Category Linkin Park

Truth by JellyfishLP

Truth ch.1

Takes place in Hybrid Theory days, inspired by chapter 8 of “mutual obsession” by squashie. Will be Mike’s p.o.v., might stay a oneshot. It’s a little long. Had this story on my mind for months, it just had to get out :) Please read and review.


“You know what’s gonna happen if you go out partying tonight again, Chaz? You’re getting drunk, wasted, and then you’ll get into a fight again, like you always do – “

“So what? I’m a grown ass man, I can do whatever the fuck I want, Mike. This is our first tour, and I think I can enjoy the rockstar life a little, so don’t you tell me what to do!”

“Fine! Then go get drunk again, I don’t care!”

We stare at each other for a moment before he slams the door of the hotel room we share tonight. We’re both good at slamming doors lately. I know I have no right to tell him what to do, I’m just worried. We’ve got a day off tomorrow, and apparently that’s a reason for getting totally wasted. I didn’t want to yell at him, but he makes me so mad lately. There’s something between us that I can’t explain. We usually get along great – when we write lyrics, when we’re on stage, even when we’re just hanging out somewhere, but during the last few months, even small arguments turn into explosions. There’s a certain look in his eyes when we fight, it’s almost as if he enjoys riling me up…and I can’t get enough of that look.

Brad told me last week that sometimes our fighting looks like flirting to the other guys, but I don’t believe him. Me flirting with Chester? No way.

After he had slammed the door in my face, I let myself fall on the bed and grab my sketchbook. I’m still mad at Chester, but I’m also mad at myself. I shouldn’t have said those things…


Hours later, I hear him fumbling with the keycard in front of the door. I roll my eyes because I know what’s going to happen next. I’m still hunched over my sketchbook, drawing something that could be a cool album cover one day. He’s banging on the door, and I check my watch; it’s 2 am.

“Mike, open up! The fucking card doesn’t work!” he says, and I can hear in his voice how drunk he is.

I ignore him, because I’m still angry. A minute later, he stumbles into the room, and the smell of alcohol and puke hits me. I finally look up at him, and what I see makes my anger fade away immediately. He’s got dried blood under his nose and various small bruises on his face and arms, and the skin on his knuckles is broken.

“Chester?” I ask, getting up from the bed and hurrying to his side.

He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t answer me. He’s playing with his lip ring nervously, and he looks like he’s going to fall over any second. I sit down next to him with my back against the wall and wrap my arm around him. I could lie to myself and say that I stayed awake because I wanted to finish my drawing, but the truth is that I waited for Chester to come back. I always wait for him, even if I’m lying in bed, pretending to sleep.

I want to get a wet towel or something to clean up his face, but on the other hand I don’t want to leave him alone here. To be honest, he’s a little gross right now. His hair is a mess and his once perfectly styled spikes are ruined. He smells like vodka, sweat and a little like blood. That doesn’t stop me from hugging him when he leans his head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mikey.” He suddenly says.

I don’t have to ask what he’s sorry for; I know what he means. He’s apologizing for doing exactly what I told him earlier would happen. He got drunk and got in a fight. It’s the third time this week. Our argument is long forgotten, and I’m ready to take him to the bathroom and help him get cleaned up when he says: “God, Mike, I’m…I’m gonna be sick…”

We can’t rush to the bathroom fast enough, and a second later I’ve got vomit on my shirt. After I’ve gotten over my own nausea, we find ourselves in the bathroom, quickly undressing and tossing our clothes into the bathtub. I decided he’s too drunk to sit in the tub, he would just fall asleep and drown when I turned my head away for just a moment. I help him undress; it’s not weird for us to be in just underwear in front of each other, we usually hang around like this in the hotel room anyway. Like I said, it’s not weird, not uncomfortable, not awkward at all. Until it comes to the last part. We’re about to get rid of our boxers, too, and I feel panic rise inside of me.

Jesus, Mike. Calm down. You know what a dick looks like, you have one, too. I tell myself. I can see that Chester is a little embarrassed, as well. He’s got no reason to. He looks way better than me anyway, I think. You’re a grown adult. You can do this.


Now I’m naked in the shower with Chester. Oh my God.

