Chapter Text
“Look what you’ve done…”
Yitzhak wows the audience with his fluid range after Hedwig stumbles away distraught and lonelier than she’s ever been seen up until this point. Chris has memorized the show by now; scene for scene, note for note. If he wanted, he could close his eyes and silently mouth all the words. He could see all the actions play out in order in his head. But right now Chris can’t close his eyes because he feels the irresistible need to watch Darren. Hedwig. Somehow the character and Darren are interchangeable tonight, merged into one being, as if even more of Darren’s mannerisms are bleeding through and begging to be noticed. Bits and pieces of the man beneath the makeup and the glitter screaming through for recognition. Chris’ recognition. He’s different tonight, the transformation every bit as magical, but in a more vulnerable sense that shows in Darren’s eyes. It’s more of a desperate confidence tonight, rather than a durable certainty that exudes the thickness of a wall separating two parts of one city. There’s not an ounce of courage in Darren’s body right now and Chris is worried that it’s because their verbal warfare had gone too far last night.
Not many people would be able to tell the difference between Darren and Hedwig; they don’t know either well. He’s just acting, they’d say. It’s a tribute to how well Chris has relearned his boyfriend (the benign term leaves a strange, bittersweet taste in his mouth, even when it’s only spoken in his own head) in these past few weeks, even if the term boyfriend had only been used for the first time ever about twelve hours ago. The conversation last night and into the early morning clearly wrecked Darren as it did Chris, even if it ended in reassurance and the epitome of optimistic longing. For the first time in years, they woke up this morning to each other, naked and slick, seemingly completed and jammed together (a fork shoved on a spoon) in a connection that they should all but write home about. But now, Chris isn’t so convinced that this is working, if the authentic tears streaming down Darren’s face are any indication.
“I didn’t want to know…”
Chris recognized a long time ago that Darren wasn’t ready to be completely open about himself. His virtue, that playful but fragile earnestness about him that everyone in the world loves... it was compromised with every invasive question with every single interview. Even if Darren turns out to be wholly homosexual and not just some weird, progressive, San Francisco kid variation of it, Chris knows that through his acting, Darren could still pull nearly any role off. Gay, straight, confusing gradients in-between. Because he’s lived a quadruple life ever since people came along and told him what not to be. He has already walked a mile in each one of those sets of shoes, long before he even strapped on his glittery heels.
Darren’s a great actor; he grasps his craft by the balls and beats it to the full extent of the required emotion. He’s spent more than half his life locked up inside his own imagination and projecting what he wants others to outwardly see, and that’s the reason why he’s so good.
Chris knows why Darren did it.
Chris pretended once to be attracted to girls before. In high school, it was so often safer being someone you are not. So, his best friend was his beard for the entirety of their freshman year and then one day he woke up and didn’t want to lie anymore.
Although he understands why, Chris doesn’t understand how. He has no idea how Darren had been content with the lies and secrets, especially since Clovis, California is a drop in the ocean and Hollywood is the entire Pacific.
But Darren. He has been faking it for years with relative ease, at least to the naked eye. Anyone else would think it never phased him, never was even a concern on his plate. But Chris sees the cracks in Darren’s self-assurance. More than that, he knows how much someone like Darren, who thrives so much on human emotion and reaction, must be regretting it a little more every day with every half truth he forces into every interaction with the member of the press.
What they want now: to actually be out together… it will change everything. Once people start to notice Chris and Darren as they are, Kurt and Blaine will be dug up out of their bedazzled little graves and over-analyzed until there’s not one stone unturned. The mysterious aura that has always floated just beneath the surface will sprout wings and fly; Tumblr will produce theories and over exaggerations of when the on-screen figure was Darren and when it was Blaine. That will offend Darren; Chris has no doubt. Their fans won’t assume that Chris ruined any chance at a “normal” life, but the rest of the world will and Chris is terrified of the backlash and blame. Of the scrutiny… He wishes he could make like an actual bird and fly far, far away.
Darren will definitely not see it this way, but acting is exactly what he had been doing whenever the camera wasn’t rolling, whenever the paparazzi wasn’t following them on set. He’s a reverse actor. Chris smiles to himself, careful to not come off as insensitive during such an exposed, emotionally raw moment in the show. He couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried. He makes a mental note to suggest that they do something fun later, if only to pull them both out from underneath this massive black cloud that he is enveloped in just from watching and listening to the pain Darren pours out on the stage.
It’s like he’s swimming against the tide, waves lapping over his head and all he can do is keep treading water with his arms and legs for the sake of survival.
“A walk on role in the script…”
The pink and purple stage lights glimmer across his wet skin when Darren convulses in a silent sob, now. Right before Chris’ eyes, Darren’s face contorts - his shoulders visibly shake and it doesn’t seem like he’s able to catch his breath. He’s drowning too.
