fic: whisper 'i love you' (part 7/?)
title: whisper 'i love you'
pairing: crisscolfer
rating: nc-17
word count: 2000+ words (this part)
summary: Chuck has a new best friend and Darren finds himself falling head over heels for something more curious and lovely than he thought could be real.
a/n: ahh sorry for the gap between this update and the last, i had my first week of school and dancing and i'm still trying to get back into the pattern of things. a giant thanks to the lovely Lady Vi for looking over this for me. she's the sweetest, really.
also, on an important note: as a lovely little Londoner pointed out to me, there's no accomodation on the University of London campuses (or at least, very little), so I changed the line in which Chuck says he lives there and he know lives in a suburb very close by. i'm very sorry for my error, and any others you might pick up. let me know and we'll all facepalm together :P
prologue ll chapter 1 ll chapter 2 ll chapter 3 ll chapter 4 ll chapter 5 ll chapter 6
--
As Darren sunk further into the depths of the school year, the impending university applications were becoming much more of an annoyance. As much as he looked forward to his university years, they frightened him. It was a fearful notion not knowing where he would be next year; in what school, in school at all, in what state, in London, in America…
There were so many options, so many decisions, and so many opportunities that he was scared to miss out on.
This was where it all counted.
He couldn’t screw this one up.
--
Chuck’s band (although, they weren’t really Chuck’s band per se; he wasn’t the leader nor the lead singer or anything) spent all the time they could trying to get themselves out there. They had a team of excellent musicians and songwriters and sounded utterly brilliant together.
They just needed to get people to listen.
They played in the park, they played on the streets, and they played on the subway. Darren loved watching them. Chris didn’t come all the time; he was busy with his creative writing classes, he told him. But when he did, Darren loved stealing snippets of conversations from him. He was still an enigma in Darren’s mind.
And Darren still wanted to learn him.
--
“You should come to Yale with me,” Aubrey told him one day as they sat across from each other in their usual café. Darren lifted his eyes from his book with surprise. She had spoken completely out of the blue.
“You got into Yale?!” Darren exclaimed in surprise. She gave him an odd look.
“No, silly,” she laughed. “Applications haven’t even been sent in yet.”
“Then how do you know you’re going?”
Fuck, he really needed to learn to think before he spoke.
He could instantly see in Aubrey’s eyes that he had said the wrong thing and he was spluttering out an apology as she rose to her feet.
“I’ll see you later, Darren,” she said coldly. Darren sat back in his seat helplessly.
Although his relationship with Chuck had managed to repair itself, things with Aubrey were worse than ever. She had been more sensitive than usual and with the distraction of college stress and trying to balance all his extra curricula’s and helping out with Chuck’s band, he had been more distracted and insensitive.
He could see she was caving and although he wasn’t intentionally being a bad boyfriend, he wondered how long it would be until she broke up with him.
He would let her do it.
He owed her that much.
--
It was a Thursday and Darren had just returned from debate, pulling out his math homework as he sat on the old battered couch next to Chris, curling his still damp socks under him as he did so. Chris gave him a smile of greeting but Chuck’s band played on, oblivious to anything but the surrounding melody that consumed them.
“So have you decided where you want to study next year?” Chris asked him, resting his elbow on the back of the couch and tilting himself to face him.
Darren shook his head, a little bit of his frustration seething through his voice. “I have no idea what to do or what I’m doing or where to go or even where to start looking and-”
“Whoa.” Chris laid a comforting arm on Darren’s forearm and aside from being comforting; it shot a superfluity of sparks shuddering electrically under his skin. Darren tried not to let his reaction show on his face and Chris simply smiled so he was sure he had succeeded.
Chris would run away like a fucking cheetah if he knew the things Darren thought about him.
“I had to do all that shit last year,” Chris told him. “I could help you if you like…”
Darren’s breath caught. “R-really?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course,” Chris said, smiling sympathetically. “I could have used with some help last year. It’s all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” Darren breathed.
“Well, if you ever want my help just sing out,” Chris said lightly, turning back to his clipboard. Darren felt his heart race in his chest.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I will.”
Swallowing tightly, Darren willed his heart to return to its normal rhythm as the boy’s finished their piece. His hands came together mechanically to clap and Chris followed suit, his eyes lighting up as Chuck shot him a large grin. Darren felt his stomach clench at the sight and his eyes down casted.
He wondered if it would always be like this.
