EDIT One of my reviewers, Little Miss Mushrooms, said that the pictures in the end detracted from the overall effect of the story, so keeping that in mind I moved the pictures from the end to the beginning. :)

WARNING might possibly maybe could might sort of kind of be extremely angsty and sad. Read at own risk.

That being said, enjoy.

(I must be some sort of sadist, to write sad stuff and expect you people to enjoy it. Ah well.)

Le pictures:

I just felt like adding this, it's too epic not to share xD

I have Bennoda feels, okay.

+

My name is Mike Shinoda, and I'm a man driven insane by his demons.

I sound crazy, I know. I probably am. I won't deny it. I've been half-crazy for a very long time, since I was 18, I think, but The Event has pushed me over the brink. I'm full-on insane now. As in, hearing voices sort of crazy. Talking to myself sort of crazy. Seeing things sort of crazy.

I don't know why I'm writing all this. Brad told me to. He thinks it's going to help me. I know for a fact it won't, but I owe it to the guys to at least try.

+

Four minutes. A lot can happen in four minutes. You can make it or break it, in four minutes. Your entire life can change, all in four minutes. I, Mike Shinoda, am testament to that.

+

I first saw him years ago, way back in '98. Of course, back then I didn't know who he was, or how he'd affect me and my life. I was hungry, I stopped at a seedy diner called Sandy Burger, and he was the waiter there. He was slender and pale, and his curly brown hair kept falling in his eyes. It struck me as odd that his employer did not seem to mind his pierced lip, or the tattoos adorning his arms. But I was distracted and stressed, and I forgot about him the moment I stepped out of the diner. The entire encounter, if it can be called that, took less than four minutes.

+

The second time I saw him was at the auditions. We needed a vocalist badly, but only two persons had showed up. One was a tall guy who looked like he was on drugs, and the other was the waiter from Sandy Burger. I was surprised to see him, but I don't think he remembered me.

Waiter dude came in first. "Hi," he said nervously, looking at his shoelaces.

"Hey," I replied. "What's your name?"

He mumbled something inaudible. "Whoa, we don't bite," I said lightly, and he looked up. There was a ghost of a smile on his face, and seeing it gave rise to a dizziness inside of me. I don't know why, but at that moment all I wanted was to see the man in front of me happy.

"My name's Chester," he said, louder this time. "I'm from Arizona."

"All right, Chester, why don't you sing us something?" Brad said, an encouraging smile on his face.

Chester looked at all of us uncertainly, before biting his lip, clearing his throat and beginning. To this day I remember the expression on his face as he sang.

I've lied to you the same way that I always do

This is the last smile that I'll fake for the sake of being with you

The sacrifice of hiding in a lie...

The sacrifice is never knowing

Why I never walked away

Why I blame myself this way

Now I see, your testing me pushes me away

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Brad. “Stop right there, Chester.”

I could see the words sent Chester into a panic. “I'm sorry!” he said hastily. “Let me try again, please–”

“Try again?” repeated Rob, astonished. “What for?”

He looked imploringly, this time right into my eyes. There was so much emotion there that I had to look away. “Don't worry,” I said to him. “You don't have to try again.”

“Yeah,” smiled Brad. “You were brilliant the first time around.”

He looked up suddenly, his mouth slightly open. “Are you serious?” he asked hesitantly, as if scared we're kidding around. I didn't like seeing that look on his face.

So I said, “Yeah, totally serious.” The other guy seemed to have left some time ago; there was no one else in the line. And then I smiled. “Welcome to the band, Chester.”

His lack of reaction was somewhat anti-climactic. I'd expected jumping into the air and whooping, and then thanking the shit out of all of us. But instead he just stood there, looking from one to the other with his eyes bright and his mouth a little open.

“Chester,” Joe said after about a minute. “We're not joking, you know.”

“Y-you're not?” he asked, his voice trembling, and all I wanted to do right then was get that look off his face. For some reason I knew that if he cried I'd end up crying too.

