The dreary rain that had drizzled down non-stop since Mike and Chester's arrival in Seattle had given way to a harder sprinkle. At some point in the night after their candlelight dinner and ferry ride double date, and some time after Mike fell asleep in post-orgasmic bliss, a storm rolled in, sticking Chester close to his side. He remembered putting his arms around his lover and pulling him close, murmuring reassurances between thunderclaps, before Chester managed to fall asleep. Now, in the back of Mike's consciousness, he could hear the drops hitting the roof and the window, but it didn't bother him. He found the sound comforting, snuggled naked under the blankets in the upstairs bedroom. It was unusual for him to fall asleep naked, but last night had worn him out.

Mike curled on his side, pulling Chester in closer to his chest. His body was tired. While last night had been fun, he was feeling the aftermath of his sexual escapades this morning, and wanted nothing more than to stay hidden away in bed with his boyfriend. Everything was warm and soft around him, the light through the windows gray, and the rain drowned out most of the sounds of the others in the house. It was like being alone.

He nuzzled his face into the spot between Chester's shoulder and the pillow, breathing in Chester's natural scent deeply. I hate that we have to get up and work today. I hope it stops raining. I don't think we can handle any more shoots in the rain... I don't remember Jason saying anything about us being outside. God, I hope not. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, ghosting his lips over the back of Chester's neck. He must not have slept well last night. He's not even moving.

Mike lay still, thinking, for a few more minutes as the muffled sounds of the others in the house waking up started filtering through the locked door. Their private time together was coming to an end. Breakfast would be ready soon, and he didn't want to have to go straight from bed to the chaos of everyone together at the table. He spread his fingers over the shirt covering Chester's stomach and flexed them against the muscles there, a smile crossing his face as he lifted his head to leave a soft kiss behind his boyfriend's ear.

"Ches... morning..." he whispered gently, slowly opening his eyes in the muted morning light.

He felt a moment of disorientation as his gaze landed on Chester's hair, all shaved down to the same length the sides had been just hours before. It was a sight he was completely unprepared for, and it knocked his thoughts a little off balance as he shifted up on his elbow to get a better look. Without thinking he pulled his hand from Chester's stomach and lifted it to his head, timidly touching the short, dark hair in the center where the beloved mohawk used to be. What in the hell happened? When did he do this? And why?

Mike carefully dragged his fingers over Chester's scalp, feeling the close cropped hair that felt like velvet. An uneasy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach as he memorized the shape of Chester's head and the new feeling of his hair under his fingertips. It just didn't seem real. There was no way shaving his hair had been a rational decision, but Mike couldn't think of anything that would have lead to such a drastic move. We had a great night. Dinner was good and the ferry ride was romantic, and then we came back and... what happened? We were a little crazy last night, but I love his hair. Loved. His hair. His red tipped hair I could run my fingers through at home in our bed. Home. We need to go home. Being here is messing with his head. "Ches? Babe?" Mike took his hand away from Chester's head and softly touched his shoulder.

Chester's mind picked up the sound of Mike's voice, but he didn't want to move. It had been a rough night, his sleep interrupted off and on from the thunder hitting overhead and his brain tumbling unwanted thoughts about everything from how work would go today to the trip back home and how things might be two years from now. "It's early," Chester managed to get out, his voice dry and scratchy as he nuzzled his head deeper into the pillow.

"Yeah," Mike whispered, running his hand down Chester's arm. "I missed you," he added, still staring at the place Chester's hair had been when he'd fallen asleep. "I didn't want to get up in time for breakfast, I wanted to have some time with you before we went downstairs."

"Missed me?" Chester asked, his eyes creeping open to a blurry vision of his boyfriend before he blinked away the sleep. He let out a quick yawn as he said, "I've been here all night. And I think I'm still stuffed from dinner." He offered a smile before closing his eyes again. "I vote we bail on breakfast. Just hang out up here and be slugs. Slugs in bed." He paused before he opened his eyes. "Unless you're hungry."

Mike was completely at a loss. Chester was acting as though nothing were different, as though what Mike were seeing was a mirage. "Um... you know me. I'm always hungry." He bit his lip as he scanned his eyes over Chester's face before lifting his hand back to the top of his head. Running his hand lightly over the top of his hair, Mike tried to smile. "Your head... it's soft."

