This story is a kind of deviance for me, mainly to satisfy the darker, sharper corners of my mind. I know that nothing really happens in this first part, but it's merely an introduction to the characters, and the action to follow. Maybe not your regular boy meets (famous) boy kind of love story...hope you like it.
Disclaimer: This story in no way means to imply the sexuality of any of Linkin Park, in particular Chester Bennington, and I do not know, nor own them.
If you shouldn't be here, then remind me; why are you?
By Myself Part 1
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The wind shook the limber branches of the grey willows vigorously, as if reprimanding them, and grated its icy teeth along the raggedy banks of the river. The dark form sat, knees bent sharply up to chin, shrouded in the smothering warmth of the black hooded sweatshirt. His onyx eyes shone crystalline in the dull shadows; his thin, pale lips set vacant and expressionless; his clipped, smooth nose directed to his feet. The rainwater, stewed in the decaying sedge, began to soak up through his dark, baggy jeans, raising curses to his mind as he felt the slimy touch through his underwear.
Standing up, the mocking breeze swiped cold fingers at his hood, ghosting a sliver of light over his downcast features, revealing a shading of auburn hair curling down, over his ears, and freezing the restrained wetness barely visible at the corners of his eyes. A controlled motion of his hands, pinkish from the chill, smoothed down his top, and brushed absently at his jeans, catching the steely key chain hanging in a parabola from his belt to his pocket.
Raph.
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'And this is why we do it.'
Chester Bennington thought, gazing over the rippling crowd that stretched away from the edge of the stage and into the darkness beyond. Their exertion, their voice, their sweat and screams prickled his throat as he swallowed down the enthusiasm. He looked over at his band mate, Mike Shinoda, who was similarly elated by the performance, loosely holding his microphone in his right hand and breathing deeply.
The crowd were still screaming and cheering, some strands continuing to sing the words to 'Paper cut', even though the music had died away. Chester raised a hand to his brow, blocking out the glare from the overhead lights so that he could see the ocean of sweat-polished faces more clearly, reading a few banners, and giving a kick to a few persons who received a smile from him.
Mike and Chester voiced the accumulated gratitude of the band and left the stage, followed by the others. Chester's throat felt sore and rasped from the performance, perhaps from trying just a little too hard; there were quite a few more dates left to play on the European tour, and he couldn't go losing his voice yet. The cargo pants he wore weighted down his hips, partially through the vast quantities of sweat they had absorbed, and the fraction of the bottle of water he tipped over his head as he fried beneath the stage lights.
The white vest he wore clung to his torso, lightly irritating his pale skin with its grainy, mildly soiled surface. He couldn't wait to get out of his clothes and shower, to remove the residue of smoke and alcohol, which had seemed to become part of his body chemistry through exposure alone. But it was a short walk to his dressing room, along the oppressive lengths of corridor and down the brief flights of steps in the maze-like venue. Mike was speaking in his ear excitedly, even though Chester had warned him before that comprehension was not one of his skills immediately after a performance.
The isolation was bliss when he got it.
Rummaging through his bag to find his shower gel as the bathroom exuded choking plumes of steam into the main dressing room, he happened upon a creased photograph of his wife, Samantha, and their baby. It snagged at his facial muscles, and made him smile briefly, remembering his new home, back in the US, and his family. Sam and him had been together for ages. They were solid- unbreakable. He needed her, because she reminded him of normality, of his real place in life. She grounded him.
Shifting off his clothes, the swirls of tattoos printed over his body glowed in the garish, artificial light. He ran his fingers lightly over the huge, coiled koi carp on his left bicep, almost wishing he could dip his hand into the tempestuous waters and caress the metallic, orange scales. The tattoos were addictive. He had got one, then another, and then another. They spread over his skin through time like a welcome rash, shocking him with their needle-birth and crimson-rough infancy.
Stepping gladly under the onslaught of the shower, he groaned softly as the insistent ribbons of hot water plucked and sucked at him, shearing the grime and grease from his body and down into the blackness of the drains. Ending up a deposit upon a deposit, shifted around the World, ultimately disowned until being devoured by the crabs and oysters in the shit-holes of the ocean.
