LPfiction

Category Linkin Park

Still Pretty by Elisa

Title: Still Pretty

Author: Elisa

Summary: Chester reassures Mike about his gently advancing age. Or, um, not.

Rating: PG-13 for language

Author's Note: As always, thank you to Autumn for being so damn awesome. <3

~



“Mike? Mike, goddamnit.”


Chester strides into Mike’s bedroom like he belongs there, slamming the door open until it bangs against the wall, and seconds later Mike feels the covers being yanked from around him. He grabs onto them and burrows farther down into the warmth of the bed, curling around himself like a turtle retreating into its shell.


“Mike – god – damnit,” Chester says, emphasizing each word with a yank on the covers. “We were – supposed – to have breakfast – an hour ago!”


Mike makes a sleepy grumbling noise low in his throat, and Chester rolls his eyes.


“Wake up,” he says, ruthlessly, giving up on pulling the covers away and instead starting to poke Mike in the side, the leg, the back. “It’s eleven already. You were supposed to meet us at the restaurant an hour ago, Michael. Do you know the meaning of tradition, Michael? Ten years the band has been having breakfast together on our birthdays. Ten years! And nobody has ever missed one – until you decided that sleep was more important than your friends. Wake up!”


Somewhere from deep within his fluffy wrapping of blankets and quilts, Mike mumbles something, his voice high and whiny.


“…not gonna…restaurant…stupid band….too old.”


Chester makes an exasperated face. “What?”


Mike emerges from the blanket cocoon around him, looking altogether rumpled and unkempt and distinctly un-butterfly-like. He throws the covers off and sits half up to glare at Chester for a moment before flopping back down onto his pillow.


“Too old,” he repeats. “‘m not going.”


Chester stares for a long minute.


“I’m older than you!”


“…hmf.”


“You are being such a child,” Chester tells him, and Mike sticks his tongue out in retaliation.


“I’m not a child,” he says, “I’m old. Old, old, old, old, so oooooold.” He throws one arm out in a dramatic gesture, the other crossing over his eyes as if he can’t bear to look at the world.


Chester rolls his eyes. “You’re thirty-two!”


“Old!” Mike cries, nearly hysterical, and buries his face back in the cover.


Chester sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed.


“Mike,” he says, voice gentler, “What happened to you? I saw you yesterday and you were fine about your birthday.”


A small sob from underneath the pillow lets him know he’s on the right track.


“Did something happen?”


Mike doesn’t reply, but he extends one shaking hand from underneath the covers to point at the nightstand. Chester follows his hand and picks up a small glass vial, holding it up to the light.


“What? What the hell does this…Mike, it’s an empty glass holder thing.”


“…not empty!” Another sob.


Chester wrinkles his brow and peers harder into the vial. He shakes it a bit, straining his eyes, and then he sees it.


“…Mike,” He says, voice very calm and with just a faint undercurrent of hilarity, “Mike, is this, um, ahem, is this a grey hair?”


Under his pillow, Mike bursts into hysterical sobs, and next to him Chester bursts into hysterical laughter.


“I found it last night, and I plucked it out right away, and I’m so old, Ches, and I’m going to be old and grey!”


Chester is trying to contain his giggles, he really is, but at this statement he loses it again, and laughs so hard he nearly chokes.


Mike lifts the pillow off his face, and then sits up, glaring at Chester all the while.


Chester is busy howling with laughter, tears streaming from his eyes, unaware of the growing danger beside him. He’s laughing so hard, his eyes pinched shut, that he doesn’t even know he’s in trouble until Mike pushes him off of his bed, shoving him so that Chester lands on the floor.


“Mike, you fucker! That fucking hurt!”


On the bed above him, Mike is now the one giggling, curled up and with one hand over his mouth.


Chester narrows his eyes. “Oh, I see how it is, you’re old now, so you’re turning into a mean old man! ‘Hey, get off my lawn! Damn kids these days,’” he imitates, shaking a mocking arm at Mike.


Mike glares. “Shut up,” he says, “you’re just mad because you’re losing your hair. And you’re older than me.”


“I am not – my hair is gorgeous – shut up!”


“I may be going grey, but you’re losing your hair completely!”


“Take that back!”


“No!”


And with a sudden infuriated war cry, Chester clambers up and tackles Mike back onto the bed, the two of them wrestling around in the sheets and covers, yelling mean things like “receding hairline!” at each other before Mike manages to pin Chester.


“Hah, gotcha. Who’s the old man now?” He asks, grinning down at Chester.


“Shut it, Shinoda,” Chester orders, and then squirms away from him, the two of them shifting and pushing at each other so that they end up laying on the bed side by side. Silence reigns.


“You know, we may be old, but at least we’re still pretty,” Chester says, after a while.


Mike props himself up on an elbow. “You think?”


“Hell yeah!” Chester replies, leaning forward. “I mean, look at us! Me with my dashing good looks, you with your distinguished grey hair.”


Mike pouts at him. “Don’t be cruel, Ches.”


Chester grins at him, then settles back onto the pillow. “In all seriousness, though, come on. You’re totally hot still.”


“Really?” Mike asks, face hopeful, voice a little pathetic.


“Totally,” Chester assures him. “I mean, come on? Have you seen your ass?”


“No,” Mike says, and twists around in the sheets, trying to look at it.


“Totally hot,” Chester says. “And come on, the older you get, the better looking you get.”


“You’re just saying that,” Mike says gloomily.


“No, I’m not!”


“Yes, you are. You’re just trying to butter me up so I go to breakfast.”


“I’m really not! Come on, dude, you’re mad hot. I mean – you have a great body. You’re gorgeous. You’re funny, you’re smart. You’re like the perfect man.”


On the pillow next to him, Mike’s eyebrow raise. “Are you hitting on me?”


“Maybe a little.”


“Oh. Okay then.”


“Come to breakfast with us?”


“Fine,” Mike sighs, with the air of a king granting a favor to one of his subjects. “I’ll come.”


“Good!” Chester exclaims, and then, unable to resist, remarks. “After all, you’re getting up there, you know, you should probably spend as much time as you can with your loved ones.”


“Chester!” Mike cries, and, his chin wobbling just a bit, pulls the covers back over his head.


“Shit, Mike, I was just kidding!”


“Old,” Mike’s voice comes from under the covers. “So ooold.”


Chester sighs.

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