“No, we're not,” confirmed Brad.

And then his tears spilled over and he was biting his bottom lip and all I could say was, “Hey man, you don't have to cry...”

But he did, and in the end I had to get up and walk over and put an arm around him, and rub his back as he tried to sob and thank us at the same time. It took me around four minutes, but he quieted down in the end.

+

We took to each other pretty fast after that. He didn't really have a place to live in, so he ended up moving in with me. Turns out you can bond really quickly with someone if you share a room with them.

I learned a lot about him, just staying up at night and talking for hours. He was interesting, funny, smart, sweet and caring – everything I didn't think I was. Oh, I knew I was smart, but I also knew I could bore people, I tended to be harsh sometimes and I just didn't have it in me to care for someone other than myself. I was selfish and I'd never felt the need to look after someone else.

But Chester – there was something about him. There was something about the way he took joy in little things such as going to the grocery for food or singing in the shower. He had me surprised right from day one, because I'd never met anyone like him. He didn't seem to care what anyone thought of him, and he had this thing about always bringing out the best in people. For example, me. I'd never thought I could care for someone but astonished myself by ordering his favorite food or offering to sleep on the couch and let him take the bed. But that brilliant smile he gave me – it made everything worth it. And I knew I'd do anything for that smile.

+

The first time I saw him sick was a couple of months after he moved in with me. It was a fever, and a high one at that. 103, said the thermometer, and I was instantly worried.

“Don't worry about me, I'm fine,” he said to me, lying limp on the sofa.

“You're clearly not,” I told him, before picking up the phone and canceling the day's jam session. He watched me with an expression I couldn't identify, and when I'd hung up he said, “You look distracted.”

“Of course I'm distracted,” I said. “You're sick.”

“I don't want you to worry,” he told me, and I couldn't stifle my laugh.

“If I don't worry about you, who will?” I asked rhetorically. I wasn't expecting an answer, which is why I was extra surprised when he provided one.

“You're right,” he said quietly, and then, “Thank you.”

I sat down next to him. “Don't be silly,” I said. “You're my friend.”

He smiled that amazing smile at me, and his fever did nothing to diminish the effect it had on me. Before I knew it I was smiling too. “You should rest now,” I said to him, grabbing the fleece blanket at his feet and pulling it over him. As I tucked him in I realized I had no idea why I was doing it.

“Sleep tight, Chester,” I said with a smile. I began to stand but he grabbed hold of my hand and I sat back down. “What is it?”

“Can you stay, please?” His voice was soft, almost not there. “Just until I fall asleep?”

I nodded mutely. No one had ever looked at me that way before. The trust in his eyes almost scared me. “Sure,” I got out. He squeezed my fingers and gave me that smile again.

“Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.”

I don't know what possessed me to, but I soon found myself humming quietly and pushing his hair out of his eyes. He didn't seem to find it awkward, thankfully, and I could see he was relaxing little by little. Soon he was asleep, but I didn't move.

It was just a matter of four minutes, the time it took him to fall into a slumber after I began humming. But I would stay as long as he needed me to.

+

The first time I felt jealous for Chester was when Dave came back. On Rob's insistence the five of us drove to the airport to pick Dave up. Brad was indifferent, Joe was asleep, Rob was excited and I was grouchy because I guess I still held a grudge against him for leaving. Pointless, I know, but hey. That's me.

And Chester? He was excited to the moon and back to meet his new bandmate, and it made my mood all the worse. I mean, what if he liked Dave more than me?

Yeah I'll admit it, I was insecure. Way insecure. I just couldn't handle the thought of losing Chester to anyone else. I'd never felt closer to anyone than I did to Chester. It had only been a couple of years, but he'd somehow made his way into my heart and settled there.

And I didn't mind. I, Mike Shinoda, he of the heart of stone, didn't mind. In fact, I was happy.

