Love Has A Diameter

+

Mike looked in the mirror, hands brushing through his thick, black hair.

"Okay," He nodded, glancing at Chester who was standing behind him, clippers already buzzing in his left hand.

"At last. I knew I'd make you see sense."

"Just.. don't go too wild. Brad will kill me."

"Yeah right. What can Brad say with that bird's nest of a hair style going on?" Chester laughed to himself, placing his hands on Mike's shoulders, "Please be sitting down my beautiful friend."

"You can stop that," Mike muttered, letting Chester push him down onto a chair.

"Stop what?" Chester asked Mike's reflection as he tilted the younger man's head.

"You know what."

Chester shrugged and grabbed a comb from the dressing table. Of course Chester knew. Flirting with Mike was his second favourite past time. His favourite thing to do was wind up Brad. And obviously, those things went, as it happened, hand in hand.

Chester started combing Mike's hair, letting his fingertips brush through as he followed the plastic comb. Mike had closed his eyes and Chester watched the reflection in the mirror, like a film, playing back an opening scene. No words. No sound. Just motion picture. Chester stared, captivated by Mike's short, sharp breaths as he sat patiently, hands folded in his lap. Then Chester figured he better get to work. The longer he stared, the harder he got.

Flicking the clippers to the right setting, Chester began gliding them across the sides of Mike's head, second nature it was as he was so often begged by Phoenix to style his hair. Mike, on the other hand, he'd had to persuade over the past week that yes, he would look hot with a Mohawk. Chester had chosen his words carefully. Fuckable, is how he felt Mike would look, (not that he didn't anyway) but if Mike had known that he would have flat out refused. Though, Chester thought with a smirk as he brushed freshly cut hair to the floor, there was a time when Mike would have lapped that compliment up like a cat at a bowl of cream.

Chester tilted Mike's head forward, smoothing his fingers down his neckline. Chester thought how great it was that these days, offering to cut his best friend's hair was the only way he got to touch him. Before Brad it had always been cuddles in the back of the bus and stolen kisses. Nowadays it was making sure there was at least a metre between the two of them. All Mike's doing. Via Brad and his protective hands. Always Brad.

"This feels good."

Chester glanced up, pausing for a moment as he met Mike's gaze in the mirror. He was smiling and scrutinizing his hair and Chester just watched for a few seconds. Then he quickly glanced away when Mike noticed.

"It looks good too," Chester told him, switching to the other side and deftly gliding the clippers across, "Hot, even."

"Chester..."

"I'm just saying. What? Has Brad bugged the dressing rooms or something?"

Mike didn't answer. Chester felt him stiffen beneath his touch and bit his tongue. He didn't want to argue with Mike. Not again. That's all they seemed to do lately. Ever since Brad happened. Something, which Chester was sure, Brad loved.

So Chester kept quiet for the next twenty minutes, until he'd finally switched off the clippers and was brushing loose hairs away from Mike's head. He ran his hands through the new Mohawk and leant in front of Mike, scooping up the pot of gel that was sitting in wait.

"No," Mike, brushed his hand against Chester, pulling it away like it had caused electric shocks to wave through him, "I'll do that myself."

+

"He hates it. Says I should shave it all off."

"And you?"

Mike frowned, leant down to pick his beer up from the floor and shrugged.

"What does it matter what I think?"

Chester laughed. Chester laughed and grabbed the bottle of beer for Mike, "It's your hair you prick."

"He called me that too."

"Mike. Grow a backbone."

"Thanks. Just when I need a friend."

Chester rolled his eyes, "I am your friend."

"That's why you spend every waking moment telling me to tell Brad to fuck himself."

"That's exactly it, Mike," Chester sighed, "He's no good for you. You deserve better."

"Someone like you, you mean."

Chester didn't answer. The sarcasm in Mike's voice hurt him more than he was ready to admit.

"So cut if off," Chester shrugged, taking a swig from Mike's beer, "See if I care."

"Can you do it?"

"No. Do it yourself."

+

There was a time when Chester would have literally bent over backwards to please Mike. Nowadays he felt himself questioning every little thing he did or said that concerned him. And as he sat alone in his bunk, downing his forth beer, even though he was supposed to not be drinking, he wondered if Mike realised what an asshole he was turning into. Everything revolved around Brad nowadays. Chester hated that. He hated that almost as much as he hated the way he let Mike use him and even more than the way he enjoyed letting Mike use him.

