Linkin Park fic
For a challenge using the following words: rapture, forgive, voice, pain, strange.
2:00 p.m.
Two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon was breezy and full in its silence in Detroit, as if the people were holding their collective breaths dreading Monday. Chester was of much the same mind, his laptop unplugged and tossed inelegantly on the bed in the midst of his suit and three dotted ties.
He did not take delight in winning the Somerson vs. the People case, and he certainly didn’t appreciate the inevitability of being called into work early Monday morning because of this. Sometimes, as his friends had often said, Chester was far too good for his vocation. Maybe he should’ve been a doctor. Or a psychologist would have been more likely. He seemed to win his cases based on pure mind-fucks. At least that was what his unflinching critics liked to sell to the public, because they were convinced he had no talent. Zilch.
And apparently, Chester could care less. He was winning, wasn’t he? Didn’t that say enough about his ability?
He had nothing to do on Sunday afternoon, and the view from his rather expensive apartment looked graciously down on the town’s student center. He could see the lights to the firm building on, and tiny figures passed from one window to another, catching up on their case files. One thing he didn’t have to worry about, thanks to Somerson.
A cup of coffee at the local Starbucks sounded quite nice to his lethargic mind, and a nice walk would give him something to do.
He promised himself he wouldn’t go cruising even though the college graduates and fresh, new entrepreneurs du jour appealed to him here more than anywhere else did.
Still, Chester had been known to break his own rules on occasion.
2:15 p.m.
He liked his café mocha bitter, filled to the top with whipped cream. Thick and warm and tasted oddly like home, if home had a certain flavor, and it settled in the warm cradle of his tongue like rich chocolate. Sometimes coffee was all one needed for that extra kick.
Grabbing a seat by the window, he sipped his coffee and watched as cars rolled by in muted sound, as men and women walked past him without so much as a glance. To be expected, of course. Chester was nothing but another face in the corporate population.
He picked up a Time magazine and Business Weekly from the shelf beside him.
“Capitalist, much?”
The voice shouldn’t have startled him as much as it did, but it did, and Chester was incredibly relieved that he had decided to get a café mocha at this particular Starbucks.
“I never read this stuff unless I want to impress someone.” Said Chester as he looked at the man with dark spikes. An unconventional earring was tacked into both the man’s lobes and a round pendant hung around his neck.
“Well, I’m impressed. You’ve got my attention,” the young man said as he pulled out the chair across from Chester and sat down. “But, I gotta say, you look like a corporate shark to me.”
“A shark?” Chester managed a slight laugh, and almost burned his tongue as he hastened to take another quick sip of coffee. “I don’t think so.” And, thankfully, the burning saved Chester from fumbling too much with his words.
God, the stranger’s eyes were dark. Dark chocolate brown, dark.
Chester never thought he’d be using the words deep, and soulful, and falling, and rapture, but yeah, it was happening. Like suddenly looking up and running into a brick wall. It really was inevitable, he thought. He was asking for it when he swore off cruising.
He should’ve known better.
“Mike Shinoda.” Mike extended his hand and Chester shook it, glad for the contact. Chester had felt as if he was floating free, and Mike’s hand grounded him. Made him feel that yes, his presence was needed and appreciated and enjoyed.
His name had never felt as important as it did then, not even when he was applying for his first case back in law school. “Chester Bennington,” he said.
Then Mike smiled, and it felt like to Chester as if the world was shattering into billions of shards of glass. “Nice to meet you, Chester.” Mike said and squeezed his hand in an almost knowing way.
If he wasn’t careful, Chester might cut himself on the fragments.
2:35 p.m.
“I don’t understand.” Said Mike as they exited the café and walked in the direction of the park, breathing in the slightly frosty November air. “What made you choose to lie for a career?”
“Lawyers don’t lie, Mike.” Chester said and shook his head, dismayed that Mike could think such a thing. “We keep justice alive and in our courts, and sometimes it can be a tedious task walking the thin line between right and wrong. No case is ever black or white, Mike. You have to look at things from all angles.”
“Okay, but why did you choose to do it for a living?”
Chester sighed and paused next to a rusty bench, reaching out his arm to keep Mike from walking further. “Why did you become a musician?” he asked.
“Because I love making music.” Mike said and turned to regard him with his warm gaze, oddly childish and mischievous as his eyes seemed to light up.
“Well,” Chester smiled and tilted his head. “Then you could say I love instituting the law.”
