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twobirdsonesongTitle: Left With the River
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Length/Rating: 1,225 / PG
Summary: Three ways it can be.
AN: The quote Darren thinks about for himself is from Richard Siken’s short prose piece Black Telephone.
Read on AO3
*
In another life, we’re happy.
Sundays are for sleeping in. Darren has a matinee at 3pm and Chris never has meetings on the weekends.
Chris’ next book tour kicks off too soon and Darren will have to part with him for too long. He can’t follow Chris around the country like he wants to; he’s got eight shows a week and not enough time between. But he’d be happy to leave the oppressive summer heat of New York City behind for a few weeks of gallivanting around the country.
He’s always been a little in love with Chicago and wouldn’t mind swinging through again to say hi to a few old friends. He’s never been to Portland, but he knows there’s a doughnut shop he could gain a few pounds in and a bookstore he’d definitely lose Chris to for a least half a day. Their bookshelves at home are already overflowing, but they’ve got room for another one. And of course they’d stay an extra day in San Francisco so his mom could make sure they’re both eating well and getting enough sleep. (They are, and they aren’t always, but that’s the life.) It’s their life.
Darren can’t do any of those things though. He has his show – he can’t flake out and leave it to his understudy and he wouldn’t want to anyway. He loves his job; he loves his role. He loves the thrill and the exhaustion and the boards under his feet. Besides, they have a vacation planned for early fall that he’s been looking forward to ever since Chris told him he could be convinced to go to the Maldives as long as they could go back to the Alps in the winter. Darren is happy to follow Chris wherever he wants to go.
But Sundays are for sleeping in and for Chris cooking breakfast even though he’s not as good of a cook as he likes to think he is. Darren can’t quite figure out why cooking is so much harder for Chris than baking, but Darren never has to pick eggshells out of brownies. The same can’t quite be said for omelets.
The sun has long risen by the time Darren rolls out of their bed. Chris is already in the kitchen and turkey bacon is already sizzling in a pan. Darren loops his arms around Chris’ waist, rests his chin on his shoulder, and breathes.
*
In another life, I don’t know you.
Chris did not make it as far from home as he wanted. He had dreams of London, of Paris. Of anywhere but the dust of California. Los Angeles is not an oasis and it is not an answer. It is not an exclamation point or a full stop. It is a semicolon.
A TV show was never his intention. He wanted to act and he knew he could sing. And he understood sharply that he needed the money to do either. He ended up where he ended up because of talent, luck, fate or something else all together.
But a TV show can be draining, endless. Early mornings and late nights. Fellow cast members who exclude and gossip; who count up the very seconds of screen time and keep score. Chris is not cut out for these things. It takes too much energy.
Screen tests are something else he’s not quite cut out for. He understands why his character is being given a love interest, and he’s sort of excited to play another aspect of the part. Snappy quips and crying scenes can only sustain his interest for so many episodes before he wonders if this is all he’s good for.
The producers and casting director bring in a tall blonde with a strange mouth who makes Chris’ hackles rise. They run a few lines of dialogue and honestly Chris has never been so bored in his life. A lanky kid with a sweep of dark hair comes next. He has brown eyes and nice hands. Chris wouldn’t say no to this one. There’s a redhead too, apparently just to round out the hair color rainbow. Chris isn’t opposed to redheads on principle, it’s just that the guy’s palms are sweaty and he can’t seem to remember his lines. Chris isn’t sure how he even made it this far in the process.
He goes through two more candidates before he just says fuck it and tells the casting director he really doesn’t care. He’s an actor; he’ll make it work – if it’s the first guy or the second he’ll be fine.
As Chris leaves the casting office, there’s still a few hopefuls lingering in the hallways – the ones who didn’t end up getting called in after all. They’re chatting with each other, trading war stories perhaps. Chris remembers how horribly awkward it is, sitting in a room with the very people vying for the same job as him, but knowing that no one else understands that very feeling as well as those same guys. It’s an uneasy truce for most.
But this session is done. This role is taken. Chris ducks his head and walks out into the blazing Los Angeles afternoon.
*
In this life, I love you.
Darren never expected it to be easy. Easy is for the lazy, the conceited, the privileged. He’s one of those things, but doesn’t want to be the others.
He never expected it to be easy, but he never imagined it would be as wrenching, as tearing as it can be. His grasp on the gimbals of his life is tenuous at best, quick to spin out of control at the smallest upset. And his is not the only life in his axis. Sometimes there is blood in his mouth and other times there is cream. Anger he wasn’t before capable of comes in waves and he’s left with a river running through him, through the caverns cut through him. He lost pieces of who he thought he was somewhere along the Pacific Coast Highway.
Darren still doesn’t quite know what happened.
He found once a quote that he thought described him too well, “I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet.”
Darren knows that well. Nothing is as bittersweet as the kisses Chris gives him when he has to walk out the door, and when he finally comes home again. He carries the taste with him wherever he goes, like black coffee and tenuous hope. He relishes the days when the taste comes sweeter, lighter, and holds it on his tongue as long as he can even when the very heart of him aches.
Darren never imagined a full life could feel so empty.
But it’s their life.
Phone calls, canceled plans, long absences. A confused dog and a decoy car. Darren has never worked this hard for something before and never will again. But it’s worth it. It has to be worth it.
They have love. Whatever that is. Tired eyes, grasping hands, eager smiles, breathless confessions. Regret and elation, broken promises and lingering dreams. Carefully mapped plans, apple deserts, and aimless midnight car rides. Silver rings, bruising kisses, salt water, divergent happiness. Love.
It’s a choice. That’s what love is. Darren made his choice and Chris did too.