"Thanks," Chester mumbled instinctively before his eyes widened and a small gasp escaped him. He instantly touched his head - his lack of hair - before he pulled back away from Mike's touch. "Yeah, I. . .I cut it." He ran his hand back and forth over his scalp before he sat up, his hands in his lap. "I hope you don't hate it."

"I don't hate it," Mike said quickly. "I just... why? I fell asleep and you said you were going to the bathroom, and then I woke up to a new haircut. What happened?" He was hoping his tone wasn't accusing. He was genuinely curious more than he was upset. It just didn't make any sense.

Chester looked over, his eyes flashing around Mike's face and the concern that had set in. "I don't know," he answered before dropping his head and running his fingers over the short hairs again. It had been so long since he'd been able to feel that part of his skull. "Just thinking about stuff, and how things are. How I am. I didn't plan to do it or anything, it just sort of happened."

Mike sat up, scooting his back toward the headboard and leaning against his pillow. "What do you mean, how things are?" He crossed his arms over his bare chest and his eyes flicked to the window. It was still raining. "Ches... I mean, I don't know what to say. You loved that mohawk."

Chester nodded, keeping his focus on his hands in front of him. "I did, but it was time to change it. And the people last night, the way they were looking at me. The way people always look at me. . .I don't want that anymore. I never wanted it. I just can't ignore it anymore like I used to."

Mike reached out and touched Chester's hair again, caressing the top of his head gently. "I don't really know what you mean, Ches. But if you're ready for a change, I guess this is about as different from a mohawk as you can get." His thoughts rolled back to the first time he'd seen Chester, in Joe's karate studio. It was true - he stood out - but Mike didn't think that was a bad thing. In fact, it had been what caught his eyes first about his boyfriend. He absently rubbed Chester's head while neither of them said anything. It was going to take some getting used to, and Mike hadn't even looked at him straight on yet.

Mike's rubbing touch felt nice, and Chester leaned into it. "I know it's drastic," he admitted, "but I just want to be invisible for a little bit, and this as ordinary of a haircut as I could pull off." He let out a sigh as his shoulders went back a little with his head, letting Mike's hand gain as much access as it wanted. "And just think of the bathroom time I'll save when we go out now."

"I guess you're right," Mike said slowly, thinking of all the times he'd teased Chester about his bathroom habits. "It feels nice like this. But I'll miss your mohawk. This is the first time I've ever seen you without it. And... I feel silly having all this blue hair now. Maybe it's time for me to change, too."

Chester turned his head, catching Mike's eyes. "Really?" He asked before he reached over to rub Mike's knee through the blanket. "I like the blue, but I could see you growing it out maybe. You know, kinda shaggy." He smiled as he took his hand from his lover's knee to swipe a finger over Mike's forehead.

"Shaggy and blue?" Mike asked, his face skewed in thought. "I don't know... that might be too much." He tried to conjure up a mental image of what Chester was talking about, but he just couldn't picture it. "We'll have to look at hairstyles online or something so you can show me what you're thinking. I'll try whatever you want, babe." He slid his hand down the back of Chester's neck, tickling the bottom of his hairline lightly and deciding that maybe there had been enough hair talk for the morning. "You feeling okay this morning?" With one finger he traced along the neckline of Chester's shirt, where the collar had been last night.

Chester went back to rubbing Mike's knee. "It's your hair, you can do what you want, but I was thinking more silky black. You know, to match your gorgeous eyes," he said, turning to smile Mike's way. "And I'm fine. I'm hoping the rain stops," he added with a groan, "but other than that, I'm good. Tired, but good. Mike, I," he waited a second, passing his tongue over his lip piercing before he turned his whole body, so that he could really face his lover. "Last night was great," he stated, because that was something he really wanted to make clear. "Not just being out and all the food, but sex last night was really topnotch. All of it," he insisted, squeezing his boyfriend's knee. "I love what we do, please don't think that it had anything to do with, with this." He touched his head before he swallowed down everything else to give his boyfriend time to process it.

Mike studied Chester's eyes, looking for more clues about the why behind the drastic style change. The compliment about the evening and the sex felt strange to him, but he didn't know what else to say about it all. There was something deep in Chester's eyes, a shadow, that told him not to probe any further. "I want what you want," he said simply. "If this is what you want, then I'm all in." He leaned into Chester, sucking lightly on his bottom lip for a second before his hand snuck up the back of Chester's shaved hair. They shared a brief, warm kiss before Mike let him go and smiled. "I'll get used to it. And last night... last night was pretty amazing."

