This version of the story is unedited until... well, I have any motivation to go back and edit where there should be italics or whatever else shit... sorry.

Title : Powder Snow

Author : Ray

Rated : R

Pairing : C/M

Description: The biting chill and the harsh breeze of winter is the sure sign of the coming holiday season. Mike's stoic behavior is greeted by an overwhelmingly comforting acquaintance and together, they learn the spirit of Christmas. Merry Christmas!

"Mr. Shinoda, if all you ever do is daydream throughout that god damn window," a voice drawled. "then you are wasting your precious money."

Mike looked away, startled. The other students chuckled silently.

The professor looked at him under intense scrutiny, suggesting he pay careful attention, before clearing his throat to continue. Once his back was turned, the lone man seated at the back tilted his head back towards the window. 

The color that canvassed the scene outside was dull. The sky was gray, threatening to downpour a torrent of rain. It was early November and the trees were already clear of the leaves they held. If it were to rain, it would be very cold. The wind blew, taking what debris lay on the ground and blowing it along its path. 

The weather outside only reflected the mood that was instilled within the walls of study. People's faces adorned frowns and tiredness. Their actions were slowed and movements lacking. Perhaps it was due to the amount of work the last few weeks of College semester were hammering upon them, but whichever was the case, the mood was parallel. 

The class had ended, with no doubt, another assignment to be completed by the following class. The students were past caring and complaining about the workload and instead groaned as they made their way out. 

"Mr. Shinoda, a word please."

He looked up at the professor at the front as he was packing his things. He gave a short nod, cursing himself under silent breath. 

"How are you doing in your other classes?" the professor asked cautiously as he stepped up near the desk. 

He shouldered his backpack, pulling the strap higher on his shoulder as if to stall time. "I'm doing fine, professor."

"Your other profs have told me of your behaviors," he said slowly. "I was just concerned-"

"I'm doing fine," Mike gave a weak smile, interrupting him. "Really, I'm all right."

The professor looked at him for a second, as if hoping his student would somehow give in under the gaze and confess something. "Okay," he finally said. "I expect this next assignment to be well done. This is worth a lot, so make it chunky."

He could tell the professor was easing the conversation a bit. He gave a light chuckle, nodded and said his goodbye.

If one was to classify the half Japanese man to be a typical College student, they would only be half correct. 

Like all of them, Mike was broke, he was stressed and often find it hard to find his socks in the early hours of the morning. Had he lived within residence in the campus, he would worry about that matter two hours after, but as it is, he lived two hours farther away. Public transportation was not most enjoyable at six in the morning. 

Money was short, like the case for most students. He'd spent most of what he earned during working two jobs in the summer with school supplies. Needless to say, some of those supplies required were not even brushed upon as important, or mentioned. If the opportunity swindled itself that he could sell those things, he would easily succumb to it. 

The loan that he received from the government was not nearly enough. It was, however, enough to pay for the apartment for a whole year, yet would not cover his tuition fees. Not to mention he needed food, transportation fees, more supplies...

He rubbed his temple, once again being pushed in the cramped space of the public bus. There was no room in the back, no room in the bus at all for that matter, yet a man insisted he situate himself in the far rear. He feigned from whispering a curse under his breath. 

In no more than ten minutes later, another man decided to squeeze himself between Mike and some other stranger. His personal space quickly felt intruded, more so than before. The man's breath was easily ghosting his neck, making him shudder in complete horror. Not caring where he was, he got off the next stop, exhaling a deep breath of air. 

He ran to the nearest shelter, shouldering his bag still. It was raining hard now. He somewhat regretted getting off the bus, but as the thought of that man came back to mind, he's grateful he did so. 

It was six in the evening and the street-lights had flickered on. Cars zoomed by with their windshield wipers dashing back and forth in rapid speed. If he weren't too careful, the rain pooled at the edge of the road would splash on unsuspecting pedestrians. 

It was unbearably cold and he had slapped himself for not bringing his jacket. The windbreaker he wore felt as if it was a simple shirt that he had on. He held the bag he shouldered tightly to himself and made a run towards the art supply store about two blocks down. Since he was down here already, he may as well get the supplies he needed for his next assignment.

He slammed the door of the supply store open and heaved in breaths, dropping his bag and bending over to place his hands on his knees. Once fully comprehending the regular pattern of his breathing again, he stood up and looked down at his windbreaker. It was soaked through. Groaning, he took the material off and dropped it onto his bag on the floor. He was thankful the sweater underneath that he wore still remained dry. With the sleeves, he wiped the wetness from his face and a little bit on his hair. 

"I take it that it's raining really hard outside," a voice said. 

Mike looked up for the first time and noticed a man, seemingly around his own age stare at him with a smirk drawn upon his lips. For those odd minutes of entering the supply story, he had not thought of someone being there, and watching him nonetheless, in his state of disarray. 

Mike's cheeks turned crimson. "Y-Yeah.. it's... it is, yeah, it's raining real hard."

The grin on the man's face only grew as he examined Mike up and down. "You can leave your things back here if you like, while you go look for the things you need," he said, suggesting behind the counter. 

"That would be great," he replied, picking up his bag and soaked windbreaker. The man took it from him and placed it behind the counter. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said casually. "If you need anything, just ask."

Mike nodded and went off to search for his things. He didn't know how long he actually spent there looking. He found what he first needed though, translucent marker paper. First he had contemplated which size he needed. He was unable to recall the professor specifying a size, or perhaps he had, he simply was not paying attention at the time. He cursed the window silently. 

When he guessed a size, the next obstacle to hurdle over was the amount. Fifty or one-hundred, or maybe two-hundred sheets? The coming semester was nearing a close, and surely he wouldn't need two-hundred, however, they might still use it next semester, but he was not too sure. Combing his hand through his hair, he selected for one-hundred sheets.

**Prisma markers, he thought. I need markers. He grinned to himself and felt like a four year old again. The prime of his age where creativity was undeniably pure. Unlike he is now, his creative mind as a child was untouched by media, by influence of the world that is today. That mind was not clouded of what is and what is not considered art, there was just art. That mind was not meant to satisfy the needs and wants of those that look on, rather to glorify in instinctive creativity that flowed with purity that so little amount of artists knew. 