It’s their life.
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Length/Rating: 1,225 / PG
Summary: Three ways it can be.
AN: The quote Darren thinks about for himself is from Richard Siken’s short prose piece Black Telephone.
Read on AO3
*
In another life, we’re happy.
Sundays are for sleeping in. Darren has a matinee at 3pm and Chris never has meetings on the weekends.
Chris’ next book tour kicks off too soon and Darren will have to part with him for too long. He can’t follow Chris around the country like he wants to; he’s got eight shows a week and not enough time between. But he’d be happy to leave the oppressive summer heat of New York City behind for a few weeks of gallivanting around the country.
He’s always been a little in love with Chicago and wouldn’t mind swinging through again to say hi to a few old friends. He’s never been to Portland, but he knows there’s a doughnut shop he could gain a few pounds in and a bookstore he’d definitely lose Chris to for a least half a day. Their bookshelves at home are already overflowing, but they’ve got room for another one. And of course they’d stay an extra day in San Francisco so his mom could make sure they’re both eating well and getting enough sleep. (They are, and they aren’t always, but that’s the life.) It’s their life.
Darren can’t do any of those things though. He has his show – he can’t flake out and leave it to his understudy and he wouldn’t want to anyway. He loves his job; he loves his role. He loves the thrill and the exhaustion and the boards under his feet. Besides, they have a vacation planned for early fall that he’s been looking forward to ever since Chris told him he could be convinced to go to the Maldives as long as they could go back to the Alps in the winter. Darren is happy to follow Chris wherever he wants to go.
But Sundays are for sleeping in and for Chris cooking breakfast even though he’s not as good of a cook as he likes to think he is. Darren can’t quite figure out why cooking is so much harder for Chris than baking, but Darren never has to pick eggshells out of brownies. The same can’t quite be said for omelets.
The sun has long risen by the time Darren rolls out of their bed. Chris is already in the kitchen and turkey bacon is already sizzling in a pan. Darren loops his arms around Chris’ waist, rests his chin on his shoulder, and breathes.
*
In another life, I don’t know you.
Chris did not make it as far from home as he wanted. He had dreams of London, of Paris. Of anywhere but the dust of California. Los Angeles is not an oasis and it is not an answer. It is not an exclamation point or a full stop. It is a semicolon.
A TV show was never his intention. He wanted to act and he knew he could sing. And he understood sharply that he needed the money to do either. He ended up where he ended up because of talent, luck, fate or something else all together.
But a TV show can be draining, endless. Early mornings and late nights. Fellow cast members who exclude and gossip; who count up the very seconds of screen time and keep score. Chris is not cut out for these things. It takes too much energy.
Screen tests are something else he’s not quite cut out for. He understands why his character is being given a love interest, and he’s sort of excited to play another aspect of the part. Snappy quips and crying scenes can only sustain his interest for so many episodes before he wonders if this is all he’s good for.
The producers and casting director bring in a tall blonde with a strange mouth who makes Chris’ hackles rise. They run a few lines of dialogue and honestly Chris has never been so bored in his life. A lanky kid with a sweep of dark hair comes next. He has brown eyes and nice hands. Chris wouldn’t say no to this one. There’s a redhead too, apparently just to round out the hair color rainbow. Chris isn’t opposed to redheads on principle, it’s just that the guy’s palms are sweaty and he can’t seem to remember his lines. Chris isn’t sure how he even made it this far in the process.
He goes through two more candidates before he just says fuck it and tells the casting director he really doesn’t care. He’s an actor; he’ll make it work – if it’s the first guy or the second he’ll be fine.
As Chris leaves the casting office, there’s still a few hopefuls lingering in the hallways – the ones who didn’t end up getting called in after all. They’re chatting with each other, trading war stories perhaps. Chris remembers how horribly awkward it is, sitting in a room with the very people vying for the same job as him, but knowing that no one else understands that very feeling as well as those same guys. It’s an uneasy truce for most.
But this session is done. This role is taken. Chris ducks his head and walks out into the blazing Los Angeles afternoon.
*
In this life, I love you.
Darren never expected it to be easy. Easy is for the lazy, the conceited, the privileged. He’s one of those things, but doesn’t want to be the others.
He never expected it to be easy, but he never imagined it would be as wrenching, as tearing as it can be. His grasp on the gimbals of his life is tenuous at best, quick to spin out of control at the smallest upset. And his is not the only life in his axis. Sometimes there is blood in his mouth and other times there is cream. Anger he wasn’t before capable of comes in waves and he’s left with a river running through him, through the caverns cut through him. He lost pieces of who he thought he was somewhere along the Pacific Coast Highway.
Darren still doesn’t quite know what happened.
He found once a quote that he thought described him too well, “I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet.”
Darren knows that well. Nothing is as bittersweet as the kisses Chris gives him when he has to walk out the door, and when he finally comes home again. He carries the taste with him wherever he goes, like black coffee and tenuous hope. He relishes the days when the taste comes sweeter, lighter, and holds it on his tongue as long as he can even when the very heart of him aches.
Darren never imagined a full life could feel so empty.
But it’s their life.
Phone calls, canceled plans, long absences. A confused dog and a decoy car. Darren has never worked this hard for something before and never will again. But it’s worth it. It has to be worth it.
They have love. Whatever that is. Tired eyes, grasping hands, eager smiles, breathless confessions. Regret and elation, broken promises and lingering dreams. Carefully mapped plans, apple deserts, and aimless midnight car rides. Silver rings, bruising kisses, salt water, divergent happiness. Love.
It’s a choice. That’s what love is. Darren made his choice and Chris did too.
It’s their life.
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