Beginnings *Bennoda**LinkinPark*

IIII

Yes an update! It's been really hard for me to write this as you're aware of it, so I have been busying myself with other projects, feel free to check them out! Would be amazing! Here's the next chapter for you. Let me know what you think? Thank you ALL for ALL your support. :3

*slash ahead* ;)

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Mike supposed it was karma or some shit. This time, he was the one who couldn't remember the girl's name. And he really hoped she was dead to the world and wouldn't notice when he finally summoned the energy to drag himself out of the bed.

He already had an excuse ready if necessary, and it wasn't even a lie. He and Chester needed to work today, especially since yesterday had been shot to hell. The vibe between them had been too weird and they'd given up before Mike could even score dinner.

'Today should be better.'

Mike had no previous experience in awkward conversations about the kinds of sex he was willing to have with his male best friend. So he wasn't sure how long it would take for them to get over it.

But Mike figured a day should do it.

Of course, he and Chester had both sought help in the "getting over" process. At the party last night, they'd steadfastly avoided each other and focused on chasing women instead. Or, at least, they'd avoided talking to each other. Mike might've scanned the crowd a few times, looking for a certain, best friend of his.

So every now and then, they'd locked eyes across the room. But that was all. Once Mike met what's-her-name, her cleavage had commanded his full attention for the rest of the night. Well...Most of the night.

He could remember some moments where he'd lost a sightline on Chester and been distracted. He could remember that particular moment when he'd realized Chester must've left. And yeah, he'd spent a little time, just a few minutes, wondering where he'd gone and whether he left alone.

Other than that, he'd ignored Chester entirely.

Mike rolled onto his side and studied the Sleeping Beauty. The curve of her soft shoulder and sharp angle of her shoulder blade were displayed above the blanket, and her dark brown hair was fanned out across the white pillowcase.

It hadn't been perfect or anything. They'd both reeked of stale cigarettes and cheap beer, as Mike could admit he'd been lazy about the foreplay. But she was soft and supple, and she'd moaned and gasped so prettily. And underneath the smoke and alcohol, her skin held hints of vanilla and wild flowers.

Most importantly, he'd felt normal. Moving so easily within that familiar, receptive silkiness, he'd remembered what it was supposed to be like. This was just sex...Even if it wasn't exactly connection.

If Mike had no impulse to reach out and touch her now, he shrugged it off. The past couple nights had exhausted him, and he was wary of sending her any signals this was going somewhere. She was beautiful but not really his type, from what he'd discerned through their drunken veils. She'd seemed cool and very confident, which was appealing, but also kind of stiff and self serious, which was not.

In the end, her tits had won him over. And now that wasn't really enough.

He slipped out of bed and collected his clothes as covertly as his unsteady, sleepy limbs allowed. The apartment was tiny, her bedroom and living room were all in one, so he staggered to the bathroom to dress in relative silence. Mike spared a moment there to blink at his reflection in the mirror, taking in the deep circles under his eyes, the pallor of his dark skin.

He supposed he should look like shit, since that's how he was feeling right now.

As Mike crept out of the bathroom and towards freedom, he realized he wasn't even sure where he was. He thought he remembered her saying downtown Hollywood, but after a certain point in the night he'd stopped listening.