He shook his thoughts, focusing on finding the necessary items and spending at least only thirty minutes in this shop. He was tired, stressed and a whole range of different emotions, and quite frankly, he just wanted to lay down and die. 

He stopped at the waterfall of colors that adorned the wall. "Shit," he whispered to himself. There must be hundreds of markers with fifty shades of one color. He closed his eyes, trying to rid of a rising headache, before opening them again. His eyes wandered at the price of each and quickly shut his eyes again. "Dear god, you've got to be kidding me," he whispered. 

"Something wrong?" a voice next to him said quietly.

He opened his eyes and looked at the man who was a few steps beside him. He shook his head wildly and placed on a tired smile. "No, nothing... just," he looked back at the array of colors. "so many to choose from."

The man chuckled beside him. "Any specific color you looking for?"

"I..." Mike started, looking over at him again. "I don't know," he said, chuckling.

The man only smiled in return. "It's all right, take your time." He went off near the back.

He wondered if his professor had specified colors as well or if it was under their own choosing. He did know that he needed at least two colors, pantones, but as to how many shades is where it becomes a fog of haze. 

He stabbed at taking three colors of the two pantones, not wanting to spend more. He was poor enough as it is. He went to the front, placing the items to be purchased on the table, but the man wasn't there. He tilted back a bit looking through one of the aisles. None. 

He moved from the counter and towards the back, slowly. He quickly realized how quiet it is. Just as he was about to round another corner, he bumped into something hard with his forehead first. He recoiled, whimpering in pain. The man across from him seemed to be holding his own forehead from the impact. 

"What do you have in there?" he chuckled. "A brick?"

Mike grinned. "Close, an anvil," he replied. "Sorry, I didn't see you."

"S'alright," he said, examining him over. "I'm guessing that you got all the things you need?"

Mike nodded. He too looked over the man, noticing that he wasn't in his uniform anymore. "What time does this store close?" he asked.

The man looked at his watch. "Well, thirty minutes ago actually." 

Mike's eyes went wide. "Shit!" he exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-shit!" he said again, hurrying to the front. The other man was quickly behind him, grinning. "I didn't know that you closed-" he checked his own watch. "Nine? Shit!" A whole string of curses escaped his mouth. "I'll just grab my stuff and-"

"Hey," the man said for the fifth time, finally getting Mike's attention. He looked up, ready to blurt a couple more curses and apologies. "I said it's okay, don't worry about it, man. I know how College goes."

A sigh of relief left him, wondering how much of a fool he'd just made himself in front of him. "Yeah, it's just... it's getting really hard now."

The man nodded. "I know what you mean," and as if a thunderbolt struck, "Oh by the way, my name's Chester," he said, reaching out his left hand in front of Mike. He looked at the offered hand and was about to reach up with his own when Chester quickly switched it with his right. "Sorry, lefty instinct," he grinned.

He smirked in return and took Chester's right hand. "Nice to meet you Chester, my name's Mike."

"Ditto to you Mike," Chester said, looking up at him in between checking each of the items on the counter. "Where do you go?"

"Where do I go?" he asked confused. He slapped himself mentally. Just as Chester was about to reiterate, he interrupted. "Oh, I go to the Art College of Design." 

"Really?" Chester asked, putting the things in a bag. "What're you majoring?" and as if it seemed rude, he added, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Mike shook his head with a smile, taking the offered bag. "I don't mind. I'm majoring in Graphic Design and touching on Illustration."

"Illustration?" Chester asked, looking at him intently, a grin plastered on his face. "I took Illustration for the first half of the semester," he said, adding, "then I dropped out."

"Why'd you drop out?" he asked.

"It just wasn't my thing?" he said, unsure of himself. "Plus, I don't exactly have the money to."

"Ah, money, that I can understand," Mike grinned. He noticed Chester checking his watch and immediately dropped anymore questions that were forming in his head. Chester noticed this. "Well, I-I guess I should head out." 

Chester nodded. "It was nice meeting you, Mike." He offered his right hand first this time. 

Mike smiled. "You too, Chester," he said, shaking it.

He stepped out the door, a still soaked windbreaker on, bag hung over one shoulder, and now a large bag on one hand. he looked at the rain, sighing dejectedly. He made sure no rain could get through the bag by folding the top over and made a dash down the sidewalk till he would encounter a bus shelter. Unfortunately, luck did not want to pity an already soaked College student. There was no bus shelter. He cursed, feeling himself getting soaked by the second. The stores were closing now and he couldn't go to one to wait for the bus to arrive. He could run to another stop, hoping that a bus shelter lay awaiting, but he was afraid of missing the bus. He cursed his luck once again. 

Minutes must have passed, and he was drenched. To him, it felt longer than just a mere few minutes. Suddenly, a white car stopped in front of where he stood. He peered up, noticing the window roll down. "Hop in!" the newly acquainted voice shouted through the drowning cries of the rain.

Mike looked down the road for any sign of the approaching bus, but there was none. "But.. I'm all wet!" he replied.

"You'll get worse if you stay out there any longer," Chester said. "Now get in here! Now!"

He obeyed his newly found friend. He placed his things in the back seat and hopped into the passenger seat, letting out a large sigh of relief. "I'm sorry, I'm getting the seat and everything else wet."

"Don't worry about it," Chester said with a warm smile, driving off into the drench filled night. 

Mike took this opportunity to get further acquainted with the blonde spiked man. To his surprise, Chester was a tattoo artist. He explained that the Illustration program was not his forte only because he had no interest in the human structure, the human organs and muscles and all that lingo. He also learned that Chester owned every Madonna record on the planet, which sent him in a burst of hysterics. Furthermore, he learned that Chester would never part with his guitar. 

"Where is it now?" Mike asked.

"In the trunk," Chester said, looking over the other with a large grin.

He had not anticipated on Chester driving him further than the subway station, he had also not anticipated in nagging Chester more than he had to in not driving him home, but his efforts were subdued with a simple, "Mike, shut up. I'm driving you home."

Chester's voice wasn't to rouse anger or argument, but rather to state the fact that Mike was a friend of his now and this is what they do. Mike allowed a smile to ease itself on his wind blown lips, looking out the window. 