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The door shut firmly behind Raph, who had no reason to creep around, entering the house like it was sacred or anything. He dumped his bag on the kitchen table, turning to pull a carton of orange juice from the obese refrigerator.
"Oh, Raph!" The curt voice, scolding and disappointed all at once reverberated to his ears, "Tu portes ca chain?"
Raph looked moodily back at the middle-aged woman, bedecked in the pastel green suit, with her white blouse showing underneath the folds of the jacket and her hair coffered neatly about her round face. She was giving him a reprimanding, exasperating glare, her eyes focused on the links of metal swaying from his hip.
"I don't see why you have a problem with it." He muttered, obliging the woman slightly by getting a glass to drink from.
"You don't see why?" Her voice was overwhelmed by her French accent, giving more weight and expression to her words, "I don't want people seeing my son looking like a rebel!"
He smiled shortly. She couldn't pronounce 'r' without making it sound like she had a bad lisp.
"Everyone wears them..." He lied mildly, knowing that she didn't have much knowledge as to what teenagers wore.
"Evangeline doesn't wear them. She dresses nicely." She dumped the bags onto the kitchen counter and began to sort out the foodstuffs into the cupboards.
"Evangeline is a..." Raph grumbled loudly.
"Raphael!" His mother cut him off quickly, "I will not allow you to call her names. She is a very nice girl..." Sliding a jar into the well-organised depths of a cupboard, she added belatedly, "Very nice. I don't see why you don't take her out somewhere..."
"Maman!" He screamed desperately, "Don't go trying to organise my life, okay?"
Fuck her. Fuck her and her insinuations. Fuck them all.
"I'm going out." He growled.
"But I just got home."
Like that's any kind of reason to stay around.
"I'll see you later." He could still feel that uncomfortable dampness on the backs of his thighs, but the dark would hide that, and he didn't care anyway. He just wanted to go somewhere...
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The car slid smoothly through the night, cutting between the sparse groups of people stumbling down the sidewalks, going unnoticed and unrecognised. Chester leaned back gratefully into the driver's seat, indulging in the anonymity. The faces didn't stare at him; didn't scrutinise his passing visage before fluttering cognition in their eyes.
Of course, it was a mixed bag of treats. Some people would run up to him, flushed with his celebrity, splutter out their adulation, or speak stiffly in an attempt to have a much reduced elation at his presence. Others, with their sneers and stifled laughter, would whisper behind his back their distaste, or their dislike of him, his music, and his group. He didn't care either way; both forms were as putrid as each other.
The streets had cleared, people finding their pleasures in the shadowed doorways of the clubs, the bars and the cafés. The swan necked lamps- hovering dangerous and molten- spilt their discovery over emptiness and the black rental vehicle. Chester caught his own eyes in the mirror, dark, glassy and cool. The void needed to be filled.
But emptiness was everywhere. He detailed the shadows further, the corners and niches. Empty. But a shuffling brought his attention to a side street. It could have been a feral cat, or a domestic pussy, risking its life and virginity on the dust carpeted walls, but the intrigue was enough to prick at Chester's curiosity.
The scene opened up to him. The fronts of the stores were only momentary illuminated with that reluctant glow of security lights in the displays to dissuade criminals from curving their steel teeth around the windows and doorframes. There was someone though; clothed in shadow and invisibility, hanging head and dark clothing, dragged feet and scuffed trainers.
Chester slowed up beside him. The hesitant decoration of the swaggered key chain pulled at the light from a store window. Chester allowed a smile to tug at his lips. This was one f the gushing ones, the overwhelmed ones. He wound the window down, noting the baggy hooded top and jeans.
"Hey, you know any good places to get a drink?"
The stranger flicked his head around, in that dubious way that one does if they do not mark themselves the receiver. It was a young man, maybe a teenager. He eyed Chester carefully, resuming his stance a few feet from the car.
"Sure." His voice was clear and rich with a clean American accent.
"You American?" Chester inquired with shock.
"Nah, my dad is though." The stranger replied.
"So; can you tell me somewhere I can get a drink?"
"There is a load of places on the main avenue. You can see for yourself." He had a bit of an attitude.
