Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You’re coming to Kevin’s thing tonight, right?”

Darren looks up from his commercial law textbook to find his roommate, Mark, leaning in through his doorway, an expectant look on his face. “What?”

“Kevin’s party,” Mark repeats. “You’re coming, right?”

Darren frowns, drawing a blank.  He’s nearing the end of the semester and his brain is reaching critical mass of the things it can hold on to from day to day.

Mark sighs, but it’s with deep fondness and not even a little bit of annoyance.  It’s a sound Darren has gotten quite used to in the years they’ve been living together. “Dude.  Come on.  Kevin.  Rooftop. Barbeque.  I told you about this, like, a week ago. And the week before that.”

Darren has a vague recollection of Mark telling him something about a party not too far from their apartment, but he’s got what feels like 500 pages of reading and never enough time for it all.  Not between his classes and homework and the hours he seems to live in the vast law library.

“Uh.”

“Dude, I even wrote it on your calendar.” Mark looks pointedly over at the giant monthly calendar Darren has tacked up to the wall, and sure enough BBQ 7PM is scrawled across the entire square of that day. The rest of the calendar is populated with his class times (in blue), study sessions (in green), and exams (in violent red).

“I have to study,” Darren says, gesturing at his books and notes like they aren’t painfully obvious.  Darren lost sight of his desk long ago – now all he sees is paper and pens and the fruits of his scholarship money.

“You always have to study,” Mark responds, folding his arms across his chest and Darren knows that look, the one that says Mark isn’t leaving the issue alone without putting up a hell of a fight.

“I know – that’s why I can’t go.”

“Dude.  Put your books away for like twenty minutes and come to the party. It’ll be fun.  A few drinks.  Cool people who aren’t law nerds.  You won’t regret it.”

Darren lifts at eyebrow.  “The last time you said that I ended up naked in someone’s pool and you woke up with a tattoo.”

“A fake tattoo,” Mark grins.  “No reputable place would ever tattoo a drunk man.”

“It was a very cute penguin though.”

Mark sighs.  A little wistfully, truth be told.  “That it was.”

Darren is expecting that to be the end of the conversation, but Mark seems to have a different idea as he suddenly stalks across the room.

“What are you--?”

Darren grunts when Mark grabs the back of his chair and rolls him away from the desk.  “Put some pants on and get ready.  You’re not sitting in here another Friday night.  It’s making me sad and I won’t put up with it anymore.”

Darren stretches out long, reaching for his books and his notes, but he’s too far and his wriggling fingertips miss.  “But I--”

“Nope.”  Mark deposits him in his closet, unceremoniously shoving him into his coats and shoes.  “Half an hour. Pants.  Be ready.”

And then he’s gone and Darren can’t stop laughing.

***

Kevin lives in the kind of apartment building that comes with a name and a reputation.  It’s the tallest building for blocks and the open rooftop has a 360-degree view of Baltimore.  On a clear day people say one can see all the way down to the harbor, but Darren is pretty sure that’s complete bullshit.  With or without the exaggeration of distance, the view is spectacular. That Darren will admit. It’s fall and the leaves are turning and patches of green and yellow and pale orange spread out along the streets and avenues.

When Mark and Darren arrive – just late enough so everyone else is already there but not so late they look like total assholes (which Darren hates) – Kevin greets them with two beers and massive hugs.

“Glad you guys could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Mark claps him on the back with a touch that makes Kevin’s whole body shake and Darren winces in sympathy. He’s been on the receiving end of his fair share of Mark’s brand of hugs. “It’s the last chance to do this before it gets too cold and we all freeze our balls off out here.”

“And tits!” A girl calls out from somewhere on the roof and Darren laughs.

“Don’t be gender exclusionary,” Darren adds.

“Come on,” Kevin says, grinning.  “Food’s over here.”

Darren winds through the crowd, following the guys towards the wafting smell of barbeque.  He recognizes some of the people on the rooftop – a couple of girls from his law program and some guys he remembers from other parties – but mostly they’re Kevin’s friends.  And since Kevin is Mark’s friend, Darren is oddly short of people he knows. It doesn’t really matter though; he’s good at making friends, or at least night-long acquaintances. Small talk is easy for him and he can almost always get people to like him. It’s something he gets from his mom and growing up with his parents and their charity and he knows will serve him well when the time comes to actually practice law.  If that’s what he ends up doing after all.

Darren mingles a bit, saying hello and letting Mark put another beer in his hand when the first one ends up empty. He’s not bored, exactly, but he feels off somehow.  He knows he’s still thinking about the reading he’s put off and will have to do in the morning, but it’s still too soon for him to sneak away and head home. Mark would never let him hear the end of it besides.

There’s a guy off to the side who Darren suddenly notices, standing a bit away from the bulk of the crowd and near the edge of the roof.  He’s got a plate in one hand and his phone in the other and Darren knows how to spot someone trying to look busy and disaffected from a mile away.  The other guy has broad shoulders and a nice profile, soft and sharp at the same time, and Darren does the only thing he can do.

He goes over there.

The wallflower is cute.  He’s wearing tight pants and a nice shirt and he has great hair to go with his pink cheeks.

“Hi there,” Darren says and the guy startles; his attention so focused on his phone that he hadn’t noticed Darren’s approach. His eyes are shades of blue when he looks at Darren and his mouth is as pink as his cheeks.

“Hi,” he responds, smiling automatically.  His eyes dart around, like maybe he thinks Darren is taking to someone else. But they’re as alone as they can be at a college party.

“I’m Darren,” he introduces.

“Chris.”  The guy looks like he wants to hold out a hand to offer to shake, but both are full and he just sort of freezes and Darren thinks he’s adorable.

“Nice to meet you, Chris.  So are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

Chris blinks as he puts his phone away. “What?”

“Do you know Kevin or his girlfriend,” Darren clarifies. “Jenna’s a nice girl but comes with a completely different set of friends. I think I saw that group gathered around the vodka.”

“Oh, uh, his girlfriend, I guess.” Chris glances beyond Darren’s shoulder, probably to someone in the crowd.  “Well, her friend.  We have some classes together.  And Jenna’s friend is friends with my roommate. So, she invited me to this thing.”

Darren brightens.  “You go to school?  Where?  U of Baltimore?”  Darren’s never seen Chris around campus, but it’s not like he knows everyone.  Just a lot of them.

“No, uh, the art college? MICA?”

“No shit!” Darren exclaims. It’s an amazing art school, he knows, one of the best out there, but he wouldn’t have pegged Chris as that kind of guy.  He seems more like a librarian.  A librarian in really tight pants. “That’s right nearby.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods.

“So what do you study?”

Chris swallows and Darren suddenly wonders if he’s uncomfortable. He knows he has a way of taking over a conversation, but he likes to hear people speak, likes to learn about them and what they like and don’t like and sometimes the best way to do that is to ask them questions.

“I’m getting my MFA,” Chris answers. “I uh, I paint. Mostly.”

When Darren looks at Chris’ hands he can see faded smudges of color along his fingers.  “That’s awesome,” he chirps.  “I’m so jealous of people who can do that.  Never moved beyond paint-by-numbers myself.” Darren waggles his fingers in front of him.

Chris looks down at his shoes, a smile on his lips and a blush on his cheeks.  Darren can see it in the darkening light and it makes his stomach wriggle happily. It’s been five minutes and he likes this guy – that’s a record even for him, but he’s totally going to go with it.  Why waste a connection when it’s right in front of him?

“So do you go to the university then?” Chris asks.

“Yeah, the law program.”

“Really.” There’s surprise in his voice and Darren frowns.

“What?”

Chris shrugs.  “You just don’t seem like a lawyer.” He waves his hand up and down Darren’s body.

Darren laughs.  He’s wearing wrinkled jeans and an old t-shirt that was probably his brother’s at one point and he’s a couple months overdue for a haircut. He knows that more often than not he looks like he works at the local coffee shop rather than a graduate law student.  He also hasn’t shaved in a couple of days and given the way his beard grows he approaches dangerous levels of vagabond rather quickly.

“Hey, don’t let all this fool you.  I look good in a suit too.”

Chris swallows, the blush darkening in his cheeks, and Darren smiles.  He never wants to be that awful guy to just assume anything about other people, but Chris has slowly been angling his body towards Darren and he’s smiling with his eyes and he hasn’t faked a reason to leave and Darren is pretty damn sure he’s right about Chris.

“So what do you like to paint?”

“Oh, uhm, scenes.  I guess.  But kind of abstract.  I like color and light and how they work together.  But with the cost of paint, sometimes I think I should have taken up digital photography or something.”

Darren sort of loves the way Chris’ little nose scrunches up at that.  “Eh, anyone with a phone and an Instagram account can call themselves a photographer,” Darren remarks with a casual air and holds his breath, waiting, and sure enough the sharp, narrow-eyed look Chris shoots him does not disappoint.

“You’re teasing me.” Chris says it slowly, after a moment, and Darren grins boyishly.

“A little,” he admits.  “My brother is a photographer.  Weddings.  Concerts. His cat.”

“Ah,” Chris says knowingly.  “So he got the creative genes of the family.”

“Hey!  I can be creative.  I’m more music and less art though.”

Chris cocks his head and Darren hopes that means he’s interested and not bored.  He knows how people react to a scruffy kid at parties saying he’s a musician as well a law student.  He’s gotten used to it by now.  “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.  I play a little here and there.  And sing.  Don’t have a lot of time for it with school and everything, but I like it.  It’s something more to do.”

Pale lashes sweep down Chris’ cheeks as he blinks slowly. “You’ll have to play for me sometime,” he says, voice pitched lower than it has been, and Darren’s stomach does a funny little flip.  It’s been a while, he thinks, since he’s noticed someone the way he’s noticing Chris. Too long, really.

 “Yeah.” He’s caught staring into Chris’ eyes and he not quite sure how to look away.  The laughter and music and chatter of the party is fading away unnoticed in the background.

Darren knows how to pick people up in bars or library or wherever.  It doesn’t matter. He’s not so conceited to say it’s easy, but he knows what he’s doing, when he wants to bother at all.  Chris through, Chris seems shy – unsure but definitely interested.  He’s put his now empty plate down and stuffed his hands into his pockets, but his attention is obvious.

But the problem, Darren knows, is that so quickly a moment can turn awkward. He has no cheesy lines he can use on Chris and he wouldn’t anyway.  Chris doesn’t seem like someone who would be charmed by such things.  And maybe Chris is only half as interested in Darren. Maybe this is just one of those things where he has a really great night with someone – a really fantastic conversation and connection – but it goes nowhere beyond the scope of evening.

Darren doesn’t know a lot of Chris, not yet, but he knows he doesn’t want the evening the end with goodbye and nothing more.

“Yo, D!”

Darren startles when Mark appears at his side, slinging a heavy arm around his neck.

“Some of the guys are gonna head inside and get Kevin’s old N-64 up and running.  You want in?”

Darren groans silently and Mark’s terrible timing and discreetly nudges him in the ribs with his elbow.  “No man, I’m good here,” he answers, pointedly. Darren catches Chris pressing his lips together against a smile and Darren doesn’t miss the way Mark looks between them, comprehension dawning on his face.

“Oh, I see.” Mark pulls his arm away. “Carry on then.” The wink he gives Darren is nothing short of atrocious and Darren can only roll his eyes in response.  He does manage to resist flipping Mark off though.

“Bride or groom,” Chris asks when Mark has slipped away.

“Groom.  Mark’s my roommate and Kevin’s buddy, so, here I am.”  Darren tips his beer bottle towards Chris.

“Here you are.”