It never used to be this complicated. Least that's what Chester was thinking as he peeled the label off his bottle. Before Brad, Chester could flirt outrageously and even had hope that one day they'd stop fucking around and actually fuck. But Brad put pay to that with his ruling hands. And for all the bitching and tears and heartache that he was enduring, Mike still wouldn't leave Brad.

"Assholes," Chester muttered to himself, "The lot of you are assholes."

He must have fallen asleep because he was suddenly jolted awake by someone shaking his shoulder. The bottle he'd been grasping onto rolled from his hands and slipped to the floor. Chester jumped up and cast his bleary eyes to the shadow of Mike that was standing before him.

He was crying.

"It's late," Chester sighed, "Go to bed."

Mike turned and Chester bit his lip. He wanted it to be easy to say that. But it wasn't.

"No, wait," Chester called out, "Come here."

"Can we go somewhere?" Mike asked, "I mean, anywhere but here?"

Chester eyed him up and slowly nodded his head, "Where's Brad?"

"Asleep," Mike paused, "I think."

It was cold outside and Chester wished he'd put a shirt on. Wearing nothing but pyjama pants and his Etnies had been a bad idea but Mike was walking that fast away from the bus that Chester could barely keep up.

"What's fucking wrong?" Chester called, jogging after the younger man, whilst he attempted to light up a cigarette.

Mike had stopped, was leaning back against a wall. When Chester finally reached him, he could see what was up. The swollen lip and trail of dry blood that sunk down Mike's chin was enough to answer Chester's question.

"Fuck. He did this?"

Mike gulped and closed his eyes, "Shave it off," His voice shook as he spoke.

Chester stopped beside his friend, blowing smoke out into the air as he threw his cigarette to the floor in frustration. It landed in a nearby puddle and Chester drew his arms around his bare stomach.

"That's fucked Mike. He hit you because he doesn't like your hair! Are you seeing that?" Chester shouted, "Are you getting the picture now?"

Mike blinked back, not saying nor moving.

"Sorry," Chester uttered, "There has to be more to it than that."

Mike shook his head. Chester reached forward to embrace him. Mike walked away.

+

In front of the mirror, Chester twisted Phi's hair between his fingers. He was concentrating so hard he'd not noticed Brad or Mike walking into the dressing room. When he finally saw them, sitting together on the couch with their legs draped over one another, Chester wanted to hurl something at them. Instead he pulled at Phi's hair.

"You do know anger management is available?" Phoenix spoke, ducking his head away from Chester's sharp fingers.

"What? Oh, sorry," Chester tutted, bending down and scooping more gel into the palm of his hand.

He glared into the mirror, watching the grainy image of Brad and Mike tangling themselves up together with kisses and touches. Chester could still see Mike's split lip, even underneath the make up he'd used to cover it up. Chester thought of how fucked it was but Phoenix was staring at him in confusion, so he swallowed his anger down and went back to his friend's hair.

When Phoenix had thanked him and disappeared to find food, Chester pretended to clear his mess away. All the while distracted by the sound of Brad fucking Mike on the plush, leather couch. Chester wanted to scream. Not because it hurt to see him with Brad. Not because it hurt to hear them fucking like animals. More because it hurt to see Mike slip back to Brad so easily.

Last night, when Mike had walked off, Chester had followed. Even though it was dark and cold and fucking raining. Even though he was in pyjama pants and was still a little tipsy. He followed Mike and found him hiding behind a dumpster, in hysterics with big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. And Chester took him back to the bus, slipped into the room at the back and made a bed on the floor for them out of pillows.

And now, as Brad fucked harder and Mike cried out, it was clear that to Mike it meant nothing; nothing at all.

Just everything to Chester.

+

It was raining. And Mike was crying. He was crying and the song playing on the radio was saying 'it's a good thing tears never show in the pouring rain'. Chester felt himself cringing as the lyrics poured out but Mike didn't flinch. Either he was too lost in his thoughts or too scared to move in case he caused the blood that was trickling down his arm to spill onto the hotel carpet. Chester did never understand why the more luxurious the hotels, the whiter the carpets got.

"You should be okay now," Chester nodded, placing a dressing over the cut in Mike's upper arm. It ran on the inside, from his elbow upward in one fluid, angry motion. Mike said Brad had done it with his finger nails. Chester had told Mike he wasn't completely stupid. Mike hadn't spoken since.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Want me to cut your hair?"

Mike shook his head.

