LPfiction

Category Linkin Park

Piano by LannaLlamas

Piano

A/N: I want to thank TrashFoot for letting me yell at her about Braz and Bournoda 24/7, and for turning me more and more into a Bournoda shipper. She came up with the idea for this story, so kudos to her! (Y'all should check her out btw!!!!)


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The keys of the piano chime with a c chord. The major form, then the diminished. The fingers on top of the white keys belonged to Rob. He sits on the stool, fiddling with the piano's voice. The door opens and closes. A new man stands near the entrance. A D major chord plays as he looks up to see who it was. Not on the same scale as the last chord. It rattles and pierces, shakes the keys with it. Anyone could pick up on the mistake.


"That wasn't in key."


It was Mike. He has a cup of coffee in his hand, one that Chester probably picked up for him. Chester always brings back coffee for Mike. Straying from his thoughts, Rob narrows his eyes in on the half-Japanese as he fingers around the keyboard again. He goes back into the key of C. His right-hand plays an octave higher than the left hand.


"I know," He finally responds, "I messed up."


"Let me show you something."


And within a beat of a second, Mike's sitting next to him. It started to become a routine for the two. While Brad and Chester left to do their own things, Rob and Mike would sit together and perform on the piano. Just yesterday, Mike was showing him how to do bluegrass sounding improv. To be honest, Rob didn't care about the lessons. Rob didn't care about the way the chords fit together or how the scale went. Rob only paid attention to one thing.


And that was Mike.


Mike's fingers echo Rob's position on the white keys, careful not to pluck the black ones. Those were the sharps and flats, and they didn't fit into this scale.


"Watch my fingers," He says. They dance across the buttons, playing a C chord then a G. He adds a few individual notes that come together to form a lick, "Try something like that."


Rob wasn't even paying attention to his fingers. His eyes were caught on the way Mike's dark eyes dances freely with hope and compassion. They way they fogged with concentration. He swallows a gulp before putting his hands back on the keys. He tries to mimic the notes played, but to no avail. He misses the E chord that comes in somewhere after a few fiddling notes, and his tempo was just all over the place.


"I'm sorry," Rob says.


"You're acting weird," Mike says, "What's going on with you? Is this because of Brad and Chester— I told them to keep it down since your room is right next to there—"


"No. Not that," He fingers the same chord over and over. Softy, slowly gaining in speed to distract himself from the words he wants to say, "I've just got a lot to think about."


"This album stressing you out?"


"Kinda."


He refrains from keeping his details specific. His eyes continue to stare hellward. They are switching between the black wood of the piano and his feet right under him. He feels Mike's hand inch to the left, his pinkie finger tickles Rob's. It makes his eyes dart up and stare at him, watching him with big curious eyes. Mike goes far enough as to put his whole hand on Rob's. Platonic in nature. At least, that's what Rob believes. Mike couldn't possibly return these forbidden feelings.


"There's no reason to be stressed," He says, "No one else is stressing."


"Well, I have to be the guy to stress."


"You're gonna get grey hairs before you hit 30, Rob."


"I can't help it," He tells him, "It's kinda inborn."


The air grows still. Anticipation perfumes the area, filling the two men with a feeling of unaccomplishment. The influx of potential energy that demands someone to make a move. One that's been growing for seven years now. One that won't be able to be held back any longer.


Rob takes his hands off the keys, displaces Mike's hand. The appendages fall limp in his lap as he thinks of what to say. Words weren't his strong suit. Everyone knew that. This was a moment that demanded emotion, yet Rob lacked in it.


"Mike," He sucks in breath in with a hiss, "I need to tell you something. Important."


His chin lifts from his chest, leveling out on the same invisible line as Mike's. The anticipation grows, only continues to swelter in the slowly thickening stale air. It all drains without a moment of thought. The whole aura is thrown off balance. You would think it was because of Chester's quick thinking to turn on the A/C outside of this little meeting, but no. It was Mike's lips pressed against Rob's that suck all the potential out and breathes life into this room.


The kiss feels longer than in reality. The pink skin dance with one another, merging and dividing. Then it's over. Over before Rob can bat his eyes. Over before his brain can completely register this, Mike doesn't retreat completely, he lingers near Rob's slack jaw, sharing his breath. Words fill his mouth, fighting with each other to leave his tongue, but none of them do. He swallows them down, trying to gain a cell of clarity before making a choice of words.


"Why'd you stop?" Rob finally says.


"I don't know," Mike says. His lips pull and tighten moonily, resembling the kind of smile you'd see forced in a romantic movie, "I didn't know if—"


"Kiss me again."


One of the rare times Rob shows courage. He's met with raised brows and a mouth parted in an O. Mike doesn't refuse his request. His lips press feverishly against the same flesh as before. Less of a heat-of-the-moment feeling like last. More of a 'we needed this,' type of kiss. They lean into each other's company, and their foreheads touch as their kiss fizzles out with energy. They pull away again, breathless gasps sounding the world around them.


"Mike?"


"What?"


"I love you."


"I know you do," Mike gives a tease of a smirk, "I always knew."

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