LPfiction

Category Linkin Park

Drunks Never Lie by ALifeForMusic

Drunks Never Lie

Hey... this is actually the first story I wrote in English. I'm 15 years old and from Germany. So, if you find any mistakes in this oneshot, please tell me, I'd love to improve my English skills.


Enjoy!




Drunks Never Lie


I'm bored.

I gloomily stare into my half-emptied glass of beer.


I wouldn't even have come here if the guys hadn't forced me to. If I had rejected their offer to go clubbing, I would have been 'the spoilsport' for the next four weeks.

Of course they don't mean any harm by teasing me, that's just the way we treat each other.

And usually I have no problem with that attitude, but lately I've been easily agitated, so I don't want to give the guys a chance to annoy me any further.

'The guys' – which are my band mates, Brad, Joe, Phoe, Rob and Mike.

Since I met the half-Japanese for the first time, I've had a crush on him.

Sometimes more and sometimes less.


Lately my feelings grew stronger again, and to be honest – it scares the shit out of me.

I don't want to spend the next months of my life pointlessly drooling all over Mike. He hasn't turned gay in the meantime and I know I've gone trough the process of unrequited love for far too often.

So, this time I could prevent all further pain and just stop these damn feelings before they get the best of me.

Says my mind.

I've got the bad, bad feeling, my mind never had the best relationship with my heart.


I sigh.


“Chaz?”, Brads voice interrupts my thoughts. “Hmhm?”, the curly-head approaches me, grabs my glass of beer and takes a sip from it.

“Mike's drunk. You should carry him home before he does something stupid or annoys us any further!”

“And why me?”, I asked more from habit than I really mean it. I would insist on bringing him home myself nonetheless.

After all it means some extra-time with my favorite half-Asian guy.


Pathetic, isn't it?


“Ehm, you look like you don't enjoy yourself too much”, Brad grins and pokes me in the ribs until I eventually get up.

“Besides”, Brad adds. “Mike asks for his 'Chazy Chaz'...”

My heart skips a beat and I start grinning. “So, let's take Shinizzle home then!”, I laugh and Brad shoots me a confused glance because of my sudden change of mood.

Finally, he smiles broadly. I think he suspects something.


I squeeze myself through the crowd on the dance floor and spot the half-Japanese hanging around with Rob and Joe.

“Chaaaaaaazy”, he babbles and pulls me into a vice-like hug.

“Hey, Spikey”, I gasp lovingly, trying not to suffocate.

“Chazy, Joe took my drink away!”, Mike whispers into my ear indignantly as he releases me from his strong arms.

“That's alright”, I grin and pat him on the back. “The party's over, Noda, I'll take you home now...”

“Naaah...”, Mike moans unwillingly and crosses his arms in a defiant pose.

“Come on”, I say. Oh, how adorable he looks right now. “Do it for me.”

Mike takes a deep breath, exhales slowly and finally smiles. “Okedoke”, he grins and staggers towards the exit.

I immediately hurry after him and try to support him, but he gently pushes my arms away from his body.

“I can walk on ma own...”, he declares proudly and to prove that, he stumbles on the threshold of the door and steadies himself just in time before kissing the sidewalk.

This time I firmly grab him by the hips. He wants to free himself again.

“I can walk on ma...” - “Hush, it's okay, tiger...”, I grin and pet his pitch-black hair.

“I just want to make sure you don't hurt yourself, big boy...”

He mumbles something unintelligible but seems to decide it isn't that bad and leans against me with his full weight, causing my legs to tremble and me to nearly collapse under his glorious, glorious body.

Not that he is fat, he actually couldn't be more perfect in my opinion, but he is not too small, so a certain body weight is provided.


Somehow we manage to half stumble, half reel to my car.


During the drive to Mike's house the half-Japanese dozes off a few times, but I somehow manage to guide him to the entrance door, open it and shove the Asian inside.