Of course, knowing my luck, Dave and Chester hit it off right away. They began laughing and joking with each other right from square one, and both were oblivious to the pointed glares I sent that way. Brad found the entire situation funny, and Rob was busy arguing with Joe about Mars Bars (don't ask my why, I don't know). And I was downright pissed because it seemed my insecurities weren't entirely baseless.

Once we were in the car I made sure I was sitting between Chester and Dave, and I made a point of putting my arm around Chester and talking loudly to him. He chatted back happily, but I knew he knew what was up.

He confronted me about it when we were alone at my apartment later that night. I confessed I'd felt insecure, and to my surprise, he laughed. That angered me, because what right did he have to laugh at me after I'd bared my feelings to him?

But it wasn't me he was laughing at. Indeed it wasn't malicious laughter at all. He just found it silly that I thought I'd lose him that easily. And after he hugged me and kissed my cheek, I couldn't fathom why I'd thought it too. Funny what four minutes of separation from Chester could do to me.

+

He was screaming and yelling into the phone, and I'd never seen him this angry before. I'd never seen him angry, period, because even though he had temper issues he usually was good at keeping himself calm.

The issue at hand was his wife, Samantha, who'd suddenly decided she wanted a divorce. Chester loved her more than anything, and he was shocked, hurt and angry. It turned out she'd been cheating, and she'd waited till we were off on tour before calling him and coming clean. He was furious, and he was crying too. It didn't take a genius to tell he was lost.

“Samantha! SAMANTHA – dammit!” He flipped the cell phone shut and threw it into the nearest wall. “She hung up! I can't believe she fucking hung up!”

“Chester,” began Dave cautiously, “calm down–”

Chester rounded on Dave, his eyes blazing. “Calm down?” he shrieked. “My wife just told me she's been cheating on me for months and wants a divorce! OVER THE FUCKING PHONE!”

“All the same, yelling about it won't change a thing,” argued Dave. Honestly, he needed to shut up. Chester was going to kill him if he didn't.

Chester just glared at Dave before muttering an angry “Whatever” and walking into the bathroom. The door banged shut and I winced.

“Give him some time,” murmured Brad, putting a hand on my shoulder. “He just needs to take it in. It's a lot to take in all at once.”

I nodded at him gratefully, but I'll admit I was worried sick. I'd never seen him so upset before, and I had no idea what he was going to do. Or what I was going to do, for that matter.

So I opted to wait for him just outside the bathroom, while the others slowly left and went up to their bunks. The tourbus we were in rumbled on, the driver not paying mind to our situation. Just as well too, because it really wasn't any of his business.

I could hear Chester sobbing inside, and it broke my heart. He didn't deserve this sort of pain. He didn't deserve any sort of pain. All I wanted to do right then was to wrap him up in cotton wool and take him off to another planet far far away where it would be just the two of us and nothing could hurt him. But that wasn't possible, so I just stood there and wondered how the fuck I could help him.

After about ten minutes I began to get seriously worried. The sound of crying had faded, and there was nothing but silence. Not able to help myself, I knocked on the door and called, “Chester? You all right in there, buddy?”

There was no answer. My heartbeat sped up and the warning bells inside my head began screaming. This could not be good. I had a gut feeling something was very, very wrong. I tried again. “Chester? You okay, man?”

There was no answer, and I began pounding on the door. “Open the door, Chester! Let me in!”

My efforts were rewarded with a pained whimper, and my breath hitched in my throat. He sounded hurt. Damn. Losing control over my emotions and letting my worry run free, I began ramming the door with my shoulder. The noise brought my bandmates to the door, but I ignored their questions and continued hitting the door.

It gave way in a shower of splinters and I ran in, only to slip and nearly fall. “What the–?” My eyes widened in horror when I saw the liquid I'd slipped on – blood.

Chester was lying in the bathtub fully clothed, his shirtsleeves pulled up to the elbows. There were long, deep cuts all over both his forearms, and his shirt was more red than white. Letting out a strangled scream, I staggered over to him and shook him. “Wake up!” I pleaded. “Please, Chester, wake up!”