"It was," Chester agreed right away, his hand slinking up Mike's leg over the blanket. "You bring it out of me, Sexy Boy." He smiled before he leaned in to get another kiss, their lips joining in something soft that turned to something a little deeper as Chester let his tongue out. Despite the heavy state in which he'd gone to bed the night before, his mind felt clear this morning. He loved his boyfriend, and he loved the way they showed that to each other physically. It was no contest. Out of all the people in the world, Mike Shinoda was his favorite person to kiss. "We could go for round two," Chester suggested the moment their kiss broke. "I've already got you naked, and I can ditch my clothes faster than anyone."

"Mmm, you know we have to work today," Mike whined, making a dramatic sad face. "We probably shouldn't push it, you know?" Despite his logic, Mike couldn't help but lean back in for another kiss. His hands slid over Chester's pajama top and then up under it, feeling over the warm skin his boyfriend was hiding. He was just seconds away from deciding that maybe they'd be okay for work later if he was on bottom this morning when there was an aggressive rattle of the doorknob, then a sharp knock on their bedroom door. Their lips popped apart as Mike backed away in surprise.

Mark's voice boomed through from out in the hallway. "Why the hell is this door locked?!"

"Oh god," Chester whimpered as he looked from Mike to the door and back again. "Fuck. He's going to be pissed." He waited a second, trying to wrangle his emotions that had just shot from loving and horny to worried and anxious in three seconds flat. "I'll get it," he said offhandedly to Mike, since he was well aware that his boyfriend was naked under the blankets.

Chester stood up just as Mark pounded on the door again, demanding access. "Just a second!" Chester shouted back as he adjusted himself, pulling at his pajama pants and his shirt front. He ran his hand over his head and shivered before crossing the room and opening the door. He stepped back, allowing for their boss to enter.

"These doors don't need to be locked," Mark barked the moment he stepped in, his attention flashing from Mike sitting on the bed with blankets pulled up around him to Chester. "And it's breakfast. . ." he stopped, his gray eyes widening slightly. "What have you done?" he asked, as he took a step closer. "Where. . .where's your hair?" he asked before he looked over at Mike, like maybe Chester's mohawk was hiding under the blankets.

Mike twisted his hands into the blankets, his stomach turning sickeningly. "He cut it last night," Mike answered for his boyfriend, trying to sound confident. "And we'll be down for breakfast in a few minutes." He looked over at Chester, who was tugging at his shirt hem.

"You cut it?" Mark repeated, his focus on Mike forgotten as he stared Chester down. "Why?" His eyes were searching, scanning over the shaved head where the well-known and very well-loved red-tipped mohawk used to be. "Chaz, I. . .Chester," he said a littler sterner, "Charlie Bang doesn't have a shaved head. Charlie Bang has a red mohawk. Did something happen to it?" Mark knew exactly how the couple's night had gone. He'd followed them from the restaurant to the ferry, and there had been no traumatic events. No accidents that would equal Chester's need to cut off his beloved mohawk. Unless something happened after they were back here. . . He was still trying to come up with scenarios as to why Chester would do such a thing, the most popular being that Mike forced him to do it, as he reached out to touch Chester's head.

"I know," Chester agreed. He flinched the moment he saw Mark's hand coming toward his face, but he recovered quickly when his boss flipped his palm over and carefully curled his fingers around the back of Chester's head then over the top. "I'm sorry about Charlie Bang," Chester mumbled as his insides ran cold. He hated Mark touching him, but this was business. He had to look a certain way and he knew his boss would have to make this work, since he couldn't glue his mohawk back on.

The sight of Mark's hand on Chester's head boiled Mike's blood. He moved to stand up, his hand clutching the sheets around his waist, but he only got one leg over the side of the bed, his one foot on the floor, before he reconsidered. He didn't feel like confronting Mark in such a vulnerable state. "It's fine. Surely people have changed their hair here before," he said, pulling his eyes away from Mark's hand to watch Chester's face. He could see the tell-tale signs of his boyfriend shutting down right in front of him. The lowered eyes and the sagging shoulders, the way that Chester looked seconds away from following just about any command, it all screamed submission. That he had given up fighting Mark a long time ago. "It's not a big deal," he said again, this time a little stronger.