--
Friday and Darren had theatre practice and a social studies project due. He and Aubrey agreed to meet up for tea at their usual spot Saturday afternoon, which left him time to work on his college applications with Chris in the morning.
He had re-suggested it before he left the night before and oh, his smile. There was no way Darren had been able to say no.
Saturday morning he woke bright and early, packing his things neatly into his bag before catching the bus down to Chris’s neighbourhood. A middle aged lady with three daughters shot him a weary smile as he sat across from her and he felt his stomach twist tightly in his stomach.
She looked like Aubrey.
He wondered what her husband was like. Did he love her? Did he have a nice job? Did he sing out ‘honey, I’m home,’ after a long day’s work? Did he kiss her cheek and catch the kids in his arms as they sprinted towards him?
He wondered what things would be like if they continued. What if Aubrey expected this? Did she want him to marry her? Did she want him to father her children and provide for her family?
He didn’t know, but he did know that’s not what he wanted. Not with Aubrey, not with anyone.
He wanted to live, he wanted to perform, he wanted to create. Sure, he loved children and definitely thought being a dad would be awesome. But there was so much else he wanted to do…
The bus screeched to a halt and he got to his feet. But before he slipped out the door he turned to the lady.
“Your girls are lovely,” he said honestly. “Have a nice day.”
The lady only just had time to register his words before the doors shut behind him and through the thick, dusty glass he wasn’t able to make out her expression.
He hoped she was smiling.
--
Strolling across the long, winding street, Darren faced the daunting path with determination. He was not going to get lost, he was not going to get lost, he was not going to-
Shit, he was lost.
Furrowing his brow as his eyes flickered between apartment blocks; he frantically searched his mind to remember where he was and where he was going.
Why the fuck didn’t he write this down?
His brown boots tripping across leafy drainpipes, he scurried along the edge of the street, contemplating each block of houses until he caught the eye of a familiar figure across the road, waving at him from underneath a grey umbrella.
“Chris!” Darren exclaimed, relief flooding through him. Splashing through puddles, he bounded across the space to meet him. “I thought I’d never find you.”
Chris let out a high, tinkling laugh and goose bumps rose across Darren’s skin. He gave a little twirl of his umbrella before gesturing to the building before them.
“Shall we?” he asked in a mock British accent. Darren nodded, trying not to look too eager. Chris gave him a small smile and he knew he was safe, following him as he pushed through the front door and into the hall.
“I live on the top floor,” he told Darren, “so we have a bit of a walk…”
--
Slightly out of breath, they finally reached Chris’s door. Darren fought back the hot coil of his stomach at the sight of Chris, his chest rising and falling, his lips slightly parted, a gentle flush pretty on his cheeks. His umbrella was folded up and tucked in his back pocket and Darren sort of wanted to replace it with his hand.
The apartment was smaller than tiny, clearly the home of an artist, draped in framed canvases and scattered sheets. And books. So many books.
“Never pegged you for the coffee type,” Darren quipped, twirling a drained coffee mug along the table counter with his fingertip.
“It’s what all the cool kids are doing,” Chris shot back loftily, hanging up his umbrella and coat, holding his hands out for Darren’s, which he gave up.
Making his way across the room, Darren was drawn to a flurry of photographs covering the back wall. Entranced, he didn’t notice until his knees hit the mattress that he had stumbled onto Chris’s sofa bed, tripping over the thick blankets that disguised it.
Holy fuck he was on his bed.
Scrambling up as quickly as he could, he ducked his head, trying to hide his blush.
“You right there?” Chris laughed from behind him and Darren only blushed harder.
“You have a lot of photos,” he said quietly, returning his attention to the matter at hand.
“There are a lot of pretty things in London,” Chris said conversationally and Darren felt the click of the kettle behind him. “Coffee or tea?”
Darren considered this.
“Coffee,” he found himself saying to his own surprise. “Thanks.”
Chris quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, setting to work.
Darren’s eyes scanned the wall of photos, his breath swooping in his chest at the beauty. Chris was… brilliant. And correct. Darren felt like he’d been missing half the beauty of his own magnificent city. He’d lived here four years and yet, Chris had clearly seen more of it in just his several months.
He thumbed over his favourite ones. There were ones of buildings, of flowers, of lakes, of parks, of birds, of cigarette butts… but Darren’s favourite were the ones of people.