He had never once witnessed the buildings and houses that were above ground. All the lights, all the people of the downtown core, and all the commotion. It seemed so much calmer underground. 

A silence, which was neither awkward or comforting fogged the car. It was then smothered quickly by the abrupt change in volume in the radio. 

"Oh this is my favorite song!" Chester exclaimed.

Mike grinned and listened. To his utter amazement, he spent more time listening to Chester's voice than the song itself. 

**His voice is beautiful, Mike thought. I wonder if he knows that.

Arriving at the front crescent driveway of the building, five songs and three cigarettes later, he contemplated asking Chester up for a cup of coffee. He was about to ask when the blonde interrupted him.

"Hey, do you mind if I use your wee room?"

Mike stifled a chuckle and nodded. "Sure, but we'd have to put your car around the back. It'll get towed if you leave it here." 

An elevator of silence and ten floors before they finally arrived at Mike's door. "You'll have to excuse the mess, I'm... well, yeah, I'm in a bit of a mess at the moment." 

As they entered, Mike fussed about the living room, removing pizza boxes, pop cans, paintbrushes, paper, and various amounts of clothing that were haphazardly thrown on the chairs. He organized magazines, and even some few he carried off into his room, this Chester noticed and quickly wondered what they were. Chester grinned. 

"Oh, yeah, the bathroom's over there," Mike pointed with a finger, heading into his room. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"You got any beer?" Chester asked.

He came out of his room, with new clothes, and watched as Chester emerged. "Are you sure you ought to be drinking? You're driving."

Chester shrugged. "Heh, I suppose you're right." He checked his watch. "Fuck, I didn't realize the time!" a look of panic flashed his eyes. "Sorry Mike, but I have to rush." 

He nodded, hiding his disappointment. For some unknown reason, he wanted to spend more time with him, want to get to know him better. "It's all right. Hey, thanks a lot for dropping me off."

"It's not a problem," Chester replied. Just as he stepped out, he turned back around. "I go bar hopping sometimes with my friends, I was wondering if you wanted to tag along?" 

He felt a sudden rush of excitement. "Yeah, sure that'd be great!"

Chester grinned. 

~*~

He couldn't see the face, the color, or the 'negative' space that the professor so succinctly focused on. She moved from one painting to another in quick strides of overlapping words, hardly taking a breath. Mike sat there, as if breathing for her. Usually, he was lost by the second locution that slipped through her thin lips. The other students also heeded no attention to her, they were either sleeping, talking quietly, or sleeping. 

Mike packed his things and ever so quietly, slipped out. 

The days end earlier and the nights cascade their shadows closer. The biting chill grows with each growing day, not appearing to subside its grace anytime soon. 

Wrapping his jacket seemingly tighter around his body, Mike hoped not to feel too much of the numbing breeze. In short time, his hands were already slack in his pockets, instinctively burying them deeper. The wind kissed his face and neck, sending uncontrolled shivers racking through his body. 

The commute back to his apartment was a haze. Throughout the whole time, his mind was focused on the man at the art supply store, Chester. He was asked to go bar hopping today, but he didn't know when and where, or how they would meet up. He had argued with himself about going to the store and asking his questions, but at the same time he didn't want to appear much too eager of the event. He assumed that perhaps he would get a phone call, but he didn't remember exchanging numbers with him. 

Once arriving at his apartment, he settled down comfortably on the couch and turned on the television, but again, his mind was elsewhere. Groaning with himself, he did his assignments, trying to forget emerging feelings which he knew were slowly arising. 

"Stupid," he whispered to himself. "Grow up, Mike."

~*~

Days have passed and the workload the program gave berated on him heavily. Another week of school until the holiday break and its slow approach could only slug towards him. He was ready to place his books down and call it quits, several times in fact. But he was determined to get through it, even if he struggled. Surely this was what he wanted to do, what he should do because its him, it was expected and encouraged. 

If not this, then what? What was he to do with himself? What does he have? Nothing. 

The sudden rush of students getting up to leave roused him from his thinking. He quickly followed the retreating crowd and once more into the harsh temperature that was winter. 

"I'm sorry, but that's not information that we're allowed to give you, now if you have a-"

"No, but all I'm asking is for the timetable-"

"Sir, we cannot give that to you, how many times do I-"

"Until you give it to me, please I know-"

Mike heard the voices as he was descending the stairs. The registrar's office was usually busy, and this time was no exception, but that voice...

He steered away from his direction of the doors and slowly towards the office.

"If you don't leave at this moment, I'm afraid I may have to call security!"

"It's not much to ask for, why can't you give a fucking simple-"

"Chester?"

The blonde's head spun to his direction before quickly turning back to the lady at the front. "Never mind," he said sourly. 

Mike looked at him, confused. Chester had said he went to this school, but dropped out?

The other students that were in line looked at the blonde man, who's face now adorned with a warm smile, with a cold look. But they were ignored. 

"Hey Mike," he said, moving past him and towards the doors out of the school. Mike followed.

"Chester, I thought you didn't go to this school?" he asked once they were outside, his voice still in a state of confusion. "Didn't you say you dropped out?"

Chester turned around then and looked at him with a slight disappointment in his features. "Nice to see you too, Mike."

Mike softened and smiled warmly. "I'm sorry, I'm just.. confused, that's all."

"S'all right," Chester replied. 

"Well, what are you doing here?" Mike asked.

"I was coming to see a concert, but that lady over there wouldn't accept my ticket, she kept on bitching about-" he stopped, looking at Mike's confused face, even more so than before. He laughed. "I was looking for you! Why else would I be here?"

"Well, you-you were asking for a timetable?" he said, following Chester. "I thought maybe you signed up again or something-wait, why are you looking for me?"

They stopped in front of Chester's white car. "Listen, about last week, sorry I stood you up. I know I said I'd take you bar hopping, but something kind of came up and I couldn't follow through." 

"Oh," Mike said. He didn't know what to say. He also did not want to admit the fact that there were several nights where the thought of the man invaded his head. "Umm, it's okay, I suppose."

The silence that ensued was immensely uncomfortable for Mike and he didn't know what else to say, where to look, or what to do. 