The words trail into awkward silence and Darren is left grasping at what to do.

Darren can’t ask Chris to dance – it’s not that kind of party.  Mostly people are gathered around in little groups talking and laughing and taking pictures of each other.  And there’s no pool up on the roof to slyly suggest taking a dip in.  And Darren can’t get Chris a drink because he already has one.  But what Darren can do it talk.

“So this is going to sound like a total line, but it’s not.”

Chris looks dubious.  “Ok.”

“Do you come to these things often? Because I haven’t seen you around.”

Chris smirks and it lights up his eyes.  “Oh sure, not a line at all. But no, not really. I’m not much of a party kind of guy. But my roommate wanted to come and she refused to let me sit at home on another Friday night.”

Darren laughs. “Yes, I know exactly how that goes.”

“You got dragged here too?” Chris asks, glancing around the rooftop.  It is a nice place, Darren concedes, and the view that stretches towards the harbor is lovely. But staring at Chris’ profile, Darren thinks he’s found an even better view.

“I did,” Darren says.  “But uh, I’m glad I did.  It’s turning out better than I thought.”

A smile flickers across Chris’ face, fleeting but beautiful, and delight bubbles in Darren’s stomach.

He likes this guy.  It’s ridiculous because he just met him – actually just met – but it doesn’t matter.  He’s adorable and he makes Darren laugh and that’s more than enough to start with.

Their conversation jumps all over the place – Darren’s classes, a bit about Chris’, the last couple of movies they saw, a cat Chris almost adopted but wasn’t sure he was home enough to properly take care of him, an awful burger Darren had a couple of weeks ago that’s put him off mayo for at least a month.  Darren doesn’t care at all what they talk about – he just wants to keep the night going. He wants Chris’ eyes and his high laugh and the occasional flash of teeth whenever Chris laughs at something particularly funny or ridiculous that Darren has said.

“Hey!”  Darren jumps at the sound of Kevin’s voice punctuating quiet, private bubble he and Chris have created.  “I hate to do this dickheads,” Kevin says, smirking.  “But you gotta go home.”

Darren blinks.  The night sky above them is black with the late hour and the rooftop is empty save for some chairs.

“Well,” Chris giggles and his teeth show once more. “We sure know how to shut a party down.”

Kevin jerks his head expectantly and Darren sighs. “Fine, fine.  We’re going.”

Darren walks with Chris back inside the building, their shoulders brushing with every step. He resists the urge to the rest his hand on the small of Chris’ back as they step into the elevator and they ride down in silence.

The street outside the building is empty and quiet and Darren shuffles awkwardly.  He hates this part, after the fun when no one is sure of what the next step is, or what it even should be.

“So,” Chris starts, voice suddenly unsure. His hands are back in his pockets and a light blush is staining his cheeks.

“Yeah I’m just gonna ask,” Darren cuts in. “Can I get your number?”

Darren’s asked people for their number a hundred times, but he’s never felt exposed like this before, never wants a phone number quite so much before and felt so worried that he wasn’t going to get it. Chris’ gaze is sharp, seeking on Darren’s face, and he hopes that after all these hours he isn’t suddenly found wanting by this careful young man.

But Chris finally holds out his hand, a quiet smile quirking his lips.  “Give me your phone.”

Relief and anticipation floods through Darren as he unlocks the screen and hands it over, watching as Chris’ paint-stained fingers dance across the glass.

“Here.” Chris gives him his phone back and Darren looks down at the screen where a new contact is waiting: Chris Colfer.

“How do I know this is actually your number?” He asks.

Chris shrugs, lips twitching.  “I guess you’re just going to have to try it.”

Darren narrows his eyes teasingly as his stomach flutters happily. Chris is flirting with him, still, after all these hours and he wants the night to go on forever.

Hi, he text to the number, waiting with his breath caught in his throat for the telltale buzz that comes from Chris’ pocket moments later.

“Criss,” Darren says, as Chris digs the phone out to put his information in.

“What?”

“My last name,” Darren clarifies, watching the way Chris capture his lower lip between his teeth.  “Two s’s no h.”

“Oh.  That’s…”

“Yup.”

Chris snorts delicately.  “All right, well, I’m gonna head home. It’s later than I thought. Which way are you…?” He trails off and Darren hopes.  He doesn’t really think of himself as some sort of hopeless romantic, but the idea of walking Chris home on this clear fall night makes him inexplicably giddy.

“Not far, actually,” Darren answers. “Uh, the Mt. Vernon area? Right by the university. Makes getting to class on time easy.” It’s a decent enough area, especially for the rent, even if the kitchen is too small and his landlord can be a little weird.  But he and Mark have made a nice place of it.

Chris frowns and Darren’s stomach tightens in disappointment. “Oh, I’m up around Station-North.”

“So…sort of the opposite from where I’m going.”

“A little.”

Darren sighs.  His vague thoughts of walking Chris home have dissipated with the reality of where they’re going.  It’s not that they live far from each other at all, but Kevin’s place is pretty much in the middle and if he offers to walk all the way to Chris’ he’ll probably look a little creepy and he’ll have to walk all the back to his own place besides.

“Well, I’ve got your number,” Darren says. It’ll have to be enough to end the night on.  And when he thinks about it, it’s quite a lot.

“You do.” Chris agrees and his reticence to leave is apparent.  It almost makes up for the fact that it must end at all.

“So…”

“Goodnight, Darren.  It was nice to meet you.”

“You too.”  Darren likes hugs, he likes them a lot, and he wants to give one to Chris, but he barely knows the guy and he really doesn’t want to scare him off with too much bodily contact too soon.  So he settles for, “Good night.”

Chris nods, pressing his lips together against a smile, and turns away, heading down the street.  Darren watches him go until he can no longer see him.

***

Darren waits half a day to text Chris. And half of that is spent sleeping.

He makes it through his first cup of coffee and half a dozen pages of reading before he grabs his phone off the kitchen table.

Night owl or early bird? He texts, fingers hesitating over the ‘send’ button for just a moment before he taps down.

Darren waits, hoping to see immediately the little bubbles that let him know Chris is typing a response, but they don’t come. He frowns at his phone, vaguely disappointed, but puts it down and goes back to his notes. He knows he’s an earlier riser than most of the people he hangs around.

He’s halfway through a second bowl of cereal when his phone finally buzzes.

More owl, less worm is Chris’ reply and Darren grins.

Aww

You’re an early bird, aren’t you?

Darren tries not to picture Chris in bed, with messy hair and sleep-soft eyes, and he fails miserably.

Darren tends to wake up about the same time every morning, with or without his alarm clock.  It’s embedded in his brain from years of early classes.  Sometimes he rolls over and goes back to sleep, but most of the time he follows his internal rhythm and gets up.

Mornings are nice.  They’re quiet.  They’re empty.  He can go for a run without worrying about crowded sidewalks and he can sit at the tiny kitchen table with his cereal and coffee and not have to think about anything for a little while. And Darren learned in college that early mornings meant available washers in the laundry room and open tables at his favorite off-campus coffee shop.

Good for you.

Darren can hear the words in Chris’ voice, tinged with gentle sarcasm, and he wants to ask Chris out.  Right then.  He’d basically decided the night before, up on that rooftop with a total stranger. Except it’s 8 o’clock in the morning on a Saturday and they met barely 12 hours ago and even Darren knows there are limits.  But he still wants to.

The last time he went out on a date, with a girl he was introduced to through a friend, it ended with an awkward goodbye outside of an over-priced restaurant after an even more uncomfortable dinner. She’s sniped at the waiter over parsley and sent her friend a picture of her food. Darren hadn’t even been interested enough to jerk off when he got home and he’s just glad she doesn’t go to his school, gracefully limiting the potential for unfortunate run-ins.

He’s busy enough with school and his part-time job as a tutor and his family that he doesn’t want to waste time going on shitty dates with people he’s pretty sure he’ll never think of again. Getting laid is one thing, but starting a new relationship is something else altogether.  But Darren can’t get Chris’ eyes out of his mind, the soft sound of his voice and how pink the tips of his ears would get if they kissed.

Darren lets the text sit here a bit, not because he doesn’t want to seem overeager.  He hates the idea that he shouldn’t express his interest because of some social timeline someone else randomly decided on.  He lets it sit because he wants to say the right thing; he wants to ask Chris the right way.

But there is no one right thing to say. Either Chris will want to see him again or he won’t.  So Darren grabs his phone again.

Are you busy later?

Darren heart is beating fast, but it feels good. It’s a heady anticipation he hasn’t felt in a while.

Why?

Want to get lunch? With me? I’d say dinner but I get the feeling I’m going to be hungry before then.

There’s a long enough pause that Darren gets nervous, shifting in the uncomfortable kitchen chair while he waits.

I can’t today.

Darren’s heart sinks.  If it’s a brush off, it’s a nice one.  He’s about to reply, to say it’s fine, but the little text bubbles let him know that Chris is typing again.

Is tomorrow ok? Comes the message and Darren doesn’t even care that he’s smiling at his phone like an idiot.

Tomorrow works. 1pm?

1 is good. You pick the place.

Darren thinks quickly.  There are restaurants and bars and cafes all around the neighborhood.  He wants to take Chris somewhere nice, but he knows both of them are grad students and he doesn’t want to make any faux pas regarding Chris’ financial situation. And he doesn’t know what kind of food Chris likes.  Based on the plate of barbeque Chris inhaled at Kevin’s party, Darren knows he’s not a vegetarian, but that doesn’t say anything else about his tastes.  He so wants this to go just right.

There’s a café on Cathedral, off West Eager.

I know it.

Meet you there?

Yep. See you then.

Darren sits back in his chair, heart fluttering excitedly as he rereads the texts over and over again.

***

Darren gets to the café 15 minutes early and can’t make up his mind if he wants to wait for Chris outside or go in and get a table and be that awkward guy waiting in a crowd of people.  He stands out front for too long while people come in and out of the front doors, scanning the streets for any sign of Chris and checking his phone for texts, before he sets his shoulders and heads inside.

He gets a nice table in the corner where he knows they’ll be able to talk with some privacy, without having to yell, and he asks for water. He doesn’t know Chris well enough at all to try and get him something else to drink and at least the water puts something on the table.  There’s very little as awkward as sitting alone at an empty table.

On a Saturday afternoon the place is filled with students pretending like they don’t have hours of work hanging over their heads and families just happy to get out of the house for a bit.  Late season thunderstorms had swept down across the harbor last week and kept people in for days.  Fallen leaves clogged the gutters and Darren had watched water pour down N. Charles, sweeping away grit and grime along the way.  Darren recognizes a few people from campus, scattered at different tables, but doesn’t try and get their attention to say hi. He’s too anxious for Chris to arrive to worry about anyone else.

The door pushes up and Darren’s eyes immediately flick over, but it’s just some kid with his mom whinging about bacon.

His phone is resting on the table and Darren grabs it, scrolling through to find Mark in his contacts.

What if he doesn’t come?  Darren texts.

Shut up, is Mark’s quick reply and Darren shakes his head.

“Can I get you something else to drink?” A waiter asks from his shoulder.

“Not yet, I’m waiting for someone.”

The waiter slips away and Darren goes back to watching the door.  His last date – the girl who hated parsley – had been 20 minutes late and Darren still remembers the awful looks he’d gotten from the wait staff while he sat alone with a glass of scotch and a basket of bread.  It’s not that Darren thinks himself some great catch, or even a marginal one. It’s that he was brought up respect people and the time they give to others.  And to him that means being on time, as long as circumstances allow.