But he didn't, and all I could do was lift him out of the tub and cradle him in my arms. There was so much blood, and it was everywhere... it was the first time in my life that my logical side had abandoned me. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, because my best friend was bleeding to death in my arms.

Behind me I could hear Brad talking on the phone; he'd dialed 911. Joe and Dave put their arms around me and tried to distract me while Rob gently lifted Chester out of my arms. I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything but watch as Rob held Chester and Brad, who was off the phone, found bandages and bound them tightly around Chester's wrists, stopping the worst of the bleeding.

I was too dazed to think straight, but I somehow summoned the strength to stand. I began helping Brad with the bandages, but my hands were shaking too much and in the end I just stood by and held Chester's hand, careful not to hinder Brad's work.

I let out a helpless gasp as I realized Chester might not make it. He was just so pale and still, and I'd never seen him look like that even when he was sick. He was always so full of life, laughing and singing and just being himself, and now he was lying limp in Rob's arms, tear tracks on his face and his blood on all of our clothes.

Four minutes. That's how long it took after Brad's call for the ambulance to arrive. The siren actually brought me some relief, because I knew Chester could get help now, but I was still anxious because until I saw him awake and alive again I wouldn't be able to rest.

+

He looked so small, so vulnerable and fragile, lying there amid all the white. I don't think I'll ever forget the image of him being so still and without life. It's a terrible idea, but it's one of the most central ideas of my life these days.

More on that later.

There was just one person allowed to visit him at once, and there were only a few minutes left till visiting hours were over, and so the guys decided it should be me. Brad left to deal with the staff's questions, and I bid the guys goodbye and made my way into Chester's room.

There was a plastic chair for visitors near the bed, but I ignored it and sat down on the bed, next to Chester. He was asleep. His forearms were all wrapped up in gauze, and some of the color had returned to his face. The doctor had said we'd gotten there just in time. His blood pressure had been so low that another few minutes could have cost him his life. He was being kept overnight for observation, and after a psychological evaluation the next morning he could leave.

My hand hovered over his chest, before I put it down. I needed to feel his heart beating. I needed to know he was alive, that he hadn't left me. I could not help the sigh that escaped me when I finally felt his heard thudding away resolutely under my palm. He was alive. Chester was still here, he hadn't left me.

The tears fell off my nose and onto Chester's face almost before I could stop them, but once they'd started they had no intention of halting. Before I knew it I was bent forward, my face inches from his, holding his face between my hands and crying.

Through my unceasing tears – where the fuck did these come from, I didn't remember the last time I'd cried and now I was frigging SOBBING – I saw Chester blink, and immediately I sat up straight, watching him for signs of movement. He blinked again, and then focused his gaze on me.

“Mike?” I'd never heard his voice sound so small and weak. “Why are you crying, Mike?”

The question stunned me so much I couldn't speak. He'd just slashed his arms open and bled half to death. He was in the hospital. He'd tried to fucking kill himself. And he had the nerve to ask me why I was crying.

“Are you stupid, Chester?” I finally mumbled, grabbing both of his hands and clutching them tight. “Are you seriously fucking stupid?”

Something similar to hurt flickered in his eyes before he asked, “Why?”

I held up his bandaged arms in front of him. “Can you please explain this to me, Chester?”

His eyes widened and he tried to sit up, but I restrained him, pinning him with my elbows and torso. “Answer me,” I hissed. “Now.”

He looked away, no longer struggling against my grip. “Mike–” he began, but I cut him off.

“How could you?” I yelled. “How in the fuck could you even think this was the answer, oh my God, Chester, are you completely out of your damn mind? Did you even think what it would do to the guys? What it would do to me? Did you, huh? Did you?”

I was shaking him, demanding an answer. I did not care if it was hurting him, I didn't care if I was being an asshole. I wanted to know why the fuck he thought he could leave me.