"D-Do you want to go to a bar or something?" Chester asked. 

Mike looked up and saw a tint of red color Chester's cheeks. The oozing confidence that he was conveying earlier seemed to have shattered. Why was he blushing? "I don't actually... drink," he confessed. "Not much of a drinker."

"Oh, then how about some coffee?" Chester offered, meeting eyes. "B-But if you're busy or something, I could drop you off," his voice was rushing. "Or if you want to take the bus or something, that's cool too."

Mike smiled. "Coffee would be great."

~*~

"Then that'd make him a pedophile."

"Well, yeah, and no, because it's mutual right?"

"But she's like ten years younger!"

"That doesn't matter though because she accepts that."

"It still doesn't seem right. Maybe when she's like eighteen years or older, maybe then, but..." Mike stopped and looked down at this coffee, not knowing what else to say. The steam was rising slowly to his face. "Did they get married?"

Chester leaned back against the soft padded couch of the cafe, splaying his hand atop the mattress to rest. He looked distantly out the window for a few moments before letting his gaze travel back to Mike with a grin. "They did, and you'll be glad to know that they lived happily ever after."

Mike tilted his head to the side as he stared at him. "Somehow, I don't quite believe you."

Laughter ensued as they moved about to other topics. Mike was glad. When he talks to Chester, he's so comfortable, like he could tell him anything and he'll be accepted for the confession. They have so many things in common, it's uncanny. Like the obvious of course, they have an understanding of art and both enjoy it freely. They both love music; Chester plays the guitar and piano; Mike plays the piano, and has been wanting to know how to play the guitar for a while now. And they both agreed that Santa Claus is in fact real. 

But with the similarities, there are differences. Chester loves to cook like its second nature and Mike knows jack about cooking. Chester is quite the exhibitionist and loves attention, whereas Mike shy's away from it all. Furthermore, Chester loves beer, Mike can't stand the taste. 

Mike stroked the rim of his coffee mug, enjoying the hush tranquility that was present. 

"What are your plans for Christmas?" Chester asked.

Mike sat back and spun the mug with one hand. "I don't really know what my plans will be, actually." He hesitated before continuing. "I guess I'll just wait and find out."

"No family get togethers?"

He frowned slightly and cleared his throat. "No, I-I don't think... It's just too far away, you know? I don't have that luxury." He could tell Chester was looking at him, but he tried to push that fact away. "W-What are you doing for Christmas?" he asked, steering the subject away from himself.

"Just going to be with friends I guess, nothing special," the blonde replied. 

Mike nodded. He looked outside and noticed how dark it suddenly became. He could have sworn the sun was jus shining earlier. "I-I've got to go," he said.

Chester perked up. "Oh, right," he said. "D-Do you want me to drop you off?"

"Oh, no it's okay," Mike said. He felt bad making Chester drop him off. He lives a ways too far. "I've got to go pick up some stuff first anyway," he lied.

"All right, well umm," Chester stood up, mimicking Mike and putting on his jacket.

"Thanks a lot for the coffee, Chester," he smiled warmly. "I needed that."

"It's no problem at all."

They stared at each, both smiling and flushing and not knowing what else to say. "I-I should go," Mike said. "Thanks again Chester."

"It's my pleasure," he replied. 

"See you later," Mike said, stepping out of the door. 

"Yeah," Chester whispered. "Later."

Mike let out a long breath that seemed to have been strangled a few minutes earlier as he welcomed the night breeze. He cursed himself for being so nervous, but why? It was fine earlier, but he could tell that Chester got nervous too. 

He combed his bare fingers through his hair, letting out another breath of relief. 

"Mike!"

He turned around and noticed Chester running after him.

"Mike," he said, stopping in front of him. 

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering if," Chester paused and looked at him. "If we could maybe get together again some time? You know, another round of coffee kind of thing?"

Mike could see a hint of plea ghosting Chester's eyes and he found himself blushing and looking away smiling. "Y-Yeah, that'd be great, actually."

Chester grinned. "Uhh, do you mind if I ask for your phone number?" 

Mike suddenly felt like a twelve year old crazed school girl with butterflies roaming about in the stomach. "Yeah, of course." 

"Here," Chester handed him a ripped piece of paper and a pen. Mike quickly scribbled his phone number with shaking fingers, he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the nervousness or the glee that ran through his body. Chester scratched his head and grinned happily as Mike handed him back the pen and paper. "Thanks." 

Mike smiled and nodded. "Good night, Chester."

"Good night, Mike." 

~*~

Part II of II

It was perhaps the early days of December, or it may possibly be the late days of November. Whichever was the case, one thing remains prominent and above it all, "Fucking cold ass snow," was all that ran through Mike's cold lips as he walked the lazy streets of the shadowing night. 

He had hoped that the eggs he had at home would last him numerous breakfasts that stretch to the cool days of spring, but as it is, he was down to his last one earlier in the morning. It was habit for him. Eggs, coffee, and the muted television right as he got up, nothing more and nothing less of the silence and stillness that would be around him. 

True that he had picked up this habit only in the start of the previous semester, but he was afraid of what he'd feel in the morning if he so chose not to follow through this daily routine. It is also true that he could sleep in and bask in the comforts of his bed, however, a cracked window filtered in way too much air and the duck tape sealing the hole proved to be now an obsolete alternative. The ice that would coat the glass allowed that nothing could mend that hole. 

That didn't much bother him before, but as the freezing months phased in, it was more than enough incentive to get up from the room. The superintendent had promised to get it fixed by late October, but as usual, the old hag was not to be of a reliable source of support. Mike couldn't even begin to wonder who to even look up in the yellow pages, let alone how much he'd have to pay to have it fixed. He's got more important things to worry about, like getting out of the freezing cold. 

Along with twelve batch of eggs, he had also bought bread and a bunch of other necessities that would last him the coming month of cold. Besides food, he bought a couple of cheap movies that looked old and bankrupt-worthy. There's a very strong possibility that he had just wasted ten dollars, but he needed something else other than Jurassic Park to watch, no matter how old, stupid, or pathetic the movie may be. 