The next time the door sweeps open a group of laughing people surge inside.  Darren is about to look away when he sees thick brown hair and an upturned nose behind the clog of people.  His stomach clenches when Chris pops into full view, cheeks a little pink as he peers around the people in front of him, obviously looking for Darren.

Darren waves from his seat near the back and takes a sip of his water to wet his suddenly dry throat.  Chris’ legs are long in his tight jeans as he moves between the tables.  He’s not graceful, not really, but there’s something compelling about the way he walks – all narrow hips and long, light bones.

“Hi,” Darren breathes when Chris finally makes it to his table.  He almost wants to stand and press a greeting kiss to Chris’ cheek but he doesn’t and settles for watching the smile that curves Chris’ mouth.

“Am I late?”  Chris asks, shrugging out of his light coat and hanging it on the back of his chair.  He looks nice, wearing a fitted evergreen shirt that makes his pale skin luminous in the warm lighting of the café.

“No, I was early.”

“Early to rise and early to everything else,” Chris says, sitting down.  “I’m surprised you weren’t early to Kevin’s party.”

Darren thrills a little that Chris apparently noticed when he arrived.

“Got an older brother and grandfather who was a pastor,” Darren explains.  “It was get up early or miss out, or get yelled at.”  Darren remembers losing out to his brother on the best parts of breakfast before he learned to get up earlier than Chuck.

Something complicated passes over Chris’ face, something like faint disappointment.  “Oh, so…you’re a, uh, church person.”  He says it slowly, haltingly, like he’s sifting for the least wrong words to say.

Sometimes Darren hates these early moments in new relationship – romantic or otherwise – when no one knows the right things to day, or worse, what the very wrong things might be.  Some of the firsts he likes – when he learns something new he didn’t know he wanted to know, a first kiss, when he gets his first touch of skin – but not these terribly uncertain moments when everything feels unwieldy fragile.

Darren leans forward, elbows on the table. “Now that’s not really first date conversation is it?”

Chris blushes, looking down at his hands. “So, this is a date, then?” His voice is pitched low and Darren should have thought it obvious. But it isn’t always.

“Yeah, I mean.  I hope so.”

When Chris looks back up and his eyes are a different shade of blue than they were on the rooftop.  “I do too.”

Darren wants to reach across the table and touch the back of Chris’ hand with his fingers, but he doesn’t.  He waits.  “And no, I’m not a church person,” he adds.

Chris’ relief is apparent in the lines that smooth between his eyebrows and the subtle easing of his shoulders.  “Oh, good.”

The topic is fraught and Darren wants to move away from it, to go back to Chris’ art and what he likes to do on weekends when he isn’t getting lunch with Darren and anything else he wants to discuss, but there’s no casual way to do it.

But Darren is saved by the return of the waiter, who takes their drink orders and tells them the specials and Darren realizes he probably should have spent some time looking at the menu while he was waiting for Chris.

“I have just never gotten used to the idea of scrapple,” Chris says as he scans the menu.

“Not from the east coast then?” Darren asks.

Chris raises his eyebrows a little. “What?  My non-existent accent didn’t give it away?”

“Enlighten me.”

“West coast born and raised,” Chris reveals. “Moved here from California for grad school.”

“Change of scenery?” Darren asks.  It’s something he understands.  He’s lived on the east coast his whole life and more than once has thought about moving away, just to try something new, to see something he hasn’t seen before.  But he hasn’t.  Not yet. He thinks he still might, one day.

“Not exactly.  I got a scholarship to attend MICA and couldn’t turn it down, not if I wanted to get my MFA, which I do.”

Having decided what he’s going to order, not that food really matters at all, Darren puts the menu down and leans his elbows back on the table.  “And what do you want to do with your MFA?”

Chris laughs, a little ruefully.  “Oh man.  You really go right for the big stuff, don’t you?”

Darren shrugs. “I’m interested in you. Why should I hide that?”

The parsley girl from months ago hadn’t asked him a single question about himself the entire dinner.  He’s not even sure she even remembered his name at the end of the night.

But Chris is blushing that pretty shade of embarrassed pink and Darren is happy about that and everything else.

“Well,” Chris starts and he’s rubbing at the paint stains on his fingers that Darren thinks are perpetually there.  He likes them. “Ideally, I’d like to show my paintings in galleries, make a living that way.  But the art world is, well, it’s hard.  There’s not a lot of money in it for most of us, so I’ll probably end up looking into teaching as well.  Or, you know, become a barista or something.”

“Been there, done that,” Darren laughs. He’s going to say more, but with the timing that all waiters seem to be trained into having, their server returns to take their orders.  Darren lets Chris go first, because that’s how he was raised, and because he likes watching the movement of Chris’ throat as he talks.

“So what about you?” Chris asks when the waiter has left.

“What about me?”

“What are you doing with your law degree?”

Darren grins, happiness sparking in his chest. “You remembered.” Chris blinks, a smile on his lips, but doesn’t say anything else.  “Uh, public defense, maybe.  Or something in activism.  I’m not totally sure.  I’ve got time to sort it all out, though.”

“Why law?  Again, I mean this in the best way, but you don’t look like a lawyer.”

“I know.  I have the market cornered on college scamp, don’t I?”  Darren’s mother is constantly chiding him over his penchant for well-worn t-shirts and beanies he picked up from a street fair years ago. But he likes to be comfortable as much as possible, especially when he spends so many hours hunched over his computer and his books and his notes.

Chris shrugs.  “You look all right to me,” he says and Darren’s stomach does a funny little flip.  He’d dug a nice shirt out of his closet and a cardigan he’d almost forgotten he had and now he’s glad he did.  That he wants to impress Chris is probably shining from his face.

“Uhm, but yeah.  It’s – my parents run a pretty big charity that does a lot of really good work.  I mean, I think it does, anyway.  And I want to, I don’t know, ‘follow in their footsteps’ sounds so cheap and trite, but I want to try and continue that, in some way.”

Chris is nodding.  “But you don’t want to work at the charity?”

Darren shrugs.  “I could.  I’ve thought about it.  I mean, there’s obviously a job there for me if I want it, but I kind of want to figure things out for myself.  This law degree, it might end up being something I can use to help the charity. And then it won’t just feel like…”

“Nepotism?” Chris offers and his eyes are full of understanding.

“Yeah.”

“It’s why your brother is a photographer?”

Darren blinks, surprised that Chris remembers that much too. “Oh yeah, he wanted nothing to do with mom and dad’s business.  I mean, not in a shitty teenage angsty ‘I don’t want your life’ kind of way. He’s just not into it and mom and dad weren’t going to make him.  They’ve got plenty of people who want to work for them.”

“I can imagine.”

The next words are out of Darren’s mouth before he can even imagine that maybe it’s way, way too much to say on a first date. “They’ve actually got this big event coming up in DC next month, if you wanted to go.”

Chris’ eyes go a little wide and Darren’s cheeks go hot. “Oh, that’s--”

Darren shakes his head, holding a hand up to stop Chris’ wholly unnecessary, but probably extraordinarily kind refusal. “No, god, sorry. That was way too forward,” Darren stammers.  “It’s some fundraiser thing and it’s going to be stuffy and boring I’m sure and really that kind of thing is way to much to ask and--”

“I’ll go.”

“--you probably think I’m some sort of weirdo…” Darren stops, thinks back.  Across the table Chris is smiling, soft and amused.  “What?”

Chris folds his hands on the table, leaning forward. “I said I’ll go.  That is – you’re not asking me as someone who doesn’t just want to be alone for some boring event, but as something more, right?”

Darren nods, excitement flooding his belly, warming along his limbs, making him impatient in his chair.  “Definitely something more.”

“Then I’ll go,” nods Chris and Darren wants to kiss him. The sudden surety of it makes his breath lodge in his throat and it takes him a full moment to speak.

“Awesome, okay.  I can’t – I can’t promise it’ll be fun.  I mean, it’s a fundraising thing, you know? Old rich people passing money around.”

“You’ll be there,” interrupts Chris and Darren swears his heart triple-skips.  “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

It’s been so long that someone has so immediately and so completely captured Darren that he almost doesn’t know what to do with it. But he wants it. He wants to sit at this table with Chris for hours and he wants to get dressed up and take him to his parents’ ridiculous gala and he wants to bring Chris back to his shared apartment with his tiny kitchen and see what happens after that.

“Okay,” Darren says and Chris is still smiling, even when the waiter arrives with their food and the moment is broken.

***

As much as he wants to, Darren can’t spend the next weeks thinking only about Chris.  The last days of classes before the Thanksgiving break are coming and he wants to be sure he’s ready for exams in December.

He’s a good student because it’s important to him. Darren is smart and he knows it and he spent much of undergrad coasting on the fact that he always comes out on top even when he doesn’t put the kind of hours into studying that he should have. But law school is different. The professors aren’t glorified TAs and his fellow students aren’t kids just doing it because they think they have to. He works hard now because he wants to, because he has a reason to beyond merely graduating.

Even so, Darren knows it’s easier for him than it is for others – the case studies, the readings, the endless, ridiculous intricate details of the justice system.  The elective classes he convinces himself he really does want to take. He can take it all in and retain it in a way he’s eternally grateful for.  His mother is the same way, whip smart and determined, and the organization she and Darren’s father founded is the clear and obvious evidence of that.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about Chris at all.  Because he does.

They get a too-brief coffee in the middle of the week when Chris has a canceled class and Darren has a free hour. There are a dozen coffee shops between their schools and Darren lets Chris pick his favorite. This time Darren does greet Chris with a gentle kiss to his cheek, happy at the touch of soft skin beneath his lips – a promise for more later – and he thrills when Chris squeezes his waist with strong hands.

As they wait in the short line, Darren notices a faded blue streak on the side of Chris’ neck, like he rubbed at his skin with paint still tacky on his hands and Darren’s stomach tightens deliciously at the sight of it. He never thought paint-stained skin would do it for him, but here he is.  He can’t help but think about where else paint might get. Chris catches him staring and the knowing amusement in his eyes is enough to get Darren blushing.

“It’s a good look on you,” Darren says, keeping his hands at his sides instead of reaching out to touch.

They don’t have much time before Darren has to get back to campus. Over coffee and scones, Chris tells him about the new piece he’s working on and the theory classes he has to take, about the TA who clearly doesn’t like him, and his roommate’s penchant for singing in the shower.

“She has a great voice,” Chris says. “So it’s okay.”

“The guys in my undergrad dorm hated how I sang in the showers,” Darren admits.  He has fond members of people telling him to shut up and then finally singing along with him.

Chris smiles.  “You still have to sing me for sometime.”

“And you still have to show me your art,” reminds Darren and the lasting ease of their conversation makes him giddy. He studiously does not picture Chris singing naked in a shower.

He tries not to think too far ahead, about what might come after these first dates, when formal dinners and planned meetings melt into comfortable nights at home and spontaneous moments that leave them breathless. Darren tries to keep his mind spinning along the still unknown paths of his future, wondering if he and Chris will continue to date, if the mornings will find Chris padding into the kitchen after Darren has already been up, if their evenings will see them tangled together with thoughts of no one else.

Darren thinks he was in love, once, when he was just eighteen and a wide-eyed freshman in college and another boy thought the world of him.  It hadn’t gone anywhere, couldn’t really, not at that age, but Darren recalls that year with warm fondness. And he wants that with Chris – those hours and laughter and growing certainty – but he wants more. When Darren thinks of Chris he already thinks of what happens after this.  And he can only hope that Chris feels the same, or will come to in time.

He doesn’t want to be that guy who fucks everything up because he rushed heartstrong into something simply because he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach and the marrow of his bones.  He likes Chris too much – already he does – and he worries about scaring Chris off.  He knows dates and coffee and even kisses don’t have to lead to anything more. They can be what they are and fade away into memory.  But that’s not what Darren wants with Chris.

