Work Text:
Darren has the windows rolled down and the radio blasting so loudly the seats vibrate, and Chris thinks that if he could, Darren would have the top down too. But his car isn’t a convertible, and the best he can do is to have the sunroof wide open to the lightening sky. It’s enough. The wind whips through Chris’ hair, shivers down his neck, and sends the tantalizing scent of sunscreen and shampoo twisting through the air.
The desert is still on the cool side this early in the morning, but Chris doesn’t care. He’s got a warm jacket on over his lighter clothes and he can feel the heat of Darren’s forearm where it’s pressed against his on the console between them. It’s a solid, comforting presence, and knowing what the weekend is going to be like, he needs it. Outside of the car, the near-barren desert slides past in a sandy blur. Chris leans his head back against the seat and lets his eyes close behind his sunglasses.
Let us go.
The last week had been one of the better ones he’s had in a while. A full week on set with Darren, filming scenes that were fun and romantic and engaging, rather than heartbreaking and taxing. It was such a relief. Chris woke up in the wee hours of the morning, sometimes to Darren’s stale breath against his cheek, eager to get to work instead of dreading the long hours ahead of him. And he went to bed at night, sometimes with Darren wrapped warm around him, pleasantly exhausted rather than dead on his feet. A weekend in the desert listening to music with some of his favorite people in the world is just a bonus.
Darren has his iPod hooked up to the stereo and is singing along as loudly as possible. Which is really quite loud. The tenor of his voice carries over the pulse of the music and the rush of the wind. It’s rough and soothing. Chris doesn’t know the words, but given the way Darren has a tendency to listen to the same handful of tunes on repeat for a month, he’s sure he will soon enough.
Do I dare?
Darren had pulled him from bed far, far too early for a day they weren’t actually filming. Chris had protested, grabbing the pillow and tugging it over his head. But there had been whispered promises of the best scrambled eggs and bacon he’d ever eaten in his life and Chris had let Darren coax him out from under the covers and into the shower. Of course he’d made Darren join him. Chris hadn’t expected said breakfast to be an hour and a half outside of LA at a roadside diner along I-10.
The diner is almost empty, and the smattering of people who are there at that hour are a strange mix of tired truckers staring vacantly at half-empty plates and sleepy hipsters in tattered clothes downing third and fourth cups of sugared coffee. Chris doesn’t care that anyone could pull out a camera or a cell phone.
Let us go then.
“Did I, or did I not, tell you these were the best eggs you’ve ever had?” Darren taps his fork against Chris’ plate.
Chris wants to say no, that the eggs Darren’s mom made him the morning after the Glee movie premiere were the best he’s ever tasted. Poached. With pancetta and tomatoes. And mimosas mixed from fresh-squeezed oranges on the side. Or that the eggs – scrambled with onions, bell peppers, and cheese – that Darren cooked for him after his film premiere stands as second best. Though this breakfast still ranks amongst the top ten he’s had with Darren. It doesn’t hurt that Darren is grinning bright and easy across the booth from him. The vinyl of the seats is ripped in places, patched with duct tape, and the table wobbles every time either of them so much as looks at it. He doesn’t care about that either.
You and I.
“How do you even know about this place?” Chris watches Darren take a too-big bite of his buttery hashbrowns.
“Chord, Harry, and I stopped here last year. Wait, the year before that.” Darren holds his coffee cup out for a refill from the waitress with pink highlights in her bleached hair.
Chris had wanted to put a streak in his hair, Michigan blue. But he hadn’t. It had felt like too much – too much on top of the tank top he’s wearing under his coat, the one that almost matches Darren’s shirt.
Do I dare?
“I wanted to bring you here.” Darren’s eyes have gone that soft shade of gold and Chris feels the pressure of what it means heavy in his chest and gut. But it doesn’t hurt. It grounds him to the earth.
“I’m glad you did,” he says, loud as he dares. “I’m glad I’m here.”
With you.
Chris doesn’t know what the rest of the weekend will bring before the reality of Monday sets in. Or he does, and he’s trying not to think about it. He has the rest of this breakfast with Darren and Darren alone, and the next half hour in the car with him too. They have the freedom of the road, if nothing more, and Chris doesn’t care about anything else at all.