Now that the semester was over, he's positive that the time he will have on his hands will be time better wasted staring at a wall. If school and assignments were out of the question, which is what he finds himself to always be doing, what else can he do? The television had four channels, and if he was to bend the antenna outward just enough before it breaks, he may get lucky and get the fifth. 

Mike sighed, ruffling and scratching the back of his head as he entered his apartment. **Home sweet home, he thought desolately.

~*~

Mike's pajamas were to his knees when he heard the phone ring. An instant jolt of delight ran through him and instantly forgot that he had a pair of loose pants still half way by his lower body as he made a dash for the cordless phone by his bed. He fell forwards, face first and groaned loudly. Hurriedly, he placed the pajamas on and by the third ring, the phone was by his ears.

"Hello?" he asked, out of breath, his grin wide.

"Hey Mikey!" 

"Oh," he tried to hide his disappointment. "Hey Brad."

"What, expecting someone else?" Brad put on a mock voice of hurt. "Honestly Mike, could you at least pretend to be excited to hear my voice?"

"I'm sorry," Mike chuckled. "Yes, I was rather expecting someone else. But anyways, how are you doing?"

Brad went on about his rituals as a women-getter and how he couldn't find that perfect somebody. Mike had scolded him and told him to spend at least one day with them and actually find out what they're like. 

Unlike Mike, Brad had failed a couple of courses in grade twelve of high school, and as such, has to stay behind and get the credits for his diploma. He was doing Co-op at a music store called Henley's where they sell guitars, pianos, music books and the like. He was working full-time there, teaching kids and adults how to play the guitar. For his age, he was a miraculous guitar player, as if it was a part of himself which he's simply moving and by doing so, creates choruses of wonderful tunes. 

Mike had wanted to ask Brad to teach him while they were still in school together, but it was all but forgotten and simply no time on either of their hands.

"You should keep it up, then," Mike said, his voice in a lower and more tired tone. "If you love it so much, I mean, then you should keep on doing it." 

"Yeah, man," Brad said, reflecting Mike's voice. "It's so great to just like, see these kids play what you taught them-what **I taught them! The feeling is amazing."

Mike chuckled and a brief yet comfortable quietness filed in.

"So," Brad said. "Have you met anyone yet?"

Mike burst into laughter.

"What? I just wanted to know!"

"No, I haven't," Mike stated.

"You liar!" Brad could easily tell. "Michael Shinoda, I am telling you this as a friend, but you are the fucking worst liar in the whole universe. Tell me who! What's his name, at least!"

"I'm not having this conversation, Brad!" Mike was grinning from ear to ear and couldn't help from blushing.

"Aww, c'mon, Mikey," Brad crooned. "Just tell me his name. A name is all I want." 

Mike knew he wouldn't drop the conversation until Brad's demands were met. "Chester-but it's only a crush kind of thing! We're just friends." 

"Mmhmm," Brad couldn't help but chuckle on the other end. "Chester, eh? What's he like? Is he hot? Do you want to sex him?"

"Brad!" Mike was in a fit of laughter now. "Come down here and visit and maybe you can meet him! I'm telling you, we're just friends."

"All right all right, I'll visit some time before Christmas, or maybe during, I'm not too stoked with the family party my mom is setting," Brad said. "But as for now, I must go to sleep, I got an early appointment tomorrow." 

"Okay, I hope that appointment bodes well with your womanly aptitude, my fine furied feline," Mike replied. 

"Yes, and let's hope that the sexual fantasies we have every night does not make itself known on the bed sheets," Brad retorted, then added, "Chester would question the cum-stains."

Both laughed before they bid their farewell and slept for the night, promising to meet some time soon. Mike was glad, for tonight at least, he couldn't feel the cool air that was streaming into his room, but rather the warmth that extruded from his overwhelmingly happy heart. 

Indeed, Mike had another dream about Chester. 

~*~

"About, hmm... I don't quite remember."

"If you don't remember, then you must've had a lot, then."

"Probably, it was pretty rough in the morning."

"How'd you feel?"

"Like a bucket of shit," Chester laughed at himself and Mike joined him. 

"See, that's why I don't drink," Mike said, sipping his coffee. "I don't like how you feel afterwards." 

"Well the trick is to drink loads of water after when you get your hang-over," Chester pointed out. "You won't feel as bad for too long."

"That's not enough to make me want to drink," Mike chuckled. "I'll have soda over beer any day." 

Mike, to say the least, was enthralled to hear about Chester's past and future ambitions. He could sit there, listen and it gave him a reason to stare at the man. He was still unsure of his feelings and wouldn't admit to himself of what he felt for the blonde-haired man, yet. He wasn't sure if it was right to feel that at all. He was careful though, not to act too earnest of anything, or not to show anything overtly flamboyant and at this he grinned to himself. 

It's been about two weeks off of school now and Mike gathered with Chester for a cup of coffee every Monday, Thursday, and Friday. But now, it seems he's meeting with him literally every other day, if not everyday. Mike didn't mind this, of course, he enjoyed the company of the man and can only hope the feeling is mutual. 

It was a week till Christmas and Mike had to get something for Chester, but he didn't know what. He's learned more about this sole person in a span of under a month and he knew more about him than even Brad. 

"Mike?"

"Hmm?" Mike roused from his thoughts and blushed as Chester smiled warmly, his head tilted to the side. "Sorry, what was that?"

Chester chuckled blithely. "I said, what are you doing this Friday?"

"Oh, uhh nothing, why?" 

"Well... I got these two tickets for a movie as an early Christmas present and the person who gave them was suppose to go with me, but turns out they have last minute plans," Chester lied. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me instead?" 

"Oh yeah, sure!" Mike said, controlling his exhilaration.

"Great," Chester returned the grin. "It's a date then."

"A-Wha?" Mike looked at Chester open mouthed.

"I'm joking," Chester laughed. 

~*~

He checked again, as if **feeling that something was definitely out of place now. He breathed, looking at every angle possible to see if there was in fact something out of place, something wrong, something...

He groaned and placed his hands on the washroom counter. "Fucking hair," he whispered sourly at his reflection. 

For well over two hours now, Mike had contemplated over what to wear with what, what matches, what goes with which or what's clean. He also wondered if the color suggested anything, sexually. That was when he realized he was examining everything a little too carefully. 