"Okay. So, this argument wasn't about your hair? What then?"

"Oh it was."

"I'm lost."

"You're right. I shouldn't let him control me."

Chester nodded. Relieved as he was to hear those words, he couldn't let Mike know. He patted him on the knee instead and started to clear the mess away.

"Let's go for a drink."

Chester frowned as Mike spoke, as he got to his feet and wiped the tears away so flippantly; like they'd never been there in the first place. Chester screwed up the blood stained tissues and chucked them in the bin. Like the tears, like the effort Chester put into their relationship; all disposable.

The hotel bar was a dive. Full of business men talking about quotas and data in exaggerated accents that grated on Chester's nerves. One look at Mike and Chester rolled his eyes.

"Shall we use the mini bar instead?"

So they trudged back upstairs, all the while Mike mimicking the snotty business men as they waited for the elevator to hit their floor. They'd only been gone a few minutes but to Chester the room felt cold when they got back inside. He whacked up the heating, drew the curtains and kicked off his shoes as Mike attacked the mini bar.

Five minutes later the entire contents, along with Mike and Chester, were laid out on one of the double beds. Vodka, Jack Daniels and some weird looking miniature bottles of wine which Chester picked up and uncapped.

"Aren't you, like, supposed to use glasses for wine?" Mike asked.

Chester laughed, "Trust you to be worrying about etiquette. I thought you just wanted to get trashed."

"Point taken," Mike nodded, grabbing one of the small bottles.

Chester winced at the taste. He also winced at the speed Mike downed four of the bottles as if they were shots.

"Woah. Slow down..."

"You were just saying about getting out of it..."

"Yeah well. Go slow. We can get trashed and talk about why we want to get trashed."

Mike sighed and rolled onto his back. His head rested against Chester's knees and Chester wanted to kick himself.

"Okay," Mike cleared his throat, "I'm getting trashed because Brad is an asshole. And it's only when he slashes my arm or when I get shitfaced that I can admit he is an asshole. And it's moments like these when I know how right you are," He paused and gazed up at Chester, "And what a shit friend I am."

"You're not."

"And you're getting trashed because?"

"Because I miss my best friend," Chester shrugged, uncapping a beer and holding it upwards, "To absent friends?"

Mike pulled a face, "Don't say that. I feel bad enough as it is."

"You don't have to do it though Mike. You don't have to make me feel invisible when Brad's around and a million fucking dollars when he's not. It actually hurts."

Mike sighed and rolled over again, shifting until he was lying next to Chester, so close their noses were almost touching.

"Tell me how I can make it up to you. Because I'll do it, I'll do it in an instant."

"No," Chester murmured, "No. You won't."

"I care about you," Mike breathed out, his shaky breath hitting Chester's lips, "I care about you more than I care about Brad."

"But you won't leave him."

"I love him."

"And me?" Chester whispered, knowing he was pushing it, yet unable to stop the words from running out into the open.

"I love you."

"You're drunk."

"Tipsy."

"I love you too."

+

Brad was livid. Shouting and waving his arms around wildly. From one corner of the foyer Rob, Joe and Phoenix sat and watched. From the other, Chester leant against the wall, biting his nails. In the middle, in front of Brad, Mike stood with his arms folded across his chest.

"It's only hair dye," Mike smiled, "It'll wash out."

"You're thirty one Mike. Not thirteen."

Chester suppressed a laugh. He was still drunk. He was thinking of that song, he asked for a thirteen but they drew a thirty one and Mike's hair and how it had felt like his teenage years all over again. Because when those three words had slipped from his lips, Chester had got to his feet and grabbed Mike's hand. And chuckling and staggering from the room, they'd dived into the late night chemist, bought a home-dye kit, and over the porcelain bathtub, Chester had dyed Mike's Mohawk bright red.

And now, still high, still intoxicated from the night of drinking, Brad was flailing like a madman in the middle of the hotel lobby.

"He's a bad influence," Brad shouted, pointing a steady finger at Chester who just laughed and shook his head.

"Well at least I don't hit him," Chester quipped.

It was a bad idea. Brad grabbed his suitcase and stormed out into the parking lot. Mike stared at the revolving door and Joe and the others gingerly got to their feet.

"He does, y'know," Chester stood up straight, "I'm only looking out for him."

No one said anything. It was like they didn't even give a fuck. Chester laughed and grabbed his luggage. He made a heavy scene of storming away, banging his suitcase into everything in sight and cursing loudly as he left the hotel.

