Mike is already fast at work when Chester arrives at the studio.

The singer sighs, letting himself fall heavily into the couch behind the laboring emcee. Mike doesn't even turn his head, already knowing it's Chester, already knowing Chester isn't in the mood to record.

"You ready?" he prods nonetheless.

Chester shifts on the couch, falling into a deeper slump, arms wrapping around his middle. When he doesn't answer after a few moments Mike finally swivels in his chair.

It's late, and he gets the feeling he woke Chester up when he called. But there is a deadline, and that's something he can't ignore. Chester gazes at him sleepily, tattooed arms crossing further over his abdomen.

"Come on, man," Mike insists, rising to his feet and holding a charitable hand out to the singer.

Chester yawns. "Don't wanna." His voice is low and soft, fringed with sleep and not yet operating at full-capacity. He's uncharacteristically somber tonight, Mike notes, almost to an eerie degree. He considers voicing this thought, but decides against it, knowing idle conversation will only delay the session. He attempts a sympathetic, albeit firm, tone.

"I know, Chester, but we have to get this chopped tonight. You promised."

Mike offers his hand again, growing frustrated when the other man simply stares at it petulantly.

"Chester, seriously."

The singer finally obliges, merely thrusting a limp hand into Mike's and making no other efforts to stand up.

Mike growls, tightening his grip around Chester's slender fingers and yanking the smaller man up from the couch with more force than he had intended.

Chester, epitomizing maturity, lets himself ram into the other man's body full-strength, causing them both to stumble slightly. Chester steadies himself by taking handfuls of Mike's shirt as the emcee slowly regains his footing.

When Chester doesn't pull away immediately Mike becomes suspicious, and beyond that, somewhat alarmed. They know each other well (too well, one might argue) and they've been in stranger situations. It's hard to be around Chester Bennington without having your pride and personal space compromised.

But the way Chester is pressed against him, those deft fingers clawed into his shirt... the way Chester is breathing softly against his neck, and the way this night feels: so quiet and still and somehow different. It has him on edge.

"Chester?" Mike asks carefully, placing his hands over the singer's, his every intention to gently pry the other man off of him and maintain sanity in the situation.

"Mmm?" Chester hums, lithe body stiffening slightly as he feels Mike begin to retreat.

"We have to record," Mike clears his throat, which is starting to constrict with an emotion he doesn't feel like identifying. "I need you to record," he adds, detaching Chester from his chest with a slight tug.

He fights the urge to cringe when he sees the singer swallow deep, eyes falling to the floor. Chester nods to no one in particular and shuffles to the recording booth, bottom lip wedged firmly under teeth. Once he's closed the door, Mike curses out loud, rubbing the bridge of his nose. What is this?

"Mike?" Chester's fragile voice issues from his headset and the emcee curses once more before putting it back on.

"Loud and clear," he mumbles in reply. He looks down and his hands are shaking over the keyboard. "Ready when you are," he steels out, trying to ignore how his voice seems to crack on the last word.

He looks to the booth, practically drags his eyes up to meet Chester's through the glass, and it's all over. After a few beats he's up, knocking his chair on its side behind him in his desperate wake and then he's throwing the booth door open. He's not entirely sure why he's breathing so hard as he takes the singer's face in his palms.

"You're shaking too," Mike rasps, realizing how random the statement must sound, but not too concerned about the fact.

But it's true. Chester is trembling in his hands like a taut wire, lips barely parted. He appears to be having trouble breathing, in polar opposition to Mike's gasping state.

Suddenly, as if that taut wire's been popped loose and sparking at the ends, he's pulling Chester's mouth to his own, claiming that bottom lip, worrying it with both tongue and teeth.

Chester whimpers then moans, hands flying back to Mike's shirt, digging into the folds of fabric like they belonged there all along. It's the first sound he's made in so long that Mike is incredulous this is the same man, the same motor-mouthed attention-deficit power-house of vocal ability he's always known.

He pulls away more breathless than before, if possible, and presses his forehead against Chester's.

They both let their eyes slip closed, as if in the most studious contemplation of the other. As Mike's hands drop down to caress Chester's neck the singer aligns his body with Mike's, attempting to close any open seam between them.

"Why?" Mike murmurs, nuzzling his nose against Chester's cheek. "Why now, after 10 fucking years?"

Chester shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips before mostly mouthing the word, "Dunno."

Mike chuckles, the sound bittersweet, amused by his ability to render their vocalist so speechless.

"Better late than never," he says, the words in all their genuine truth striking him in warm epiphany as he captures Chester's lips in another fevered kiss.

-

Thank you for reading! Any thoughts or comments are appreciated.