“You make it sound so glamorous.”
“That’s because it is.”
And when Mike laughed for the first time, Chester was never so glad in his life that he had chosen this particular profession.
His Sunday wasn’t turning out too shabby after all.
2:47 p.m.
“I forgive you for calling me a liar.” Chester handed Mike his business card.
Mike took the card without even glancing at it, and gave him a strange look. “I thought we were on more personal terms and past the business card stage.”
“Well, unless you have a pen and some paper, that’ll have to do for now.” Chester pointed to the card and smiled carefully. They were in front of his building, and everything had gone so well up to this point. Too well, maybe. Nothing about the day had been intentional so far, and Chester was always first to feel pain before the pleasure.
They’d even brushed shoulders when they had been walking through the park. Brushed fingers accidentally when they’d pushed off from the bench they had sat on.
He should probably count his blessings and go inside before things have a chance to go wrong.
Mike seemed to be assessing the situation as he faced Chester, and his hands were curling and uncurling at his sides, his body language slightly – twitchy. As if he wanted to do something, which Chester would not object to if that something were a good thing. On the other hand, if Mike thought Chester was being an insensitive jerk handing him a company card rather than scribbling like a teenage love-struck on Mike’s palm his number, and wanted to punch him one good in the face – well, then Chester would have to run his ass off.
“I’ll call you.” Mike said and suddenly winked. Like quicksilver, a wink, and it was possibly the hottest thing Chester had ever seen next to Nicole Kidman’s corset in Moulin Rouge.
Chester smiled, all of a sudden feeling only half of his 28 years. “Do that.” He said, and grabbed Mike’s hand before he could change his mind, and pulled him into a warm hug. The kind that friends-maybe-more do, the kind that Chester thought Mike would give given his personality.
Chester had the unexpected urge to wrap Mike up and put him under his own Christmas tree, with nothing except a bow, of course.
Happily dazed and a little off-kilter, Chester stepped back from the embrace and smiled again before setting foot inside his building and hopping on the elevator that would transport him twelve floors up to his apartment.
2:59 p.m.
By the time he leaned out over the balcony and curled his fingers around the balustrade like a sickeningly in love maiden, Mike was but a little speck of black hair and dark clothes, walking away into the sunset.
the end.
Fluff. That's it. Sheesh.
2:00 p.m.
Two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon was breezy and full in its silence in Detroit, as if the people were holding their collective breaths dreading Monday. Chester was of much the same mind, his laptop unplugged and tossed inelegantly on the bed in the midst of his suit and three dotted ties.
He did not take delight in winning the Somerson vs. the People case, and he certainly didn’t appreciate the inevitability of being called into work early Monday morning because of this. Sometimes, as his friends had often said, Chester was far too good for his vocation. Maybe he should’ve been a doctor. Or a psychologist would have been more likely. He seemed to win his cases based on pure mind-fucks. At least that was what his unflinching critics liked to sell to the public, because they were convinced he had no talent. Zilch.
And apparently, Chester could care less. He was winning, wasn’t he? Didn’t that say enough about his ability?
He had nothing to do on Sunday afternoon, and the view from his rather expensive apartment looked graciously down on the town’s student center. He could see the lights to the firm building on, and tiny figures passed from one window to another, catching up on their case files. One thing he didn’t have to worry about, thanks to Somerson.
A cup of coffee at the local Starbucks sounded quite nice to his lethargic mind, and a nice walk would give him something to do.
He promised himself he wouldn’t go cruising even though the college graduates and fresh, new entrepreneurs du jour appealed to him here more than anywhere else did.
Still, Chester had been known to break his own rules on occasion.
2:15 p.m.
He liked his café mocha bitter, filled to the top with whipped cream. Thick and warm and tasted oddly like home, if home had a certain flavor, and it settled in the warm cradle of his tongue like rich chocolate. Sometimes coffee was all one needed for that extra kick.
Grabbing a seat by the window, he sipped his coffee and watched as cars rolled by in muted sound, as men and women walked past him without so much as a glance. To be expected, of course. Chester was nothing but another face in the corporate population.
He picked up a Time magazine and Business Weekly from the shelf beside him.
“Capitalist, much?”
The voice shouldn’t have startled him as much as it did, but it did, and Chester was incredibly relieved that he had decided to get a café mocha at this particular Starbucks.
“I never read this stuff unless I want to impress someone.” Said Chester as he looked at the man with dark spikes. An unconventional earring was tacked into both the man’s lobes and a round pendant hung around his neck.