But the way Chris is looking at him from the across the table, with soft eyes and hair pushed away from his forehead, makes Darren think he might already feel the same.

***

Darren is nose-deep in an advocacy textbook when Mark pops his head through the doorway.  “Hey, getting ready to meet some guys down at Bad Decisions, you coming?”

“Bacon night?”

Mark nods enthusiastically, a huge grin on his face. “Bacon night,” he affirms.

The thought of a whole bowl of freshly fried bacon makes Darren’s stomach rumble in Pavlovian anticipation, but exams are coming and he’s not really in the mood to get all the way across town and hang out in a bar all night.  Not even for bacon. Not when he has highlighting and study guides and reams of notes to keep him busy through the week.

“Say hi to everyone for me.”

Mark rolls his eyes so hard Darren can hear them rattle around. “Dude.”

“I know, I know.”  He’s more than aware that he hasn’t exactly been the most fun roommate, or the best friend, out there these last stressful weeks. But he’s in school for a reason. It’s what has to come first.

“It was a fight to get you to come out to Kevin’s thing,” Mark points out.  “And that was like a month ago.”

Has it really only been a month, Darren wonders, since he first saw Chris?  It feels like a lifetime and a half that he’s known him, and yet he knows their time together has been so brief in the weeks since.  Too brief for Darren’s liking, but responsibilities are what they are.

“It’s not like I’m sitting around doing nothing; I’ve got school.”

“So do I.  And yet…” Mark gestures to the nice shirt he’s wearing and what Darren teasingly calls his going out shoes. Mark goes to the university, but he’s in the business program and Darren can’t decide if the program is ridiculously easy or if Mark is surprisingly smart.  If the test scores Darren once saw left out on the countertop are anything to judge by, he’s going with the later.

“Just let me get through exams and then I’ll have more free time.”  That is until the next semester when it all starts up again.

“Yeah dude, I think we all know you’re going to be busy with a certain someone as soon as you get the chance,” leers Mark and Darren doesn’t even bother blushing. 

He hasn’t really introduced Chris to his friends. Not because he doesn’t want to, but mostly because he’s gotten so little time with Chris himself that he doesn’t want to share those precious hours at all.

“We’ll hang after exams.  I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark says good-naturedly. “I’ll catch you later.  There’s leftover pizza in the fridge – don’t forget to eat, okay?”

“When have I ever forgotten to eat?” Darren counters and Mark waves him off before he leaves.

Darren spins in his chair, eyes landing on the giant calendar that takes up so much of the wall next to his desk. The next week is marked off in bright green for his groups study sessions and angry red for his exams. He knows he’s going to be exhausted when it’s all said and done, but he no longer has that deep, nauseating worry that he did his first semester of law school, when every day he wondered if he wasn’t going to cut it, despite his predilection for straight A’s and charming his teachers.

His attention is drawn to a particular day on the calendar. There’s a thick black line around an upcoming Saturday and the sight of it fills him with both faint annoyance and rich, bubbling excitement.

His parents’ fundraising events have never been his favorite things to go to.  They’re generally boring and stuffy and he ends up having to shake way too many hands without enough drinks in between.  He knows he’s charming and he knows how to turn the smile on, to help get more money from donators and benefactors.  His mother is fiercely intelligent and his father strikes a personable, gently roguish figure and his brother is the kind of sweetly shy that makes people write bigger checks just to feel like they’re helping to take care of him and all together they’ve never had a hard time getting people to open up their bank accounts to their organization. But the parties are still exhausting at the end of the night.

But this one will be different.  This one will be different because he’s bringing Chris. Chris who will be at his side all night, drinking expensive champagne neither of them has to pay for and dressed in a tux that maybe corresponds with Darren’s own.  He’ll be beautiful and charming and he’ll be Darren’s all night.  Maybe even they’ll dance.  And he’ll meet Darren’s parents.

His parents.

Darren sits up and grabs his phone off his desk, thumbing through his contacts.

“Hey, darling,” his mother answers after a few rings.

Darren leans back at the familiar sound of her voice. “Hey, mom.”

“How are you?” She asks. “How are your classes? You must have exams coming.”

“This week,” sighs Darren.  He’s ready for them, but that still doesn’t mean he wants to sit through them.  He’s always tested well, but every exam he sits now is leading towards the Bar and he knows he has to be more than prepared for that.  Even so, he’d rather spend the hours with Chris.

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” his mother tells him, voice firm with confidence, and Darren believes her.  “You’re still coming to DC, aren’t you? We’re looking forward to seeing you.”

Darren looks back at the calendar and that thick black box around the date.  “Yeah, that’s actually why I called.  You know that plus one you’re already telling me to bring?  Well, I’m bringing one this time.”

“Oh, how nice.” Darren can hear the smile in her voice and pictures his mother gazing fondly over at his father.  They were just as pleased when he went on his first “date” back in middle school.  “What’s her name?”

Darren doesn’t even blink.  “His name is Chris.”

“And does he have an acceptable tux to wear?”

Darren frowns.  He has no idea, actually.   He’s only ever seen Chris in jeans and button-down shirts, with paint on his fingers and tousled hair.  “I’ll make sure.”

“If he doesn’t,” his mother continues. “Make sure to get him one from John.  He’ll take care of you.”

Darren rolls his eyes amicably.  There’s a tailor in the city that his parents always go to when they’re in from New York.  It’s the kind of place that doesn’t advertise their prices and doesn’t ask for payment up front.  “Yes, mother.”

“And have the tuxes sent to our hotel room. We’re staying at the same place as before.  I’ll send you the information.  You and your Chris can change in the room before meeting us at the gala.”

“Yep, sounds good.  I think you’ll like him, mom,” Darren adds, suddenly aware of how important that is to him. A bare, but wonderful month into this and he wants his parents to accept Chris, to like him.

“I’m sure we will.  Now, tell me more about your studies. You haven’t called in ages.”

***

Somewhere in the middle of all his studying Darren finds himself with a strange empty day.  He has notes to go over, of course, and plenty of reading to keep the semester’s information fresh in his mind, but he’s halfway through the morning when he realizes that he feels oddly rested and oddly prepared for the coming storm.  It won’t last, he knows, but he’s going to revel in it while he can.

Darren still hasn’t gotten out of his pajamas when his phone buzzes mid-morning.  He can’t help the smile that spills across his face when he see Chris’ name on the screen.

Do you have a couple hours free anytime soon?

Darren wriggles happily in his chair and brings the phone closer to him.

In general or for you?

For me.

Darren’s heart does that wonderful, painful flip-squeeze.

For you, yes. What’s up?

Wanna go on a cheesy tourist date?

Darren doesn’t even have to think about it.

I can put on shoes and be ready in 5 minutes.

He can almost see Chris laughing at how quickly he responds and he doesn’t care.  He has no need or interest in hiding his eagerness to spend time with Chris.

Meet me on the corner of that café we first got lunch at.

Chris is a quieter sort of a man than Darren, softer when he talks and less obvious with his affections.  But the fact that he remembers that café and how they had lunch and that’s where he wants to meet up makes Darren’s stomach do a little dance.

Be there as soon as I can!

The walk from the café down to the Harbor is always longer than Darren remembers, but with Chris at his side, chatting away about the latest drama between his roommate and her friend, and commenting on the people they pass by along the way, the mile slips away almost unnoticed. Chris is chattier than usual and Darren is happy to let him carry the conversation all the way down to the harbor.

Darren has always found it strange that the street just opens up into the promenade with no fanfare at all, like the road builders hadn’t realized they were heading straight for the water while they were laying down asphalt.

It’s still a wonderful sight though, especially on a clear and sunny day like this, with the water glistening and the air a riot of smells, of water and food and sun-warmed asphalt.  A little girl with a balloon starts past them, laughing with her hair bouncing, and Darren remembers playing down here with his brother while their parents tried to keep them from running off or getting lost.

“Do you come down here often?” Chris asks as they make their way along the edge of the pier towards the sprawling Harborplace.

“Not as much as I used to.  I’d come down for the music scene, and in high school Power Plant Live was like, the place to be.  But now it’s kind of, well, cheesy, you know?  I mean, I guess that’s the tourist appeal, but when you live here, yeah, you kind of stop appreciating, I guess.  You get used to it – that it’s always there.”

“Well, sometimes cheesy is good,” Chris says, pointedly look Darren up and down, and Darren laughs.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

It’s the off-season and the inner harbor isn’t as packed with tourists and families and crowds as it can often be in the warmer months. They’ve space enough to walk side by side without running into people, or people running into them.

Darren points out a man on a bench painting caricatures to Chris and he laughs.

The narrow-ish hallways of Harborplace are crowded, but not unmanageable the way they can feel sometimes.  In all of Darren years coming down here, he’s never really bought anything in the shops.  The point was never shopping – it was roaming around and rummaging through shelves and trying on silly hats with his friends.  And when Chris lets him shove a truly heinous hat on his head Darren thinks he’s probably a tiny bit in love.  It doesn’t scare him at all.

Before they leave the building, Darren steers them into the candy shop and hands Chris a little white bag.

“If that’s less than half-full in five minutes we’re breaking up,” he warns and Chris gives him a look that makes his toes tingle.

Four minutes later Chris’ bag is almost bursting with too many kind of chocolate to count and Darren is salivating a little.

“You’re going to ruin your lunch,” Chris tells him as they stroll along the promenade towards the aquarium.

Darren just shoves another handful of Sour Patch kids into his mouth.  “Impossible.”

When Darren really thinks about it, there isn’t actually a whole lot to do down at the harbor.  The dinosaurs at the Science Center are awesome, but he’s seen them a hundred times and he’s never really been one for baseball. The view from the World Trade Center is good, but Darren thinks he prefers the remembered view from Kevin’s rooftop and the boy he met up there. Darren likes the aquarium the most and Chris indulges him as he presses his nose to the glass to watch schools of fish and manta rays swirl around and around.

It’s s slightly chaotic, unplanned, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind how they skip from one thing to the next, spending a few moments here and a few minutes there.  He wanted a touristy date and that’s what they’re doing.  Mostly Darren just wants to be with Chris.

He doesn’t know how other people date and he doesn’t care.  He doesn’t care about playing it cool or trying to pretend like he isn’t hopelessly enraptured with Chris.  What’s the point? He likes whom he likes and he wants who he wants.  And the way Chris texted him to go on a ridiculously cheesy date in the middle of the afternoon, helping to take Darren’s mind off the pressures of his school finals, makes Darren think that Chris isn’t interested in playing cool either. And what’s the point of that anyway?

“Are you hungry?” Chris asks him, when they come out of the aquarium.  Darren’s bag of candy is decidedly less full than it was before, but he could use some real food.

“Yeah, you?”

Chris nods. “Good, ‘cause I had a thought about what we should get.”

Darren brightens up. “Are we getting crab cakes?”

“Of course we are.  Wouldn’t be a tourist date without them, now would it?”

Darren grins and his stomach tightens the way it still does whenever Chris says the word date.

“Come on,” Chris tugs on Darren’s sleeve, so close to holding his hand.  “I know just the place.”

There are a million and seven places to get crab cakes in the city and Darren is sure everyone who lives here has their favorite place that they swear serves the best of the best.  Darren is excited to see which place is Chris’.  These are the things he wants to know about this man.

“I don’t even remember the name of this place,” Chris says as he leads them a couple blocks away.  “I found it when I first moved here.  I just was wondering around, trying to finds my bearings of the city and just getting totally lost.”