"You didn't hear right..." Chester smiled as warmly as he could, "I said a 'good' place."
"Right."
"Better still, you could show me." Chester laughed, "I'm Chester."
"I know." The stranger affirmed, "I'm Raph."
"Weird name, but cool."
"Could say the same to you." The stranger replied, swinging himself through the open passenger door.
The street spun effortlessly by them as they progressed away from the centre of the Versailles, sliding along the broad, naked roads lined with their ominous, blank-eyed terraces in creamy stone. The conversation was sparse, but frequent, plucking at the shadows outside the car to raise topics, issues, anything to dilute those awkward feelings inherent with the oddity of the meeting.
"You often walk the streets alone at night?" Chester threw a dazzling smile at Raph.
Raph could feel phlegm catching in his throat, trapping his voice for a moment, as he tried to avoid getting lost in Chester's eyes.
"Err...no." He grinned lamely, "Well, y'know; I've got some shit going on at the minute."
"Sorry to hear it." Chester looked uncertain for a moment, unsure of whether he wanted the burden of this kid's problems to add onto his own... "You wanna talk about it?"
"Um..." Raph smiled appreciatively, then shook his head lightly, "Let's get to the place first. Then I can bore you with my problems."
Chester took the humour gratefully, pleased that he hadn't found too much of a freak. Their fans often seemed to have problems, and find some kind of solace in the music, but he wasn't sure that he could really help any of them directly...
"Turn in here." The voice chiming in his ear was welcome.
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The soft neon promises of the rock club soothed Raph's nerves. This was his territory and his friends, so he had nothing to fear from this place. He could easily sit, or stand, with the celebrity beside him, and at least feel a bit more normal, maybe more attractive, than he had rubbing his soles on the sidewalk. The darkness was a comfort to him also, hiding his blushes, his nervousness and neuroses.
Chester retrieved a black beanie hat from the glove box before they entered, even though he was nearly unrecognisable without it. Raph had barely recognised him when the black car had sidled up to him in that dark street, and only could tell when he'd introduced himself.
'Worked in my favour I guess...I would have died if I had known immediately...'
Raph knew that there'd be a few questions directed to him; from members of the bar staff he knew; from any of his friends if they were there, just because the guy beside him was a stranger to the place, and his company.
"Say...if anyone asks, what are we gonna call you?"
"You saying; I should go incognito?" Chester smirked.
"If you don't want any hassle." Raph shrugged, repeating over and over in his brain 'oh my god, Chester Bennington, oh my god, Chester Bennington...'
"Whatever. Umm...call me Randall."
"Randall?"
"It's a name." Chester shrugged, but there was a discreet, dancing light in his eyes that infused some kind of significance into the name.
"Randy it is then." Raph laughed lightly, "I warn you; they'll have a few problems pronouncing it without emphasizing the 'r'..."
"'S okay." Chester grinned, "You can say that I'm a visiting relative or something."
"Cousin?" Raph chuckled.
"Cousin Randy." Chester kinda cheered and swung his arm around Raph's shoulders, clapping him on the back.
"Let's go in before someone thinks we're trade." Raph laughed, settling into the friendly embrace.
The bar was fairly quiet, but still comfortably full so they didn't have to feel like everyone's eyes were on them (for Raph's sake anyways). A member of bar staff, dressed all in black, with a riot of long hair, pressed up to the shiny, plastic laminate surface as they approached.
"Messieurs? Oh, Raph, salut."
"A toi, Thomas." Raph forced a grin on his face to mask the mild anxiety tensing up his jaw.
"Oh, shit, French." Chester exclaimed, laughing lightly.
"American?" Thomas shot back.
"Yeah, I'm...err...Randy. Raph's cousin." Chester held out a slim hand.
The skin was pale and smooth, the tendons on the back of his hands ghosting underneath. The blooms of the flame tattoo crept slightly out from under his long, black sleeve. Raph's eyes widened.
'If anyone sees those...'
