Chapter Text
“Four years of my fucking life on this fucking show.” Chris stalks around his trailer, tossing clothes aside, lifting up cushions of the couch.
His fingers close around the shape of his slim wireless phone charger. It’s exactly what he’s been ripping things apart looking for, but now that he’s found it there’s no sense of triumph. He just wants to throw it across the room.
He slots it place against his phone and hears the faint beep that says it’s refilling his battery. He has to shove the couch cushion back in place before he can drop down onto it, groaning.
“So,” Alla says. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Paris for - how long?”
“Not long, not long,” Alla promises.
“Then Vancouver for filming again, then Los Angeles for that festival, then what - straight into filming the movie? And that’ll be my whole summer? And then if we get season five it goes right into that.” Chris has to laugh. He has to laugh, or else he’ll cry. “I was so close to being out.”
“Honey, you do not want out, and you know it,” Alla says, kind but firm. “Out means unemployed. This is the easy part, sweetness. As hard as it may be to believe right now.”
“I know.” He quiets, his rage not lifting but settling, ruffled feathers smoothing back into place. He’s not stupid with his money but also used to a certain amount of financial freedom that’s come with the regular hefty paychecks he’s had for the past four years. He’s also put a lot toward substantial items: the house for his parents, his own house in Los Angeles. “I could really start writing again. Sell the L.A. place and move somewhere cheaper with the money. Buy a typewriter and start a garden.”
“Christopher,” she says, and he can just see the pinched look to her face. “You know you’re always free to write, but-”
But.
But he’s just not that good.
His books never made any bestsellers lists before the show, and he never made enough from publishing advances to even remotely live on. He could barely feed his cat on those first royalty checks.
His fans unearthed those children’s stories he wrote in his early twenties, but it cheapens the moderate success to know that it only comes because they like him on a television show. They aren’t connecting with his characters, they’re just using it to try and forge another connection to him.
He didn’t let that really stop him from writing, though. He kept at it right until he got the role of Aiden and suddenly his life was so busy with the glamorous (frustrating) life of the lead on one of ‘television’s most groundbreaking series’ - which is really just critic review bullshit for that sci-fi show with the gay dudes that actually isn’t half bad.
“I really have to do this?” Chris asks, finally, letting the rest of it go.
Alla laughs at him. “You’re the only client I have that acts like a trip to Paris is some kind of punishment.”
It takes someone like Alla, someone that knows him well enough to ignore his reluctance, to ever get him moving anywhere. If Chris had his way he’d go home to his little apartment and his cat every single night.
“And he’s the only other person going? They couldn’t get Jenna? Or Becca? Or Kevin?” Chris makes himself stop listing names, because he’s aware that he could literally go through every other cast or crew member and still want to travel with them more than he does Darren.
“You know you and Darren are the ones that everyone wants right now,” Alla says. “And - there’s one more thing, about that.”
Chris groans. “Of course there is.”
“There are more rumors about fighting on set. We need you and Darren to seem.. friendly,” Alla says, clearly picking her words carefully.
Chris sinks back into his seat. “But we aren’t even fighting. We don’t… fight.”
And it’s true. He may have his issues with Darren, and he’s sure Darren bitches plenty about Chris, and sometimes that tension they’re celebrated for has a little too much of a friction-edge… but they don’t fight.
“But we need a front of solidarity right now,” Alla says. “And the more fans are on our side, the better our chances. Like it or not, sweetness, you’re the hot ticket - you and Darren.”
“So what does this whole thing entail?” Chris asks.
“We’ll set up a couple of dinners, maybe go see some music. You’re in Paris together, you’re hanging out, you’re friends. It won’t be too much,” she promises.
Chris makes a face at his phone. “Fine, when do I leave?”
“You have enough time to go pack a bag and make it to the airport. I just emailed you the itinerary.” There’s a muffled voice in the background and Chris can tell that Alla isn’t really listening to him anymore.
He tries one last time. “What about-”
“I’ll send your assistant for Moxie,” Alla says. “Don’t worry about it. The precious little kitty will not go hungry.”
Chris wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t deny that was going to be his next question. “Fine.”
“Call me if you have any questions!” Her voice is forcefully cheerful as she says goodbye, then hangs up before he can argue any more.
*
Chris has the layout of the Vancouver airport memorized. Four years worth of walking down the same path to one identical waiting area of the next, four years of hearing the same recorded messages. He can practically greet the security checkers by name, and half the baristas have his order memorized.
It’s half past eight when he walks into the VIP passenger lounge with his double chocolate chip frap in hand, a pre-flight indulgence that he’ll work off at the gym… later. Some other time. His level of caring is low at the moment.
Darren’s already there, head bopping along to something playing so loudly in his earbuds that Chris can almost make out what song it is.
Chris rolls his eyes. Of course Darren wouldn’t care who else he interrupts with his music. He sits far enough away that Darren won’t notice him and pulls his tablet out of his bag, busying himself checking email until the loudspeaker announces that boarding for his flight is about to begin.
He looks over at Darren, but Darren has apparently moved past being lost in his music and onto being dead asleep. For one petty moment, Chris considers actually leaving him there to miss the flight, but that would just prolong the trip and fuck himself over in the process.
So he hitches his carry on over his shoulder and walks over to Darren, nudging Darren’s leg with his foot. Darren’s mouth drops open and he lets out a little snore.
Chris huffs and puts a hand on his hip, then pushes Darren’s leg a little harder.
Nothing.
He does it one more time, some of his irritation seeping out into the gesture. Darren yelps awake and immediately pulls his leg up to him, rubbing the spot Chris just kicked. “What was that for!”
“Flight’s boarding,” Chris says.
“Oh.” Darren rubs his eyes. One earbud dangles loose, song still blaring. “Right. Thanks, I think?”
“Sure.” Chris shrugs and walks away.
*
They’re in first class on a mostly empty flight.
It should be easy to ignore each other, but.
But- Darren.
Darren is the kind of guy that gets itchy under the skin if he goes more than ten minutes without hearing the sound of his own voice, and if at all possible he likes to make sure there’s an audience hearing it, too.
That’s why Chris isn’t remotely surprised when Darren drops down into the seat beside him. “Hey, so. What’s the plan for Paris, anyway?”
Chris makes a point of removing his headphones and pausing the movie he’d been watching. “I don’t know,” he says. “Something about an interview.”
“An interview that’ll take a week?” Darren asks.
Chris’s head jerks around to look at him in disbelief. “What? A week?”
Darren holds up his hands in a ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ gesture. “That’s what I was told, man. What, didn’t pack enough undies? The hotel will totally get some for you - I’ve been there. More than once.”