Actually, it’s not even the first time we’ve seen each other naked. I remember this incident six months ago, when he stayed the night at my place after we had both gotten drunk. I was so hungover in the morning that I didn’t remember someone had slept on my couch, and I had gone to the bathroom to take a shower. I had already gotten rid of the clothes I had slept in, so I just walked in. And there he was, brushing his teeth with the spare toothbrush he keeps in my bathroom for occasions like these. I mean, seriously, who doesn’t get dressed or at least wraps a towel around his waist after a shower? Especially when you’re not at home in your own bathroom?

It was five seconds of embarrassed staring. Five seconds of looking each other up and down before one of us slammed the door and we never talked about it again.

I can tell we’re both thinking about this while I clean the blood from his face with a warm, wet washcloth. He argues that he can do it himself, but I know he can’t right now, he’s too wasted. I gently hold his chin up with one hand, while he’s looking in another direction, squirming around in the corner of the shower, covering his private parts with his hands. I try to focus on my task, instead of staring at Chester biting his lips.

He looks so ashamed, standing there in the corner, waiting for me to finish wiping the blood away.

I wash his hair and his back, when suddenly I notice something under his tattoos I have never seen before. It looks like scars, a lot of scars, that he has tried to cover up with the tattoos. They can only be seen when you’re standing right behind him and really look.

“Chaz...what’s…what’s that on your back?” I ask hesitantly, afraid to hear the answer.

I’m guessing he knows what I’m referring to, because he takes a deep breath and then still doesn’t answer.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” he replies after an eternity has passed.

I ask again, more careful this time, but he tenses up and I leave it alone for now. I’m done washing his back, and my hand accidently brushes against a spot on his waist, when I hear him giggle like a school girl.

“Not there” he whispers, swatting my hand away.

What’s that? The great Chester Bennington is ticklish. Ha! Good to know, I think to myself. We’re both clean now, and we get out of the shower, quickly grabbing our towels. I know he needs to sober up, so I get him some water. He gulps down the whole bottle in no time and sits down on the edge of the bathtub while he watches me comb my hair. Why is he watching me like that? He looks so cute over there. ...Wait, what? Since when am I thinking of Chester as ‘cute’? I must be drunk, too…

His hair is still a mess, but clean and smelling like shampoo now. I suddenly have an idea, and I decide just to go with it, instead of overthinking it like everything else in my life.

“Hey, Chaz. Come here.”

And this is how we find each other sitting on the fluffy bathroom rug, his back against my chest as I run the hairbrush through his blond-dyed curls. The roots are getting dark already, but I like his hair that way. My legs are stretched out at his sides, his legs are drawn up to his chest, and he’s hugging his knees. There are goosebumps all over his neck and shoulders, tiny hairs are standing up, and he’s shivering a little. I honestly can’t tell if he’s just cold or if it’s due to something else.

I want to make him feel nice and warm, so I go get the hair drier that’s hanging on the wall. Doing this is beneficial for both of us, because firstly, I’m gonna use the hair drier later for my own hair, and secondly, it gives me a chance to study those scars on his back a little more. He moans a little when I let my fingers run through his hair; it’s a sound I’ve never heard from Chester before. I like it. Later I clean his knuckles and bandage them, while he’s unusually quiet, just watching me work.

I’m not really surprised when he’s getting in bed with me. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed on tour before. Usually its just for cuddling when one of us is feeling down, and I don’t mind, because I like his warmth beside me. The tour has been going on for three months now, and we both broke up with our girlfriends. Since then, the bed-sharing has become more frequent, for some reason…

Our bandmates can never know about this. Ever.

We’re lying next to each other; he’s as always, the little spoon. I like that he’s just a few inches smaller than me, this way we can cuddle perfectly. Oh god, that sounds so wrong. What am I thinking?! We are lost in our own thoughts, but all of a sudden, he says: “Do you still wanna know what I’m hiding under the tattoos on my back?”

“Hmhm” I hum in agreement.

He’s silent for a few seconds, takes a deep breath and then tells me horrible things about his childhood. About bullying and abuse, self-harm and rape. I feel like I can’t breathe. I let him cry in my arms and hold him tightly, until I dare to speak again.

“Shh, Chazzy, calm down. You’re safe with me. I’ll always keep you safe.”

“Do you know what the worst was?” he asks, still sobbing.

I shake my head although he can’t see me do it.

“Being called a fag by everyone in my life. Parents, teachers, the other kids in class…”

I don’t know what to say. I’ve heard people call him that, and I’ve always defended him. I wait for him to keep talking.

“And…Mike…you wanna know what? I am.”

I don’t understand what he means at first, so I ask.

“What I’m saying is…I’m…I’m gay, Mike.”