“Mike, please,” he whispered, and abruptly I stopped shaking him. My hands fell off his shoulders, which were hunched. He knotted his fingers together and stared down at them. “I didn't know what to do, Mike,” he murmured, and I had to lean in closer to listen. His voice was shaking. “She left me, Mike. She's been cheating on me for months and I had no idea. And you know, I can't even blame her. Who'd want me?” His voice broke. “Who'd want to put up with a guy who used to be on drugs, who's been used for most of his life, who all he cares about is music and singing and–”

I couldn't take it any longer; I had to interrupt. “I would,” I told him firmly, untangling his hands and holding them again. “I would, Chester. Call me stupid, but I really don't give a fuck just as long as you're all right, okay?” I made sure I was looking him in the eyes. “You're my best friend in the entire world, okay?” My voice was gentler now. “You mean the world to me. Everything. There's no me without you, you hear me?” I released his hands and took his face in mine. “So no matter what happened in your past, or what happened whenever – it won't make me stop loving you, okay? And it definitely is no excuse for you to try to leave me, you hear?”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip. His eyes were wet. Slowly I leaned forward until my forehead was against his and he was once again looking into my eyes. “Promise me,” I whispered. “Promise you won't do such a dumbfuck thing ever again.”

“I promise,” he answered, and then did the most amazing thing ever. He smiled at me, that beautiful smile that some time ago I'd thought I would never seen again. And I couldn't help what I did next – I just pulled him close and held him tight, beginning to cry into his hair. I'd been too close to losing him. It couldn't happen again.

Four minutes. That's how long it took before he fell asleep again, this time on my shoulder. I laid him back on his pillow and got in next to him, visiting hours be damned. Like I was really going to let him out of my sight.

+

I think now would be a good time to highlight the differences between me and Chester, because you're probably wondering about it. I can't blame you, because if I were you I'd lose sleep over how an asshole like me became friends with an absolute angel like him.

Well, there's difference number one for you, right there.

Thing is, Chester was selfless. And I'm probably the most selfish person I know. I'd much rather think of myself than of others. I used to be the center of my universe, but then I met Chester. It was a strange feeling, caring for someone else, putting someone else before I put myself, but I got used to it. And in turn, I became less of a dick than I used to be. Even the guys noticed it; Brad even commented on it and praised me for it.

And Chester? He was the sort of person who'd give his life for a person he'd just met. He was ready to do anything for anyone without even thinking about the consequences it might have for him. He loved everyone and everything, and he laughed for everyone else no matter how bad his own problems got. Me, I whine about my issues until everyone wants to kill me. Chester hid them so well that we often never had a clue. For instance, we didn't know he was homeless and living in his car until almost a year after he arrived in this city.

But Chester had a flaw. Chester could not function without human contact. He always needed someone to be there for him, someone who would love him and hug him and be there for him and be his shoulder to cry on. And if any such person happened to be present – like me – he'd give it all for them. But if this someone happened to be absent – like in his childhood and teenage years – he'd turn to more drastic methods of coping. Like substance abuse.

You're probably wondering why I'm writing about him in the past tense, and about myself in the present tense. Well, keep reading.

+

Now that I've told you about Chester's one inherent flaw, I'll also confess to you that after the initial verbal asskicking I gave him for trying to kill himself I more or less left him alone. In hindsight I shouldn't have, but since there's nothing I can do about it now I'll just tell you the rest of the story.

It was around the time that we began recording for Minutes to Midnight, and at the same time I was working on my Fort Minor stuff and the Collision Course album. So yeah, I was a busy man and I didn't even have time for my wife, let alone Chester. Not that it mattered, because she always did say I don't have time for her even when I'm free.