Thomas didn't notice and amiably took Chester's hand in his own. They shook briefly and then the attention was returned to Raph. They got a couple of shots and beers, and then retreated into the violet, blue and red patterned shadows to find a place to sit. They positioned themselves on a low, broad wall that acted like a magnet for those uncertain pairings, or for those temporary stops between dancing. The howling speakers were far away enough to allow them to talk at a comfortable pitch, whilst loud enough to fill any difficult silences.
"How come you sound so American, Raph?" Chester fought out against the grumbling of a particularly choking piece of underground metal playing.
"Uh...I go to an international school," He raised his eyebrows, adding, "And I go to the US a lot in holidays and shit."
"Right..." The singer rolled his eyes a bit, processing the information, "So you're pretty hot with the scene in the US then?"
"I guess." Raph shrugged, "I kinda prefer it over there anyways...people don't hear about it much soon enough here for me to relate too much to other people."
"Really? That's shit." Chester swigged at the beer, "I guess I have noticed how things are behind here in Europe though..."
"Dad gets me a lot of stuff in on import, so I'm up with the states."
Raph stole a lengthy glance at Chester as his dark eyes roamed around the club, taking in the other patrons and assessing the décor. Raph allowed his eyes to trail up the slender frame, desperately attempting to penetrate the layers of clothing, though succeeding in only letting his imagine create what he couldn't detail for himself. Chester turned to look at his company again,
"It's a mixed crowd in here..." He smiled unsurely as his eyes connected with Raph's.
The beanie was pulled swiftly from his head at Raph's soft, decisive pull, and then rested comfortably in amongst his fingers.
"Hey!" Chester protested, "You're spoiling my disguise..."
"Like you need it..." Raph laughed lightly, "There's nobody here who will recognise you."
"You're hurting my sense of pride." Chester pouted and then grinned, "Don't look at me like I'm a freak, okay?"
Raph felt the flush infect his cheeks, and cast his eyes down quickly, hoping that Chester didn't notice. He twisted the hat in his grip, hoping to squeeze out his utter inelegance with the motions.
The music changed, leaking into the scratchy beginning of 'Points of Authority'. The few people who had been managing very well to dance to the incoherence of the previous death metal crept off the dance floor as a couple of girls excitedly occupied the empty square. Chester laughed at his apparently small amount of fans.
"Come on Raph; let's build up the numbers..." He grabbed the reluctant hands that were still obsessing with the woollen material of his hat, and dragged the small body and its profuse protestations under the lights.
They began to throw themselves about to the music, and in a strange kind of image, to Chester's own voice and lyrics. The girls smiled delightedly at them, and invited them to join them. Chester enthusiastically agreed and jumped excitedly amongst them, pricking amused grins to their faces. Raph allowed himself to follow Chester, noticing the numbers of people that were beginning to populate the floor. Chester promptly made himself the centre of attention as he half-performed the song, and recreated the movements he would use on a stage, but within that small space.
Raph stood back and allowed his guest, friend, whatever, to have the freedom of the moment, even though he was concerned that someone would definitely recognise him. It wasn't a great chore though, to silently observe the active twists of the lean body, creasing up the shirt every now and then to offer sneaky glimpses of the pale skin beneath. Even at the end of the song, Chester was still throwing himself about, applauded by the giggling group of girls and young women.
'Great...' Raph thought moodily, 'I'm going to be plagued with these whores trying after Chester all night.'
As if by magic, the elated man bounded up to him, bumping into him and nearly knocking him over.
"Phew!" Chester dragged a hand lazily across his shiny forehead, "That was fun."
"Yeah, I guess..." Raph agreed stiffly, "Say, Randy, aren't you driving?"
"Yep." Chester jigged around a bit to the next song.
"Why the hell are you drinking?" Raph said icily.
"Ooh, what happened to you?" Chester grinned, "Get knocked back?"
"Fuck off." Raph spat out, then softened his tone at the confused eyes that stared at him, "I didn't mean that..."
"How's about we go for a walk?" Chester smiled, pulling his hat from Raph's insistent grasp, and then forcing it down over the boy's head.
"Okay." Raph smiled from within his flattened down fringe.
