Pretenders

Not Living Together

Mike checked his watch again. He still had a few minutes before he absolutely had to drag himself out of bed and stuff his body into Chester's too-small t-shirt and shorts to go downstairs for the laundry. It was annoying to take the laundry basket down a whole flight of stairs and across the building just to get a load of towels or shirts and socks, but not nearly as annoying as trying to get into his lover's clothes to do so.

I just need to bring more clothes over.

He sighed and turned over in the bed, onto his stomach, and closed his eyes for a second. Chester's sheets were clean, and smelled like fabric softener, and Mike nuzzled his nose into Chester's pillow for a second. I wish he'd get home. I'm bored and hungry and I miss him. And then we could take turns going to get the laundry. He smiled as he realized if Chester was there, he wouldn't have to go downstairs at all, not until he had clothes to put on. It had been a surprise to find that despite having his own side of the dresser at Chester's apartment these days, he'd run out of clean things to wear.

Slowly but surely, ever since the night they'd left the Laurel Canyon house, Mike's belongings had been finding their way to Chester's place. It was just a set of clothing here and there, then a favorite pair of shoes or two. Then his wok, so he could make Chester his famous Shinoda fried breakfast rice. Then before Mike knew it, he had a laptop and phone charger, and then a guitar at Chester's place. Little by little, Mike Shinoda was finding his belongings spending the night at Chester's, and it only made sense that he stayed there, too. After all, he could hardly leave his guitar behind, and Chester only rolled his eyes when Mike pleaded his case for just one more night together.

One more night had turned into two, then three, and then suddenly the album's post-production work was finished, and Mike had taken over one whole side of Chester's dresser.

He pushed himself up and reached for Chester's shirt. It was the biggest one he could find, and it was still snug around the middle, and snug across his back, and short enough to show a little strip of pudgy skin over the waistband of Chester's too tight shorts when he buttoned them. Luckily Mike could hold the laundry basket in front of him as he practically ran down the steps, hoping to avoid being seen by anyone and everyone that lived in the apartment building with his boyfriend. Mike still didn't know how they managed to escape notice on a daily basis, but he wasn't complaining.

"Fuck," he whispered as he pulled the light gray shirt on and tried to tug it down over his belly button. "It's practically a crop top," he whined to the cactus on the windowsill. "We're the same height, why doesn't this shit fit me?" The cactus didn't respond, and Mike threw it an impatient look. "I swear, if someone sees me like this, I'll die." He sucked in to pull on Chester's shorts, then grabbed the laundry basket and his key and took off for the community laundry room that smelled a little bit like mildew and a lot like eight hundred different laundry soaps, all competing with each other and giving him a headache.

The dryer was finished and Mike scooped the load full of his and Chester's clothes into it without stopping. There were clothes washing in one of the washers, and two other dryers tossing items around, and Mike in no way desired to talk to the owners of any of the other loads of laundry in the room. He hurried, getting everything into the basket quickly and slamming the door shut before he practically ran to the stairs.

With a sigh of relief, he was back in the apartment, the laundry basket on his hip as he opened the door with one hand. He closed the door and felt his shoulders drop. At least there was a clean shirt of his own now, and some lounge shorts that he wore around the house. He could change out of Chester's clothes before he took another load down to be washed. Now that he had started, he figured he might as well do all of the laundry, including the towels. Especially since he had no idea when Chester might be home. Time seemed to get away from him when he was with Ryan, and Mike knew if they had started writing together, it could well be dinner time before Chester got hungry enough to realize he'd spent the day there.