There was a glum little homeless man, there was a lady with a large, fantastic hat, there was a child, dancing in yellow gumboots; there were faces and there were smiles and there were umbrellas hiding things, hiding secrets. Darren just wanted to know them all.
“Do you write them stories?” he asked him.
“Who?” Chris murmured absently, still in the kitchen.
“The faceless ones,” Darren amened. Chris was silent for a moment and Darren could just make out the gentle cling over silver spoons.
“Sometimes,” Chris said softly after a moment. “But sometimes I don’t need to.”
Darren frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes they tell themselves.”
Before Darren could make anything of that, Chris was moving towards the door.
“I’ll be just a minute,” he said, “we’re out of sugar.”
As the door whirled shut behind him, Darren gazed at the blank wood wistfully. He yearned to know what was going on Chris’s head.
It seemed like a pretty sort of place.
Turning back to the pictures dotting the walls, his eyes set on a particularly strange one. It was a guitar case set on an unfamiliar bar stool. The lighting was dim and heavy and Darren was drawn to it somehow. He traced his fingers around the edges and it fell into his palm, picture down. And on the back there was something there.
An explosion of ink splattered across the white and when Darren squinted and he could just make out the mess of words, his heart racing as he read:
And when caramel burns it’s his eyes and the print of his hands scald me, they burn just like his eyes and it’s electric like the sun and he shines like the moon and he has no fucking idea how beautiful he is and I want to bend him over and mould him into my own and kiss his cheeks and his hair and caress his nose and I want to fuck him and I want him to fuck me and I want to kiss him dizzy and I want to kiss him breathless and I want to dance under the rain and I want to make love under the moon and drown him in the ocean and hold his hand in heaven and rot with him in hell I want his everything and together we have nothing but oh, it’s everything-
“So I hope raw’s okay with you, because that’s what I usually get and that’s all they had.”
Darren quickly shoved the photo in his pocket, whirling around to face him, trying to dispel the heat from his face. Chris gave him a strange look.
“You scared me,” Darren said quickly, forcing a huff of a laugh. A mischievous smile stretched over Chris’s lips.
“You’re a jumper, eh?” he said slyly. “I guess I’ll keep that in mind…”
Darren swallowed thickly but didn’t answer. Chris’s smile didn’t falter as he turned into the kitchen.
“So how do you take your coffee?”
chapter 7
pairing: crisscolfer
rating: nc-17
word count: 2000+ words (this part)
summary: Chuck has a new best friend and Darren finds himself falling head over heels for something more curious and lovely than he thought could be real.
a/n: ahh sorry for the gap between this update and the last, i had my first week of school and dancing and i'm still trying to get back into the pattern of things. a giant thanks to the lovely Lady Vi for looking over this for me. she's the sweetest, really.
also, on an important note: as a lovely little Londoner pointed out to me, there's no accomodation on the University of London campuses (or at least, very little), so I changed the line in which Chuck says he lives there and he know lives in a suburb very close by. i'm very sorry for my error, and any others you might pick up. let me know and we'll all facepalm together :P
prologue ll chapter 1 ll chapter 2 ll chapter 3 ll chapter 4 ll chapter 5 ll chapter 6
--
As Darren sunk further into the depths of the school year, the impending university applications were becoming much more of an annoyance. As much as he looked forward to his university years, they frightened him. It was a fearful notion not knowing where he would be next year; in what school, in school at all, in what state, in London, in America…
There were so many options, so many decisions, and so many opportunities that he was scared to miss out on.
This was where it all counted.
He couldn’t screw this one up.
--
Chuck’s band (although, they weren’t really Chuck’s band per se; he wasn’t the leader nor the lead singer or anything) spent all the time they could trying to get themselves out there. They had a team of excellent musicians and songwriters and sounded utterly brilliant together.
They just needed to get people to listen.
They played in the park, they played on the streets, and they played on the subway. Darren loved watching them. Chris didn’t come all the time; he was busy with his creative writing classes, he told him. But when he did, Darren loved stealing snippets of conversations from him. He was still an enigma in Darren’s mind.
And Darren still wanted to learn him.
--
“You should come to Yale with me,” Aubrey told him one day as they sat across from each other in their usual café. Darren lifted his eyes from his book with surprise. She had spoken completely out of the blue.
“You got into Yale?!” Darren exclaimed in surprise. She gave him an odd look.
“No, silly,” she laughed. “Applications haven’t even been sent in yet.”
“Then how do you know you’re going?”
Fuck, he really needed to learn to think before he spoke.