Mark brought his fingers down off of Chester's head, sliding them down the side of his face and around to his chin, lifting his gaze up. "Don't do this again," he whispered to him. He glanced over at the bed before he took a side step, blocking Mike's view. "Do you hear me? We'll work it in this time, but I don't want to have to have this conversation with you ever again." He tugged on Chester's chin before he let him go and stepped back. There was no need to give Chester a chance to agree or argue. Mark already knew he'd won.

"And yes," he said, eyeing Mike as he stepped closer to the bed. "Hairstyles change. But usually we work up to that or we wait until a series is finished. This is going to be awkward with what the two of you are in the middle of," he stated, snapping his hand back toward Chester as he rounded the bed to get closer to Mike. "Was it your idea?" he asked, his hands going to the hips of his gray Dockers where his white dress shirt was neatly tucked in.

"I didn't even know he was going to do it!" Mike blurted out before he mentally kicked himself. It had always been important to him that he and Chester were a united front against Mark, but something had made him immediately deflect the blame for Chester's decision. His eyes snapped to his boyfriend, but he was studying the ground.

Mark tilted his head. "Oh. I see," he said, softly. A partial smile slid across his lips as he eyed Mike's bare shoulders, and the clean skin connecting them to his neck. Mike's body was soft and tender, or at least that's how it looked. Mark felt his fingers twitch against the Italian leather of his belt as he stood, his fixation on the blank canvas in front of him that he'd never dared to touch, drawing him forward a step, and then another before he felt his foot fall on something. He hissed as a sharp jab went into the bottom of his argyle sock.

He picked his foot up, and the black collar with the shiny silver spikes was now the only thing he could see. He bent to scoop it up. "What's this?"

Mike froze as his boss held up the accessory belonging to the only fetish he and Chester had discovered he had. Their favorite sexual secret. The collar looked foreign in Mark's hand. "That's... ours," Mike croaked, his throat suddenly dry. The fear that Mark would force it into one of their shoots crashed across his mind instantly. He held out his hand, reaching to take it back. "It shouldn't have been on the floor."

Chester watched from the door as Mark held the collar up, out of Mike's reach. He could feel everything inside his stomach curdling as he glanced out in the hallway and then he closed the door. He went to the other side of the bed, a safe distance from Mark's temper. "Come on, Mark," Chester said, trying to keep his voice as calm as he could, "just give it back, alright? Please," he added, even though he had wanted to sound strong.

Mark looked over, and he was surprised to see that Chester had moved. He glanced back at the door and was almost shocked that it was closed. "Well," he said, dangling the collar in the air, "guess I found something you're both passionate about. Tell me, which one of you wears this little black beauty?"

There was a long pause as Mark waited the couple out, and Mike watched his eyes shift back and forth, waiting to see if it would be him or Chester who broke first. Mike turned his head to look at Chester, and he could see the small amount of defiance he'd managed to throw at Mark dissolving. "It doesn't matter," Mike finally answered. "But it's ours, and we want it back."

"That's right," Chester chimed in, his heart racing. "Don't be an asshole, Mark."

Chester's words rang through the room, and Mark's teasing smile dropped to a glare. "I see someone is extra pissy this morning," he said, balling the collar up. "It must be that new haircut of yours, Chazzy. It's given you an acid tongue. You should go wash your mouth out." He held the collar up in his fist before he stuffed it into the pocket of his Dockers. "I think I'll hang onto it for now." He gave a fleeting glance to Mike before he headed for the door. "And don't think that all this is going to get you out of work today, Chaz. You're going to have to cover that bald head up, at least for one more scene since we're in the middle of a storyline." He paused when he got to the door and turned around, his gray eyes eating through Chester's resolve. "And don't you ever call me an asshole again."

He turned on his heel, flung the door open and stomped out into the hallway, screaming over his shoulder that they needed to come down to breakfast now.

Chester's mouth dropped open, all the air escaping his lungs at once as he stumbled backwards a step. "What did I just do?" he asked as he looked over at Mike. "I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry! He took it because I mouthed off to him." He pointed toward the open door with a shaky finger.

Mike stood up, the blankets falling to the bed, and grabbed his pajama pants from the bedside table where Chester had left them the night before. "I don't know!" Mike hissed, his eyes wide in a panic. "We have to get that back from him!" He started toward the open door, but stopped and turned around, waving Chester over to him. "Ches? Come on!"