+

"Does he really hit him?"

"You think I'd make that up?"

"I know you're in love with him."

"You think I'd say that? You think I want that to be going on?"

Phoenix winced, "No. Sorry. That was wrong of me."

Chester nodded as if to say yes, yes it was but he didn't speak. He turned the clippers on and tilted Dave's head to one side. And Dave started talking over the buzz.

"If he hits him. That's out of order. Why would he do that?"

"Because he's jealous. Of Mike and I."

"But you're jealous of him and Brad. You don't hit him."

Chester slipped. The clippers scraped against Dave's scalp and he jumped.

"Anger management," Dave muttered as Chester turned them off and pressed a tissue to the nick.

"I'm not jealous. I just don't like Mike getting hurt."

"Does it happen a lot?"

"I don't know. Mike comes and goes with me. I don't get the full picture."

"You're a good friend Chester."

"I am?"

"Yeah. For what it's worth, you and Mike, you deserve to be happy with each other."

+

There was a scar on Mike's stomach. It crossed from his belly button, down to his thigh in a swift, diagonal line. Chester trailed his finger against it. They were both drunk. Again.

"If you were sober," Chester began, waiting until Mike's eyes settled on him, "Would you let me do this again?"

"Maybe."

"Tomorrow?"

Mike paused and placed his hand on Chester's. He moved it away from his stomach and pressed it to his chest. Chester could feel his heart beating. Thud. Thud. Thud thud. And over.

"There is no tomorrow for us," Mike whispered, "We can't do this."

"Do you really love him?"

Mike closed his eyes.

"I mean, he's the reason, right?"

Mike nodded.

"So there could be a tomorrow. But Brad..."

"I can't leave him."

"Can you tell me why?"

"It'll destroy him."

"He destroys you though," Chester gulped, "He's doing a brilliant job of that."

"I'm scared of the things he'll do."

"What do you think he'll do?"

"Hate me."

"He already hates you."

"That's not true! He loves me!"

"Love isn't carving a knife into someone's body. Love isn't punishing someone for the colour of their hair."

"Love isn't telling someone they need to grow a backbone either."

Chester didn't answer. He rolled over and got to his feet. He'd seen some ice cream in the icebox earlier. Staggering over to the mini bar, he found the tub and grabbed a spoon. When he got back to the bed, he forced the lid off and dug the spoon inside.

"Where does he think you are now?"

"In my room."

"Doesn't he ever, like, check?"

"I don't know."

"Well, don't you talk? Does he not ask how your nights are after the show?"

"Brad," Mike started, "Does not want to know how I feel or what I did. He wants me in his place and nothing else."

"And the reason you stay with him..."

"I already told you."

"Sometimes you've got to be selfish."

"I think I'm doing that right now."

+

It got worse. But Chester, he remembered that proverb or saying or mantra of it's got to get a whole lot worse before it gets better again and he clung onto that notion as the band swung from city to city, state to state until Chester didn't know what day it was or which time zone his watch should be adjusted to.

Mike's hair had faded to orange. The orange like a flame from a match. Chester puffed on his cigarette and blew smoke out into the dressing room. Brad was killing another layer of the ozone as he stood before the full length mirror and coated his afro with hairspray. Chester wanted to tell him that no one came to a Linkin Park show to see Brad's shit excuse for hair but he kept his mouth shut because lately the bruises on Mike's wrists had been getting blacker.

"Do you want a photo?"

Chester smirked at Brad who was shooting daggers at him.

"Of you?" Chester asked, narrowing his eyes, "No. I'd rather fuck my Grandma up the ass."

"Knowing you," Brad hissed, "You did that already."

"Screw you."

"No. Screw you."

Chester laughed. The room was empty. Just them. He got to his feet and eyed Brad up.

"Mike's scared of you. Some days that makes me want to hurl. Others, like, right now? It makes me want to laugh."

"Whatever dude."

"You know that every time you hurt him, he comes running to me?"

"Yeah and you suck his cock better," Brad nodded, "I know. I think everyone knows."

"Then let him go."

"Why should I? Why should I make it easy for him?"

"Because you're destroying him."

"Maybe I want to."

"You're an asshole..."

"He's the one having the affair."

"Only because he thinks you love him so much it'll destroy you..."

"Love?" Brad scoffed, "I don't love him. I love fucking him... He's pretty tight, wouldn't you say? For such a slut..."