Another chunk of those two hours were spent doing his hair, making sure it's right, whatever **right may be. His hair was spiked, but he was certain that one of the strands were out of place, and thus, dragging down other strands with it, further messing his hair into a state of disarray. At one point he laughed at himself for his self-conscious behavior, especially now that he was doing it because Chester was going to see him. 

Eventually, he sat himself down and simply waited. It wasn't long until he heard the buzzer from the intercom downstairs ring through. 

"Hey," Chester said.

"Hey," Mike replied.

"Do you mind if I come up and use your wee room?" 

Mike laughed and buzzed him in. In a few moments, there was a knock on the door. He breathed in and out, trying to calm his nerves down. 

"Hey," Mike smiled, opening the door.

Chester had his hands in his pockets as he looked Mike up and down. "You look great," he blurted out before he could stop himself. "Uhh, I mean... you look good. You look good, it's cold out there... and you look warm. So, that's good." 

Mike blushed and allowed Chester to use the washroom. There wasn't much talking as they headed out and onto the elevator. An understandable kind of quietness passed between them and only grins and smiles were passed between the two. 

The silence was broken once they entered the car. They slipped back to their casual demeanor and the conversation became easy. For this, Mike was glad. 

~

People were filling in, coupled. Mike knew what kind of movie this was, but he had not anticipated so many couples to come in and watch it. Instantly, he squirmed in his seat. He would look over at Chester, but he was afraid of how **he was coping with the suggestion that perhaps they were...

"Do you want anything to drink?" Chester interrupted his thoughts. "Or to eat? Or both maybe?" He was getting up, smiling warmly down at the seated man. 

"I... well, no I think I'm okay," Mike replied.

"Are you sure?"

Mike nodded.

Chester came in a few minutes before the movie started and brought with him two beverages and two bags of popcorn. "Che-Chester, you really didn't have to," Mike said, smiling softly at the blonde man.

He shrugged. "I wanted to," was his simply reply. 

Mike blushed and looked at the movie screen as the lights dimmed low. 

There were parts, several in fact, where Mike could have burst into tears. But he held it in and remained composed. **Too many crying parts, fucking movie, he cursed. Thankfully for him, there were parts where it was humorous, and just as he turned to whisper something close to Chester's ear, the blonde man had the same idea.

What Mike was going to say was lodged in his throat as Chester's face was no more than a whisper away from his own. He could feel him, his breath, his warmth, his scent...

Mike slowly backed away, excusing himself for the washroom. 

Stepping out of the dimness, he let out a sigh of relief he didn't know was held in. The smell of popcorn infiltrated his senses. The sound of music danced in his ears and he closed his eyes, wondering what in the name of heavens lord just happened. What was he going to tell him? What was he doing? 

He slumped against the wall, far enough from the doors of the theater, and brought his knees up, hitting his head hard against the concrete. Surely, his attraction towards the man inside was clearly conveyed. He frowned deeply and slapped himself mentally. 

He was afraid of the other man's reactions, what he would think of him now. Mike felt a cold shudder as the thought of their friendship ending came to surface. He didn't want that, if all he could share with Chester was friendship, then he would cherish that. But now it seems that he'd ruined it, broke it to pieces, and that thought contracted painfully on his chest. 

The doors opened and people filtered out and Mike stood immediately. How long had he been sitting out there?

He was about to shove his way in when Chester came out, an expressionless face on his features.

"I'm sorry," Mike started. "I didn't mean to leave for so-"

"It's okay," Chester said, his voice toneless. "I'll take you home."

They passed through the crowds in painful silence, Mike's heart beat throbbing in his chest. He wanted to tell the other something, but what? What could he possibly say to explain his actions?

If there was ever an overtly awkward situation between them, now sitting inside the car was the time. Mike didn't know what to say, Chester had an unreadable expression about him and Mike didn't know what to do. So he did and said nothing the whole ride. The only time he did was when he was about to get off the car. 

"Thanks for the movie, Chester," he said, looking at the palms of his hands on his lap. He looked over at the blonde man, but his direction was straight forward, that face still cascaded coolly about him. "I guess... I guess I'll see you later," Mike opened the door and quickly stepped out and just as he was closing the door, he heard Chester's faint voice say, "Goodbye."

~*~

Mike tried to block out the image of Chester's face of indifference, but it wouldn't leave. If someone was to tell him that he looks as if he's just been dumped, then they would almost be correct. However, they were never together to begin with, so why Mike was feeling this way, he didn't know himself. Well, he did actually. It was at the back of his thick stubborn skull, but he couldn't quite fully admit it out loud yet.

The night when he was dropped back home from the movie, he realized then that he was truly in love with Chester. Every ounce of his body wanted to run back and tell him how sorry he was, how sorry he sincerely was for being in love with him. But he didn't have the courage to even turn around and apologize. Instead, he headed up to his apartment and cried. He felt pathetic, but he excused at that it was due to the movie that he had just previously watched. 

After eggs and coffee that morning, he decided to step out. Today was Sunday so there was no hustle and bustle in the elevator at such early hours. Stepping out, his skin was tickled by the cool touch of snow. A smile adorned his lips and his spirits was lifted, even if it was little. 

The scene outside was blanketed with a canopy of **powder snow. It was beautiful to Mike. He walked to the near park and lucky for him, there were no kids about that early. There were no snowmen, no snow angels, forts, or snow being thrown for that matter. The snow was untouched and looked as if it was soft and cozy. The sun wasn't out, but it was still immensely bright and ironically, colorful to Mike's eyes. It made him happy, he needed that for at least one day. 

But what the quietness provided only instilled thoughts into his head. If the snow was to be tainted, he felt as if him and Chester should be the ones to do so. They would build snowmen together, they would create snow angels and build a fort to hide in together. There would be no rough snowballs being thrown but rather the splashes of feathers tickling skin. Their laughter would be jovial and echo on into beautiful memories that would unburden any days of sorrow. 

Mike stuck his tongue out, letting the small cascading flakes to tickle his tongue before melting. He sighed and headed back.

~

"Hold on, hold on," Mike whispered, rushing to open his door and running for the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey Mikey!"

"Oh, hey there Brad."

