(Even When It's Not) About You

Nothing Makes Sense Anymore

There was something incredibly freeing about being in Portugal.

In the weeks since he'd left L.A., Rob's sense of time had slowly become looser. He'd phoned his brother sometime between when he'd talked to Mike and today to ask about the house, but that was the only contact he'd had with home. He hadn't picked up a newspaper or watched any television. He hadn't opened the web browser on his phone. He'd spent the days meditating, walking on the beach, surfing, and reading. While he'd never been a particularly fast reader, the silence and solitude of his life allowed him to focus on whatever he was reading. There was a stack of second hand books next to the chair in the living space that he was ready to return to the bookstore in exchange for credit to bring home new ones.

His routine was fluid. He slept late and went to bed early. He cooked two small meals a day, and ate fruit for the third. He allowed himself to grieve and then allowed himself to not think about Chester. He thought about Mike and then didn't think about him for days. He caught himself absently tapping rhythms on his knee and missed his drum room for a few minutes until he breathed in through his nose calmly and focused his thoughts elsewhere. Every day was a new project in self awareness.

Where everything in L.A. had become a constant battle, Rob's concerns now were limited to what he wanted to eat and when he could surf. This morning he stepped out of the shower and glanced in the small mirror over the pedestal sink in the water closet. A towel was wrapped around his hips and his hair was wet.

He studied his face for a moment. He was far past the point of worrying over all the gray in his beard or the length of his hair. As he brushed his teeth he wondered about the forecast for the day and how many good hours he'd get in on the waves. Rob pulled the towel off and scrubbed it over his hair before hanging it up to dry and shrugging into a nondescript oversized hoodie and pair of jeans. On his way to the kitchen for coffee he grabbed his glasses and put them on carefully, blinking a few times as the world came back into focus.

He silently made a list in his head of things to pick up from the market after he'd had his coffee, and for some reason, Mike's voice poked at his brain while he considered what he wanted. Mike had always been supportive of his vegan lifestyle, even if he didn't understand it.

I'll always respect your choice, Bourdie, as long as you respect mine. There's too much food out there for me to limit myself. I just want a little bit of everything.

The memory of Mike's voice cut his heart. He could clearly picture Mike's winning smile as his knife cut into a slab of meat that made Rob's stomach turn, back in the days before he became indifferent. He'd sat at tables with the band and watched Mike, Joe, Dave, and Chester eat plenty of meat over the years, and eventually he'd become accustomed to seeing it and smelling it. He'd never gone back to eating it, but he'd never tried to keep the others from enjoying it themselves. He'd never tried to put any limits on Mike.

He watched the water trickle through the coffee grounds and thought about Mike's words in that restaurant from so long ago. A little bit of everything. That's Mike. No limits to taking what he wants. Including Chester. A memory in Chester's voice answered him immediately, squashing Rob's jealous judgement. Mike can have whatever he wants.

Then Rob had to sit down as memories of all the times he'd watched Mike wrap his arm around Chester and pull him close before they waved to the crowd sideswiped him. Mike Shinoda always got what he wanted, one way or another, and in Rob's opinion that post-show embrace was a possessive move. Even now he could feel the jealousy that had always been present as the man he coveted shared the thundering applause with Chester. He could clearly picture the intimate way their bodies aligned, Chester dripping with sweat and Mike unaffected by it as his fingers stroked Chester's side. Rob always got the quick brotherly hug afterwards when he shyly made his way to the front of the stage to toss drum sticks out into the crowd. All of the times he'd wished to pull Mike closer flooded into his thoughts and he could feel the anxiety that came with the memories, until he pulled in a few deep breaths. He was able to pull himself back from the edge much faster now than a month ago, but it was still difficult to wrap his head around things. It still didn't seem real that Chester wasn't coming back.