“Of course you have.” Chris rolls his eyes. “I just - I didn’t know it would be this long.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing Alla figured you’d bolt if she said you’d be away that long?” Darren nudges his arm a little. “That chick totally has your number.”
“Like Michael doesn’t have yours,” Chris says. “Let me guess - he set you up with some ‘sweet ass seats’ to a few shows while we’re in town?”
Darren’s grin is unapologetic. “He knows the right offers to make to grease the wheels.”
“Or you’re just easy,” Chris shoots back.
“Ouch. I’m wounded, Colfer.” Darren puts a hand over his heart.
“I’m sorry, did I impugn your virtue?” Chris asks.
Darren can’t even make it through a response without cracking up. “Dude, I’m pretty sure nothing remotely virtuous about me survived my twenties.”
“I’m surprised you can even remember back that far.”
“Fuck you!” Darren laughs. “Are you even in your twenties yet?”
“Fuck you,” Chris says right back. “I’m just still waiting on some parts of me to catch up - oh my god, I meant my voice, stop that-”
He reaches out and shoves at Darren, but Darren just shoves back. And this… this is how it always seems to be between them, this is part of exactly why Chris doesn’t like Darren.
Because Darren is likeable. He’s so, so likeable. Five minutes in his presence and the tension just melts away from Chris, and it would be nice, except - except that everyone is like this around Darren. If he were a superhero, this would be his special power.
He’s lovable. He’s well loved, and he makes a person feel like they are his entire world.
But they aren’t. Chris has known him for far too long, and he understands that beneath the easy exterior is a man who wanted to be famous and needed to be loved and isn’t afraid to use his charm as a weapon when he needs to.
They all play to their strengths, but with strengths come weaknesses, too.
Chris has seen so many people fall hard and fast for Darren and then get left behind, forgotten in an instant when someone newer or shinier or more powerful crosses Darren’s path.
He’s watched Darren fuck his way through the cast and crew. He breaks hearts and then repairs them only to break them again in a different way. The people that hold it against him end up replaced more often than not - that poor actress so early in season one, the one that Darren had the highly public fling with and then…
Written off the show, like it was nothing. Her own request, sure, but… Chris knows why she left. He knows because he’s the one that handed her tissues and rubbed her back while she sobbed out how much in love with Darren she was and how she just couldn’t imagine having to come to set every day and look at his face.
Chris feels sad for anyone who ever thinks they have a shot at having all of someone like Darren. They couldn’t even if they wanted to - even if he tried. Chris imagines the best parts of Darren are probably mostly facade, like they’d disappear into vapor the minute you tried to really get a grasp on them.
Darren is great at projecting what he wants people to think of him at people.
Darren is an actor, and he’s good at what he does.
Chris is good at what he does, too - and they’re good together. The natural chemistry is there, and they can manipulate it to fit exactly what they need to appear to be in any given situation.
They work together well, and sometimes Chris hates that, too.
*
Darren sleeps most of the flight.
That actually is one of the qualities Chris both envies and enjoys about him - his ability to sleep anywhere and everywhere. It's a struggle every night for Chris, has been since his teenage years. No amount of herbal remedy or sleeping pill or nightcap can wear him out, nothing short of sheer exhaustion and even that sleep is tempered by tossing and turning.
On set Darren can go and go and go for hours, long past when Chris is dragging his feet and slurring his words. When Darren does get tired, he can find a few minutes of rest anywhere. There's a whole bulletin board full of pictures printed out by cast and crew members from cell phone shots of him sleeping under tables, in dark wardrobe closets, tucked against the wall in a hallway. Once he even made use of the passenger seat of the catering truck on location.
While Darren sleeps, Chris writes.
For a while he tried to stop. After his books were a flop and even freelance work became spotty, he wanted to be angry enough at the simple fact that he wasn't good enough but it didn't take him all that long to realize that he's kind of writing's bitch. He's like an addict, twitchy and head stuffed overly full of emotion and phrases and feelings if he doesn't let them spill out one way or the other. He decided writing was at least a better alternative than rambling drunkenly into his ex-boyfriend's voice-mail at two am on a Wednesday.
He's written a book a year at least since he was in his twenties. He got published twice in his early twenties with a vague promise of more that never came to anything when the first two didn’t sell. When he got the show, those two were re-released with new covers and a huge glossy picture of him on the back. The publisher came back to him with a much sweeter contract and a deal for more. He’d already had the last three books in that series written, so he’d blown the dust off of them and done one a year for the first three seasons of the show.
When he started writing his new series, he’d shopped it around under false names first. No one was going to buy it without his name attached, and since his publishing company was willing to sign a new five-book deal without even seeing the first manuscript, he took it. No one in his management team was going to let him turn down that money. Financial security is a luxury he’s making the most of, but he wants his works read because of their content... not the name of a tv show in the back cover blurb under a glossy full color photo of his smiling and highly recognizable face.
Hours pass by and the playlist he likes for flying loops over a fourth time. His legs ache from being so cramped and his stomach growls. Why didn't he bring snacks? Not enough time, not enough of a plan.
Days like this... they're his least favorite.
*
Hour nine and he's finally shut the laptop and put it away. His eyes ache and his head feels heavy. He shifts to get as comfortable as he can but no position is quite right. The pillow bunches awkwardly under his head, too thin when not folded and too thick when doubled up. Turn this way, turn that way, grunt and tense and relax and try, try again, because what else can he even do?
"Hey," Darren's voice whispers, cutting through the blur of almost-sleep. "Here."
Chris jerks his head a little and recoils from a touch on his arm. "What-"
"Sorry, sorry," Darren mutters, but genuinely. "Take my pillow. It's one of those memory foam things, it’s comfortable"
"Aren't you using it?" Chris asks.
"Dude, I just slept for eight hours, I'm good to go. Here." Darren shoves it at him again and Chris sighs, taking it.
Darren doesn't take no for an answer very well, especially not when what he's trying to do is to benefit someone else. It sounds like a wonderful quality in a person on paper, but in reality it can just be infuriating more often than not.
The pillow does feel good, though. Chris relaxes back against it with a sigh. "Thank you," he says, not even bothering to open his eyes again.
If he had, he might have caught the peculiar way Darren was smiling at him.
*
At least the network puts them up in acceptable digs. The Dorchester might not have the comforts of home, but it has a few comforts that home doesn't have. He sighs happily at the sight of a hot tub tucked into the corner of the room, at the king sized bed and complimentary snack basket, the bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice, the fancy letter with Mr. Chris Colfer in gold foil on the envelope.