Chester stepped closer. For once his heart was throbbing the way Mike's always did. Thud. Thud. Thud thud. He clenched his fists. He tried to forget that saying an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth...

"Just tell him it's okay. Stop playing with his heart!"

"Why should I? He can't be bothered to tell me he's fucking someone else? Why should I tell him I don't care!"

Chester punched him. Straight in between the eyes. He heard the mirror smash as Brad hit it but didn't hang around long enough to see the shards scatter to the floor. He ran down the corridor, following the signs for the stage and he wondered if that would be seven years bad luck for him or for Brad.

+

Mike had joked that Chester should wear padding on stage, because of the jaunty angles and different levels that rose and twisted around like thorny rose bushes. Brad stood laughing as Chester had slipped, lost his footing and crashed down to the floor in agony. Brad had laughed and stood above him, fingers flicking along the fret of his guitar as Phoenix stopped playing and raced over to him.

It was broken. His fucking wrist was broken again and Chester bent over in pain, gripping on to the stage hands arm. He had to go back on. He had to go back on. Already he could hear Mike's adlibs, his jovial voice and fake laugh; the one he perfected for the fans, the press, the management and sometimes the rest of the band.

"Let me get some ice," Someone was shouting as Chester threw up.

"I think this is my punishment," He croaked toward Mark, who was there, ever present with his camera.

Mark peered from behind the lens and pulled a face, "Dude, I can't film this. You're in agony."

Chester shook his head, "This will make good viewing. This is the start of my seven years of bad luck," He looked directly at the camera, "Today I broke a mirror."

Then he turned away and threw up again.

+

"It's completely smashed," Chester sighed, slipping his fingers up and down his bright pink cast. It was a plaster affair, one that had to stay put for the next eight weeks. Not like the fandangle new one which he'd been given in Oz. He sighed and picked up a pen, pressing it to the CD cover in front of him, "My signature with my right hand is almost as good as with my left hand," He shone a smile at Mark who was there, again, with the camera.

The meet and greet over, everyone had filtered into the dressing room. Chester sat alone in the corner, staring at the bottle of beer he'd managed to open. No one was talking, save for Rob, who every now and then read a quote from the book he was reading. An appreciative nod or murmur would meet his words and then it would go quiet again.

Chester glanced up, having felt someone watching him. It stabbed him right in the heart to see that that someone was Mike. Of course, his eyes shot to the floor the moment Chester clocked him. So instead, he looked across to Brad, Brad who was sporting an ugly gash to his forehead; the one he'd received when Chester had knocked him into the mirror. Chester thought he deserved it. Mike thought Chester should keep his distance. Mike also thought Chester was lying when he told him what Brad had said.

That was why they were no longer speaking.

+

Mark was sitting in front of his laptop. Something, which Chester noted, he often did. When he wasn't heavy petting with Phoenix. Or standing behind the camera. Chester strolled over to him and sat down at the table beside him. It was warm outside, even in the secluded area of the hotel gardens, hidden away beneath the shade of a tree.

"What ya doing?" Chester asked, trying not to let on how drunk he was.

"Just editing some footage," Mark glanced up, "How's the arm?"

"I'll live."

Mark smiled and went back to his laptop. Chester glanced at the screen, eyes immediately dazzled by file after file and several open folders. There was too much jargon.

"Anything funny? Witty?"

"Obviously not from you," Mark chided, "Oh, except for one thing," He paused, "I'm actually just burning it to disc."

"Burning?" Chester blinked, "Okay. You're talking to a technophobe here."

"Everyone knows what burning is," Mark rolled his eyes, "Even your Grandma would know. You know, the one you fucked in the ass?"

Chester smiled and frowned, "Sorry?"

"I left my camera running in the dressing room the other day," Mark paused as his laptop began to whir loudly then he pressed a button and the disc drawer slid out, "I showed Phi, I hope you don't mind. It's just, I didn't quite know what to do at first."

"I'm confused..."

"From the day you shoved Brad Delson into a mirror," Mark smiled and pulled the disc from the tray. He placed it into an envelope and slid it toward Chester.

"Mike should see this. And not because I want to hurt him, but y'know, sometimes the truth has to hurt."

+

Chester stared at the disc. He picked it up and held it to the light. Then he placed it back into its case. He sat alone in Mike's hotel room, waiting for him to get back. It was almost two o'clock and sooner or later they'd be travelling to the venue. Chester had just finished off the last of the Vodka from the mini bar, after noting that the trashcan had contained several empty wine bottles. It wasn't like Mike to drink alone. Then again, it wasn't supposed to be like Chester to drink alone either.

