Forever

Daffodils and Lilies

"Have you thought about it, love?"

Chester reached a hand toward Mike, gently brushing his silver streaked hair away from his forehead, smiling into his husband's dark eyes. "I have, Mikey. Don't you worry. Everything will be exactly the way you want it. And I won't leave you alone for long."

Mike nodded, letting his eyes close with the thought, I'm so tired. I'm tired of being tired. "I love you, Ches. I want you to know, I wouldn't change a moment with you," he whispered.

There were tears in his eyes that Chester couldn't let Mike see. He rested his forehead on the bed and took a deep breath, fighting back the emotions that were threatening to take his voice. He turned his face out of the blanket enough to say, "me either. Not a single one. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. Every bit of it, even if it brought us right back here. You're my whole life, Mike Shinoda." He felt Mike's hand move, felt it land on his shaved head with the touch of a butterfly.

"And you're mine. My life," Mike breathed, his fingertips caressing over Chester's velvety hair for mere seconds before the fatigue became overwhelming. "Stay," he whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere," Chester responded simply, lifting his head to slide his eyes over Mike's familiar face, recognizing the moment his soulmate slipped back into sleep again, leaving him alone on the other side of consciousness.

**

The windows in the bedroom were open, the sheer white gossamer curtains blowing gently in the early morning breeze as Mike Shinoda sat quietly in his corner chair. He could hear his pencil scratching the paper as he sketched absently, a scene unfolding on the paper in front of him. Even though he'd always turned to art when he couldn't sleep, or to relieve his stress and anxiety, it wasn't doing much calm his mind at the moment.

The small antique bronze lamp that sat on the table between his and Chester's chairs only illuminated the room in the faintest glow, but it was enough light for him to see his husband sprawled out on the white bedsheets. They matched the soft gray blankets in the dim lighting, but Mike's practiced eye differentiated between the shades of white and gray easily, and he added more or less pressure to his pencil to perfectly replicate the scene in front of him.

Maybe I should do another art show. A whole gallery of pictures of Chester. The idea rolled around in his head for a moment. I only have decades of material to choose from. I'd need a whole floor, just for him.

He looked up as Chester stretched languidly in his sleep, then rolled over and grew still again, and a fond smile touched his lips. I wish I could sleep like that. Totally unconscious. Peaceful.

As if to contradict his thoughts, Chester smoothed a hand over the empty mattress in front of him, then called out sleepily, "Mikey?"

The sound of Chester's voice was all it took for Mike to quickly abandon his sketchbook and robe in his chair and slide into bed, pulling Chester's warm body against him and whispering, "I'm here, love." Mike felt Chester melt against him, and he nuzzled his face into Chester's hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

"What time is it?" Chester mumbled, his arms sliding around Mike with familiar ease.

"Early," Mike murmured softly. "It's still dark out. Go back to sleep, I'm right here."

"You never sleep anymore," Chester complained softly, squeezing Mike close.

It was true. Mike had been having a hard time sleeping for months, a restless feeling keeping him awake when he should have been able to turn his mind off. There was an energy that wouldn't let him rest, and so far he hadn't found a suitable outlet for that energy. "Sorry, love," he whispered, "I don't mean to keep you awake."