The Parisians do know how to treat a fellow right. At least the ones being paid handsomely by the powers that be in television.
He kicks his shoes off and drops down onto the bed. They've got the rest of the day and half the next to rest up. According to the itinerary Alla emailed - the real one that came mid-flight, long past when he could conceivably put his foot down and say no - there's an interview and a photoshoot for a European magazine and then she'll be joining him the day after that when he and Darren have a couple of radio interviews lined up.
There's more, he's sure - more she's not telling him, which sets off every alarm bell in his head. He's afraid it'll be another one of those risque photoshoots. They haven't been pushed into anything like that since sweeps week during season two, as part of the build up to Bay and Aiden's first kiss.
He still cringes every time he has to sign one of those. He knows that the fans ate those pictures up, the coy and flirty ones, Darren with his shirt off and Chris looming darkly around him...
It's not like they don't do more on the actual show, but he can pull a diva act and demand a closed set there, he can pretend that once the scene is in the can it ceases to exist.
He doesn't even watch the screenings with the rest of the cast. He shows up to say hi, makes sure his absence won't be reported, and then slips out before the episodes even begin. To this day the only Shadow Grove episodes he's seen were the ones the network executives showed up to that he wasn't allowed to squirm out of.
Darren's at every screener, of course. Bright and early, all smiles. Darren's the go-to guy for promoting them.
It's not like Chris hates the show, though. He devours the scripts, and he gets a huge kick out of reading the social networks and blogs to see where fans think the show is heading next. He loves those mornings after an episode airs when everyone is still in an uproar about the creative genius of the show and how the rug keeps getting pulled out from under them. Chris is proud of being a part of intelligent, innovative television - he's just fucking terrified of the fans of his fictional relationship. They’re a whole different breed. Eardrum piercing, invasive question asking, nonstop photograph taking, entirely too fucking perceptive for their own good obsessive mostly younger guys and girls that seem to dog his every step and haunt his nightmares.
So Chris is more than happy to talk about the complexities of a science fiction conspiracy plot. He'll field those like a champ and when someone inevitably asks about the phenomena that is "Bayden" he'll pass them right off to Darren.
*
Chris has a lot of least favorite parts about being in show business.
Press is one of his most least favorite parts, though.
He shows up at the start of the day, twenty minutes early with an ice cold drink in hand and a deep desire to be anywhere but where he is. He’s got all the expected bells and whistles in place. Outfit chosen with care for potential photographs, hair done - but it’s never quite as good when he has to do it himself, but the attempt is there.
Darren rolls in twenty minutes late in a t-shirt that looks like he slept in it and a serious case of bedhead.
He’s gorgeous, of course. Chris is mostly immune to Darren’s attractiveness, a tolerance built up through sheer constant exposure, but he’s not blind. If Chris tried to get away with the amount of laziness Darren did, he’d be regarded as one of Hollywood’s legendary hot messes, but Darren - he makes it work.
“They got grub anywhere?” Darren asks Chris, looking around.
They don’t, but a girl materializes seemingly out of nowhere and within two minutes she’s leaving with a list of what Darren wants for breakfast.
Darren’s order - and just Darren’s order.
“That must be nice,” Chris mutters.
“Oh, shit. Did you want anything?” Darren turns those eyes, widened with sincerity, on Chris. It bothers Chris that he can’t even tell if it’s an act or not. “I can call her back maybe, or we could find someone else-”
“No.” Chris doesn’t snap, but it takes effort. “It’s fine. I’ll just wait and eat lunch, like a normal person.”
Darren looks like he might be going to say something, and then he just shrugs. “If you say so.”
*
It’s almost hilarious how quickly they can turn it off and on with each other.
As soon as the camera starts to roll, they switch into gear. Bantering, tossing answers back and forth, finishing each other’s sentences, even pushing that thin line of character bleed with a little flirtation.
That’ll cost Chris a few weeks of his sanity on the internet, but the older he gets the better he handles it. That he’s an out gay man and Darren is an unashamed bisexual mean that there’s been speculation since the very start.
But Darren was also dating someone off and on since the very start. When he wasn’t with her he had a steady stream of flings and flirtatious encounters, so the rumors never got too far off the ground except with a small section of very dedicated and over-eager fans.
Chris never actually asked Darren what went down in that relationship. One day he was seeing her show up on set and the next day it was splashed over all the headlines that she’d married that bandmate of hers.
He tries to keep his nose out of set gossip as much as he can, but he’s heard whispers. Becca and Kevin would disappear into Darren’s trailer more afternoons than not for a while. He remembers with a stifled sense of bitterness being able to hear the laughter and music float out from the windows as he’d walk past to his own trailer.
Not feeling left out. Of course not. Why would he? If he’d wanted to be a part of that-
He doesn’t want to be a part of that. His breaks on set are better spent working on… well, stuff that no one else on set really gives a fuck about.
He’s having some publisher issues lately so he’s been trying to take a break from his next novel to try writing a screenplay. His agent has agreed to try and shop some scripts around if he gets them written. Screenwriting isn’t novel writing; he could have his shot there.
“Hey.” Darren elbows him. “Back to earth with us mere mortals?”
Chris realizes he’d been daydreaming. “Sorry,” he mutters, trying to clear his minds of the errant thoughts. “Who’s up next?”
“Fuck if I know,” Darren says, but the moment the interviewer is settled in front of him he’s practically gushing compliments. He asks her about her day and how the weather is and if she knows of any good places to eat and god Chris could never. He could never in his life look at someone he’s just met and make them think they’re his best friend.
*
Chris loves London. He loves the drizzle and the rain, the history, the associations the city has to things that are so ingrained into who he is. He loves Denmark, Germany, the homes of fairy tales and good food. He loves the tropical beach cities for the pampering that they represent, and the snowy mountain ranges perfect for curling up and writing. He loves places that inspire him and stoke that passion for life and learning inside of him.
All Paris evokes is the urge to punch someone. He doesn't like Paris, and he never has. (Well, that’s a lie. Maybe he did once upon a time when he thought Paris was just this wonderland that everyone went to when they were happy and in love. But the first time he visited Paris he got too drunk on cheap champagne and had a one night stand with a guy he can’t even picture anymore, so now Paris just feels like disillusionment to him.)
He can’t find it in him to muster passion for anything. Darren leaves their next round of interviews for a dinner with some friends the following day. The day after that is their photoshoot for the magazine spread, and Darren can’t stop talking about the concert he’s going to see that night.
Darren’s manager is with him, so it’s not like Darren really needs him for conversation or company. He logs a lot of quality hours in the outrageous bath in his room and even more writing.