"Honestly, can you at least **try to sound excited?" Brad scorned. 

Mike chuckled. "Oh, hey Brad, what a delight to hear your voice of wondrous beauty! I've been expecting it so dearly!"

"That's much better," Brad said. "But that's a tad creepy."

Mike chuckled again and shook his head. "So when are you coming?"

"I've been calling you for like the past two hours," Brad said, sounding exasperated. "You sleep in?"

"Oh, sorry I was just out."

"Well remember to call back those who called you, it may be important," Brad scolded.

"I don't exactly have caller ID, Brad," Mike sighed. "So I don't know who called, or if anyone called at all. If it's important, heh, they'll call back if it's important."

"Okay, whatever," Brad said. "So I'll be there on Wednesday, then. You better be home."

"Right on Christmas day? Did you tell your mom?" 

"Yeah, she said it's okay," Brad replied. "She has presents for you, can I open them?"

"No, you dick, which reminds me, what do you want for Christmas?"

"Isn't that suppose to be a surprise kind of thing?"

"A dildo it is then," Mike grinned. "Big Bob three-thousand, the latest model."

Brad laughed. "You would know, wouldn't you? Fine, I want a... hmmm."

"Did you get the new CD-"

"Have it."

"Oh," Mike thought for a second. "How about-"

"If you're going to suggest that ridiculously stupid movie that just came out, I'll slap you," Brad threatened. 

"Get out of my head!" 

"Oh I know!" Brad exclaimed. "Buy me the book called **A Density of Souls. I've been meaning to read that for a while but never got around to buying it."

"A book?" Mike asked, astonished. "You want a book?"

"Yeah, why?"

"This is a new revelation," Mike said bluntly. "Something wrong?"

"You ass-face," Brad sighed. "Listen, I have to go, mother's needing help moving the Christmas tree, again. I swear, that woman..." he trailed off. 

"Tell her I said, Hi!"

"Will do, I'll see you later, Mikey."

"See you in a couple of days."

~*~

Mike contemplated wrapping the present for Brad. He did already know what was going to be inside of it, so what's the point? He'd simply just be wasting his time and wasting money in the process, but it also ruined the concept of Christmas. So instead of wrapping paper, he bought a Christmas bag and placed it in there instead. Although he may know what lay inside, he has something to also carry it back home in. It was brilliance to Mike. 

He had spent most of the day walking about in the mall, looking at families, relatives, friends... and lovers shopping. He had tried not to picture himself and Chester holding hands, picking out presents together for their friends, eating together, laughing together, kissing... he tried not to process the thought of Chester's voice at all, but it was much to vivid in his mind.

He scorned himself for feeling even the slightest bit attracted to the man. They had known in each other for just about two months, surely he shouldn't be feeling this way, this attached, this deep in love. He was, however, past denying his feelings because he truly was all that, and he couldn't help himself.

Again, as he got home, he rushed and fumbled with his keys as he heard the phone ringing. "I swear you call at the worse possible times, Brad." He slammed the door open, but as he placed the phone to his ear, he heard nothing but the dull dial tone. "Whatever, if it's important he'll call back."

He checked the time, reading eleven in the evening. Mike sighed and got ready for bed.

~*~

"Come on up," Mike buzzed him in.

He smiled warmly to himself. He cleaned earlier this morning and even Martha Stewart would be proud of him. Although Mike had no decorations, had nothing to adorn the room of anything relating to Christmas, it still felt like it. The atmosphere was comforting and welcoming. The smell of the candles perpetuated that feel and hopefully the smell of the bought roasted chicken will flavor it all the more. He still had some of the cheap wine from months back as a going away present and felt that it was suited for this occasion. 

Along with the rest of the apartment, he had cleaned his room. There were no clothes scattered about the floor, no random paintbrushes poking from underneath the bed and there were no tylenol bottles on top of his drawers. Also, he took a clear plastic sheet, one that was thicker than a piece of paper of course, and super glued it to the hole on the window, along with extra rubber cement just in case. He was glad a cold draft wasn't breezing through from his room. The apartment was almost perfect. 

A series of knocks brought him back and his grin widened. 

"Brad!" he exclaimed, quickly engulfing his life long friend into a tight hug.

"Ah," he gasped. "Air, I need to breath!"

"I'm sorry," Mike replied, moving back and smiling widely. "Come on in."

"Freezing out there," he said. He had a few bags with him, large bags, and Mike was anxious as to why so many presents were brought.

"Whoa, Santa Claus," Mike said. "The kids aren't here. Tell Rudolph he sent you to the wrong apartment."

"Very funny Mister-I-think-I'm-funny-but-I'm-really-not," Brad retorted. "Some of these are my presents too you know."

The both of them spent most of the afternoon just chatting, opening presents, and chatting some more. It seems that the four months they've last seen each other were as if it were years. Their conversations moved from one topic to the next with bouts of laughter in between. For this, Mike was glad. He could call Brad family and he was happy that for once, Chester was out of his head.

To Mike's amazement, Brad had bought him a phone with caller ID. "But don't you have to pay for it to be able to ID the callers?" Mike asked in wonderment.

"Nope," Brad grinned. "Already taken care of."

"Thanks a lot Brad, but there aren't really that many people who call me," he said.

"That's okay, I still want you to be able to know when **I call because **I am important," Brad's grin widened. 

Just as Mike was finished plugging it in and admiring it, it rang. 

"Oh, who is it? Who is it?" Brad said excitedly.

"Bennington," Mike whispered.

"Who's that? Who's that?"

Mike picked up the phone and walked off into his room, thankful that it was cordless. "Hello?" 

"All right listen, I need to talk to you," Chester said on the other line rather matter-of-factly. "Like, now."

"Uhh okay," Mike said cautiously. "I'm listening."

"In person." 

"Oh, it can't wait?" Mike asked, suddenly feeling nervous.

"No, I need to talk to you." 

"Okay."

~*~

"No, he won't hurt me don't worry," Mike said, smiling warmly at Brad. "I can take care of myself, you know?"

"Oh yeah?" Brad's eyebrows rose. "You think you're a big boy now, huh?"

"I know so," Mike grinned. "We're just going to talk. I'll tell you about it when I get back, promise."