He'd considered hunting for Mike's laptop or his portable DVD player but wouldn't have known where to start. Though everything was packed meticulously into Mike's suitcase, it would have probably been easy enough to find. Chester felt like he might have uncovered something he wasn't supposed to. Like razor blades or wraps of cocaine. Or bloodied clothes and screwed up tissues. As much as Chester wanted to be a complete part of Mike's life, he knew enough to know it was up to Mike to let him in. Not the other way around.

So he sat. And he waited. And he was just beginning to nod off when the door rattled and opened and Mike walked inside.

"Fuck, you scared the crap out of me," Mike gasped.

"Well," Chester shrugged, sitting up, "At least you're talking to me now."

Mike shuffled off his jacket and let it fall onto the bed. He walked over to his suitcase and unzipped it, pulling out a clean set of clothes.

"Before that," Chester got up, "Mark says you need to watch this," He waved the disc in Mike's direction.

Mike stopped what he was doing, placing his pile of clothes down onto the bureau.

"What is it?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Though I get a feeling I might know."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Then speak properly."

"Just watch it," Chester sighed, placing the disc down onto the neatly folded shirt Mike had picked, "And don't wear that shirt. It's ugly."

Mike gingerly took the disc and Chester walked away, not before quoting the words Mark had said to him earlier.

"Sometimes the truth has to hurt, Mike."

+

Chester figured that breaking the mirror had spilled bad luck onto him and Brad. Maybe that's what happened when you pushed someone into their own reflection. The show had ended two hours ago and they were all crammed into their tour bus, Joe and Phoenix squabbling over the Xbox; Rob still lost in his book. But Chester was more pressed with listening to the heated argument that had broken out between Brad and Mike.

"I can't believe you."

"Oh get over it! It's not like you were being fair on me. I figure we're even now."

"Brad you are such an asshole. I'm not even having an affair."

"You want to though."

"There's a slight difference. I don't see how this means we are even though. You've been using me."

"You've been using me."

Chester flinched as something was smashed. Rob glanced up from his book and gazed down toward the back room. Then it went quiet for a few moments until Joe hit the volume control and the sound of guns and screams blasted out into the air.

"I care about you. I still love you. I don't think I'll ever stop loving you."

"You just love someone else more."

"What does it matter? You never loved me anyway."

"It matters because no one makes a fool out of me Mike."

"So that's what this is about? Your pride?"

Something else got smashed. And then, even above the sound of Joe shouting 'I'm gonna slay you, you motherfucker!' and the guns and Phoenix laughing, Chester still heard the sound of a fist hitting a jaw.

When he got up and raced to the back of the bus and saw Brad towering over Mike, he wanted to scream. His voice, however, had lost itself. So he did the next best thing and launched himself at Brad, toppling his scrawny body over into an ugly heap on the floor.

"What is with you?" Chester snarled, "Why won't you just let him go? Don't you understand that the more you do this, the harder it is for him to leave?"

Brad laughed and loud enough for Chester and Mike to hear, he said, "I know. That's the whole point."

Chester felt arms around his waist and when he was on his feet once again, he saw that it had been Rob who had pulled him off Brad.

"That's enough," Rob snapped, arms still locked around Chester's waist, "I can't bear this anymore."

Mike sniffed and got to his feet. Chester watched him sadly as he wiped the blood away from his cheek. In his hand, he held the disc, now snapped in two. He shoved it in his back pocket and Chester stepped forward, freeing himself from Rob's grip.

"I'm sorry," Chester whispered, "But you wouldn't believe me. I figured if you saw the proof, well, then..."

"Will someone tell me what's going on?"

Chester sighed and glanced at Rob. He stood in the doorway, exasperation painted heavily across his face.

"Brad and I had an argument. Mike didn't believe me when I told him what had been said. Mark had left his camera on, he caught everything," Chester smiled, thinking how much of a fucking joke this actually was and shrugged, "So it takes a disc with our argument on for my best friend to finally believe me."

"It wasn't like that," Mike muttered, "I wanted to believe you."

"Yeah?" Chester smiled, "I wanted to stay sober."