Then comes the point where he can’t ignore Darren anymore. As per his grudging agreement, they have dinner reservations at some overpriced restaurant named after some smug, egotistical chef who will likely tut around them making sure the VIPs are pleased with the offering enough to pose for a picture for his 'private collection' before they leave.
Darren takes one look at him and says, "Lighten up. That's an order."
Chris rolls his eyes. "I don't like French food."
"I know," Darren says, and hands Chris a bag.
Chris opens it up and looks inside. There's a mouth-wateringly perfect croissant.
"It's chocolate," Darren adds. He's grinning when Chris looks back up.
Chris hates French food, but god does he love French pastry. "You're bribing me into compliance."
"No, I'm buttering you up so maybe we can enjoy ourselves tonight," Darren says.
Chris would definitely have sharp words for him, if he could say anything around the blissful bite of deliciously light buttery croissant and smooth dark chocolate he's just taken.
"Right, then," Darren says, offering Chris his arm. "Shall we?"
Chris gingerly takes Darren's arm.
*
Dinner is a mostly silent affair.
Darren's on his phone for most of it. Chris pulls his own out just to act like he has half the people wanting to be in constant contact with him as Darren does. Really, he spends fifteen minutes trying to beat the next level in a game he's addicted to before scrolling through a gossip site instead.
He snickers when he passes an article about Darren.
Darren looks up, curious. "What?"
"Oh, nothing," Chris says. "Someone just said something funny."
"... okay," Darren says, eyebrows knitting together momentarily. He looks down at his phone but only for a moment more before he pointedly puts it on the table. "Champagne's pretty good."
"I'm sure it is." Chris has barely touched his glass.
"Come on." Darren reaches for the bottle, resting in its ice bucket beside them. He tops off his own. "You have to try it."
"I tried it," Chris says.
"You couldn't have even tasted it like that." Darren pushes the flute toward him. "Seriously, that didn't even count as a sip."
Darren pushes again. The champagne sloshes over the edge and one drip rolls down the side of the glass.
Chris rolls his eyes, then picks it up and downs the entire thing. It's bubbly and a little too dry for his liking, but it warms him up in a flush that twists over his chest pleasantly.
"That's how you do it." Darren laughs, and then refills him.
Chris doesn't complain this time.
Once the food arrives, they've all but finished the bottle between them. There still isn't much conversation but occasionally their eyes will meet and they'll share a moment of mutual ridicule at the situation that they're in.
"You know what would make this better?" Chris asks, stabbing at his veal, a hapless victim to circumstance of being on his plate.
"What?" Darren doesn't seem to have any issues with his lobster. He's already licking butter from his fingers.
"If it was pizza." Chris grins down at his plate when Darren barks out a surprised laugh.
"I wonder if you could get them to make you a pizza here..."
"I'd be horrified of what they'd put on it," Chris says. "Prawn-head and leek on a foie gras infused crust."
"I'll take Chicago deep dish, thanks." Darren makes a grossed out face. "But dude, do you really not like this? Because it's pretty fucking awesome food."
"It's fine," Chris admits. "I just don't like... this."
He gestures his hand around. The walls are intricate and decorated in gold, the chandeliers heavy and ornate. Everything speaks of money and privilege.
Chris enjoys the perks that his network television paycheck bring him, but only on his own terms.
“I get it,” Darren says, looking around. “So why don’t we blow it off?”
“What?” Chris asks.
“Come on.” Darren grins at him. “We can go raid a patisserie. I know you, Colfer. You can murder some desserts when you want to.”
“Okay,” Chris says, but first he grabs the bottle of champagne and splits what’s left between them. The studio is footing this bill, but why let a good bottle go to waste?
They finish them off like shots, clinking glasses and then downing the contents in one go.
*
Their early departure clearly catches the photographers settled in outside the restaurant off-guard. Chris can't hide his pleasure over that, laughing when they all start talking rapidly to each other. "Faster," he whispers to Darren, who seems slightly conflicted before picking up his pace to keep up with Chris. "Car's right there!"
They're both laughing and slightly breathless as they slide into the backseat of the chauffeured car. Clearly their publicists hadn't trusted them enough to actually find their own way to the restaurant and back... and obviously, for good reason.
Darren leans forward and slaps a bill into the driver's hand. "Take us to the best pastry shop you know of."
The driver appears to have some kind of ethical conflict until he sees how much money Darren's just given him.
*
"This is amazing," Chris says, licking heavy cream from his fingertips. They've been here twenty minutes, and the car is waiting outside for them but he won't be rushed. "This may be the best idea you've ever had."
Darren gives him a look like a puppy who just got scratched behind the ears in exactly the right spot. It's ridiculous and endearing and Chris is only willing to admit so because he's been swayed by alcohol and dessert.
So much dessert.
"I'm getting stuff to go," he announces, walking over to the display case. The girl behind the counter doesn't speak any English and Chris definitely never got the hang of French but they communicate pretty well through a series of pointing and nodding gestures.
Darren doesn't seem as inclined for seconds. He leans back against the wall, just watching Chris. Eventually it makes Chris's skin prickle a little with the weight of it.
"What?" He asks, turning around while the girl boxes up his future midnight snack and breakfast, respectively.
"Just wondering how you eat like that and still manage to look so..." Darren makes a vague hand gesture.
Chris's cheeks redden slightly. He hates that he knows they're doing that, that he can feel the subtle heat of it. "Well, some of us actually remember the gym exists."
"I'll have you know the fans are fond of my pudge." Darren gets up and walks over to stand by Chris, leaning against the display case. "Really, though. It's like I hit thirty and no amount of exercising kept the belly off. But it's all good. This is the body the great flying spaghetti monster gave me, and in his carbs we do give thanks."
"You are ridiculous," Chris says, rolling his eyes.
But maybe he files that one away for later, too.
*
Chris wakes up the next morning and does indeed enjoy his indulgently high-fat breakfast. He enjoys less the interviews that come after, though at least it’s just a radio show and not the endless parade of accented men and women in suits with microphones and question cards clutched in their sweaty fingers.
He has a few interviews alone and a few with Darren, and then the European media has had their fill and they're both released back into the wild to gather their luggage and head for the airport.
Darren’s not sitting near him on the plane this time. Chris stares out the window, telling himself he’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with the constant distraction.
*
Chris sits in his manager’s office the next Monday morning. He’d woken up to a voicemail and a text from her saying to call. He’d known when her assistant put him straight into her afternoon schedule that it was something big.