Darren frowns.  “You know you have to be careful.  Some of the neighborhoods are…not that great.  And like, the difference between one block and the next…”

Chris nods, but he looks touched by Darren’s concern. “Oh, I figured that out. Real quick.  But I was out and I turned a corner and there this place was, just sitting there. It doesn’t look like much – you’ll see – but damn.  And I don’t even really like seafood all that much.”

Darren is pretty sure he knows where Chris is taking them and as soon as they come around the corner and Darren sees the squat little building he knows he’s right.  It’s not even a restaurant and it’s barely a crab shack.   There’s a rickety looking picnic table outside and a couple of chairs that look like they couldn’t hold a child’s weight. But Darren knows that inside is a different story.

“This place is so fresh,” Darren says as they step inside.  “And not like, 1990s fresh, but actual fresh.”

Chris snorts indelicately.  “You’ve been here before?”

“Yeah, with my brother.  We’d grab stuff to go.”  There isn’t much seating inside either, just some booths and a couple of tables.  The real draw is what’s behind the counter. 

The fish and crab and clams packed on ice look like it all just came out of the water.  There’s a line of customers stretching almost to the door, eager to place their orders, but the guys behind the counter keep it moving.

“Like I said, I’m not much a seafood person,” Chris continues as they get into the line.  “My parents never really made it, and when I randomly ended up in here I wasn’t even sure what to get.  But I was hungry and I’d just moved to Baltimore so I figured, crab cakes.”

“That does seem to happen to people who move here,” Darren confirms.  His roommate, Mark, hadn’t even had fish sticks before he moved for school, but even he was swayed.

When it’s their turn in line, Chris gets a couple of crab cakes and two orders of fries and when Darren tries to pay he pushes his hand aside.

“Nope,” Chris chides, handing his credit card over. “You bought the candy.”

Darren splutters. “That’s hardly the same.’

“I’m buying you lunch,” Chris states and the firmness in his voice and the fondness in his eyes makes Darren giddy.

“Fine. But I get the next one,” Darren allows, hoping. And he’s not disappointed when Chris smiles, soft and sweet.

“You’re on.”

The crab cakes are huge and wrapped in foil and they take them back down to the harbor proper.  On this side there’s almost no one else around and they sit on a giant concrete bulkhead in relative peace, legs dangling down towards the water. The skyline rises up across the way from them, buildings standing tall, and Darren watches boats and tours and water taxis cross this way and that.  In the distance, across the water, Darren can see Fort McHenry.

“It’s good right?” Chris asks when Darren has taken a bite.

“It’s excellent,” Darren responds and he hopes Chris understands that he’s not just talking about lunch.

After the boy his freshman year of college, the times Darren has dated guys it was never like this.  It either felt like they didn’t really want to date at all, or were just going through the motions in hopes of getting what they really wanted all the quicker.  And Darren would never say that he’s some hopeless romantic – he knows there’s too much at stake in life and in love to let flights of romanticism carry him away. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want a little something more in his life, something more than school and a career and all the necessary things.  He wants these spontaneous days where it doesn’t matter what they do and where they go, just that they are together and happy.

“It’s really good,” Darren says, letting the intent and meaning bleed into his voice, and he watches as comprehension moves across Chris’ face like ripples on a pond.

“That’s…I’m glad,” Chris responds, looking down at his hands before lifting his eyes to Darren’s.  “It’s good for me too.” His smile is sweet and shy and Darren wants to kiss him so badly it hurts in his bones.  He doesn’t know when the right time for that will be but he hopes it’s soon.

He settles for knocking his foot into Chris’ and grinning back at him over his crab cake.  Yes, he thinks, things are very good.

The sky is beginning to darken, fading from the brilliant blue of the oddly cloudless day into the softness of the evening and Darren doesn’t want to go home.  It’s the same feeling from the rooftop, knowing even then that he didn’t want to part from Chris.  Color is beginning seep into the harbor, reflecting off the great glass buildings and echoing in the depths of the water.

“I like the harbor,” Chris says with a wistful kind of a tone. “Sometimes I miss the ocean.”

Darren forgets sometimes that Chris is from the completely opposite side of the country.  He wonders what it would have been like if they’d met sooner, if they’d still connect the way they do under a different set of circumstances.  “Hey, we got the Atlantic.”

“It’s not the same.  The sun might rise on the Atlantic, but it sets on the Pacific,” Chris says and his eyes are the same color as the harbor stretching out in front of them.  He is enrapturing.

“Sunsets, huh?”  Darren wants to pull him into his arms.  His heart feels too big for his chest, the way it so often does around Chris.

“I know, and you’re sunrises.” Chris’ smile is conspiratorial and Darren should not be thinking about soft and easy mornings with Chris in his apartment and his bed and his entire life, from morning until night and all over again.

“Hey, but this way we get the whole day.”

Chris rolls his eyes good-naturedly, groaning softly. “Cheesy, indeed.” He says the word like it’s a benediction and Darren will gladly accept it.  He inches closer to Chris, leaning his shoulder against his and watches as the sunset illuminates the entire world around them. And when Chris presses a kiss to Darren’s temple it feels like a declaration.

***

Exams are brutal, even for Darren.  He spends the week alternating between the library, his desk, and stuffy classrooms.  He barely has time to eat or sleep, let alone see Chris, who has his own classes to deal with, but he carves out precious minutes whenever he can to text him.

He sends good mornings when he wakes up, even though he knows it’ll be at least an hour or two before Chris sees them. And his heart swells whenever Chris texts his own good morning back when he’s finally up.

Darren sends him little messages throughout the day, nonsense texts about everything and nothing at all, because it makes him feel like even though they’re both stuck with their responsibilities, they’re still together, if only in this little way.

This dude in the library has been on Facebook the whole time I’ve been here.

I hate this study group they’re all idiots.

My roommate thinks I’m becoming a hermit.  I think I’m becoming a hermit. Save me from becoming a hermit.

Miss you today.

This dog is cute I’m stealing him.

I’m quitting school and becoming a kept man.  Will you keep me?

Do you have time to meet up this afternoon, like, around 1?

If Darren can’t spend the time he wants with Chris in person, then he’ll have to rely on the buzz of his phone with every reply Chris sends him.  It’s what will get him through finals week.

***

Darren’s study group goes late one night. His Contracts class argued over a specific point of interpretation until Darren was ready to tear every single follicle of his hair out of his head and scream bloody murder in the middle of the library. (Although if he remembers correctly someone did the screaming part last semester.)  Darren gets that heated discussion and arguing multiple points of view are vital to truly understanding something, but that doesn’t stop a vicious headache from starting to form behind his eyes.

As he’s finally packing up his books, hours past when he wanted to be home, a shadow falls across his bag.

When he looks up, Regan, one of the girls in his group, is leaning over the desk and right into his space.

“Uh,” Darren mumbles.  His brain is three clicks past exhaustion and all he wants to do is get home, text Chris goodnight, and go to sleep.

Regan smiles and she’s wearing lipstick even though it’s gone past midnight.  Darren can’t remember anything else about her except that she’s got an eye for criminal law. “Good session,” Regan simpers and Darren doesn’t like the sound of it.

“Yeah,” he says, even though the hours have left him rung out.  It’s the polite thing to say. “I think we’re ready for Thursday.”

Regan shifts, perching on the desk even closer to Darren.  “So, are you heading home then?”

Darren blinks.  The rest of their group has packed up and left and suddenly he is alone in a study room in the library with this girl.  “Uh, yeah, it’s late, so…”

“Do you want to do something later?” She asks over him. “After exams?”

And suddenly Darren gets it.

He’s not blind to other people’s attentions, has been every since he hit puberty, but from the moment he laid eyes on Chris that night on that rooftop he’s had no time and no care for anyone else.

Regan is smart and pretty and maybe two months ago Darren might have found himself interested in her, or someone like her. But he’s just not, now. With every day that passes Chris is suffusing into every bit of Darren, and willing so.

“Oh, thank you,” Darren says, as kindly as he can. “But I’m seeing someone.”

His tongue wants to say boyfriend, but he hasn’t yet said the word to Chris and he doesn’t want the first time to be with some girl in his class whom he barely knows.

Regan narrows her eyes, searching for something in Darren’s face.  Whatever she finds causes her to sigh and stand up, slinging her laden book bag over her shoulder.

“See you later,” she calls out, already walking away.

Darren gives her a good head start before he grabs the rest of his things and slips out of the quiet library, just in case they’re going in the same direction.  Turning someone down is awkward enough; having to walk home step-by-step with that person would truly be awful.

He’s just outside of campus when he digs his phone out of his pocket.  He has a text from Mark telling him the cable bill came and one from Kevin telling him not to miss their next bar hop.

Darren ignores them in favor of pulling up Chris’ number.

I think a girl in my study group just tried to ask me out, he texts.  He’s knows it’s late, but Chris is something of a night owl – more so than Darren is – and he’s pretty sure Chris will still be up. He’s not disappointed when he sees Chris’ texting him back.

What did you tell her?

That I’m seeing someone.

There’s a long pause and Darren is almost home by the time his phone buzzes in his hand with a new text.

When are you done with your exams?  I want to show you what I’ve been working on.

Darren's heart skips.  He’s been dying to see the painting Chris is currently working on. Chris has already shown him his sketchbooks – the half-drawn scenes and portraits and sketches he keeps his fingers loose with and his mind limber with.  And Darren has seen pictures of some of Chris’ other oil paintings, but never in person.  The trust implicit in the gesture isn’t lost on him at all.

If Darren does a little dance on the sidewalk, there’s no one around to see him.

***

When the last exam is over and done with, and the ink is still drying on the pages, Darren wastes little time getting a hold of Chris.  He allows a night out with Mark and Kevin and Kevin’s girlfriend and a dozen other people he hasn’t seen since he locked himself away for the end of the semester. He gets drunk enough that he calls Chris in the middle of the bar that’s packed with relieved students and a few confused tourists.  He doesn’t remember what he says and only knows he was shouting into the phone.

He wakes up with a hangover, a bruise on his shin, and picture of Chris’ paint-stained hand on his phone and no recollection why. And Chris won’t tell him.

He meets Chris on Sunday just outside of the MICA campus.  It’s a strange mix of modern glass and steel architecture and older, stately stone buildings. He can see why artists would feel inspired to come and study and work here.

Darren brightens when he sees Chris coming down the sidewalk, dressed in a nice coat and worn jeans.

“Hi,” he greets, ducking in to kiss Chris’ cheek as soon as he’s close enough.  He smells like aftershave and cologne and Darren shivers happily.

“You look less dead than you sounded yesterday,” Chris remarks.

“I am no longer processing my body’s weight in alcohol, thank you very much.”

Chris snorts.  “You ready?” He nods in the direction of the school.

“Lead the way, good sir.”

Darren feels like an interloper walking through this campus, Chris’ campus.  His ID names another school and the streams of students crossing the walkways and the quad only look familiar in that way all haggard and harried college kids look, with their drooping shoulders, unwashed shirts, and tired souls.

But it feels nice, roaming with Chris at his side, and Darren has flashes of going to the same school with him. What it might be like if they had classes together, studying in the common rooms, and then, later, in their tiny, cramped, shared apartment.  (And then not studying at all.)  Sharing those long, stressful years with each other as they find their footing, learning and growing, arguing over finances when the time comes to look for a better apartment.  It makes Darren warm and nostalgic for something they don’t yet have, but might.

“You look a million miles away,” Chris says lightly, breaking into Darren’s reverie.

“It’s nothing, just…thinking about something.”

“Something good?”