I step in as well, slip out of my shoes and lock the door.

After I switched off the light in the hall, I follow him upstairs, enter his bedroom and join the MC, who is standing in the middle of the room.


He yawns and causes my heart to skip a few beats due to his clumsiness.

“I aaam sooo tiad....”, he purrs and starts to fiddle around with his clothes. His baggy jeans fall to the ground, the oversized hoodie follows.

Now he's standing in front of me, clad only in black boxershorts and a white t-shirt that suits him entirely too well.

Oh, this is so not fair. I begin to ask myself if he's doing that intentionally.


I am the only gay guy I know, so why don't I at least have a best friend that's ugly as hell?

Why, dammit, can't he have a boring face with forgettable features, be small and sturdy and have no sense of humor?


No, who- or whatever that 'higher power' watching over us may be, makes fun of me by getting me an incredibly cute best friend.


I've always had a thing for the exotic type of man and Mike being of Japanese, Russian and American descent is obviously more than that.

Particularly since he has the same kind of humor, an incredible smile and even sweeter grin.


And with his huge, dark, almond shaped eyes; the smooth, thick, jet-black hair; the lush, curved lips, the sweet snub nose and the perfect body with even, caramel colored skin, he is not too ugly either.


“Chazy?”, he asks in a low voice. “Hm...?”, I mumble and reluctantly tore my eyes away from his pink lips.

“I am tiiiad!”, he repeats and looks at me expectantly.

“Then you should go to bed, Spikey”, I grin. He looks at me intently – and God beware, I would give a lot to be able to read his mind – then he nods slowly.


He shuffles over to the king-sized bed and drops onto it face-down. He sighs, turns around so he is lying on his back now and reaches out for me. “Come here, Chazy...”, he mutters and almost sounds like an infant, the way he's saying it.

“Oh, Mike, I'm not sure if...”, I begin, while my heart starts to argue with my mind again.


I know, I should go now.

Politely refuse to lie with him, tuck the MC in and leave. I shouldn't give him a chance to wrap me around his little finger any further, that I shouldn't fall harder for him.

“Please...”, he breathes and almost sounds sober now. “I don't want to be alone tonight.”

Right now he looks so small and fragile – which is strange considering his size – in the huge bed, that I just can't resist.

“It's okay, big boy...”

I mentally slap myself for giving in again and slowly walk towards the half-Japanese and the bed, carefully putting one foot in front of the other.


“Take off ya pants and ya sweater, I don't want sand or dirt in ma bed...”, he mutters and huddles under the duvet.

My heart races. Me and a drunk and very clingy Mike in one bed, both clad in boxershorts and shirt – not a healthy combination.

I may end up doing something I regret tomorrow.


I reluctantly look up to Mike and immediately melt into a puddle on the floor when I catch a glance of his huge dark puppy-dog-like eyes.

Who could deprive those doe-like eyes of anything?


I slowly strip my black pants and my striped sweater off and lie down on the unoccupied half of the bed.

I'm sure insecurity's written all over my face.

“Huddle under the covers, Chaz”, Mike mumbles sleepily. I obey and after I'm covered up I move a bit closer to the MC.

I hear a satisfied sigh, a low rustling and feel Mike laying his head down on my lap.


I wince. “Relax, Chaz”, the younger man murmurs. I inhale the warm air of the room and shakily exhale.


I look down at the man in my arms affectionately. Oh, this is what I fantasized about for such a long time.

I tenderly stroke his soft, dark hair and something that almost sounds like a purr escapes Mikes throat as he snuggles closer to me.

“Chazy”, he whispers softly, his voice drowsy and muffled by my shirt. “Chazy, you mean so much to me...”, he breathes into the silence of the large house.

“God, Mikey, you also mean a hell of a lot to me...”, I respond absent-minded.


“I wish you knew just how much you really mean to me...”

This was the low, half whispered, half breathed sentence that will change my life. Because it weren't my lips that it left.


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