Confession

This is Real.

"Mikey," Chester said slowly, "you talk in your sleep."

What? I don't talk in my sleep. Anna never said I talk in my sleep. Well... I guess I don't spend that many nights with her. Mostly Chester. Chester. Oh, my God, what have I said?

Mike didn't think he could feel more exposed in this moment even if he were lying on the bed naked. Already there had been too many emotions this morning, and fear was settling in as he tried to think of what he could possibly be talking about in his sleep that would make Chester need space from him.

Unless.

Unless I've been talking about him.

His empty stomach churned as he waited for Chester to speak again. Just as he was about to jump out of bed and run into the bathroom, Chester sighed and shifted uncomfortably until he was sitting cross legged, looking at Mike, no longer touching his shoulder. Mike felt the loss and the chill all over again, and reached around the pillows for the comforter. Drawing it over him, Mike waited.

Chester looked guilty. His eyes met with Mike's, locked and held for a moment, then he looked away, fidgeting with the bracelet on his wrist before speaking, his voice low. "You started a few years ago, and at first it was just mumblings about the show, or frustrations with the kids, or Anna. Sometimes you were frustrated with me... I just let you talk it out, you know? You seemed to sleep better afterwards, and I... I just... wanted you to sleep better."

Ok, that's not so bad. I can be frustrated. I'm always frustrated. Mike was desperately hoping that was it, but he knew it couldn't be. There was no way Chester was finished. There was no way that was enough to make Chester want to be away from him. There had to be more.

"Sometimes I'd hold your hand, and you seemed to like that. I liked it too, I felt so close to you, Mikey." Chester's brows furrowed as he considered his next words. Mike thought about all the times they'd held hands, walking down the street, talking over dinner, under Chester's blanket on the plane every time they took off... It's normal. It's what we do. We've always held hands, because you hate flying. That's how it started. So normal. Why do you look so worried?

"Thanks, Ches. I guess that's why I sleep so well when I'm with you. You're taking care of me." Mike reached for Chester's hand then, and Chester met him halfway, looking down as their fingers laced together between them. Mike looked up and saw that Chester's face had suddenly blushed a faint shade of pink, and immediately wondered if the idea of taking care of him was what had caused a reaction in Chester.

"Mike...Mikey," Chester paused, then his words came tumbling out in a rush as though he was afraid he might not get them out if he stopped. "One night, you were talking to me in your sleep and I could have sworn you were awake, but when I took your hand, you didn't look at me and I knew, I knew you were sleeping. We'd just written some of Roads Untraveled before we fell asleep after a show, it was so late it was early, you know? and I was laying there beside you, and you were mumbling about being lost, and I realized you were dreaming. We'd been sleeping together for years by then, and you'd never really talked about anything for very long, just a bit here and there," Chester glanced up, pleading with his eyes for understanding, feeling guilty that he'd never mentioned this at all.

Mike's hand clenched and unclenched in the soft downiness of the pillow as his mind raced around, trying to remember what was going on during the making of Living Things, but just couldn't seem to get everything into a neat Shinoda timeline. Damn, I can't remember anything! We both had babies then, I wasn't sleeping much, I know. I remember when we tracked your vocals for Roads Untraveled, I remember staring at your face while you sang with your eyes closed, behind the glass, you sounded amazing, Chester. Did I tell you that then? I did, I know I did. And then we went out for Chinese food. And then went home. To sleep next to our wives.