Darren glances over at Chris and sees the inquisitive, even hopeful quirk to his lips.  “Yeah,” he agrees, grinning.  “Something good.”

Chris nods.  “Carry on then.”

Darren reaches out and tugs on the end of Chris’ coat sleeve, just to make him smile.

“Do you think security will kick me off campus if they find out I’m a spy?” Darren asks.

The look Chris gives him is only slightly askance and Darren is extraordinarily grateful that Chris doesn’t seem to mind the way his brain changes gear so quickly and so randomly sometimes.  “Are you a spy?”

“Obviously.  And I’ve come to steal away the best students.  And the Jell-O from the cafeteria.”

“I hate to be the one to crush your spy-dreams, but we don’t have Jell-O.”

Darren gasps and puts his hand over his heart. “No Jell-O.”

“Nope,” Chris confirms, and his mouth his twitching with the effort not to grin at Darren’s admittedly ridiculous antics.

“How do you live?”

“I sneak into your school and steal some.” Chris winks, he fucking winks, and Darren is probably a little bit more in love with him.

“Dirty thief,” Darren accuses and the fondness in his voice makes him want to roll his own eyes.

“Occasionally.”

Darren laughs, he can’t help it, and he bumps Chris’ shoulder with his own as they amble across the campus.

“Hey.  Think they need more nude models for those life drawing classes?” Darren asks, pausing to strike a thoughtful pose.

Chris appraises him slowly and there’s enough heat in his gaze to make Darren tingle.  “I suppose they could find a space for your, uh, unique anatomy.”

“Are you saying I’m short?  Or that I have a big ass?”

“Both.”

Darren grins.  “Thanks.”

Chris leans companionably into him and Darren can feel the touch of his paint-smudged fingers at his wrist.  “Come on, it’s just in here.”  Chris leads them into a building, not quite holding Darren’s hand, but fingers brushing as they walk down the hallway.

“So you all get studio space?” Darren asks, looking around.  He remembers that his brother had access to dark rooms in college, but he doesn’t think he got his own space to work in.

“Yeah.  It’s not a huge space, but it’s mine while I’m here.”  Chris explains, opening a door that Darren would have walked right past.  “I don’t have room in my apartment for something like this and it’s nice to have the canvas on campus already.  It sucks having to transport these things and you know how the weather can be. Plus, it’s the least they could do for what tuition costs.”

The room must only be 300 square feet, with blank walls devoid of any structure at all.  It’s just a square room with plenty of natural light coming in the tall windows.  A narrow table sits against one wall, covered in paint supplies, and on the other wall stands an easel and canvas covered in a sheet.  The room smells of paint and solvent and Darren loves it.

“How much time do you spend in here?” Darren stalks the perimeter of the room, looking at everything, but keeping his hands to himself.  A phone charger is still plugged into a socket and there’s a jacket hanging up in the corner. It feels oddly lived in for a place so small and so obviously meant for work.

“More hours that I can count,” comes Chris’ reply.

When Darren turns around, Chris is standing in the middle of the room, watching him with his arms folded across his chest. He looks nervous, like he’s going to be found wanting by whatever Darren sees in his little student studio and on that canvas.

Darren thinks he’s some measure of perfect.

“How do you want me to react?”

“What?

“To your work.  Do you want me to like, stand back in awe, or say something profound or gasp or what?

Chris frowns, rubbing at his arms with what look like nervous hands. “I…want you to react naturally.  You don’t have to say anything just to make me feel good about it.  It’s not finished yet. If you don’t like it, you don’t like it.  It’s ok. My ego’s not quite that fragile.”

“I’m gonna like it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m gonna like it,” Darren firmly repeats, because he knows it’ll make Chris laugh and blush and he’s not wrong.

“You’re an idiot.”  The fondness in Chris’ sweet voice makes Darren’s heart do that little squeeze he’s getting so used to.

Chris doesn’t even dignify that with a response, just carefully pulls the protective sheet from the painting, letting it pool to the floor in a wisping heap.

What is a revealed are warm reds and the richest golds and the calmest blues – water at sunset brought to life with a firm, if ever so slightly chaotic brush stroke. And it’s beautiful.  It’s the Baltimore Harbor and it reminds him of their date just the other week, though Chris must have started working on it before that day.  Darren stares for long minutes, taking it in, every color and wave, every brush stroke, pride for Chris swelling deep in him.

He can feel the nerves radiating off Chris and he aches to reach out and take his hand in comfort.  He doesn’t know why he keeps refraining from the touch.

“It reminds me of a more modern Turner,” Darren says finally.

Immediately Chris flushes a brilliant hue of red and shakes his head.  “Oh god no, you can’t say that,” he protests, hands almost covering his face.

Darren turns from the painting, stepping in close to Chris and taking his wrists in his hands.  His skin is slightly cool under Darren’s fingers and he can feels the delicate bones shifting.

“Hey.” Darren waits until Chris looks at him with embarrassed eyes. “It’s beautiful,” he says, firmly so Chris can’t miss. “I’m not an art critic, but I don’t have to be one to see that.  You’re stupidly talented and you should be proud.”

Chris’ eyes rove over Darren’s face; irises a new shade of blue in the early December light coming in the windows. “If I kiss you are you going to make a big deal out of it?”

“Probably.”  Darren almost can’t breathe for how hard his heart is pounding in his chest and his fingers are moving from Chris’ wrists to his shoulders and finally to his smooth jaw. “It really is beau-”

Chris stops him with his lips.

Darren doesn’t keep count of the kisses he’s had in his life, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to mark this one down.

Chris tastes faintly of mint and Darren has no idea when he was chewing gum.  But he doesn’t care, not when Chris’ lips are tentative against his own, learning shape and pressure and touch, but so sweet.  Darren presses in closer, hands growing sure in their hold, and a pleased noise punches out of Chris and Darren can taste that too.

It’s everything Darren has been wanting every since he saw Chris on that rooftop with Baltimore spread out beneath him. It’s what he wanted after their first date, when Chris left him with a warm look and firm squeeze of his wrist. It’s what he wants every time he thinks of Chris.

Chris’ hands are firm and sure as they touch at Darren’s hips and his waist and his arms, unsure of where exactly to settle and hold, and Darren just wants him to wrap his arms around him tightly.

“Well,” Chris mumbles, the words brushing Darren’s lips because neither of them pulls back more than it takes to draw breath. “If that’s what it takes to get you to kiss me I’ll show you all my paintings.”

Darren grins helplessly, caressing the soft shape of Chris’ ear with his thumb. “I was being a gentleman.  Or something.”

“Sure.  Just, do it again.”

“Always.”  And Darren presses in again.

Later, much later, Darren takes Chris back to the café where they had their first date, just a month before.  And on the walk there he takes Chris’ hand, folding their fingers together and doesn’t let go until they’re seated a table.

“Oh.  About my parents’ charity fundraiser thing,” Darren brings up halfway through lunch.

Chris’ eyebrows twitch inquisitively. “Yes?”

“I mean, do you still want to go?  With me, that is.” It had been an exceptionally spur of the moment thing, Darren asking Chris to this thing in the first place. He wouldn’t blame Chris for reconsidering, even if it would put a damper on the night.

“Are you trying to back out of taking me?” Chris asks and Darren misses the teasing lilt of his voice.

“No!” Darren exclaims, a little too loudly. “No, I want you to come. If you do.”

“I do,” confirms Chris, again.

“Uhm, do you have a tux?”  He doesn’t always think about his parents’ wealth and, by proxy, his own.  He earned his own scholarship to the university and doesn’t owe his parents anything for his school, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t benefited from their prominence. He has, and he knows he has. Even if he doesn’t always think about, he tries to never forget it.

“In fact I do.  My cousin got married in some fancy church. It’s the kind of party where I’ll need it, then?”

Darren nods.  “Oh yeah.  Full black tie, champagne, and caviar thing.  I think the dinner tickets are like, $500 a plate or something this time.” Darren shrugs. “Obviously we don’t have to pay that.  But it all goes to support the charity, so.”

“So I’ll make sure to wash my face that day.”

“I mean, you can if you want, but I wasn’t going to.”

Chris snorts and their feet knock under the small table and Darren’s heart again feels too big for his chest.

After lunch, Darren has to let Chris go so Chris can finish up his own schoolwork before the winter break can truly start.

“So.  Saturday.  Meet me at Penn station at 8am?”

Chris looks confused, tilting his head a bit. “We’re taking the train?”

“Yeah, I mean, I thought we could.  It’s a short ride and I kind of like it. Plus driving in DC blows.” Darren has fond memories of taking the train up the New York to spend holidays with his grandparents and even farther up to Boston.

“I would have thought you’d have a car come and get you or something,” Chris says, shrugging

“Oh, I could,” Darren acknowledges. “But I like this better. We can get cupcakes and take the train, it’ll be fun.”

“What about our tuxes?”

“Oh, those I’m having sent over.  My parents said we could change at the hotel they’re staying at.  Makes it easier.”

Chris shakes his head, smiling, and Darren doesn’t get what’s funny.

“What?”

“Nothing.  It’s just – I forget sometimes.  That you’re, you know, rich.”

Darren rolls his eyes.  “I’m not.  I mean, my parents are.  It’s their organization.”

“That you benefit from.”

“Sometimes, yeah.”  There’s no point in denying that.  “But I’d rather use their money to keep our suits from getting wrinkles for their big fancy gala than buying my way into a university. I can get in on my own.”

Chris smiles again and it’s soft and sweet, and when he leans in his lips are too and Darren loves him a little bit more.

***

Darren has two cups of coffee in his hands when he spots Chris approaching the train station Saturday morning, carrying with him his own little paper bag.

But even though his hands are full he can still give Chris a lingering kiss hello.

“I’ve got the coffee,” Darren says.

“And I brought breakfast.”  Chris shakes the bag and something heavy thumps inside. He looks sleepy, eyes heavy and limbs loose like he’s still waking up.

“Excellent.”

It’s a weekend and instead of commuters in business suits, the train is full of families taking a weekend visit and tourists who opted to stay in the cheaper hotels of Baltimore instead of DC.

Darren snags a couple of seats and lets Chris take the window.  He hands over one of the cups of coffee and gratefully accepts the egg and bacon sandwich that Chris passes over in return.

“I have a plan,” Darren announces as the train gets moving.

“Oh yeah?”

“For what we’re going to do today.”

Chris hasn’t quite hooked his foot around Darren’s but their legs are touching all the way down to their shoes.  “And what’s that?”

“A sightseeing extravaganza.  We’ve got all day until the party and I want to make the most of it.  With you.”

“The last time I was in DC was for some middle school field trip,” muses Chris, nibbling at his own food.  “I remember there were a lot of museums and that it was atrociously muggy.”

“Well, there will be a quiz after the tour. So pay attention.”

“I’ll just cheat off you,” he quips. “Brilliant student that you are.”

“Hey, this is the nation’s capital we’re talking about. Show some respect.”

Chris playfully rolls his eyes and chomps into his own breakfast sandwich.

“You’re not a Republican, are you?” Asks Darren, narrowing his eyes.

“Darren, I’m a gay artist.  Obviously I’m a Libertarian.”

Darren laughs so loudly that the man seated in front of them twists around and glares.  Darren smirks, sinking down in his seat to settle closer to Chris.

***

It’s December, but the morning is grey and cool and close to perfect for a day of exploring and wandering.

The National Mall stretches out long before them, lined by ruler-straight pathways and wintered trees.  It’s early still and yet the grounds are already teaming with people – friends and family and lovers – all taking in the majestic buildings and counting down the last minutes until the museums finally open. Far ahead, the Washington Monument stands tall, a clear marker for the direction they’ll be heading in.

