Here’s a little one shot that I woke up thinking about the other day. It’s second person, which I’m not practiced in - at all - so I hope it doesn’t suck :/ but I kinda love those stories where you’re not exactly sure who’s talking until the end, and I wanted to give it a try. Let me know if you’re surprised.

Also, on an admin note, our registration is fixed! So if you want to make an account so you can leave reviews and ratings, save your favorite stories or post stories of your own, go to the registration tab and fill out the form :)

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It’s early when you wake up, which is good. The bus is leaving in an hour, and you and your bandmates will be off to the next city. To the next gig. Usually that’s exciting for you, seeing new places and meeting new people. It’s fun to go exploring with your friends, who are also your business partners. You’re not just a rock band getting to tour the world, you’re a family.

You’re not sure if that makes what happened last night worse or not. You’re still sitting up in the hotel bed, the creamy white blanket covering your naked legs and waist as you look over at him. Your friend. Your drummer. He’s the youngest one of the six of you, and until last night you’d never really given him a second thought when it came to all things sexy. Sure, he’s a good looking guy. He’s got muscles for miles, though he never brags about it. Maybe that’s what led you to have a drink with him. His humble way of doing everything. His soft voice that seems odd coming from a man with such broad shoulders, and over six foot tall frame.

You tilt your head as you look at his sleeping face. Even though you all have to leave soon, he hasn’t stirred. He’s on his stomach, his face pressed into the hotel pillow, a strand of his dark brown hair over his eyes. You slowly scan down his top half that’s sticking out of the blanket. His skin his flawless - clean and free from tattoos or scars of any kind. He’s still young - you both are - but he shows it better. You can’t spot anything as you gaze over his exposed shoulder blades. There’s no wrinkles. No splotches from age or unsightly moles. No birthmarks.

He doesn’t usually drink like he did last night. Maybe he broke his own rules because the show had been amazing. It’s a hard thought as you look away from him and down at you. Seconds ago you were wondering why, after all these years, you dove into bed with him. But maybe it was the other way around. You’d suggested a drink, but who suggested you come back to your room?

It was hard to remember, but the aching feeling that maybe he used you to celebrate - to use up the leftover energy from the stage where you had all been applauded - runs through you. But you shake that away quickly as you stand up, leaving him in the bed behind you. It doesn’t matter, that’s what you know. If you suggested it or he did, there’s no difference. Because the reality is that now you have to face your other bandmates. On the other side of that hotel room door, they’re all getting up and getting dressed, like everything is normal. Like last night didn’t happen. They don’t know. Yet.

You walk over to the striped armchair where your jeans from last night are flung. Your underwear is there, too, and you pull both on before heading to the bathroom. Your body is a little sore after what was a rambunctious romp with the innocent drummer boy, who you never thought you’d be sharing a bed with. You never thought you’d find yourself face down in his lap, sucking his dick and loving the taste. You never thought you’d let him roll you over and push inside you with all the natural rhythm his muscle memory had locked away from years of playing drums.

It had been good. More than good. But now, with the intoxication gone, with the thrill and excitement of his hands on your hips and his lips on your skin gone, you don’t feel right about it. You’re pretty sure why, and that reason was right outside the hotel room door.

It’s a slow walk to find your pale yellow t-shirt from last night. You scoop it from the floor and pull it over your head with a yawn. Slowly, your mind drifts away from the regret of last night to the prospect of the lobby downstairs and the coffee and cheap breakfast food you know will be there. Dry eggs. Dry toast and English muffins. Greasy sausage links and cold cereal. None of it would be appetizing, but there would be coffee and if you put enough of the little cream cheese packets on the toast or the English muffins, it passed as an okay breakfast.

Your stomach informs you that you need to go right now and get all those things, and you’re not going to argue. You quietly traverse the room, glancing at the bed every few seconds as you find your glasses and pop them on your face. You pull on socks and then your sneakers. You know you need to shower before it’s time to pile back on the tour bus, but you really need coffee first. Maybe even a walk outside in the fresh air. Maybe you just really need space between you and the man in your bed.

It’s not the man you need space from, you remind yourself. It’s not his fault. It’s the choice you made last night that’s really bothering you. Especially when you open the door and take a step out into the hallway. The first thing you see is him, coming your way. From day one you’ve always been enticed by Mike Shinoda’s infectious smile. But it’s more than that. The emcee is the most positive force in your life. He looks on the bright side like no one you’ve ever met before. He points out the silver lining, even when the situation sucks.

Right now he’s calling your name, the way he always does with one hand in the air and all his teeth showing in the biggest grin. He’s got his backpack over his shoulder, and you know it’s because he’s planning on going down to the dinning room to have coffee and eat dry eggs while he sketches something amazing in the time it takes for him to finish breakfast. You’ll sit across from him and watch, just like you always do. You’ll talk the whole time, because when you’re with Mike, the conversation never stops. It’s one of the things you love about him. The ability to geek out with him over anything and everything. It’s intoxicating.

He’s right in front of you now, his hand on your shoulder as he tells you good morning. He’s fresh from the shower. You can smell the clean scent of soap and shampoo. Mike’s always clean. And as you feel him squeeze your shoulder, you know exactly why last night feels wrong. The man on the other side of the door, isn’t the man you wanted. He’s not the man you flirt with every day, most of the time low-key, but sometimes right out in the open in front of everyone. Mike. He’s the one you laugh the most with. The one you share secrets with. He’s the one that looks at you, and he doesn’t see a screw up. He’s the one that calls you to hang out, even when you’re not working. He’s the one that hugs you extra long, and has started to leave kisses on your cheek. Sometimes those kisses linger, and you love that.

You think you love him, and maybe - just maybe - he loves you back. Maybe he would want to go on a date. You’ve been to a million movies together. You’ve gone out to eat more times than you can count.

But those weren’t dates, and as he asks you what’s wrong, you realize they’re never going to be dates. Not now. You’ve ruined it, and you know it. It’s hard to look up, to see the look of concern in his dark eyes. He’s worried about you, but you know as soon as he finds out about the drummer on the other side of the door, he’s never going to worry about you again. Not like this. Not with love in his eyes and a hand caressed to your shoulder. He’s going to look at you different. His flirtation with you will stop. You know it will because you know him. He’ll cross you off his list of possible boyfriends, because you’ve made your choice, and you didn’t choose him. There’s no going back, and it’s making it hard to come up with words.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you’re trying not to cry over what you’ve destroyed as you look up. “Whatever’s wrong, we can figure it out. Okay?” He’s already leaning forward, already leaving one of his soft, warm kisses to your face. “We always figure everything out, don’t we?”

You nod because that’s true. But can this be figured out? You don’t think so, even as he takes your hand and says, “Come on, Chester, let’s go get coffee. It’s a new day for new choices. Nothing can be so bad we can’t fix it.”

You’re really hoping he’s right.

****

The End! Thanks for reading :)