck to the shelf is a second pink Post-It.
You better eat me!
Chris sighs, shoulders slumping, and grabs the enchiladas. They’re leftovers - Chris can see the marks of a fork and knows Darren didn’t bother to serve himself up a helping on a plate like a normal person. He can so easily picture Darren standing at the kitchen counter, leaning a hip into the cabinets, and eating straight out of dish, panting as the too hot cheese burns the roof of his mouth. Chris shakes his head and reheats himself a late night dinner. Brian appears moments later, begging for scraps at his feet.
“I’m sure you already had some of this from him,” Chris says to his cat and gives him more anyway.
***
It takes a few weeks for the notes to leave the kitchen. Chris wakes up one morning with a hot pink Post-It stuck to his forehead.
you were drooling this morning. Gross.
xo D
Chris would frown but he’s laughing too hard. He tosses the note into the box with the others ones, wondering what it is about the silly little squares of paper that keeps him from throwing them away. He can’t imagine going back and re-reading them one day, but maybe he will. Maybe one day they’ll be a reminder he didn’t know he needed.
He starts finding the Post-Its all over his house.
On the closet door:
See you at work.
xo D
Stuck to the coffee table:
I’m at my place. Come over.
xo D
Hanging from the lid of the trash:
pick up apples please
xo D
On a vase on the kitchen table:
I hope you like the flowers. They’re cheesy, but so am I.
xo Darren
And a few times, they even pop up in his trailer on set, though it’s rare, and leaves him wondering if there’s even the slightest chance that someone else has seen them.
take 4 was the best take.
xo D
(He doesn’t find the note stuck between the pages of an old, worn copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.)
***
There’s a note waiting for him when Chris comes back from an impromptu visit to his parents. He hadn’t told Darren he was leaving. Hadn’t told anyone at all. He’d desperately needed a day and a half away, to sit at a table with his mom and just talk, about anything and everything that spilled past his tongue. He’d thrown a shirt and a toothbrush into a backpack and gotten in his car without a text or message to anyone. The drive was long, but relaxing, even if he had to turn his iPod off after the third song in a row that made his throat close up and his eyes burn as the road blurred in front of him.
Darren isn’t there when he gets home, but Brian’s food bowl is full and his litter box is fresh. Brian doesn’t even look annoyed that he was gone and Chris wonders how long Darren had stayed.
And there’s a Post-It on Chris’ pillow.
Missed you
It’s blue this time, neon blue, but still, it’s not pink. The paper is slightly crinkled, as though it’d been gripped tightly between someone’s fingers. Chris can feel the edges of his mouth tugging down into a frown. Even the handwriting looks off, a little shaky, as though Darren was hesitating while writing it out, unsure of the words. Chris wonders how many different versions of the note found their way into the trash before this one made the cut.
Chris knows he fucked up this time. He should have told Darren he was going home, even if just by text. He should have told Darren about the ache behind his eyes and the anxious churning in his gut that he couldn’t put a name to, couldn’t make go away. But laying it all out there has never really been his strong suit, even with Darren. He keeps things close and quiet, where they’re safe and private and can’t be used against him. But now there’s a different kind of ache in his belly, and it flares sharply when he picks up the blue Post-It and tucks it gently into the box with the rest. It stands out against the pink and Chris knows it’s time for him to do something for Darren in return.
He knows Darren is at the studio that day, cramming in some work in the few free hours he has before the season wraps. Without letting himself over think it, Chris gets back into his car and hopes he doesn’t get lost.
The guys at the studio give him a weird look when he shows up and he wonders if they don’t recognize him. He’s wearing a hat and an old sweater but they let him back to the booth Darren’s in all the same. He doesn’t say anything to the producers already in there; he just sits down behind the console and watches Darren through the glass.
He’s scruffy and wearing a beanie. There are dark circles under his eyes as he takes notes on a piece of paper and Chris wonders if he’s slept at all the last couple of nights. Chris clenches his fists on his thighs, hating himself. Darren doesn’t notice Chris for a few long moments, absorbed in whatever it is that he’s writing, until he looks up.