“Ok,” Darren says, pointing to a spot off in the distance. “It’s about two and a half miles from here to there.”

“You’re joking.”

“What?”

“We’re walking the whole Mall?” Chris asks. He’s squinting as he gazes towards where Darren was pointing, as though if he tried hard enough he could see the Lincoln Memorial at the very end.

“We are,” Darren confirms.  “And going to some museums.  Glad you wore your walking shoes?”

Chris looks down at his scuffed Chucks. “Well, my fancy shoes are currently in some hotel room.”

“That they are.”  Darren reaches out and takes Chris’ hand.  “Come on.”

Darren is glad it’s the off-season but he remembers how uncomfortably cramped all of DC can be otherwise as untold tourists fight for space with all the staffers who work on the Hill.  This is better; this feels more like a date than a busy outing.

Their first stop is the National Gallery of Art. Darren pays their admission, despite Chris’ protests, and snags a map from the kiosk.

“We’re never going to have enough time to tour the whole thing,” Chris points out.

“I know.  I just want to show you a couple of things.  My favorite things.  We can come back another time and do each museum right.”

Chris blinks slowly, pale lashes sweeping down, before he ducks in and presses a quick kiss to Darren’s mouth, in the middle of the grand lobby.  “Lead the way.”

Darren guides them through the winding halls and rooms to bring them to the Widener Collection.  On the wall is a decently sized painting, in an extravagant frame, of a tall mill against a dramatically contrasting sky.

“I know a lot of people come here to see Degas’ Little Dancer or whatever else, and I know there are a lot more famous paintings out there from Rembrandt, but there’s something bout this one that I just…can’t get out of my mind.” Darren stares at the painting, even though he knows it by heart.

“It’s romantic,” Chris says, voice pitched with something like reverence.  “And yet so completely brooding.”

“Yeah,” Darren agrees, but he’s staring at Chris’ profile.  The line of his jaw and the slight upturn of his nose.  The freckles high on his cheeks that are just barely visible.

Chris must feel him staring because he cranes his head around, lips coming so close Darren can feel his breath. “I can see why you love it.  It’s magnificent. I’ve always preferred scenes to portraits. Even from the masters.”

“You could hang something in here,” Darren says and Chris strikes him hard on his shoulder.  “Hey!”

“You can’t say things like that.”  His nose is adorably wrinkled and Darren wants to wrap him up and take him home.

“Matisse.  Turner.  Rembrandt. Colfer.”

“Oh god, shut up.” Chris turns on his heel and walks away.  Laughing, Darren catches up, grabbing Chris’ hand and tangling their fingers together.

“Come on, onwards to the next one!”

Past the Gallery of Art is the Portrait Gallery and they skip it in favor of the American History museum.  Chris pays the admission before Darren can get his wallet out and they spend 20 minutes looking at a giant train and roaming through Julia Child’s kitchen.  Darren laughs so hard at Chris’ impression of Julia that he has to sit down on the floor to catch his breath and only gets moving when a docent tells him he can’t sit on the floor for security reasons.  Chris helps him stand and doesn’t let go when Darren has found his feet.

Outside, the once straight pathways begin to curve, leading inexorably up and towards the Washington Monument.

“Are we skipping the White House?” Chris asks as Darren leads towards the center of the Mall and away from the President’s house.

“Honestly there’s really not much to see. Just a giant white building and a lot of security.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me to respect the nation’s capital?” Chris teases.

“I was, but I don’t want to waste any time staring at a big building.”

They’ve come up and around the curve that brings them to the Monument.  “So,” Chris says, gazing up.  “You’d rather stare at a giant phallic symbol?”

Darren snorts.  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The walk down to the Lincoln Memorial is long, but it doesn’t feel like it.  Darren thinks he could happily spend every day with Chris, just like this. Laughing and talking and joking and simply existing together.  It feels like they’ve been doing this forever.

He knows he’s floating in the blissful stage of a new relationship, when everything feels effortless and perfect, unable to fail. And he knows that feeling fades with familiarity.  But he also knows that he feels like there’s something more to it, to this, than just new infatuation.  He feels like his life should have had Chris in it all along and he can’t imagine how that would ever dim or fade.

Darren snaps of picture of Chris gazing out across the water of the immense Reflecting Pool to set as the background of his phone. He doesn’t care if it’s cheesy or disgustingly sentimental.  He wants it.  He wants to remember this day and this moment.  Chris doesn’t seem to care either, if the warm kiss he presses to Darren’s cheek or the squeeze of his hand is anything to go by.

He could ask, Darren thinks, he could ask Chris how he feels.  There’s no set timeline for a relationship, but a month is so short, so quick, and the last thing he wants to do is startle Chris into pulling away.

But during the long walk back, while sipping overpriced hot chocolate and nibbling on decent sandwiches from the café at the Castle, Chris looks at him from across the tiny wobbling table with such affection that it makes Darren’s heart ache.

“I like this,” he blurts out.

“I do too,” Chris agrees, wiping crumbs from his mouth. “This is a lot of fun.”

“No, I mean.  This.” Darren wriggles his hand between them.  “You and me.  I like it.”

Chris whole face softens and he sets his sandwich down so he can reach across the table for Darren’s hand.  “I do too,” he repeats and it means something else entirely this time.  “I mean, it’s crazy, right?  This month. Me and you.  It feels like a lot.”

“Too much?”

“No.” Chris shakes his head.  “No.  Not too much.  Actually, with all the school stuff going on, I wish we had more time together. Texting is one thing, but today – today’s been perfect.  These hours with you.”  An achingly sweet smile curves Chris’ mouth.  “This is what I want.”

Darren’s heart feels light and full all at once and if he could sing Chris an aria in the middle of the National Mall he would. He settles for squeezing Chris’ hand and vowing to himself not to fuck this up.

Darren takes a picture of them from in front of the Ulysses S. Grant Memorial, angling his phone so the whole of the Mall stretches behind them.  Chris cheek is soft against his own and his body is warm and firm and Darren wants more of that too.

The sky is growing dark and Darren glances at his watch.  “Time to head to the hotel, I think.  Get ready for the ball.”

“Ok, Cinderella,” quips Chris.

“Left my glass slippers at home,” Darren remarks. “They didn’t go with my tux.”

“Pity.”

***

They grab a cab to the hotel Darren's parents are staying at during their visit for the charity gala.  It’s not far from the National Building Museum, where the event is being held, and anticipation is building in Darren’s stomach for the evening ahead.

Their tuxes are waiting for them in the room, hanging neat and freshly pressed.  There’s even a little toiletry kit with hair product and razors conveniently left for them.

Chris takes his tux down from the rack. “I’m going to change in the bathroom,” he says.  “You good out here?”

“You don’t want to ogle me while I get dressed?”

“Maybe I want to keep a little mystery going?” Chris gestures down his body and Darren laughs.

“Fine, fine.  Go on.”

Darren is sitting on the bed, already dressed and thumbing through his phone while his knee jiggles nervously when the bathroom door finally swings open.  There’s no dramatic cloud of steam, but the sight of Chris emerging in his perfectly tailored tux is more than enough.

The material is expensive and the slim cut accentuates his long legs and narrow waist.  He’s done something to his hair, styling it back from the way it was earlier and he looks like a dignitary or a movie star about to go to some big premiere.

“Wow,” breathes Darren.  “You look…damn.  Yeah.”

Chris’ cheeks are pink as he looks down at himself. His shoes are very shiny and the hems of his trousers break perfectly.  “Been a while since I put this thing on.  Glad it still fits.”

Darren stands, closing the space between them. “It really does.” He touches Chris sharp lapel and the perfect knot of his bow tie.

“And I managed to scrub all the paint off of my hands.”

“Oh, I quite like the paint,” Darren is happy to finally say it out loud and Chris’ blush deepens.

“You look quite dashing yourself,” Chris says and Darren can feel the touch of his fingers at his waist.

“I told you I looked good in a suit,” Darren teases.

“You weren’t lying.”

Darren smells mint on Chris’ breath and thinks he must have just brushed his teeth and the realization of why he might have done it makes Darren shiver.

“I don’t want to wrinkle your clothes, but…” He wants his hands and lips and everything else on Chris.

“Then don’t,” Chris smirks, one hand on the side of Darren’s face as he draws him in for a kiss.

Darren thinks he’s never going to get tired of this. The taste and feel of Chris’ lips moving against his own, the shape and softness and pressure. The gentle coaxing of teeth and tongue and the breathy sighs Chris makes that’s the best kind of music Darren has ever heard.

***

Along 5^th street there’s a full red carpet outside of the gala – photographers and limos and reporters waiting on arrivals.  Darren knows his parents’ charity has grown big enough, and this yearly gala has gotten renowned enough, that there will be celebrities mingling with the businesspeople and old money families.  But that doesn’t mean he has to pose and preen for people who don’t know him outside of a face in a suit.  Vanity Fair doesn’t know or care who he is.

“Come on, I know how to get around this.” Darren takes Chris’ hand and leads him around the crush of people and they slip inside.

The Great Hall is breathtaking, done up in reds and golds to highlight the upcoming Christmas season as well as the charity. Massive marble columns frame the long space and decorators have draped rich hangs from the arches.

“It looks like Hogwarts,” Chris breathes and Darren grins.

“I think the theme has something to do with the magic and spirit of giving.”  Already the Hall is filling with bespoke and besuited men and glamorous women. Darren thinks he and Chris fit in quite nicely and he studiously does not imagine some moment years down the road when he and Chris might once again wear expensive tuxes together.

“How many people are here?” Chris asks. His eyes are luminous under the warm lighting as he looks around and Darren is already a million times more comfortable with Chris at his side than he ever has been before.

“I don’t know, actually. There’s probably going to be about 1,500?”

“At $500 a plate?”

Darren squeezes Chris’ hand.  “Like I said, it’s fundraising for the charity.” Never letting go of Chris’ hand, Darren pulls them deeper into the Hall, away from the crush of people gathering near the entrance.  It smells faintly of pine and cooking meat and champagne and the analogy to Hogwarts isn’t far off at all.

“You haven’t said what the charity does.”

Darren grabs a couple flutes of champagne from a passing waiter.  “We support LGBTQ organizations throughout the country.”

The smile that graces Chris’ face is its own benediction.  “Really.”

“Really.”  Darren has already been proud of where the money his parents raise goes and it makes him swell with lightness and joy that he can share that with Chris, knowing what it means to him as well.

Chris doesn’t say anything to that, just leans into Darren and presses the sweetest kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Which is, of course, the moment when Darren’s parents find them in the crowd.

“Hello, dear!” Mrs. Criss calls out and Darren turns to see his mother, in a flowing gown, floating towards him while his father follows half a step behind.

“Hey, mom.”  He hugs her tightly, uncaring if he wrinkles his suit.  And then his hugs his father, grinning at the heavy clap of his dad’s hand on his back.

“Early as always,” Mr. Criss says.

“Just how you raised me,” confirms Darren. Next him to him, Chris is shifting a bit nervously and it hits Darren once more that this is the moment he’s introducing his boyfriend to his parents.  His heartbeat picks up and his stomach tightens, but he already knows they’re going to love Chris.

“Mom, dad, this is Chris,” he introduces. “My boyfriend.” Darren looks over just in time to see the smile on Chris’ lips even as he swallows heavily.

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Chris says, voice holding perfectly steady as he extends his hand.  “I’ve heard nothing but incredible things about you both.”

“Well,” Mr. Criss shakes the offered hand firmly. “Our youngest son has already been quite the liar.”