+

The sound of raindrops hitting a window, it was something Chester had always found strangely therapeutic. He watched the tiny rivulets as they formed and trickled down the glass pane, meandering down and disappearing before it started over again. He hated sleeping in an empty bed. It felt cold and alone and wrong. Just like Mike turning to him earlier that morning on the stuffy bus and saying 'I need some time on my own.'

And now, no one knew where the hell he was.

Chester traced a finger down his stomach. But there was no scar to follow. No scar that ran so deep and trailed so far down. Chester closed his eyes. He pressed his hand against his chest. But it didn't sound the same. It was thud, thud, thud. Not thud, thud, thud thud. Nothing felt the same.

He hit the snooze button on the hotel issued alarm clock the moment it sprang into life and turned over, taking the covers with him.

For the first time since he'd joined the band, he thought, screw the show tonight. I don't care anymore.

+

"Still no sign?"

"No. And it's getting late. We're going to have to pull out of the show at this rate."

"The support can play longer, right?"

"Rob, it's not that simple. I mean, they've come to see us."

"It was just an idea Dave."

"I know. Sorry."

Chester opened his eyes. He sat up and with a groan, pulled himself off the bed. Rob, Phoenix, Mark and Joe all gazed at him with concern as he stumbled and steadied himself against the headboard. So, he'd come to liking hotel mini bars a lot. And?

"Who saw him last?" Chester asked, pulling on his shoes and patting his pockets down for cigarettes.

"I did," Rob nodded, "In the hotel lobby when we arrived. He gave the porter a huge tip to take his bags up and said he was going in search of some food."

"Which direction did he go?"

"I don't know," Rob sighed glumly.

"Okay. Have you tried calling him?"

"Of course we have, you harlot," Joe snapped.

"We've left, like, thirty messages," Rob cut in.

"Okay," Chester grabbed his phone from the nightstand, "I'm going to go find him. We might not make the show but hey, I figure Mike might be slightly more important."

He walked out of the hotel room without a second glance and trudged down the corridor, switching on his cell phone as he jogged down the stairs. There were four voice messages waiting for him.

"Hey Chester. It's mom. Call me back sometime, it's been weeks since we spoke."

Chester hit delete.

"Hey Chester, it's me."

Chester frowned as Mike's voice cut off and was replaced with crackling. He sighed as he walked across the hotel lobby toward the revolving doors and hit next message.

"Sorry. My battery is low. Listen, I'm okay. In case you were bothered. I just needed some time to clear my head. I'll see you all at the venue," He paused, "It hurt. Seeing that video really hurt. Like, hearing Brad say what I thought he felt all along? It makes me feel so worthless. I guess this is my punishment for falling for another guy, right?"

There was a beep and the crackling covered Mike's voice. Then the last message started to play, just as Chester reached a bench at the edge of the parking lot and sat down.

"I'm in love with you," Mike's voice echoed, "Like I've never been in love with anyone before."

Chester sighed and pocketed his phone. He realised, as he strolled back toward the hotel, that he was smiling for the first time in ages.

+

"If you love me, why is it so hard?"

Mike sighed, brushed his hand against Chester's, "I feel like I owe him. I can't be with you. It'd be like I was rubbing it in face."

"But he already said he doesn't care about you, what difference can being with me make?"

"I just... I still care about him. I can't just let him go."

Chester bit his lip, "What about me? Am I just supposed to sit and wait while you make up your mind?"

"You're making me sound like the villain here."

"I'm doing no such thing," Chester argued, "It's just that - Brad doesn't love you, he was just in it for the sex. And you know that yet you can't commit to me?"

"Is it any wonder?"

Chester laughed, his voice laced with bitterness, "So what, from now on you're not going to trust anyone?"

"You make it sound easy."

"It is."

"No," Mike shook his head and got to his feet, "It's not easy. I don't want to fall out with Brad. I want us to remain friends and I want to be with you in the process. But I can't have those things."

Chester sighed. This was the fifth mini bar he'd emptied this week. He fingered the rim of the bottle he was holding. Mike had always said that if Brad hadn't happened or wasn't happening then he'd hold Chester's hand and he wouldn't be ashamed. Chester couldn't figure out what had changed. This was supposed to be the start of the Mike-And-Chester-Holding-Hands-Era yet Mike could barely look at him.

"If you need time then," Chester paused, "I'll give you time. But I'm not waiting around forever. No matter how much I care."

It was a lie and Chester knew it. Chester would wait for Mike forever. He'd already spent five years doing it. Why stop now?