He can’t breathe. Oh God, he can’t breathe.
He knows the feeling well and it causes an echo of that vicious tightness to wrap around Chris’ lungs like a snake made out of ice. Chris does everything physically possible to keep himself in his theatre seat and not allow his legs to race down the aisle and onto the stage to take Darren’s paint-streaked cheeks between his hands and kiss his boyfriend (oh, God) senselessly, fixing each rip and tear from his mouth inward.
Glittery sweat and tears form a sort of gluey mask plastered to Darren’s face. He’s ethereal and tortured, breathtaking in all of it, even when the pain shouldn’t be. Chris feels absolutely fucking helpless. There’s nothing he could do but wish on all his lucky stars that Darren can physically get through the scene and even if he does, Chris isn’t sure that he could himself.
Darren takes a breath, and then another, recovering with only a single crack. It takes Chris longer to even out his own breathing and heartbeat as he stares at Darren shattering in front of him. They’re connected now more than they’d ever been and this song is solid proof. When Darren hurts, Chris hurts. Isn’t that how it should be when two people are sewing themselves back together?
Their talk in the middle of the night last night turned into a monologue of Darren’s modified list of hopes and dreams, alongside Chris’ own worries and long term plans. One of Darren’s wistful yearnings was a deep seeded need to be respected by the Broadway crowd. Chris knows that Darren’s having a hard time with his fellow cast mates. To them, he comes off as a privileged prince of television; He’s too green, too young, too untested for this kind of role. He waltzed in and got it for his status. Glee is not the most reputable experience compared to these real-life Rachel Berrys.
Chris watches as Darren struggles to retain composure. He’s not supposed to be crying this hard; he’s not supposed to be crying at all. He’s supposed to be singing backup, but instead he’s curled up next to the car, shut in on himself. The show still has nearly three full songs left, including the goddamned reprise that Chris has coined as their own, and Chris isn’t sure if he’s able to even sit through this, much less take on the loves and losses.
That’s sort of what it is, isn’t it?
“The love that had me in your grip…”
This sounds like a break up song, delivered with a feeling that makes the organs deep inside Chris’ body knot and twist. He fears Darren is wordlessly telling him to keep the hell away. Darren’s curled into a ball, crouching over his legs and hugging at his knees. His face, currently being half-hidden away in his kneecaps, is blotchy and red. This isn’t about Hedwig’s story. Chris can hear the screaming in between the notes that tells him this is, at least partially, about them.
Darren had been absolutely right the night before. Chris isn’t the only one allowed to be fucking terrified of what it will mean to go from a constant, stinging, almost aching idea of a them, into a sudden and new reality. Are they ready for that? And God, is Darren? The huddled, wailing creature on the stage in front of him sort of proves otherwise. Chris doesn’t know if the entire wicked world is willing to let this happen or not. It was so much easier to view things through optimistic eyes when it only existed safely inside the plaster and exposed brick walls of Darren’s apartment.
The first squeal of notice to Chris Colfer comes as soon as the lights are up. The crowd of people trying to get out of the theatre to get the best spot at the stage door is quickly switched to get a glimpse of the one person they’d never expect to see here again. He smiles with a tight twist of his lips that comes off more like a grimace, waving distractedly. His mind is already backstage with Darren. After a quick assessment of the crowd and the exits, Chris quickly figures out that the only way to the front-side stage door is to climb over the chairs. He’s sure he looks like a crazy, unstable mess, but doesn’t pay any mind to the flashing iPhone cameras or the mumbles of what the hell is he doing.
He’s out of breath by the time he is standing in front of the guard at the door, shoulders slouched and nearly hyperventilating. “H-hi. Yeah, I’m-”
“Mr. Criss’ boyfriend. Go ahead.”
Chris blinks rapidly, stunned and frozen to the spot as the door is held open for him. It’s not that the words are in a language he doesn’t speak, it’s just that hearing them stated so frankly makes Chris feel dizzy and like the room has suddenly had every ounce of oxygen vacuumed out of it. Clearly Darren isn’t quite as unsure or “careful” as he may have thought. He has to forcibly make himself stand up straighter and nod. Chris slips through the open door just as the last camera flashes out of the corner of his eye.
He pauses in front of Darren’s closed dressing room door, looking up at the honest-to-god gold star below his full name. Tracing over it with his finger twice, Chris takes just a few seconds to pause and recollect his thoughts. He has a good idea of the general state of what he’s about to walk into; Darren’s never been great at cleaning up his own messy emotions. At the best of times, Darren has always felt a certain amount of bleed-through from whatever his character might be feeling. It’s just the kind of actor that he is. But what Chris has seen on stage tonight was way more than that. He is about to walk into a full fledged storm. Whatever Darren was battling tonight, at least he wouldn’t have to face it alone. Chris is here now. He knocks.