That being said, I failed to notice how thin Chester was getting, or his unshaven face, or his disheveled hair and rumpled clothes, or the fact that he always looked like he'd been crying. That is, until I noticed the alcohol on his breath, and even then I did nothing more than offering a “You all right, man?” every now and then. Chester, being Chester, never complained about how I didn't seem to care, how I never even visited anymore. Over time his behavior got worse, and so did the others' worrying, but me, all I could think of was how I still had ten songs to complete, and how I had to mix Jay's songs and add in our parts. I'm ashamed to say I rarely thought of Chester those days.

One day, though, I was in a truly shitty mood because we were approaching deadlines and our work was still just half-done thanks to Chester and his perpetual drunkenness, and I just exploded. He'd come in late for work, and then fallen asleep in the recording booth. Ignoring Brad's warnings I just barged in there and shook him awake, before pinning him to the wall by his wrists and beginning screaming in his face.

“I can't believe it!” I yelled. “How the fuck can you be this selfish? What the fuck is wrong with you! You're not the Chester I know! I don't even know who you are anymore! All you care about is yourself! Have you even thought about how your behavior might be affecting us? We're two weeks away from deadline and half our work isn't even complete yet, and it's all your fault! Why the fuck can't you ever consider others, huh? Why can't you just sit and think about the fact that you're not the only one in the universe?”

I stopped then, panting. He just looked at me with those big brown eyes that were now getting wet, and I swear in that moment my heart stopped. What the fuck have I done? I thought, panicked. “Chester, look–” I began, but I was cut off when he pushed me away and walked unsteadily out of the recording booth, his shoulders hunched.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” hissed Rob at me when he was sure Chester was out of earshot. “He's the most selfless person on earth and you know it. You had no right to say all that shit to him, Mike.”

“Yeah,” agreed Joe. “He didn't deserve that, Mike. He can't help it, you know. It's the only way of coping that he has.”

“No it's not,” I denied. “He's got me to talk to.”

“No he hasn't, Mike,” sighed Dave. “You've been so busy these days, you've just kind of become blind to him. He's tried calling you, texting you, emailing you, everything, but you just ignore him and work, work, work all day. He misses you. And you don't have a clue.”

I guess it was that moment when I remembered that Dave was right, and that I had really been ignoring Chester. Plus I regretted every single thing that I'd said to him, and I was scared that he was going to do something stupid again. In spite of everything he was still my closest friend, and losing him would have devastated me.

That's why I didn't listen to my bandmates any longer; I just left the studio and made off in the direction I'd seen Chester go off in. Brad called after me to be careful, but I ignored him and went on my way.

I found him on the roof, sitting on the railing. Immediately my heartbeat sped up, because what if he fell?

What if he was planning on it?

Keeping myself calm and composed – a very tough job, mind you, because all I wanted to do was hug him tight and never let him go – I walked over to where he sat and stood next to him, my back against the railing. “Chester,” I began, but he cut me off.

“You don't need to apologize,” he said, with a harsh, mirthless laugh. “You were right.”

“No I wasn't,” I said. “I was wrong, and I never should have said all of that. I'm sorry.”

“You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it,” he mumbled, not looking at me.

“Chester, please listen to me,” I said, looking towards him. I took in the curve of his back, the way his shoulders were hunched, the way he seemed to curl in on himself. “Look, I've been an ass these past few weeks, okay? I wasn't focusing on what was important. I just ignored you, and I shouldn't have. Maybe if I hadn't–” I swallowed; this part was the hardest, “maybe if I hadn't you wouldn't be suffering quite so much.”

“I want to stop,” he admitted to me, and his voice was so small and broken that I hated myself. This was all my fault.

“I'll help you,” I promised him, covering his hand with mine. “I swear I'll do whatever it takes, Chester. Just please, please, forgive me.”

He looked at me, his expression unreadable. Finally he smiled – not his usual amazing smile, just a small one, but beggars can't be choosers – and said, “I was never mad at you. Sad, I guess, and definitely lonely, but never angry.”