Chris swallows heavily and his stomach lurches as their eyes meet. He can see the hitch in Darren’s throat, the way his lips part ever so slightly, how his pupils blow wide. He wants to say something, but doesn’t know what, and anything he should say, he doesn’t want heard by Darren’s producers. So he raises his hand, palm out, in greeting. It’s all he can offer in that moment and he hopes it’s enough.
There’s a heartbeat of time, too slow and terrible, and then Darren’s face breaks into a bright smile. The tightness in Chris’ chest eases.
***
It escalates beyond notes after that. Chris steps out of the shower one morning to find shaving cream all over the bathroom mirror.
Lookin good Colfer!
Chris would be scandalized that Darren was in there while he was showering and didn’t say anything, but he just can’t bring himself to be. Darren is one of those boys who can pee while Chris is brushing his teeth. It startled him so badly the first time it happened he squeaked and toothpaste ran down his chin. At least Darren had washed his hands before grabbing Chris’ face and planting a messy kiss on his mint-streaked lips.
Chris is sitting on the couch one evening, scrolling through the growing number of photos on his phone. He’d be embarrassed by how many of them are of Brian, but he really doesn’t care. He does delete the ones that are blurry though. He has standards.
He hears the thump-thump of Brian coming down the stairs and looks back over his shoulder, expecting to see Darren just behind him. Brian is sort of in love with Darren and tends to follow him around the house. Darren’s been disconcertingly quiet for long enough that evening to make Chris a little nervous, but he knows better than to try and figure out just what Darren is up to. But his cat is alone. And he has something around his neck.
Brian comes around the couch and stops at Chris’ feet and Chris stares down at him. There’s a tightly rolled piece of paper attached to his collar with a length of twine.
“What’cha got there, mister?” Chris slides off the couch and kneels down on the floor. Closer, he can see a second scrap of paper hanging from Brian’s collar, taped to a bit of string - it’s a bright pink Post-It folded up small. When he unfolds it, his name and a note is written inside in Darren’s unmistakable scrawl.
sing me another song
xo D
“Oh god, did he turn you into a messenger pigeon?”
Brian doesn’t respond, but he looks so put out by being forced into this that Chris can’t help but laugh at his grumpy little face.
“Aww, sorry, buddy. Come here. Lemme see what else you’ve got for me.”
Chris loosens the rolled paper from Brian’s collar and as soon as it’s freed, Brian walks away, tail swishing in practiced annoyance behind him. Chris grins at him before unrolling the paper. He has to sit back on his heels when he sees what it is.
It’s a piece of sheet music, with the notes handwritten and bearing his initials as the title. His breath catches and his chest feels tight. He’s not a musician like Darren, but he reads enough music to be able to hum the melody just fine. It’s sweet and a little haunting. Entirely beautiful. He hums it again, wondering if there will be lyrics, and tries to time it to the rhythm of his heart.
He doesn’t notice Darren standing behind him until he hears Darren gently clearing his throat.
“Hey,” Darren says softly. He’s wearing Chris’ sweatpants and no shirt. There’s ink smudged along his finger and his cheeks are pink.
“Hey.” Chris gazes up at him, blinking slowly. He feels oddly vulnerable down on the floor. “Is this another for the album?” He asks, feeling his pulse in his throat.
“No.” Darren shakes his head and sinks down to the carpet on his knees in front of Chris. His eyes are very bright. “No, this one’s for you.”
Chris’ heart squeezes and his belly swoops. He doesn’t know how Darren does it, how he can say those things so easily and mean them every time. How he can lay himself out for Chris, knowing that Chris can’t always do the same.
“I - it’s lovely,” Chris says, wishing he had better words than that.
Darren shrugs. “It’s still unfinished, but I think it’s a good start.” He blinks and his eyelashes are a dark smudge against his cheek.
Chris bites his lip and reaches out for Darren’s hand. “It is.” He needs Darren to understand, even if he’s clumsy with it. “A work-in-progress is still good,” he says, staring into Darren’s wide eyes.
And Darren’s gentle smile is as beautiful as the melody now in Chris’ heart.