Darren rolls his eyes as his mother tuts at his father for his terrible joke and Chris just looks like he isn’t sure what to say.

“Ignore him,” Mrs. Criss chimes in. “He likes to think he’s a incredible wit.  But you’re quite a handsome young man aren’t you?”

Chris blushes so furiously that Darren can feel it. He places what he hopes is a comforting hand at the small of Chris’ back and is relieved when Chris sways into the touch just slightly. 

“Thank you, ma’am.  This is a wonderful evening you’ve put on.”

“Oh none of that,” Mrs. Criss hushes. “We’re just happy you could make it.” She looks over at her son. “Darren, we’ve got to make the rounds greeting everyone, but our table is number 5. The dinner starts in half an hour.”

“We’ll be there.”

Mrs. Criss turns back.  “Christopher, it was a pleasure to meet you and I’m sure we’ll talk more over dinner.”

Chris nods.  “Yes ma’am.”

Darren watches as his parents disappear into the growing crowd of guests.  “So.”

“So.”

“Those are my parents.”

“They’re very nice.”

“Well, they like you, so that’s the important thing.” And it is.  Darren would have been able to tell immediately if his parents found Chris wanting and he knows that for how necessarily brief their introduction was his parents were pleased with Chris.

“I’m glad,” Chris says, a little faintly. They haven’t talked much about Chris’ family.  Darren knows a bit – that Chris has a younger sister and his mother is a teacher – but sometimes he gets the feeling that Chris doesn’t have the best relationship with his parents.  But there’s never really a good time to pry into potentially upsetting pieces of someone’s life so Darren has left it be.  He thinks Chris will tell him when he’s ready.

Darren sticks out his elbow for Chris. “Shall we take a turn about the room?” He says, affecting a shaky British accent.

“We shall.”

The Grand Hall is gorgeous and so are the people filling it, mingling between the elegantly decorated tables in their expensive clothes with their fat wallets.  Darren recognizes a few people from other events and he points them out to Chris, like it would matter.  He just likes talking to Chris, even still, even after an entire day spent with him.

Chris is hand is warm in his own, slightly sweaty where their fingers are tangled tightly together, and Darren is glad for the steady calm of him at his side.

“What do you think this dinner will be like?” Chris asks as they finally approach their table near the front of the great room.

“Considering the catering this place does, I’m gonna guess it’s pretty good.”  Darren doesn’t hesitate to pull Chris’ chair out for him and the smile he gets in return sets his heart fluttering.

Dinner, in the end, is quite nice.  Chris and Darren chat amicably with their fellow tablemates – a well-heeled couple who get steadily drunker throughout the night – and Darren’s parents.  When the food is gone, Darren’s mom gives a speech and so does some high-powered executive of some Fortune 500 company Darren should probably know more about.  A decently well-known singer performs a few songs for the crowd and all the while Darren sits with his knee pressed tightly to Chris and their hands clasped under the table.

When the food has been cleared away, music picks up from somewhere in the hall and Darren watches as groups and couples get up to dance and mingle on the highly polished floor.

“Dance with me?” Darren asks, turning to Chris.

“What?”

Darren stands from his chair and extends his hand out to Chris.  “Come on. It’s a party, a gala.  You gotta dance with me.”  Chris presses his lips together and Darren purses his own in an exaggerated pout. “Don’t turn me down in front of all these people.”

Chris gives his hand to Darren and Darren tugs him up, steering them to the dance floor.

“I don’t dance much,” Chris cautions as Darren settles his hands on his narrow hips.

“That’s ok.  It’s not that kind of dancing.”

And it’s really not. As much as he’d like to waltz with Chris across the dance floor, gliding and spinning in perfect step, the space is too crowded and the DJ isn’t playing the right kind of music.

But Darren is more than happy to press in close to Chris, to wriggle under his arms, and shuffle-sway to the slow and steady beat that’s playing.  Chris’ body is firm and soft against his own, thighs strong where they brush Darren’s and arms fitting perfectly around his shoulders.  Darren likes that Chris is a little taller than him; it means he can snuggle in his close and find the crook of Chris’ throat at just the right height.

He’s never danced at one of these things before, never had a reason to.  He’s never brought a date and never wanted to pick up one of the simpering women or grasping men who show up to these things.  He’s never felt about someone the way he does about Chris and he’s okay with that. The evening isn’t meant to be romantic, but Darren can’t help but think that it is.  The grand ballroom and the tuxes, the champagne and the fine decorations.

Darren shifts so he can take one of Chris’s hands in his own and dance with their clasped fingers pressed to his rabbitting heart.

“You made this worthwhile,” he whispers into Chris’ ear.

Chris doesn’t say anything in response, but Darren can hear his soft intake of breath and he feels the sweet kiss Chris presses to his temple.  It’s more than enough.

Hours later finds the gala on the downswing. Darren has done his duties as the doting son and made the rounds to everyone he knows is donating to his parents’ charity, smiling and shaking hands until his joints ache. He dances with Chris until his feet hurt and his shirt is tacky with sweat and it doesn’t want it to end. But it must.

“Oh damn I am exhausted,” Chris complains from the chair he’s sprawled in, all long limbs and tousled hair. His lashes are a dark smudge and he’d loosened his bowtie sometime during the night.  He looks utterly delectable and Darren’s heart is beating fast for an entirely different reason.

“It was a good day though, right?”

“It was,” Chris agrees.  “I had a really great time.  I’m glad you invited me.”  His mouth is very red in the low lighting and Darren’s palms are sweating.

 “I’m glad you said yes.” He nudges Chris foot with his toe.

“Not looking forward to the train ride home though. Can we just cab it back to the station instead of walking?”

“Yeah.  About that.”  Darren can feel his cheeks heating up.  He’s been waiting to say what he’s about to say for an hour, ever since his mother cornered him with a mischievous glint her eyes.  “My mom might have said we can have their hotel room for the night. Since it’s been such a long day and everything.”

The look on Chris’ face is almost indecipherable and Darren can feel his blush traveling all the way down his chest. He didn’t mean to insinuate any sort of expectation of anything at all, but that doesn’t mean the thought isn’t almost always there.  It’s there when he thinks about the paint that stains that Chris’ fingers so often and the way his hair feels when Darren runs his hands through it and how he truly listens to everything Darren has to say.  Of course Darren wants him.  He thinks he’s wanted Chris before they ever met.

“I mean, it’s doesn’t have to be…that,” stammers Darren and his heart is hammering an embarrassed tattoo.  He should have just told his mom they had other plans.  “That is, there’s no pressure or anything. It’s just a hotel room and it doesn’t, I’m not-”

“Darren,” Chris interrupts and there’s a banked heat behind his eyes that makes Darren swallow thickly as anticipations spreads thick through his veins.  “Let’s get out of here.”

***

In the light of the morning Darren feels different, somehow, which is truly and utterly ridiculous.

Sex is sex and there are no magical properties about it that change a person.  But Darren still feels different.  He feels like his bones have settled, have the found the shape that maybe they were always supposed to be.  His body feels rich for Chris’ touch and he wonders if his heart has found a better rhythm too.

Darren watches Chris get dressed in his day-old clothes, brush his teeth with a borrowed toothbrush, and smile with a knowing warmth at Darren as he carefully puts his tux away in the garment bag it had been delivered in.

“You’re staring,” Chris chides gently, turning towards the bed Darren is sitting on.  The sheets are a rumpled, obvious mess and the comforter is almost on the floor.  Darren loves it.

“I am.”

Chris kneels on the bed, one hand on Darren’s cheek as he leans in and presses a warm, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Let’s go home.”

***

Half a year later Kevin throws another party on his rooftop to celebrate the successful end of another trying semester.

Darren is sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee when the text from Kevin about the party comes at a ridiculously early hour, because even though classes are over until the fall, Darren’s body still wakes him up at the normal time.  Only now more often than not he wakes up with Chris warm and real next to him.

Mark hasn’t seemed to mind the slow process of Chris halfway moving into the apartment with them.  Darren’s bed and bedroom are big enough for them both and Mark is the kind of guy not to care as long as the bills get paid and the dishes get washed.  And besides, Mark and Chris get along better that Darren could have hoped for.  It’s actually kind of a problem, with Chris and Mark ganging up on Darren over movie choices and who has to clean the bathroom that week. But Darren wouldn’t have it any other way.

As much as he wants to, Darren knows it’s best to wait through the end of school to truly move in together, just the two of them. But he’s thinking about it, where they might live, no longer restricted by proximity to their schools.

“Hey,” comes a soft, scratchy voice from the doorway and Darren looks up to see Chris shuffling into the kitchen.  His hair is a mess and he’s wearing Darren’s boxers and his t-shirt and he’s some kind of perfect.

“You’re up early.”

“Was cold.”  Chris pads over to Darren and bends down, kissing him soft and sweet.

“Liar.  It’s almost summer.”  If there’s one thing Darren doesn’t like about their apartment is how warm it can get in the height of summer, but there’s only so much you can do against the humidity of the Atlantic.

“Fine.” Chris swipes Darren’s coffee from him. “Bed was empty and I didn’t like it.”

Darren’s heart feels like it’s going to escape from his chest.  It’s the same feeling he gets when Chris kisses him goodnight or looks at him with the immensity of his affection or says I love you.

“Kevin texted.”

“Kevin’s awake?” Chris sits down at the table and puts his feet up on the rung of Darren’s chair.

“Apparently.”

“What does he want?”

“Another party.  On his rooftop.”

A slow smile curves Chris’ mouth.  “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm.  I told him we’re coming.”

“Oh did you?”  Chris’ eyes are warm over the lip of Darren’s coffee cup.

“I did.  It’s a great excuse to celebrate the day we met.”

“That was a very good day,” nods Chris.

“I was in love with you almost immediately,” Darren says and it’s not a confession, it’s just the truth.

“Only almost?”

Darren smiles.  “Well, I had to save something for the next day.” He says and the morning rises with Chris smiling at him.

*** 

A week later Darren stands on the rooftop of Kevin’s apartment staring out across the glimmering lights of Baltimore towards the harbor.  It’s a warm night, with a salted breeze blowing and Darren takes a deep breath.  The roof is packed with friends and acquaintances and people Darren has never seen before, but this particular and familiar space at the edge is happily empty and quiet.

For all that Darren worries and wonders about school and what direction his career will take, he hasn’t spent as much time considering his personal life and how that was going to go.  He didn’t go to Kevin’s party all those months ago thinking he’d meet someone who’d change his life, but he did.  And of all the extraordinary things in his life he’s grateful for, Chris is what he’s most thankful for.

“Hey stranger.”

Darren turns and Chris is walking towards him carrying a couple drinks in his hands.  “Hey.”

“I think we’ve been here before,” Chris says, leaning his hip against the waist-high wall.

“I think I vaguely remember something.”

“You know,” Chris begins and Darren knows that soft and low tone of his voice.  “Of all of the good I’ve found in this city, you are the best thing that’s happened to me.”

Darren feels warm all the way down to the soul and he leans over to kiss Chris, right there on rooftop, uncaring of the wolf-whistles he hears from somewhere off in the distance.  Chris’ confessions don’t come often – his feelings are made known by touch and action and the taste of his mouth.  But when he does say it, he says it right.

“You are the thing I love the most about this place,” Darren says, heavily, breathing it out and he can see the curve of Chris’ cheek as he smiles in the low lighting.

They have the summer months to look forward to, somewhat carefree weeks where they can sleep and eat and do whatever they want before the fall semester kicks in and life becomes hectic once more. But Darren isn’t too worried about it.  He has Chris now, at his side and in his heart, and whatever comes next will be easy. That much he knows.