He could instantly see in Aubrey’s eyes that he had said the wrong thing and he was spluttering out an apology as she rose to her feet.
“I’ll see you later, Darren,” she said coldly. Darren sat back in his seat helplessly.
Although his relationship with Chuck had managed to repair itself, things with Aubrey were worse than ever. She had been more sensitive than usual and with the distraction of college stress and trying to balance all his extra curricula’s and helping out with Chuck’s band, he had been more distracted and insensitive.
He could see she was caving and although he wasn’t intentionally being a bad boyfriend, he wondered how long it would be until she broke up with him.
He would let her do it.
He owed her that much.
--
It was a Thursday and Darren had just returned from debate, pulling out his math homework as he sat on the old battered couch next to Chris, curling his still damp socks under him as he did so. Chris gave him a smile of greeting but Chuck’s band played on, oblivious to anything but the surrounding melody that consumed them.
“So have you decided where you want to study next year?” Chris asked him, resting his elbow on the back of the couch and tilting himself to face him.
Darren shook his head, a little bit of his frustration seething through his voice. “I have no idea what to do or what I’m doing or where to go or even where to start looking and-”
“Whoa.” Chris laid a comforting arm on Darren’s forearm and aside from being comforting; it shot a superfluity of sparks shuddering electrically under his skin. Darren tried not to let his reaction show on his face and Chris simply smiled so he was sure he had succeeded.
Chris would run away like a fucking cheetah if he knew the things Darren thought about him.
“I had to do all that shit last year,” Chris told him. “I could help you if you like…”
Darren’s breath caught. “R-really?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course,” Chris said, smiling sympathetically. “I could have used with some help last year. It’s all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” Darren breathed.
“Well, if you ever want my help just sing out,” Chris said lightly, turning back to his clipboard. Darren felt his heart race in his chest.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I will.”
Swallowing tightly, Darren willed his heart to return to its normal rhythm as the boy’s finished their piece. His hands came together mechanically to clap and Chris followed suit, his eyes lighting up as Chuck shot him a large grin. Darren felt his stomach clench at the sight and his eyes down casted.
He wondered if it would always be like this.
--
Friday and Darren had theatre practice and a social studies project due. He and Aubrey agreed to meet up for tea at their usual spot Saturday afternoon, which left him time to work on his college applications with Chris in the morning.
He had re-suggested it before he left the night before and oh, his smile. There was no way Darren had been able to say no.
Saturday morning he woke bright and early, packing his things neatly into his bag before catching the bus down to Chris’s neighbourhood. A middle aged lady with three daughters shot him a weary smile as he sat across from her and he felt his stomach twist tightly in his stomach.
She looked like Aubrey.
He wondered what her husband was like. Did he love her? Did he have a nice job? Did he sing out ‘honey, I’m home,’ after a long day’s work? Did he kiss her cheek and catch the kids in his arms as they sprinted towards him?
He wondered what things would be like if they continued. What if Aubrey expected this? Did she want him to marry her? Did she want him to father her children and provide for her family?
He didn’t know, but he did know that’s not what he wanted. Not with Aubrey, not with anyone.
He wanted to live, he wanted to perform, he wanted to create. Sure, he loved children and definitely thought being a dad would be awesome. But there was so much else he wanted to do…
The bus screeched to a halt and he got to his feet. But before he slipped out the door he turned to the lady.
“Your girls are lovely,” he said honestly. “Have a nice day.”
The lady only just had time to register his words before the doors shut behind him and through the thick, dusty glass he wasn’t able to make out her expression.
He hoped she was smiling.
--
Strolling across the long, winding street, Darren faced the daunting path with determination. He was not going to get lost, he was not going to get lost, he was not going to-
Shit, he was lost.
Furrowing his brow as his eyes flickered between apartment blocks; he frantically searched his mind to remember where he was and where he was going.
Why the fuck didn’t he write this down?
His brown boots tripping across leafy drainpipes, he scurried along the edge of the street, contemplating each block of houses until he caught the eye of a familiar figure across the road, waving at him from underneath a grey umbrella.
“Chris!” Darren exclaimed, relief flooding through him. Splashing through puddles, he bounded across the space to meet him. “I thought I’d never find you.”
Chris let out a high, tinkling laugh and goose bumps rose across Darren’s skin. He gave a little twirl of his umbrella before gesturing to the building before them.