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The lazy river flowed black and harmful as they sat on the concrete embankment, spotting the sparkle of a discarded plastic bottle, or the luminous form of a mislaid tennis ball in the river's procession to the sea. The faint pool of light from a lone, battered lamp hanging in amongst the wild trees framed their close forms expertly, as if they were contained in that ellipse on the muddy earth and grey concrete.
"I come here a lot." Raph explained.
"Why?" Chester looked out over the desolation, over the mud, the concrete, the tangle of tree branches and deposits of rubbish caught up in them.
"To think."
"I'd get bad thoughts being here." Chester said in a haunted voice.
"Bad thoughts?" Raph grinned impishly at him, raising his eyebrows, and then smirking.
"So, that could be misinterpreted!" Chester held up his hands in surrender, "I meant as in miserable thoughts...though I guess with the right person...?"
Raph laughed at him.
"Do you come here to think about that shit you mentioned?"
"Um..." Raph looked across at him with unease, "...yeah."
"You know, everyone has crappy things going on in their life." Chester said seriously, "So, you don't have to feel like it's just you."
'But I'm more alone than that! I'm the alone that's forever alone, the misfit, the square peg in the round hole...'
"Thanks." Raph blinked back a stubborn wetness at the crease of his eyes, "But it's not as easy as that."
"It's always easier if you let someone help, or at least let them understand..."
Chester scolded himself.
'Why get involved in this guy's problems? Even if you do some good, you'll just leave when you have to move on in the tour, and then he'll feel alone again.
Because that's what he's feeling, right? Alone, like everyone does from time to time...like you do..."
"No one can understand this." The kid shook himself and coughed out a cynical laugh, "It's stupid really; just stupid."
"It can't be stupid if you're that caught up in it..." Chester reasoned looking at him, the nervous eyes under the rim of his hat; Chester's hat.
It was almost like a claim on the kid, forcing that item of clothing onto him. If it wasn't a claim, then it was a statement. It was telling him he belonged somewhere. Belonged to Chester...
Chester quickly looked away from Raph's huddled, closed off form.
'What the hell? What the hell was that about? Just concerned for him, that's all. He looks so vulnerable sitting there, all alone, even though I'm right beside him...why won't he look at me? Why won't he tell me what he's feeling? Why can't he let me help him, kiss away the pain...huh?'
"You okay?" Raph was looking back at him, although this time, his expression was questioning.
"Uh...I'm fine." Chester laughed it off, "Just daydreaming."
"Night dreaming." Raph giggled lightly.
"Just missing Sam..." Chester lied, to himself and to Raph. It was the only logical explanation he could come up with for his confused feelings.
Raph looked a little hurt at that, and Chester reminded himself that he shouldn't be getting all self-centred when it was this kid he was supposed to be consoling.
"When do you move on?" Raph asked casually.
"Oh, in a few days..." Chester said sadly, regretfully.
"I guess I won't see you after tonight then?"
"Oh." Chester mused lightly, "I don't know. Do you want to? See me again, I meant. Do you want to?"
"Sure." Raph grinned, "But I mean, you've got your own life and everything"
"What are you saying?" Chester said loudly, screwing up his face with disgust, "I think I'm too good for you, or something?"
"No, no I didn't mean that..." Raph looked worriedly at him, afraid he might have just wrecked the chance of seeing him again.
"Sorry," Chester countered the anxiety gouging lines into Raph's visage, "I don't know why I got all pissed off then...forgive me?"
"'Course." Raph smiled at the apology.
"Um...you say you come to the US a lot, so, are you gonna be there at Christmas?" Chester was scratching the bristles on his head.
"Yes!" Raph coughed, "I meant, I can work something out."
"Grrrrreat!" Chester fooled, jabbing Raph in the side lightly.
They both looked away quickly after the contact. Chester was anxious that Raph may have noticed how soft the touch was; how more caressing it was than playful, whilst Raph was trying to hide his persistent blush. The river flowed steadily beneath their legs as they dangled over the edge of the embankment, hovering above the secretive waters, moving gradually along, carrying the tiny fragments of sediment; building them up with each wave further towards the freedom and uncertainty of the sea.
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Hmm...dubious!!
Email me and tell me, tell me what you think... :)
B/M