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If he’s being honest, Chris never actually thought they’d get here. He wouldn’t call himself a pessimist, not really, but at some point all the bull shit started getting to him and he stopped being able to imagine a future where things were easy. Well, easier. He never expected love to be a walk in the park. It was sad, though, how everything went from being bright and exciting and shimmering with hope to this god-awful disillusioned resignation that settled over them like a heavy fog. It took its toll, the game they played. Eventually, Chris stopped thinking in somedays and started focusing on the time they had. Because it was a finite resource. No use planning for a future they’d never have.
Except, they did. They do.
Somehow, they managed not to lose one another. Not in any real sense, anyway, and never for long. Chris, in all his realist reflections on their lives, together and separately, failed to take into account the sheer immutability of their connection. Have a little faith, Chris, Darren would always say. Chris would roll his eyes, or shake his head, and Darren would call him a pessimist and sing “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” obnoxiously loudly until Chris kissed him to shut him up. It was sweet and silly and them, but Chris knew that Darren would always be the more optimistic of the two of them. Darren is all sunshine and rainbows and flowers, and even the parts of him that are deeper and darker and better hidden from the rest of the world still have this underlying glow to them – an unwavering belief in the good of people, in love, in everything working out the way it’s supposed to in the end. You and me, Chris, Darren said once. This is how it’s supposed to be. The universe won’t have it any other way.
Chris uses the hand that’s not tangled in Darren’s hair to reach around and smack his ass. Darren jolts and makes an affronted grunting noise.
“Hey,” he mumbles into Chris’s neck. “What was that for?”
“For being right.” He doesn’t elaborate any further, and when Darren hums questioningly, Chris presses a few fleeting kisses to his hair. “I love you,” he whispers.
“Mm, love you too, baby,” Darren whispers back, snuggling in impossibly closer. He yawns. “Wanna nap then go for a swim?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Chris pets broad strokes down Darren’s smooth, sun-kissed back until his breaths even out. He smiles when Darren starts snuffling in his sleep. Chris hangs onto consciousness a little longer. He thinks about the first time they went out to dinner, the day they met, and how Darren walked him to his car after because they didn’t want to stop talking. He remembers Darren’s 1000-watt smile, and the hug that lasted a few seconds too long for two people who only met twelve hours ago, and the look in Darren’s eyes when he said Chris Colfer, man. I’m keeping you.
Chris thumbs at the white gold band decorating the ring finger on his left hand, the one that’s resting at the small of Darren’s back, and smiles. Darren always did make good on his promises.