Hello my fellow CrissColfer 'shippers! Thank you so much for the positive comments on not only this story, but my other one as well, a Klaine fic called 'Better Together.' Check it out if you haven't! And without further ado, the story!
Ta ta for now, -CC
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(One month later)
Ryan had called me about the...shenanigans...to be occurring in episode sixteen exactly one month ago. I had been meaning to warn Darren, really I had, but how do you say something like that? "Oh, hey, straight best friend, in the next episode, your character kisses mine! Fun!" Uh, no. And especially in the light of the recent falling-out Darren and I had had, I didn't want to push it. Speak of the devil and he shall appear...
"Hey Chris! So, you heard anything about the new script? I heard a little rumour it's gonna be big! Bigger than Rachel and Blaine's drunken revel! Hmm...I'm betting on a death. Ooh, or maybe a new couple? What do you think? Chris?" Darren trailed off, for I have stopped dead in my tracks on my way to film the last few scenes in episode fourteen. Because I, the only cast member to have an episode sixteen script--I bribed Ryan, long story--had just heard Darren correctly describe the events in the new storyline to a T. "Chris?"
"Uh, nope, haven't heard anything, nothing at all. Er, gotta go, Darren, see you later?" I stuttered and scrambled away.
Well, shit. This was bad. This was really bad. How in the world did Darren find out about episode sixteen? Wait--did he snoop through my stuff again? We really need to have a privacy talk sometime soon. Ok, Chris, that's enough, time to get back on topic.
Topic...what was the topic again? Oh, yeah, Darren and episode sixteen. Well, let's go over the facts. One: Kurt and Blaine kiss in episode 16. Two: Darren doesn't know that. Yet. I hope. Three: Darren just guessed what's going to happen in said episode. Four: I'm in love with Darren. Now, add them all together and you get...a big huge pile of crap. Uggh.
By this time, I was almost all the way back to my trailer. What to do, what to do, what to do...c'mon, Chris, get your head in the game! You gotta getcha head in the game. Getcha, getcha, getcha head in the game...oh, God, it's worse than I thought. I'm quoting fucking High School Musical. And not in a good Zefron Horcrux way. Sheesh, I needed a drink.
A drink! That's it! That's how I'd break the news! After the Golden Globes Saturday, I'll convince Darren to come back home for a few drinks. After he's a bit tipsy--preferably coherent, but drunk enough he won't remember much of anything--I'll drop the bomb on him. If he acts grossed out, I'll make sure he forgets it. Then on Monday, I'll somehow bribe Ryan to drop the Kiss (How do I get my hands on a copy of that sex tape...?). If Darren doesn't seem bothered, I'll tell him for real on Monday.
It was a foolproof plan. Darren had, in my experience, always been a loopy drinker. If I needed to, I could get him to believe anything while he was drunk. The last time he was drinking, I made him think he had aliens in his brain. If he doesn't like what I have to say, he'll forget it; no adverse consequences. If he doesn't care, I'll break the news for real Monday and we'd be good. Everybody wins.
There's no way this plan could go wrong.
***
(Saturday night, after the Golden Globes, in the limo)
"Congrats, Chris, you really deserved that," I said to Chris, and I really meant it too. I wasn't jealous, at least not anymore. I admit, I was a teensy bit envious when his name was called, but I knew in my heart he deserved it. Plus, I'm pretty much guaranteed to get one next year, right?
Don't answer that.
"Aw, Dare, thanks. For what it's worth, I know you'll get nominated next year," Chris said.
See? Totally called it. But enough with all this award talk. I wanna gets my party on!
"So, Chris, any plans for tonight? I know this awesome gay bar, and I could totally hook you up-"
"Actually, Darren, I'm not really in the mood for a club. There'll be paparazzi everywhere, and...ugh. I was wondering if maybe you'd just like to hang at home for a while?" Chris asked. While I'm a little disappointed (I could've totally gotten him laid), hanging at the house has its perks. For one, we keep a pretty solid beer stock for us Glee actors that prefer our alcohol less than $200 a shot. Also, we had a pretty kick-ass Disney movie collection--Chris's impressive collection plus my every-copy-of-every-Disney-movie-ever-made stash.
"Hmm, getting swamped by paparazzi and getting groped by a drunken fan or hanging with my best friend, getting drunk, and watching Disney? That's a hard decision...wait, we are watching Disney, right? 'Cause that's a deal breaker right there," I said very seriously. Myself and the creations of Walt Disney have a long and personal relationship.
"Well, I can't promise Disney because I scored a pre-release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One, just for you," Chris nonchalantly announced.
"I'M WATCHING HARRY POTTER WITH CHRIS! THIS IS SUPERMEGAFOXYAWESOMEHOT! BOO-YAH!" I screamed out the limo roof, earning me a few odd stares from the bums on Rodeo Drive. Chris cracked up.
"Darren, you're just too easy to please. How many flutes of champagne did you have again?" he asked.
"Umm...none?"
He shoots me a Look.
"...Three."
Another Look.
"Five?"
One more Look.
"All right, fine. Seven. And half of Heather's. Plus a sip or two of Dianna's. And most of Mark's. Hey, they were tiny, and so what, it was free alcohol! Don't judge me...Okay, now you can judge me," I relented, because I just majorly burped. Like, huge. I felt the vibrations. Whew, too much bubbly. And I didn't even count the margaritas...or the martinis...or the daiquiris...or the wine...or everything else. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty lucky to be able to be talking mostly coherently. Maybe my tolerance is growing, even though I'm still hobbit-sized.
"Oh, turn here. Darren--we're on for tonight? You aren't going to just start puking everywhere the second we get home?" Chris instructed the driver, then turned to me. Something was up...I couldn't put my finger on it, but the infallible, unshakable Christopher Colfer seemed off. Nervous maybe, or jittery. I wrote it off as post-award-show excitement. As the sleek limo began to blend into the darkness of the surrounding night as we left the bright lights of city limits, a ball of glowing energy seemed to pool in my stomach.
All my life, I'd been told to trust my gut. I didn't know if it was the mini pigs-in-a-blanket from the ceremony, the excess amount of alcohol I'd ingested, or something else--a warning. Because I can't help but feel like something was coming: something big.
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Ok, I officially feel awful. Cliffhanger! Love you forever,
Comment up a storm! :)
-CC
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