He’d had hopes that it was maybe show related, or even some awesome news about his books or an update on whatever endless negotiations are going on with the his publishers at the moment.
But no, of course not.
“You did this on purposes,” Chris says, voice dull as he realizes on what massive level he’s just been played. “The whole Paris thing - you only sent us there for this.”
“The interviews were genuine.” Alla is a picture of cuteness behind her desk, but there’s steel in her voice and a hard set to her jaw. Being tiny and blonde just means she has learned how to take no shit and make people realize she means it.
But Chris is stubborn, too. “This is so sleazy. We don’t do this. I don’t do this.”
“You are now,” Alla says. “This is a positive move for your career. It’ll keep your name in the news whether the film does well or not, and it’ll quiet those rumors that you and Darren hate each other.”
“We don’t hate each other…” Chris says in a weak voice. “Can’t we just post some pictures from set, or something?”
“You can do that,” Alla agrees. “In addition to the rest.”
“I don’t want to lie,” Chris says. “I’d be lying to everyone.”
“No, you won’t be.” Alla speaks more gently. “You will simply let people draw their own conclusions. It really isn’t that much of a time commitment. A dinner once or twice a week, talk to him on social media, post a casual picture or two. We can arrange some things for you. Inside jokes go over well. People will eat it up, sweetness, they absolutely will. We’ll get a maximum return on a minimum investment.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Chris says again, blunt. “Does Darren?”
“You’d have to talk to him.”
“What, you couldn’t just call his guy up for me? You guys must be great buddies by now, with all the time you apparently spend discussing my personal life and how you’re going to use it to manipulate a fanbase.”
Alla levels a stare at him and he feels slightly queasy with how much he doesn't want to be in this situation, having this conversation with her. "We're done here," she says, pushing back from her desk.
And that's it. The conversation is over.
She briefly squeezes his shoulder as she walks by, and then leaves him sitting there stewing in his anger alone in her office.
*
Darren calls him later that afternoon. Chris is on his couch when he answers the phone, wearing pajama pants and no shirt, the cat purring against his feet.
"Is it that big of a deal?" Darren asks.
"Maybe not to you," Chris says.
"Why is it to you?"
And Chris realizes he has no answer to that. He can't explain why the idea of pretending to be something with this guy that on most days he feels like he barely knows puts such a sour taste in his mouth.
"It's for show," Chris says. "It's just an act. I have better things to do with my time than let myself be prostituted out so a tv show gets some more viewers."
Darren sighs. "Okay. But you still agreed to it, didn't you?"
Technically, Chris isn't really sure he had. Alla would probably tell a different story.
Darren takes his silence as assent. "Do you at least want a say in what we do when we hang out? Or do you want it totally hands off?"
"Do we even have a choice?" Chris asks.
"Of course we do. Dude, you're being way too harsh about this." Darren, for once, almost sounds annoyed.
"Did you know?" Chris wonders. "When you suggested we skip dinner and all of that?"
"Oh," Darren says, like suddenly he gets something. "No, listen, I didn't, okay? We had fun that night, and that was just - us, hanging out. And is it so bad that we might get to do that a little more often?"
"It won't be the same." Chris rolls over onto his back. He's uncomfortable with this conversation. "Look, I have to go."
"Shit, wait. You never answered me. Do you want to set up dates by ourselves?"
Chris sighs. "Fine, yeah. Just - text me whenever you want me to show up."
*
Chris meets Becca for lunch the next day and ends up explaining the whole situation to her.
"I just can't believe this is even my life," Chris says.
Becca sips her smoothie. "Why can't you? You're an actor, babe. This is what actors do. They pretend to be someone they aren't, doing things they aren't really doing."
Chris shakes his head. "But that's a character. That's a defined role. This isn't."
"I think you're wrong." Becca pushes her straw around with her finger, eyes fixed on him. "Completely wrong. Because you are a character. You are a public figure, and the fans you have look at you like you aren't something real. You are a persona, not a person."
"That's what I hate, though!" Chris gestures angrily with his hand. "Why does who I am as a person have anything to do with anything? Why does anyone care who I'm dating?"
"They care because that's what Hollywood is today. Thank the internet, thank social media, thank the paparazzi, or don't thank anyone - it won't change the fact that it's true. When people love a character, they want to love the person playing the character. They want to think you're just as awesome a dude as Aiden."
"And they also want to think I'm fucking the same person Aiden is fucking." Chris grimaces. "God, what would they have done if one of us was straight?"
Becca waves a hand. "Have you even been on the internet? That stops no one. You wouldn't believe how many social media accounts are dedicated to me and Jenna. It's fantastic. And they always give me a killer body."
"You already have a killer body," Chris says.
Becca gives him a dimpled smile. "Of course. But they make it even more killer. The internet is fantastic, trust me. Terrifying, but fantastic."
"I want no part of it," Chris grumbles.
"That's because you were born geriatric. I'm surprised you can even work your smartphone. For your next birthday, I'm going to buy you one of those Jitterbug ones with the huge buttons that doesn't do anything but make calls." Becca grins at him. "I could give you a flipbook of cat pictures and you'd be just as happy as if you were really online."
"I hate you." Chris scowls at her.
"Sure you do." She steals a bite of his muffin. "But really, you need to stop whining, okay? Because you are the only one making this a big deal. You think other people haven't pretended to flirt for the cameras just to get a boost? And, hell. Sometimes it isn't even really for the camera. You could do with mixing a little pleasure with work... and Darren? He's great for that. Trust me."
She winks at him and Chris yanks his plate away so she can't have any more of his food. "No thanks," he says, a little too aggressively.
Her eyes widen ever so slightly. "Damn. Either you really hate him, or you really secretly still want to jump his bones."
"He's attractive, I can admit that, but I want no part of him." Chris shakes his head. "I've seen the aftermath of his affections."
"Like you haven't left a few boys sobbing on their knees." Becca settles with her own fruit, since she can't help herself to his. "Max? Remember him?"
"Max wouldn't come out," Chris says. "I would have dated him if he'd been willing."
"But you didn't just dump him. You fucking decimated that boy."
"We didn't even know each other at the time, how do you even know about that?" Chris protests. "It wasn't that bad."
"Honey, everyone knows about that. Max talks about you like you are the long lost love of his life. I mean, The Richard Burton to his Elizabeth Taylor."
"I'm not sure you don't have that analogy backwards," Chris says. "Max is exaggerating. We were never that serious. You heard me. He wouldn't even come out."
"How do you know that means he wasn't serious?" Becca asks.
"Because if he had been, he'd have come out." Chris isn't sure how this logic isn't connecting to her.