“Well, I’m impressed. You’ve got my attention,” the young man said as he pulled out the chair across from Chester and sat down. “But, I gotta say, you look like a corporate shark to me.”
“A shark?” Chester managed a slight laugh, and almost burned his tongue as he hastened to take another quick sip of coffee. “I don’t think so.” And, thankfully, the burning saved Chester from fumbling too much with his words.
God, the stranger’s eyes were dark. Dark chocolate brown, dark.
Chester never thought he’d be using the words deep, and soulful, and falling, and rapture, but yeah, it was happening. Like suddenly looking up and running into a brick wall. It really was inevitable, he thought. He was asking for it when he swore off cruising.
He should’ve known better.
“Mike Shinoda.” Mike extended his hand and Chester shook it, glad for the contact. Chester had felt as if he was floating free, and Mike’s hand grounded him. Made him feel that yes, his presence was needed and appreciated and enjoyed.
His name had never felt as important as it did then, not even when he was applying for his first case back in law school. “Chester Bennington,” he said.
Then Mike smiled, and it felt like to Chester as if the world was shattering into billions of shards of glass. “Nice to meet you, Chester.” Mike said and squeezed his hand in an almost knowing way.
If he wasn’t careful, Chester might cut himself on the fragments.
2:35 p.m.
“I don’t understand.” Said Mike as they exited the café and walked in the direction of the park, breathing in the slightly frosty November air. “What made you choose to lie for a career?”
“Lawyers don’t lie, Mike.” Chester said and shook his head, dismayed that Mike could think such a thing. “We keep justice alive and in our courts, and sometimes it can be a tedious task walking the thin line between right and wrong. No case is ever black or white, Mike. You have to look at things from all angles.”
“Okay, but why did you choose to do it for a living?”
Chester sighed and paused next to a rusty bench, reaching out his arm to keep Mike from walking further. “Why did you become a musician?” he asked.
“Because I love making music.” Mike said and turned to regard him with his warm gaze, oddly childish and mischievous as his eyes seemed to light up.
“Well,” Chester smiled and tilted his head. “Then you could say I love instituting the law.”
“You make it sound so glamorous.”
“That’s because it is.”
And when Mike laughed for the first time, Chester was never so glad in his life that he had chosen this particular profession.
His Sunday wasn’t turning out too shabby after all.
2:47 p.m.
“I forgive you for calling me a liar.” Chester handed Mike his business card.
Mike took the card without even glancing at it, and gave him a strange look. “I thought we were on more personal terms and past the business card stage.”
“Well, unless you have a pen and some paper, that’ll have to do for now.” Chester pointed to the card and smiled carefully. They were in front of his building, and everything had gone so well up to this point. Too well, maybe. Nothing about the day had been intentional so far, and Chester was always first to feel pain before the pleasure.
They’d even brushed shoulders when they had been walking through the park. Brushed fingers accidentally when they’d pushed off from the bench they had sat on.
He should probably count his blessings and go inside before things have a chance to go wrong.
Mike seemed to be assessing the situation as he faced Chester, and his hands were curling and uncurling at his sides, his body language slightly – twitchy. As if he wanted to do something, which Chester would not object to if that something were a good thing. On the other hand, if Mike thought Chester was being an insensitive jerk handing him a company card rather than scribbling like a teenage love-struck on Mike’s palm his number, and wanted to punch him one good in the face – well, then Chester would have to run his ass off.
“I’ll call you.” Mike said and suddenly winked. Like quicksilver, a wink, and it was possibly the hottest thing Chester had ever seen next to Nicole Kidman’s corset in Moulin Rouge.
Chester smiled, all of a sudden feeling only half of his 28 years. “Do that.” He said, and grabbed Mike’s hand before he could change his mind, and pulled him into a warm hug. The kind that friends-maybe-more do, the kind that Chester thought Mike would give given his personality.
Chester had the unexpected urge to wrap Mike up and put him under his own Christmas tree, with nothing except a bow, of course.
Happily dazed and a little off-kilter, Chester stepped back from the embrace and smiled again before setting foot inside his building and hopping on the elevator that would transport him twelve floors up to his apartment.
2:59 p.m.
By the time he leaned out over the balcony and curled his fingers around the balustrade like a sickeningly in love maiden, Mike was but a little speck of black hair and dark clothes, walking away into the sunset.
the end.
Fluff. That's it. Sheesh.