“Shall we?” he asked in a mock British accent. Darren nodded, trying not to look too eager. Chris gave him a small smile and he knew he was safe, following him as he pushed through the front door and into the hall.
“I live on the top floor,” he told Darren, “so we have a bit of a walk…”
--
Slightly out of breath, they finally reached Chris’s door. Darren fought back the hot coil of his stomach at the sight of Chris, his chest rising and falling, his lips slightly parted, a gentle flush pretty on his cheeks. His umbrella was folded up and tucked in his back pocket and Darren sort of wanted to replace it with his hand.
The apartment was smaller than tiny, clearly the home of an artist, draped in framed canvases and scattered sheets. And books. So many books.
“Never pegged you for the coffee type,” Darren quipped, twirling a drained coffee mug along the table counter with his fingertip.
“It’s what all the cool kids are doing,” Chris shot back loftily, hanging up his umbrella and coat, holding his hands out for Darren’s, which he gave up.
Making his way across the room, Darren was drawn to a flurry of photographs covering the back wall. Entranced, he didn’t notice until his knees hit the mattress that he had stumbled onto Chris’s sofa bed, tripping over the thick blankets that disguised it.
Holy fuck he was on his bed.
Scrambling up as quickly as he could, he ducked his head, trying to hide his blush.
“You right there?” Chris laughed from behind him and Darren only blushed harder.
“You have a lot of photos,” he said quietly, returning his attention to the matter at hand.
“There are a lot of pretty things in London,” Chris said conversationally and Darren felt the click of the kettle behind him. “Coffee or tea?”
Darren considered this.
“Coffee,” he found himself saying to his own surprise. “Thanks.”
Chris quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, setting to work.
Darren’s eyes scanned the wall of photos, his breath swooping in his chest at the beauty. Chris was… brilliant. And correct. Darren felt like he’d been missing half the beauty of his own magnificent city. He’d lived here four years and yet, Chris had clearly seen more of it in just his several months.
He thumbed over his favourite ones. There were ones of buildings, of flowers, of lakes, of parks, of birds, of cigarette butts… but Darren’s favourite were the ones of people.
There was a glum little homeless man, there was a lady with a large, fantastic hat, there was a child, dancing in yellow gumboots; there were faces and there were smiles and there were umbrellas hiding things, hiding secrets. Darren just wanted to know them all.
“Do you write them stories?” he asked him.
“Who?” Chris murmured absently, still in the kitchen.
“The faceless ones,” Darren amened. Chris was silent for a moment and Darren could just make out the gentle cling over silver spoons.
“Sometimes,” Chris said softly after a moment. “But sometimes I don’t need to.”
Darren frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes they tell themselves.”
Before Darren could make anything of that, Chris was moving towards the door.
“I’ll be just a minute,” he said, “we’re out of sugar.”
As the door whirled shut behind him, Darren gazed at the blank wood wistfully. He yearned to know what was going on Chris’s head.
It seemed like a pretty sort of place.
Turning back to the pictures dotting the walls, his eyes set on a particularly strange one. It was a guitar case set on an unfamiliar bar stool. The lighting was dim and heavy and Darren was drawn to it somehow. He traced his fingers around the edges and it fell into his palm, picture down. And on the back there was something there.
An explosion of ink splattered across the white and when Darren squinted and he could just make out the mess of words, his heart racing as he read:
And when caramel burns it’s his eyes and the print of his hands scald me, they burn just like his eyes and it’s electric like the sun and he shines like the moon and he has no fucking idea how beautiful he is and I want to bend him over and mould him into my own and kiss his cheeks and his hair and caress his nose and I want to fuck him and I want him to fuck me and I want to kiss him dizzy and I want to kiss him breathless and I want to dance under the rain and I want to make love under the moon and drown him in the ocean and hold his hand in heaven and rot with him in hell I want his everything and together we have nothing but oh, it’s everything-
“So I hope raw’s okay with you, because that’s what I usually get and that’s all they had.”
Darren quickly shoved the photo in his pocket, whirling around to face him, trying to dispel the heat from his face. Chris gave him a strange look.
“You scared me,” Darren said quickly, forcing a huff of a laugh. A mischievous smile stretched over Chris’s lips.
“You’re a jumper, eh?” he said slyly. “I guess I’ll keep that in mind…”
Darren swallowed thickly but didn’t answer. Chris’s smile didn’t falter as he turned into the kitchen.
“So how do you take your coffee?”
chapter 7