Mike sat down and rested his head against Chester's shoulder. His shoulders slumped and he reached out for the final bottle of beer.

"Brad says that the only people who show interest in me are just after one thing," He murmured, "Brad has said that much shit to me that some days I start to believe it."

"Don't flatter yourself," Chester smiled and Mike shoved him playfully.

+

"I'm sad."

"I'm sadder."

"I'll agree with that. What about you Chester?" Phoenix asked and Mark swung the camera around to his face.

"I'm bummed man," Chester sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead, "I don't want to go home and live normally."

Mark laughed and Phoenix slid his arm around his waist. Chester grabbed the towel that was hurtling in his direction and slung it across his shoulder. The tour was officially over and Chester was bummed out. He was also elated. He needed time to breathe, time to stop and think things over. He also needed time alone with Mike, which even after Brad finally getting bored and giving him some space, still hadn't happened.

The backstage area was packed. All the bands were mingling, bottles of champagne and doobies being passed around like candy. Chester found himself being followed by Mark as he went in search of Mike, who had sloped off as soon as they'd finished signing ticket stubs and body parts for the crowd. What he wasn't expecting as he turned toward the dressing room was to bump straight into a tearful Mike who flung his arms around him and began to sob.

"Hey.. What's happened?" Chester murmured, sliding his hands up and down Mike's back.

"He's kissing her. No, they were having sex."

Chester pulled away, slightly bemused when he was met with Mike's smile; tears still trickling down his cheeks.

"Wait. Who and what? Are you high?"

Mike shook his head, "Brad," He whispered, "He's with that guitar tech, you know, the redhead who works with Coheed?"

Chester nodded. Even as a gay man, he found he couldn't forget her face, "She's cute."

"Brad thinks so too," Mike grinned, "They're in the dressing room, fucking."

Chester felt a laugh escape his lips but stopped just in time to say, "And this is making you cry, because?"

"Because I can move on."

Chester frowned, "You're making no sense."

"When did I make sense?"

"True."

"It's just that," Mike stopped and rested his elbows against Chester's shoulders, "I'm free."

Chester sighed, "You've been waiting for Brad to cop off so you don't feel guilty, haven't you?"

Mike didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"Oh God," Chester squeezed Mike against him, "You've got to start putting yourself first you absolute prick."

+

This wasn't a hotel and there wasn't some dirty mini bar waiting to be ravished. In fact, Chester hadn't drunk since the last day of the tour. Five days, and counting. He lay on his back, surrounded by soft pillows and fresh sheets. The smell of washing powder danced over him, mingled with the scent of Mike's bare skin.

"I can't believe you slept all this time," Mike murmured.

Chester didn't speak. He was too busy watching Mike slowly unbutton his shirt. He was on his knees, between Chester's legs and Chester absently wondered if Mark would ever let him borrow his camera.

"I was tired," Chester shrugged, "I needed to rest."

Mike smiled, buttons now undone. Chester gulped watching Mike gently slide off his shirt, deliberately taking his time and revealing his soft, delicate skin. Chester leant forward, brushing his hands down Mike's sides as the shirt disappeared over the edge of the bed.

"I've missed kissing you," Chester murmured, thinking of how it had been years since they'd done so.

Mike smiled bashfully and pushed Chester down against the mattress once more. He leant over him, hands planted firmly on Chester's shoulders. And then Chester felt his lips brushing against Mike's; hands wrapping together and that warm, sugary taste enveloping his tongue. His eyes slipped shut and he felt his spine begin to tingle. Fuck, how had he lived without this?

Chester groaned, arched his back and pulled Mike closer. He felt his heart skipping a beat when Mike broke away and grabbed the lube that they'd placed on the bed hours ago. Before the foreplay and the touching and the dry humping, and now, finally, the kissing.

He'd thought of this throughout the years. Always playing the image in his mind late at night, slipping his hand down between his legs and touching himself as it danced in front of his eyes. But feeling it, actually feeling Mike as he sunk inside him with such care and ease and pressed kisses to Chester's forehead? It was worlds apart.

They moved as one, soft groans and creek of the bed filling the air. They rolled back and forth and clawed at one another's skin and when it had ended and the last trickle of daylight was creeping through the blinds, they lay together, side by side. Chester leant his head against Mike's chest. Thud, thud, thud thud. And he traced his damp finger down the scar on Mike's stomach. And he thought about breaking that mirror and how he couldn't have possibly gained any bad luck from doing so.

FIN.