“Yeah? Chris?” It comes out more of a hopeful squeak than anything else. Chris takes it as a prompt to peek in, so he does.
Darren’s hunched over similarly to how Hedwig was three songs ago. His face is puffy and tired down to the bare bones, pitiful and drained, still fully affected by the damn grifter who broke his heart in the show. He lifts his head off his knees and rises from the chair in the corner of the room when he must realize that it would only be Chris coming back here to check on him.
“Hey.” Chris starts to approach him slowly, careful measured steps like one would take towards an animal they didn’t want to spook away. It lasts for all of three steps before Darren launches himself across the dressing room and collides into Chris’ body with the force of a freight train.
Chris needs to brace himself extra carefully so they don’t topple over each other and cause a scene on top of forty-fourth street.
“Thank fuck that’s over.” Darren’s words are muffled against Chris’ shoulder, as he rubs his face back and forth over the white material, ruining the Prada shirt with a multicolored mess of stage makeup, sweat, and most likely snot and tears. Chris rests his hands against the small of Darren’s bare back and pulls him closer. Darren’s forgotten mic pack digs into Chris’ wrists.
Chris bites his lip and stares out into a spot on the wall in front of him. Minutes are suddenly gone, ticking by as their world returns to its axis with Darren’s touch. He counts unsteady breaths, heartbeats, the scraping sound of Darren’s slight stubble and eyelashes against the fabric of his shirt. Chris can feel when the adrenaline slumps from Darren’s body, the sweat on his skin cooling and causing goosebumps to spring up over his chest and arms.
“What happened out there, Dare?”
“Just wanna go home. Can we go?” Darren breaks away and gathers his phone and worn sheet music from the vanity. He twists down and backward to collect the pair of spare gold heels, laces already tied together and ready to go.
Chris feels his lips pull upwards around the edges. “Like that? As much as I admire you in those shorts, I think the whole of New York would need to pay a ticket price to see that kind of show.” He walks over and settles his hands on Darren’s waist until their eyes meet in the dressing room mirror. There’s a heady sense of deja vu about the image they make that causes Chris’ tongue to feel stupid and slow. “Are you really okay?”
“I will be once I’m away from here. I’m just… Chris, I’m really fucking tired. All of this, everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, it’s a lot to deal with. I want to go home, eat a shit ton of food that you’re going to tell me is bad for me, take a hot shower, and then die in a bed with you. How’s that plan sound to you?”
“I think most of it sounds doable. By the way, your little bodyguard guy knew me as Mister Criss’ boyfriend.” Chris hooks his chin on Darren’s shoulder and smiles softly. “Don’t be alarmed when you see pictures of me on Tumblr climbing over seats toward the front door. They would have never let me through.” Chris forcefully turns Darren around by his hipbones and reaches around him for a makeup remover wipe. “Let me...”
Darren nods, burning holes into Chris’ face with the most intense stare Chris has ever witnessed before in his life. Those burning-ember eyes look at him in searching a way that almost makes Chris want to run and hide behind the safety of his trusty walls, almost but not quite. Not anymore. He takes it upon himself to clean Darren’s face of the layers of makeup that didn’t make it to Chris’ shirt. He swallows hard around a Volkswagen-sized lump lodged in his throat, and he can’t look Darren in the eye; it’s too much. “Are you-”
“Don’t.”
“I just mean-”
“I already told you I want to do this. In fact, as long as you make me presentable enough, let’s leave together.”
“Like, through the stage door? Dare-”
“You don’t have to. I’d understand if you don’t want to. I can meet you later…”
Chris doesn’t allow himself to think about what a calamity it would be. It could be a complete disaster, being seen together in this way, all but twenty minutes after Darren virtually had a nervous breakdown on a Broadway stage with a thousand witnesses. But the thought of not having the warm weight of Darren’s fingers twisted through his for the rest of the night is even more frightening at this very moment. Chris knows what this means. This is an honest-to-god commitment. Fine, he’ll do it.
“I’ll do it.”
Darren’s eyebrows shoot up into the middle of his forehead like even though he was the one to suggest it, no one could be more shocked by Chris’ words. “Are you messing with me?”
It’s a lighter variation of the question Chris feels like Darren has been asking since the moment he first walked into this very dressing room two short weeks ago. He shakes his head and then leans forward to press his lips against the downturned corner of Darren’s mouth. It’s more of a brush of soft, damp skin against an unshaved, rougher top lip than a kiss, but it serves the purpose of sealing a promise nonetheless.
“I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“There’s no turning back after this, though. Don’t punch me in the face, but I need to make sure that you are absolutely sure.”
Darren’s fingers are twisted in his hair and his tongue is halfway down Chris’ throat, and it’s then that Chris knows that yeah, maybe Darren has thought it all through, and they just might survive this.