"So you basically asked the boy to choose between his career, and you? The career he presumably worked years for? Knowing that if he chose you, the types of roles he would be offered would change drastically?"
"Oh, gee, you mean he might have only been offered gay roles? I wouldn't at all know how that feels," Chris snaps. "If it's so bad for him, how the fuck did I ever get anywhere in this industry?"
Becca gives him a surprised look. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Yeah, you did." Chris puts his fork down. "And so did he, back then. He might have been in love with me, but not enough to put himself on my level in Hollywood. Not enough to be tainted with the dark mark that is being an out, gay man. And I have no time for people that want to hide anything about themselves."
Becca is quiet for a few moments, and then says, "But Darren doesn't hide. So, there's that."
"And that's one of the few things I was prepared to give him credit for," Chris says. "But this whole thing with me, faking a relationship? It's lying. Just the same as staying in the closet."
"Wow, but no," Becca says. "Babe, I love you, but you have got to stop seeing things in such black and whites."
"Why?" Chris asks. "Why is not being willing to compromise such a crime?"
Becca shakes her head at him. “It’s just a hard way to get by in life.”
“I do fine,” Chris says, and tries to pretend that the pity on her face doesn’t burn.
*
Chris wakes up with the sun shining too brightly in his eyes.
He has a full day today. There are costume fittings for the movie filming, and a video chat meeting with his publisher. Half the summer will be filming for the movie, but they want to push the book release back so that it isn't competing for media attention with the movie.
For Chris, it means he'll be in New Mexico filming for two months, with a first draft of his next book due to his editor the month after that. Of course, this is under the assumption that he finishes the book by the end of the summer and that the publishers keep their end of the schedule on track with editing and revisions.
The balance he’s had to strike between the show and his last books has been precarious. For the past two years he’s managed writing and editing between shooting and then normally a summer book tour, but this year there are just too many hold ups and so many of the variables are out of his hands. But there will be a book, and with that will come a book tour. Like always, they'll try and schedule him for two dozen cities and he'll agree to five or six of them and they'll negotiate it somewhere in between.
He doesn't mind the book tours, even if sometimes he gets a little freaked out with so many people clamoring for him actually in person. What he minds is being gone for so long. He rolls over in bed and finds his cat staring at him. "I know, I know," he grumbles, leaning forward and burying his face in her soft fur. "I’ll be gone all summer and then come back just to abandon you again for a month. You're already hating me for it, aren't you?"
She's not, really. She does just fine. Chris is pretty sure that she views his assistant as much her owner as Chris is. Part of Chris resents that, but he is glad that he can avoid boarding her.
Alla makes fun of his angst over it. She tells him that if he ever has a real child, he'll have to give up his career to be a stay at home dad or the guilt will really eat him alive. Chris always answers by pointing out that he doesn't ever plan on having kids. Maybe he'd thought about it once or twice when he was younger and in the right kind of relationships, but it's been awhile since then. He can't imagine caring so strongly about someone that he'd want to raise a kid with them now. Even more, he can't imagine giving that much of himself over. Maturity has made him acknowledge the selfishness inherent in himself.
He rolls out of bed and plants his feet on the ground. No point in really delaying the day. It'll happen whether he likes it or not.
*
Aiden gets a pretty kickass wardrobe upgrade for the feature.
Chris nods approvingly at the black pants that hug his ass, the blue-green accents with a silvery sheen. It's not Star Trek futuristic, but it's just slightly more than what's on trend for modern day.
And it looks good on him. "You really are the best," he says, giving appropriate admiration to the costume designers.
Maggie, the one usually assigned to him, just grins. "Wait til you see Bay's new outfit."
"Oh, god." Chris groans. "Is it-"
Maggie reaches over and plucks a polaroid from the spread of them on a messy table.
"Wow," Chris says, staring at it. Darren's striking a flamboyant pose (of course) but it's obvious despite his antics that the outfit is a flattering counterpoint to Chris's. He's wearing a v-neck t-shirt to Chris's button up, pants that are similar but with colored stitching. Bayani's usually got a little more of a youthful mischievous vibe than Aiden, and the wardrobe is pretty good about reflecting it. It makes it even more of a draw for the audience when Aiden's quite literally buttoned up demeanor suddenly becomes relaxed in those late night research scenes with Bay. Chris can appreciate the parallels.
He can also admit how similar he and Darren are to their characters. He often wishes he'd been cast as someone completely different to himself, but he's also sure that his own strengths as an actor and preferences as a person may have influenced the character, too.
He isn't Aiden Black, of course. He isn't former government lawyer turned FBI agent turned conspiracy chaser. And Darren is far from his character in many ways. Bayani is a professional hacker and Darren still gets confused putting his phone on silent sometimes.
But the parts of the characters that the fans have grown most attached to are the parts most like they themselves, and that's part of Chris's discomfort with how much fans just really want them to be together.
He doesn't like that someone who has never met him or Darren can look at them and think they'd be good together. He doesn't like being judged, not from up close or a far, but certainly not from strangers.
Maggie circles around him on her knees, still measuring to make sure they get the fit of all the pants just right. She leans back, then nods her approval. "Go ahead and change into the jeans."
"Aiden in jeans." Chris grins ruefully. "They're pulling out all the stops."
Maggie laughs. "And we've only gotten notes for half the script so far. Maybe you'll really luck out and get an underwear scene."
Chris blanches, the aforementioned jeans halfway up his legs. He probably looks ridiculous. "You don't really think they would?"
"Mm..." Maggie hums. "I heard they're batting around the idea of a R rating."
"Oh, God." Chris groans. "They would."
"What’s so bad about it, babe?" Maggie asks, frowning at how the jeans are just a touch too long. "The show could use it. They've been dancing you and Bay around for three seasons now. It's starting to be a little played out."
"They've always said they'll get us together in the end," Chris says.
Maggie looks up at him, reaching up to push a lock of bright blue hair out of her face. "You realize this might actually be the end, right?"
Chris looks straight ahead at his own reflection in the mirror. "Yeah, I guess that could be true."
"Could be?" She tilts her head and shrugs, like she's just decided it isn't really worth arguing.
The movie is a last ditch effort at drumming up ratings and network interest, but he knows what she means.
It's also supposed to be a long goodbye if it doesn't work. He's heard it said more than a few times by now: the movie is a gift that they can give to the fans. Obviously, no one involved - either for passion or for financial profit - really wants his ride to end. And yeah, looking at it like that? It makes sense that they might go all out and give Bay and Aiden a big connection scene, make the flirtation and pining and feelings and close encounters between them real.