"All right, all right," Brad sighed. "That the coffee shop?"

"Yeah."

Brad moved his car to the curb of the road. "Call your phone when you're done so I can pick you up."

"You don't need to," Mike said, stepping out. "I'm pretty sure he'll do that for me. I'll see you later, Brad."

~

"Hey," Chester greeted, standing up formally and sitting down as Mike sat across. 

"Hey," Mike whispered. He was avoiding the blond man's eyes, he didn't want to see that cold indifference that harbored his brown eyes. 

"Umm, about last Friday-"

"I don't know," Mike interrupted him. "I'm sorry that I did that, I didn't mean to. I... listen, I know you probably don't want to see me and stuff, and must've taken a lot out of you to even do this and I guess I can understand, well actually I can't but that's besides the point, but I just want and need you to understand that I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, none of it-"

"Mike," Chester said for the sixth time.

Mike looked up, stopping his rambling, and finally meeting his eyes. The calculated and arrogant, the eyes that bore into his head, the look that made his heart beat against his contracted chest in pain... was gone. He had a smile on his face, his pink lips glistening. His eyes were squinted slightly in warmth, in adoration, in understanding. Mike couldn't help but stare in awe, and quickly he felt his cheeks turn into multiple shades of red. 

It must have been his imagination, but he could feel Chester leaning forward, that those brown eyes were being closed by milky colored skin, his imagination that those pink lips were a lot fuller closer up, but as he felt those said lips upon his own, he was reminded that it wasn't his imagination after all. 

The scent of the man invaded his senses, the taste in his mouth sent his brain in overdrive and he was afraid to respond. What if it wasn't real. 

Chester pulled back abruptly and felt a sudden fleet of horror course his body. Mike watched those eyes being cascaded with panic and the only thing he could think of was having those lips back onto his own. "I'm sorry. Fuck, I shouldn't have done that... fuck," the blond man cursed. 

Mike placed his lone forefinger on his lips, still tasting Chester, reassuring himself that it was in fact real. Slowly, **he leaned forward, needing to taste him again, he closed his eyes and allowed his lips to ghost Chester's own. Immediately, Chester responded, closed that whisper of a gap and held Mike's face with shaky hands. 

The mingle became delicate this second time around, for Chester anyhow, not as feverish as before. His touches were soft and soothing and held Mike's face with trembling insecurity. Though he not need to feel in such a way, there was still a tug loose which caused him to be so. Nonetheless, he was careful with his ministrations of his fingers and tongue. 

Neither had the slightest idea that there were a few people watching them, but at that moment, neither also cared. They were exploring each other's mouth with their tongues, memorizing and familiarizing. They were touching each other's face, feeling the curves, the hair...

A nearby clearing of the throat finally brought them apart. Both men looked at the owner of the cafe shop. She smiled warmly at the both of them. "Here are your coffee boys, as always, and don't worry about paying, this one's on the house."

She smiled warmly and walked off, and both of them wondered if she had breathed '**about time' under her breath or not.

There were a lot of explanations to be exacted from both parties as they stared fondly at each other, but decided that now was not the time, it could wait for another.

~*~

"Now both of you behave and don't do anything... well, stupid," Brad breathed out, a bag in each hand.

"Are you sure you don't need help carrying those down," Mike asked his head rested on Chester's shoulder.

"I'm okay Mikey," he smiled. "Give me a hug, yeah?"

Mike grinned and unhooked himself from Chester to give the curly haired boy a tight hug. "Visit again, okay?" he said quietly. "Promise you'll visit me again, please?"

Brad smiled warmly and hugged his best friend, if not little brother, tighter. "I promise. Be good all right? Don't let those pact rats in that College stress you out too much and get through it, I know you can. And if you need **anything at all, don't be scared to call okay?"

"You're such a cornball," Mike laughed lightly but nodded, pulling back and was amazed when Brad wiped a cascading tear from his eye. Not the fact that he wiped it, but that he was crying. Notice of it was never even acquired.

<br><br>

Brad kissed Mike on the forehead before looking over at Chester, giving him a brief hug and pulling back. "Take care of Mikey for me, will ya?" he said, wiping a lone tear from his own eyes. "Now that he's all grown up, I can't watch and pick on my little bro anymore, ya know?"

Chester chuckled and nodded, snaking one hand around Mike's waist protectively. "It was very nice to meet you, Brad." 

"All right, I'll be off then," Brad said, picking up the bags and heading to the elevator. "I'll see you both later."

~

Mike lay on Chester's bed, his body facing the ceiling but his head tilted to the side, looking out the window with a smile. The blond next to him was napping softly, a hand sprawled behind Mike's head and the other spread the other direction. 

The snowfall was a cataract of soft flurries in a lazy dance to the earth. The large windows displayed trees, buildings, cars and other things veiled in the purest white. The stillness of everything perpetuated silence, and this only brought a smile to Mike's lips and a glint to his brown eyes. The snow muffled the reverberations of anything and the only thing he can hear was the mellow breathing of the man resonating beside him.

He felt Chester beside him shift and his temple being kissed. "Mr. Shinoda," the blond man's voice tickled his ear in a purr. "If you keep daydreaming throughout that god damn window," his voice breathed. "I'm afraid to tell you that I am feeling a bit jealous. What do you want me to do, roll out in the snow naked?" 

Mike shifted his head so he was facing Chester, blushing and biting his lip. Chester grinned.

"You know," Mike breathed out, shifting so he was now atop the blond man. "That might not be such a bad idea," he moved his head down and kissed the blond deeply before pulling back to breath. "Just promise me you'll give me a popsicle to play with while we're out there."

Chester chuckled. "Oh, you tease."

For once, Mike wasn't desperate. He wasn't desperate for College to end, wasn't desperate to get out of his apartment with a broken window, or desperate to get out of everything. With a feeling of rebirth, he felt as if he could stand artificial warmth from half-hearted smiles or piercing eyes hiding a sharp knife of curiosity.

It was the first and last time for him to be who he was, to live as he was, and he was happy that a particular blond and gracious man was helping him spread a big map.

This was perhaps, the best and only Christmas holiday present he could ever want or need and it couldn't have come at a better time. For that, he was thankful...