Linkin Park: Brad/Chester, #044 circle
Title: Medicated
Fandom: Linkin Park
Characters: Brad/Chester
Prompt: #044 Circle
Word Count: 437
Rating: R for drug abuse
Summary: With an addict, it gets to a point where love is not enough.
Chester lies in bed beside Brad, hung over. Painkillers, proadably. Or those pills the doctor gave him to help him sleep. Or maybe those pills for his mood swings. It could have been heroin but Brad threw out all of syringes. He knows it was a pointless act, knows that Chester will talk him into stealing more from med school on Monday.
That’s how it works. They’ve fallen into a routine now. After five years of being with Chester, Brad is used to it. That doesn’t mean he’s happy about it but he doesn’t say anything. As long as Brad makes sure Chester doesn’t drown in his own vomit or fall into traffic whilst high then Brad won’t end up alone.
So he says nothing. Brings his boyfriend painkillers for his headache - looks away when he takes too many - sells him the Vicodin he got for a back injury three years ago, but still gets on repeat prescription to make Chester happy, in exchange for a couple of hours of sobriety a week.
And sure. It’s all very fucked up. But Chester loves him, depends on him. And those few hours of sobriety are worth the lengths he goes to.
“Hey, Brad?” Chester croaks from where he has his face buried in his pillow.
Brad runs a hand through his hair, kisses his neck, “Yeah?”
“What do you know about wine?”
“Stuff. My dad was big on collecting and selling. Never drank it though.”
“So you know what goes with what?”
Brad shrugs, “I guess.”
Chester turns his head, sighs sleepily and meets Brad’s gaze, “What wine goes with mood stabilisers?”
No shit. This is the kind of conversation they have every morning. Brad looks down to the end of the bed, pushes back the covers and gets up, “I’m going to take a shower.”
He leaves Chester behind and pads along the hallway to the bathroom where the washing basket has been tipped over and its contents has spilled out across the tile floor. Brad picks up all of the clothes calmly. Breathes the way his yoga instructor told him to - in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Turning on the water he strips off, steps into the shower cubicle. He leans against the cold wall and sighs softly. He loves Chester, always has, and has no idea how he’d survive without him but he can’t do this any more. Hardly sleeps. Too scared he’ll wake up beside a corpse to relax. He wonders if he’ll ever pluck up the courage to think about himself, for once.
Or if everything will keep going in circles.
Fandom: Linkin Park
Characters: Brad/Chester
Prompt: #044 Circle
Word Count: 437
Rating: R for drug abuse
Summary: With an addict, it gets to a point where love is not enough.
Chester lies in bed beside Brad, hung over. Painkillers, proadably. Or those pills the doctor gave him to help him sleep. Or maybe those pills for his mood swings. It could have been heroin but Brad threw out all of syringes. He knows it was a pointless act, knows that Chester will talk him into stealing more from med school on Monday.
That’s how it works. They’ve fallen into a routine now. After five years of being with Chester, Brad is used to it. That doesn’t mean he’s happy about it but he doesn’t say anything. As long as Brad makes sure Chester doesn’t drown in his own vomit or fall into traffic whilst high then Brad won’t end up alone.
So he says nothing. Brings his boyfriend painkillers for his headache - looks away when he takes too many - sells him the Vicodin he got for a back injury three years ago, but still gets on repeat prescription to make Chester happy, in exchange for a couple of hours of sobriety a week.
And sure. It’s all very fucked up. But Chester loves him, depends on him. And those few hours of sobriety are worth the lengths he goes to.
“Hey, Brad?” Chester croaks from where he has his face buried in his pillow.
Brad runs a hand through his hair, kisses his neck, “Yeah?”
“What do you know about wine?”
“Stuff. My dad was big on collecting and selling. Never drank it though.”
“So you know what goes with what?”
Brad shrugs, “I guess.”
Chester turns his head, sighs sleepily and meets Brad’s gaze, “What wine goes with mood stabilisers?”
No shit. This is the kind of conversation they have every morning. Brad looks down to the end of the bed, pushes back the covers and gets up, “I’m going to take a shower.”
He leaves Chester behind and pads along the hallway to the bathroom where the washing basket has been tipped over and its contents has spilled out across the tile floor. Brad picks up all of the clothes calmly. Breathes the way his yoga instructor told him to - in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Turning on the water he strips off, steps into the shower cubicle. He leans against the cold wall and sighs softly. He loves Chester, always has, and has no idea how he’d survive without him but he can’t do this any more. Hardly sleeps. Too scared he’ll wake up beside a corpse to relax. He wonders if he’ll ever pluck up the courage to think about himself, for once.
Or if everything will keep going in circles.