There was something stuck in my throat. I didn't deserve his forgiveness, yet there I had it all the same. I don't know why but I'd never really seen how truly blessed I was to have him as my friend. And it was in that instant that I knew just how lucky I was, for him to still love me and want me as his friend even after I'd proved time and time again that I was an asshole who didn't deserve him.

And a four-minute conversation showed that to me.

+

Minutes to Midnight was a major success, and yeah, some fans complained and bitched but like Chester said, “Fuck 'em. If they'd really been fans they'd have accepted it as our choice.”

To celebrate I took Chester out for a movie and dinner afterwards. It wasn't a date, just two friends taking a break from life and spending some time as bros. We hadn't had a bro night out in months thanks to working our butts off on the album, and so I was grateful for the distraction.

It was a boring movie, and Chester fell asleep halfway through. I didn't mind the fact that he was sleeping on my shoulder, plus I got to finish his popcorn and soda. I woke him up when the movie ended and led his sleepy self out of the theater, clutching his hand tight – he had a tendency to get lost in crowded places, and I wasn't in a mood to have the shit scared out of me.

We were laughing as we crossed the street to the restaurant across. He was in a really good mood, and subsequently so was I. If he was happy so was I, because he was one of things in my world that mattered most to me. I didn't want to lose him, ever.

Neither of us saw the car, or heard it honking until it was too late. His hand was ripped from mine, and I watched in horror as he flew into the air and came crashing down in the middle of the road, where he lay still and unmoving.

“Chester! Chester!” I was screaming, but I didn't care. I'd just witnessed my best friend get hit by a car. He was hurt.

I ran over to where he lay and fell to my knees beside him, the asphalt grazing my knees and ripping my jeans. His leg was sticking out at a strange angle, and there was so much blood... it took me back to when he'd tried to kill himself, and my heart stopped. Gently I took him in my arms and cradled him to me. Behind me people were beginning to gather, and I could hear someone calling 911. But all I could focus on was Chester's still form in my arms.

“Stay with me, baby,” I muttered to him, holding him close.

His eyes opened a little. “Mike?” he murmured. “It hurts, Mike.”

“Hang in there,” I said to him, my eyes brimming with tears. “Help is on the way.”

“It's so cold,” he whispered. I let out a sob and held him tighter.

“Mike?”

“Yes, Chester?” I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, I swear this is what dying feels like.

“I love you, Mike.” He was smiling, and even death couldn't mar that beautiful smile. But I couldn't stand the thought that this was possibly the last time I was seeing it.

“I love you too, but you listen to me,” I said, my voice shaking. “This isn't it, okay? You're not going anywhere. You're going to be fine.”

But he had closed his eyes, and he was suddenly heavy in my arms. “No, stop it, listen to me–” I was shaking him frantically, trying to get him to open his eyes, because he could not be dead, he had to live, he had to make it, because I needed him, I couldn't live without him–

But it was all over. In four minutes, I'd had my life ripped from me. In four minutes, I died right there along with Chester.

+

So there you have it. That's how it all happened.

Nothing much happened after that. I didn't go to his funeral, because I knew it would be too much for me. The band split. None of us could simply replace Chester and move on. It couldn't be done. No one can replace Chester. Nothing can ever take the place of that beautiful smile, those eyes I could drown in, that laugh, that voice that will haunt me forever.

I once had Chester. Now I have nothing.

The psychiatrist I've got isn't helping. She says I should move on. I know I never will. I also know he'd want me to be happy, but I can't bring myself to even smile, let alone laugh. How can I, when the sole reason for my happiness is now six feet under?

So I just paint all day, and try as I might to paint something else it's always his face that stares at me from the canvas in the end. I don't know why I do it. It's just as automatic as breathing.

I am dead. I did not live another minute after Chester closed his eyes. Four minutes, and my world came crashing down.

It will never be all right. Nothing can ever be all right, ever again.

+

My name is Mike Shinoda, and I'm a man ended before his time. My name is Mike Shinoda, and I can never be complete again.

+

So... there you have it. Reviews are nice :3

-Peace <3