So, awesome. Now Chris has that to look forward to.
*
Chris spends the next three hours in his trailer writing.
He's trying to write, at least. He's not getting too far, though, not on the fictional story.
His journal, on the other hand? The words are flying. So much he can't say, wouldn't say, can barely even admit to himself - but somehow when he's typing they just come, more freely and more inspired than his voice would allow.
He knows it's probably dumb to keep any kind of online account of his life. One hacked website and he'd be fucked, but that's why he makes sure to never really write anything he'd truly get roasted for. Embarrassing sentimentality is allowed, actual private information is not.
Alla would probably love it if this got leaked, actually, he realizes with a laugh. Cataloging all the things he'll miss about set if he doesn't get to come back? She begs him to throw stuff like that at reporters when he's being interviewed.
But this isn't for an audience. This is for him. This is how he processes things. The mood on set is a weird one. Much like his conversation with Maggie, it goes from excited to grim in a moment's notice. They'll have the movie to look forward to no matter what, but everyone knows this might be the last days they actually have on this set with this same group of people.
He's got another half hour before he needs to get to the makeup trailer, and there's a knock on his door.
"Come in," he calls out. He's stretched out on the little sofa he's decorated with a cat themed throw and a cat shaped child's pillow pet.
(When anyone asks, he says Becca did it as a prank.)
The door pushes open and Darren is standing there. Chris can't actually tell if he's in his own clothes or Bayani’s, but his hair is a little neater than being on set calls for. "Hey, you busy?"
"So busy," Chris says, rolling his eyes. "You've interrupted my disco dance party."
Darren grins a little. "Yeah, I was just coming to complain about that bass."
"Well, I am all about that bass."
"That bass?" Darren takes the bait.
Chris sits up. "Oh, yeah. No treble."
"That one's vintage," Darren says. He drops down into the seat recently vacated by Chris's feet.
"Well, vintage is my specialty.”
“You rock the geriatric nerd vibe like no one else I know.” Darren agrees.
“What's up?" Chris asks. He's full of trepidation, hoping this won’t be a continuation of the phone call they've both carefully avoided mentioning.
"Just. You know. Seeing what's up." Darren looks at Chris's laptop. "Working on your next literary masterpiece?”
“Literary masterpiece? Chris snorts. "Please."
"What? Your books are fucking good. I pick them up every time you put one out. Since you usually publish them in the summer, when I fly home I grab one and take it with me, read it while I’m at my parents place. It’s kind of become like my own little ritual," Darren explains, a grin on his face. The grin turns to a frown when he sees that Chris still looks extremely dubious.. "I'm hyped to see what happens next. I like that I can’t predict where you’re going to take a story. I mean, I wasn’t sure how much I’d get into a kids series at first with Land of Stories, but you’re went the Harry Potter route, aging up the storyline as the kids got older. I liked that."
"Aw, I'm touched, you read a back cover blurb." Chris is mocking himself more than Darren. “Or was it a review? Maybe a book report, I hear kids have done those on my books. I always feel bad for the kids assigned my stuff.”
"Or maybe, try, I actually read the books?" Darren says, turning and pulling his feet up onto the couch, too. They're facing each other, too many legs in too little of a space but somehow carefully balancing it so that they aren't touching, either. "Seriously, I read them all. The new stuff too, I just happen to think the first books are an amazing story. Alex and Connor are exactly the kind of role models little kids need to grow up, and you fucking went there making Alex be into girls."
"My editors tried to get me to change it," Chris says. "They said it was inappropriate to discuss sexuality in a book about little kids. I tried to point out that by the time either of them starts to have a crush on anyone, they're twelve years old."
"No, but like, that's bullshit!" Darren waves his hands emphatically as he talks. "Because no one thinks anything of it when a little boy has a crush on a little girl in a kid's book. Even younger than twelve, that's just normal. The only thing sexualized about it is put there by the person reading too much into it. Parents even pull that shit like, all the time. Their infant has gas and they turn it into, oh look, he's a ladies man, look at him smiling at the pretty lady. It's bullshit that society says it's okay to force heterosexuality onto kids but you're a fucking pervert if you imply that a kid that young knows whether they find someone like them cute or someone not like them. What - what is that look on your face. You're scaring me."
Chris hadn't even realized how big his smile had grown until Darren points it out. He tries to scowl again, but it doesn't quite work. "I just agree," he says. "I agree with everything you just said."
"Holy shit." Darren reaches out and presses his hand to Chris's forehead. "Are you okay? Do I need to call a doctor?"
"Oh, fuck off." Chris laughs as he pushes Darren's hand away.
"So, while you're still looking so amiable, is this a good time to maybe bring up that we should hang out this weekend?"
The smile drops away completely. "No, still not a good time."
"... come on, cut me a break here. I'd rather this just be us, okay? I'd rather me and you get to make our own rules for this. You know this could be a whole lot worse." Darren looks at him, a plaintive look on his face.
Chris thinks about what Becca had said. He thinks about how it's just for the summer, and then they can let it go quietly.
"Fine," he says. "Lunch, Saturday."
"Do you want to arrange a photographer, or just go somewhere crowded?" Darren asks.
"Which - which would you prefer?"
"Somewhere crowded," Darren says. "I feel skeezy hiring people to take our photo like that. But I didn't know how comfortable you'd be. I mean, fans might come up to us..."
"It's fine," Chris says. "I can handle that."
"You sure?" Darren asks.
Chris glares at him. "I'm sure."
"I just don't want a repeat of Barcelona-"
"I said I'm sure." Chris snaps, cutting him off. He remembers Barcelona, he doesn't need Darren reminding him.
"Okay, okay," Darren says. "Cool, then. Saturday."
*
The restaurant Darren texts him is not a place he's been before, though he knows it's popular with some of the other cast and crew. It's close to set, a little nearer to Chris's apartment than Darren's.
He gets there first, and he can already see a couple of girls giving him looks. He's relieved when Darren shows up only a couple minutes later.
"Did you walk?" Chris asks.
"Yeah. It's a nice day." Darren leans in and gives him a quick hug before taking the seat opposite Chris.
The brief touch startles Chris but he forces himself not to linger on it. "I could have picked you up."
"No big deal." Darren shrugs. "It's only a couple miles, and it's an awesome day. I've been cooped up inside packing all day."
Darren doesn't have a car, having never bothered to get a new one when they moved to Vancouver. He bums rides - usually from Harry, who still lived in the same rental house until a couple of months ago.
Chris used to live there, too. That first year when the show had been on that bubble, that terrifying limbo between renewal and cancellation, the network hadn't even wanted to pony up money for them to all get their own places.
