Turn the Page
Title: Turn the Page
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Rating/Length: G / ~530
Summary: Listen Up tour!fic. Darren has a long night on the road between shows, but he has a few mementoes to help him through
It’s gone past 2am somewhere on I-65 between Tennessee and Indiana and Darren can’t sleep.
Exhaustion from the day, the rumbling moan of the engine, and the heavy rubber of the tires against the worn pavement usually pulls him down into much needed rest. It makes his limbs leaden and his breath slow, timing down the racing of his heart. But not tonight. Tonight, he’s left staring at the dark ceiling of his bunk, a restlessness itching just under his skin, keeping him awake.
Tonight, his body is buzzing from the show (and a couple of drinks) and he can’t fucking sleep. His mind is whirling through every moment of the set - what worked, what didn’t. What he fucked up and what went better than expected. What he’ll change for the next show, what he’ll keep. The reactions of the crowd still ring in his ears and the press of a hundred hugs still ghosts against his back. But that isn’t what’s keeping him awake.
It hasn’t been much more than a couple of weeks - he lost track of the days by the fourth city - and Darren misses Chris already. He misses his dimples and the smell of his skin, the music of his laugh and the strength of his hands. The ache of it sits low in his chest, where whiskey can’t dull it and a cheering crowd can’t drown it out. Where sleep can’t make it go away.
Sighing, Darren grabs his phone from where it’s lying next to him. He almost groans at the time. He does a little math and knows that Chris will be asleep. Or at least he hopes Chris will be. He doesn’t always know anymore. And that hurts more than the absence of him against his side in this cramped little bunk on a tour bus. And he still can’t sleep.
Darren thinks about sending him a text anyway.
I miss you.
A girl tonight had eyes almost the color of yours. Almost.
I played for you.
I messed up a couple of notes. Just another night on tour.
I sang for you.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be left wondering why if Chris doesn’t respond. Instead, Darren thumbs through his videos, searching. It takes a moment to find the one he’s looking for, but when he does, he snuggles down into the surprisingly soft covers and presses play.
Chris fills the screen. Dressed in dark winter clothes against the bright white background of an ice rink. He skates by - arms spread, head tilted, eyes warm on the camera. He’s smiling just for Darren and the ache in Darren’s chest flares and then recedes. Darren remembers every second of every long hour of that endless night, how even when it was done he wasn’t ready to go.
Darren replays the video. He already knows every tiny moment of every frame. He could play it by heart. The exact angle of Chris’ body, the very shade of the pink in his cold cheeks. The way he doesn’t for a moment look away.
The bus rolls on and Darren replays it again and again until his eyes finally close.
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Rating/Length: G / ~530
Summary: Listen Up tour!fic. Darren has a long night on the road between shows, but he has a few mementoes to help him through
It’s gone past 2am somewhere on I-65 between Tennessee and Indiana and Darren can’t sleep.
Exhaustion from the day, the rumbling moan of the engine, and the heavy rubber of the tires against the worn pavement usually pulls him down into much needed rest. It makes his limbs leaden and his breath slow, timing down the racing of his heart. But not tonight. Tonight, he’s left staring at the dark ceiling of his bunk, a restlessness itching just under his skin, keeping him awake.
Tonight, his body is buzzing from the show (and a couple of drinks) and he can’t fucking sleep. His mind is whirling through every moment of the set - what worked, what didn’t. What he fucked up and what went better than expected. What he’ll change for the next show, what he’ll keep. The reactions of the crowd still ring in his ears and the press of a hundred hugs still ghosts against his back. But that isn’t what’s keeping him awake.
It hasn’t been much more than a couple of weeks - he lost track of the days by the fourth city - and Darren misses Chris already. He misses his dimples and the smell of his skin, the music of his laugh and the strength of his hands. The ache of it sits low in his chest, where whiskey can’t dull it and a cheering crowd can’t drown it out. Where sleep can’t make it go away.
Sighing, Darren grabs his phone from where it’s lying next to him. He almost groans at the time. He does a little math and knows that Chris will be asleep. Or at least he hopes Chris will be. He doesn’t always know anymore. And that hurts more than the absence of him against his side in this cramped little bunk on a tour bus. And he still can’t sleep.
Darren thinks about sending him a text anyway.
I miss you.
A girl tonight had eyes almost the color of yours. Almost.
I played for you.
I messed up a couple of notes. Just another night on tour.
I sang for you.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be left wondering why if Chris doesn’t respond. Instead, Darren thumbs through his videos, searching. It takes a moment to find the one he’s looking for, but when he does, he snuggles down into the surprisingly soft covers and presses play.
Chris fills the screen. Dressed in dark winter clothes against the bright white background of an ice rink. He skates by - arms spread, head tilted, eyes warm on the camera. He’s smiling just for Darren and the ache in Darren’s chest flares and then recedes. Darren remembers every second of every long hour of that endless night, how even when it was done he wasn’t ready to go.
Darren replays the video. He already knows every tiny moment of every frame. He could play it by heart. The exact angle of Chris’ body, the very shade of the pink in his cold cheeks. The way he doesn’t for a moment look away.
The bus rolls on and Darren replays it again and again until his eyes finally close.