A.n. I don’t own Linkin park. I wrote this for a friend of mine who lost a relative. Please don’t flame me.

Angels.

He looked up. Just the ceiling. He thought he had seen something. But no. Just dust, shifting in the dim light, the greyness he spent his life in.

He sighed, and went over to his bed. He couldn’t be bothered to write. There was nothing to write about. There was no inspiration to be squeezed from the grey walls. He sat down, his head in his hands. No point… why me… Is there anything left… random words floated around in his clouded mind, as grey as the walls and ceiling that surrounded him. Even the carpet, that had once been blue, was now dark grey.

“Fuck!” he screamed suddenly, the isolation and deadness of the room becoming too much.

He walked over to the full length mirror in the corner of t he room, staring at the thing that had been annoying him for so long. He wasn’t what he had been, only months before. His flesh was pale, because he hadn’t been eating. It was almost as grey as the walls, making him feel claustrophobic. His eyes used to be blue. Now they were faded. Grey. His hair had grown out its dye. It was now down past his ears. It wouldn’t spike anymore, not that he could be bothered. It was its natural, mousy brown colour now. The only colour in the grey room.

He looked at his reflection in disgust. Tears of despair and self loathing came to his eyes. His pain almost became too much. He resisted the urge to scream out loud. Instead he screamed in his head, the despair and self loathing turning to anger and hatred. He slammed the heel of his hand into the mirror, feeling the pain shoot like liquid fire up his arm. Tears blurring his eyes, he attacked the mirror viciously, determined to destroy the thing that he hated. He ignored the pain in his arms as finally, he got the result he wanted. The mirror cracked into about twenty pieces, falling away from the wardrobe into a pile of broken glass on the floor.

As he turned away, he caught sight of his reflection in the biggest piece. Cuts all over him from splinters of glass. Tears in his eyes, making paler grey lines down the dark grey dirt on his undernourished skin.

Looking himself in the eye, he sang quietly, “when I look into your eyes, theres nothing left to see. Nothing but my own mistake, staring back at me.”

Spitting on the shard of glass, he turned away, pacing the room as he had done so often for more weeks than he could remember.

A familiar face popped around the door.

He turned, not bothering to wipe his eyes. They all knew he was crying. They all tried. None of them knew what it was like for him.

When Sam had died, he had been inconsolable. Then, when his son had contracted the same illness, he had snapped. He blamed himself. He hadn’t been there. He would have told Sam to go to the doctor when she first got ill. She’d just kept putting it off and putting it off, until it was too late. Then Dreven had got it as well, he’d been in contact with it too long, and there was nothing they could do. It was six months, and all Chester had done was pace. He hadn’t washed, hardly eaten, hardly slept. He had put some of his pain into songs, but now they all came out the same. All he did was blame himself. They made sure he stayed in the room so he couldn’t kill himself, made sure he ate, made sure if he needed anything, he had it.

But they couldn’t do anything to stop it hurting. Now he had smashed the mirror, they’d come and take away the pieces. Give him a hot drink, sit with him so he didn’t burn himself with it, and try to make some conversation. He had nothing to talk about.

They wouldn’t understand.

“Chaz…” said Rob, concern in his eyes. Chester knew it was genuine, but he couldn’t care anymore. He had lost the only things that meant more to him than his band. Their concern couldn’t bring them back.

“So what, I broke it.” said Chester, sitting on the bed, waiting for the usual ‘it’ll blow over, you’ll start feeling better soon’ crap they were always feeding him.

But instead, Rob went over and sat on the bed next to him. Awkwardly, he put an arm around the numb, corpse-like shell that had once been their lead singer.

“What now Rob?” asked Chester. Rob’s warmth should have comforted him, but he didn’t even feel it.

“Chester,” said Rob, looking into the older mans grey eyes. For the first time Chester noticed that he was not the only grey one. Rob had lost a lot of weight, and his hair had grown, lank and greasy. His skin was pale. They didn’t go out, in case he tried something. For the first time, Chester considered the harm he was doing. Then he dismissed it. Their own fault. Should let him kill himself. Then they wouldn’t be like this.

“Are you going to say something or just sit here?” asked Chester. His voice never showed any emotion. “I want to be alone.”

“So did I when my daughter died.” Said Rob suddenly, leaning against Chester.

Normally, the singer would have responded, but in his numbness he did nothing. He let Rob carry on talking.

“When I was only, what… 18?” continued Rob, “I was dating this girl, her name was Kati. Wonderful person she was…” he began to shake. Chester felt this, and for the first time in months he felt a small flicker of life inside him. He slid an arm awkwardly around Rob’s shoulders.

“Go…Go on…” he said, trying to put something in his voice. It had been months since he had done that. It was difficult.

“She found out one day she was pregnant…” said Rob, tears rolling down the stubble on his face where he hadn’t shaved for days. Seeing this, Chester wondered, what did the others look like? It had been so long he couldn’t remember. “And we were so happy.” Chester nodded, squeezing Robs arm, almost mechanically. Emotion was strange to him now. “It was great, but when she went into labour, there were so many complications… they both died. My girlfriend…” he broke off, “and…” he forced the words to come, “my… daughter.” He was crying so much now, Chester wished he could feel something, find some word to comfort him, but there was nothing there. So instead, he put his arms around him, letting him cry. To his surprise, a tear rolled down his own cheek.

“So, you know…” said Chester, quietly.

“Uh huh.” Said Rob, “when I said that, I meant it.”

“Shit…” murmured Chester, rocking Rob gently. After months of feeling sorry for himself, this was very strange.

“That’s why I'm such a moody bastard.” Said Rob, wiping his eyes on Chester’s filthy black T-shirt. “Her family never forgave me. They blamed me.”

“Rob we never…” began Chester. Rob cut him off.

“its ok…” he said. Chester began to rock him gently, letting him bury his face in his chest. “I know exactly how you feel. I was like this for a year afterwards.”

“You…” began Chester, not sure what to say. Rob looked up into his eyes, not sure what he was going to say, but desperate for something. “You wanna talk about it?” he said finally.

“No.” said Rob bluntly. “Not yet. It’s gone. Over.”

“So you’re left in the void.” Said Chester, dully.

“Yeah.” Said Rob, looking blankly at the pieces of mirror.

They fell back on the bed, Rob curled tightly into Chester.

“Man, you stink…” said Rob, after they had lain in silence for nearly an hour.

“Yeah, and you need to shave…” said Chester.

“You realise I'm not letting you out of my sight until I can trust you not to do something stupid…” said Rob, curling around Chester, making the older man purr.

“I'm glad I’ve got you…” said Chester, “or I’d have probably cut my throat with that mirror.”

“I love you.” Said Rob. He wasn’t sure whether he meant it, but Chester needed to hear it. So did he really.

“Yeah…” said Chester. Rob’s heart sank. He wasn’t going to say it… “I love you too…” said Chester, feeling Rob sigh.

Rob grinned. “Are you gonna need a hand in the bath?”

“It’s been a while…” said Chester, smiling slowly.

As they waked down the corridor to the bathroom, with their arms around each other, the other four guys, all in a similar state to Rob, looked on in amazement.

None of them had been able to get Chester out of the room, or persuade him to talk to anyone. They had thought Rob would be the last person who could help him.

As they went through the bathroom door, Rob turned and winked.

“I’ll tell you later!” he mouthed as he closed the door.

The others breathed a sigh of relief.

They had their Chester back.