They'd all shared the two story house, but Chris moved out as soon as the show had been given the green light and they'd known they'd be in Vancouver for at least another year. Cory ended up moving out when he left the show early on in season two, giving up acting in favor of rehab and moving somewhere an hour or so out of town with his girlfriend to try and quietly get his life together. It’s worked; he and Chris actually keep in touch, casually but sometimes more than Chris does with some of the co-stars he works with every day. Cory has a little girl now and he reads her Chris’s books as bedtime stories.
Harry and Kevin stuck around, though Harry saw that the Shadow Grove ship was sinking and took a role on a more popular show halfway through their most recent season. It’s still weird to show up on set and not see him.
"Are they having you give up the house?" Chris asks.
"I think we've got the lease through August, but if we do get canceled I don't want to have to spend too long here doing that. My last days in the 'Couv are better spent on karaoke stages and dragging old friends out of their hermit holes."
"Oh my god, do not call it that." Chris makes a pained face. Once the guys realized how much it annoyed Chris, they'd all taken to doing it.
Cory especially.
Chris grabs his menu, noticing that Darren doesn't. "Do you already know what you want?"
"I let the server pick for me," Darren says. "They always know the good shit."
"Don't they just pick the most expensive thing on the menu for you?"
"No way. They do me good." Darren reaches over and grabs Chris's menu from him. "You should try it. Live a little."
Chris tries to tug the menu back. "I prefer to actually know I'm going to like what I'm paying my money for."
"Seriously, do it my way, just once." Darren pouts at him.
"That definitely doesn't work me on," Chris says.
But it does, however, work on the giggling pink-cheeked waitress who is clearly overwhelmed by the power that Darren places in her tiny, underaged hands.
"You're paying for this meal." Chris warns Darren. "Just so you know. And you're also paying for me to re-order if I hate what she brings out."
"Deal," Darren says. "I figured I'd pay anyway. You can get it next time."
Next time. Right.
Chris glances around, reminded of what they're doing here.
"Don't be so obvious." Darren kicks him lightly under the table.
"I want to make sure this is actually doing some good. I don't want to waste my time."
"Jesus." Darren whispers it under his breath. "You really do not want to be here, do you?"
Chris almost feels bad. But the truth is that no, he doesn't.
"Anyway," Darren says. "Yeah, like two people already took pictures. Go check your twitter, I guarantee you they're already on there."
Chris pulls up the app on his phone and goes straight to the dark, foreboding wasteland that is his mentions.
The first three screens are all filled with various keysmash and what Chris assumes is supposed to translate to excitement. He finds one with an attachment and opens it.
It's a picture of Darren hugging him. Chris's own eyes are closed in the picture. He knows that hug lasted all of half a second, but the photographer had amazing timing.
"Well," Chris says, sliding his phone across the table to show Darren. He doesn't want to hold it up, not wanting anyone else to see what they're looking at. "That is effective."
Darren gives him an I-told-you-so look.
"Oh, don't look so smug." Chris closes out of the app on his phone and puts it back into his pocket. "You're still buying my food."
Darren laughs. "I said I would, man. I said I would."
To Chris's dismay, the special brought to him by the waitress actually is amazing. It's also not something he'd have ever ordered - savory crepes and a four cheese pasta dish.
Darren gets a chicken dish, though he poaches half of Chris's pasta. "It's just so we look super friendly," he tells Chris as he pulls a loaded fork full back, cheese stretching long between the tines and Chris's plate.
Chris makes threatening stabbing motions with his own fork. "I hope someone's getting photos of that."
"I'm sure they are." Darren talks with his mouth full.
In the end, the waitress tells them that the manager comped the meal. They both autograph a napkin for her and take pictures using the front facing camera on her phone.
"I don't know why restaurants do that," Chris complains as they walk out. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."
Darren doesn't protest the ride offer. "Why they do what?"
"Give us free food." Chris hits the unlock button on his car fob. "We are the ones who can afford their overpriced food. Why do they think thirty bucks saved will entice us back?"
"I usually pay," Darren says. "I'm not the big deal there. You are."
"What?" Chris stops, looking at him.
"Yeah, I'm in there like every weekend. Harry, too, sometimes. We usually hang out and talk a little, people know we'll be around. They were just pumped that you were there." Darren opens the passenger door and hops in.
Chris joins him after a moment. "That's just weird," he says.
Darren shrugs. "I don't think so."
It only takes a couple of minutes to get to Darren's house. Chris parks, then sits there, unsure.
"You want to come in?" Darren watches him with an infuriating little smile.
"I, I don't-"
"Come on," Darren says, opening his door. "Just for a minute."
"Next time," he says.
"I'm holding you to that," Darren says. He gets out of the car and pushes the door shut, hopping back a couple steps and waving before he turns around.
*
There are two weeks between the season four wrap and when he has to be in New Mexico for the movie.
He really would like nothing more than to sit around his apartment and bask in no societal expectations upon him. No one to judge him for ordering food in and not showering, no one to make fun of how many hours of youtube videos he can consume in one sitting. Phone on silent, door locked, the world at large put on ignore.
But, no. Instead:
"Now, do you want us to pick you up from the airport?" Karyn Colfer asks.
"No, Mom, that's fine-"
"Are you sure?" She interrupts him. "You know how that traffic can get."
"Mom, I'm sure." Chris sighs. He can feel the tension headache gathering behind his eyes. "I lived in Los Angeles for five years. Clovis traffic does not scare me."
"I think we better pick you up, anyway." Of course she ignores him. "You just don't know how it is since they shut down that lane-"
She keeps talking, but he tunes her out. He'll have a full week to listen to her colorful opinion on any number of topics, ranging from that skirt Shirley in her Bible study group wore to the state of traffic and road repair to what flowers she's planning on planting in her backyard garden this year.
He'll rent a car as soon as he gets to the airport. There's no way he's stranding himself at his parents house with absolutely no way to escape. He loves his parents, and he does once in a while wish that he could get home just for a quick visit, but - quick, a quick visit. Not a week. A week is not quick.
A week, in the space-time continuum that is his childhood home, is like a month by any other measure of time. The worst part is that if he acts like he doesn't want to be there, it doesn't get better - it just gets worse. The stifling small town air combined with the humidity of oppression and the sweltering guilt his mother sends his way - it's not a situation he wants to be in.
His cat stares at him. He stares back. You're lucky, he thinks. Your summer vacation is actually a vacation. Instead, Chris gets a week of family and then two months of filming.
And, of course, he gets to spend most of that with his brand new boyfriend.