This time I really stop breathing. If I’m honest to myself, it’s not really a surprise. I hold my breath and think. I’m not gay. I’ve never been attracted to men. Right? I won’t have a problem with Chester being gay. It’s ok. But what does that mean for us? Does he have feelings for me? I don’t know what to do; for once in my life, I have no idea what the next step is. I realize I’m still holding him, but I decide that I won’t let go.

“Would you please say something?” he asks, his voice shaking.

But I don’t. I don’t answer, I’m still thinking. A few moments later, I hear myself assuring him that everything’s fine, everything will be ok, and that it won’t change anything between us.

“But…um, Chaz, what about the girlfriends you had in the past?”

“I tried, Mike. I really tried preferring women over men, but I can’t. Of course, I found them kinda attractive, but during sex, I always pictured men.”

Well, that’s honest. What do I do now? There’s just something about Chester that makes everyone, both women and men, crazy about him. And I’m one of them.

“And then there are days, Mike, days when I’m so sad that I think nothing can ever make me laugh again.” He admits.

His mind is going down a dangerous path, and I need to cheer him up again. I want my Chazzy to be happy.

“I know at least one thing that will make you laugh” I whisper in his ear, and a second later he’s thrashing around in my arms as I tickle him senseless, starting with the spot on his waist that I found out about in the shower earlier. My left big toe teases the soles of his feet, and he finally manages to break free. Now we’re wrestling under the covers; he’s tickling me back and we almost fall out of the bed. The wrestling stops when we’re both out of breath from laughing so hard, laying side by side on the mattress. He’s wearing only boxers, and I’m in boxer shorts and a black t-shirt, which has been pushed up to my chest just minutes before. We’ve always been touchy with another; the rest of the band wouldn’t understand the way we act around each other. Especially since we’re only friends, at least that’s what I like to tell myself.

We have calmed down and are back to our spooning position.

“You know what I like about you, Mikey? You’re the only person I truly trust.”

Before I can say anything, he continues.

“Do you remember when you caught me doing cocaine on the bus?”

“Um, yeah. It was four weeks ago…” Why is he bringing that up now? I was so angry with him that day. Angry and worried.

“We were making a bus stop, and I was alone in the bunk area, so you came looking for me. You dragged me out of the bus by my ear and yelled at me like I had never heard you yell before. I was so intimidated…and, um, well…what I wanted to say was…I haven’t done drugs since then. It’s been a whole month, Mikey.”

I can hear the pride in his voice, and although it’s completely dark in here, I know he’s smiling. I have to restrain myself from kissing him on the cheek.

“I’m proud of you, Chester.” I say instead, rubbing my hand over his arm.

“The only thing I can’t stop doing is getting drunk. I’m sorry for always being drunk. And I’m sorry for getting in fights when I’m drunk…god, I’m such a fucking screw-up.” He mumbles.

“Shhh, no, Chester. You’re not a screw-up. Don’t ever think that. And you’ll get the alcohol problem under control. I’ll help you through it, I promise.” I whisper against the back of his neck, my lips almost touching his skin. Skin I want to touch so badly, I realize.

I feel him relax again, and he snuggles closer into my embrace. Over the next few minutes, we engage in what I would call innocent cuddling. I love touching him, I just can’t help myself. My thumb finds a spot on his bare hip and starts stroking. He’s purring like a cat and I know he likes it. I get lost in the little noises he makes, until I realize what we’re doing. He’s grinding his tight little butt against my crotch, and I feel my dick twitch in my pants. I know he had a semi hard on when we were wrestling on the bed earlier. I felt it, but I didn’t say anything. Fuck. We’re making out. And, most importantly, I like it. Surely, he can feel my dick pressing against him. What do I do? At first, I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. It’s now 4 am. What the hell have we been doing since we came out of the shower?

“Chaz…we…um, shouldn’t we try to get some sleep?”

“uh…yeah, sure. Sorry…” he says hastily, as if he’d been caught doing something illegal.

So, I turn my back to him and both of us are quiet for a while. I know we’re both a little embarrassed by what happened just five minutes ago.

“Goodnight, Chazzy” I mumble against my pillow, trying to calm my racing heart.

“Goodnight, Mikey” he replies.

We’re lying back to back, our butts and feet touching, and I think it feels nice to be so close to him, even if I don’t know what else I’m feeling.


Thanks for reading, please leave a review and tell me what you think! Will update my other story in a few days.

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