Chester shook his head. "Mike, he took it." He knew he'd just stated the obvious, but he also knew his lover wasn't always quick to understand how things worked with Mark. "He, he has it until he gives it b-back," he stuttered, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. "If we go after him, he'll. . ." Chester dropped his head. "We'll just have to wait it out."

"Wait it out? But, Ches!" Mike took two steps back toward Chester. "It's, it's ours! And..." His eyes went over the top of Chester's head and he could feel the frustrated tears pricking his eyes. "He can't just take it, he can't just do whatever he wants all the time." He looked back over at the door and then at Chester again. "We bought that together. For you. It's yours."

For a moment, Chester debated utilizing the one way he knew would work. He could go to Mark, lay on some charm and bat his eyes, tell him how sorry he was for calling him an asshole and cutting his hair. He could flatter Mark with ego-boosting compliments, and maybe - maybe - even offer a squeeze to Mark's shoulder or hand. Maybe a kiss to his cheek. Maybe. . .maybe that would be enough for him to get Mark to give it back. But I don't want to do any of that. He really is an asshole. I don't want to touch him or let him touch me.

He finally looked his boyfriend in the eyes and let out a long breath. "He'll give it back," he assured him. "He's just pissed at me and he's a fuckin' child, so he's taking it out on the collar." He flipped his hand through the air. "Mark's not into that kind of thing. . .not really."

Mike narrowed his eyes. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something hateful, but he bit it back. Nothing he could say right now would get the collar back, and it would only end up hurting Chester's feelings. "Fine." He scratched the top of his head with the nails of both hands and let out a long breath. "I fucking hate him. I hate everything about him and YRS and everything we have to do, everything we're bound to by those contracts. I hate that we don't have a choice but to go downstairs and act like nothing's wrong and eat breakfast when I don't feel like talking to anyone. I hate that they're all going to watch us later, Ches." He looked up and caught Chester's eyes. He was close to suggesting again that they take Mark up on his 'real series' deal.

"I know," Chester agreed, his shoulders slumping a little before he shook it away. Complaining wasn't going to help anything. It was time to play the part. It was time to earn their paychecks, and that's what Chester shifted to the front of his mind. He walked over to the closet to pick out something other than pajamas to wear down to breakfast. "I'm not a fan of everyone watching us live and in person either," he said over his shoulder. "But that's how location shoots go. We're all here together, and it's just. . ." He stopped, his lips pursing together as he stared at his minimal amount of clothes hanging in front of him. Why do they watch? They don't have to. I've done it, too. Every time we go somewhere as a group, I've always stood around and watched. Why? The thought was paralyzing as his visioned blurred a little, all the colors of his shirts melting into one.

Mike scooped his shirt up from the floor and dragged it down over his head. "I'll be back. I'm going to the bathroom. Don't go downstairs without me," he added, his voice giving away his worry. "I'll be quick." He didn't want to know what the end of that sentence was. He had no interest in seeing anyone else's shoots, and the blatant curiosity of the others irritated him.

Chester heard the bedroom door click shut, and it was enough to bring him out of his trance. He looked behind him, his boyfriend nowhere to be seen. He rubbed his forehead. I've got to stop spacing out like that. He dropped his hand to his chest, his heart beating quickly, like he was in some sort of desperate panic, despite the lack of danger. He was picking out an outfit, not running from a tiger.

He groaned at himself before he reached in and grabbed a white pullover shirt that had long sleeves and a v-neck collar. He headed to his suitcase next, fishing out jeans and his black and white striped beanie. Before Mike had even made it back from the bathroom, Chester had swapped his pajamas for his new outfit. He was already pulling on a pair of sneakers as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Mike stopped in the doorway on his way back from the bathroom, looking over his boyfriend as he finished with his shoes. Of course he's going to get dressed. I don't even see the point. We're shooting right after breakfast. I'll just get dressed afterwards. He couldn't help but smile as Chester looked up, his freshly shaved head making him look younger to Mike. "Come on, babe. Let's go see what Brad's got for us this morning." It wouldn't help to be in a sour mood, so he was just going to have to let the scene with Mark go.

Downstairs, Brad already had his hungry troops at the table. Or, at least most of them. Unlike at home, here he could see right from the kitchen to the long table that was just on the other side of the bar. He scanned over each face, noting that Mike and Chester were still missing, and Jason had yet to make an appearance either. Mark was pacing, and sipping on a morning cocktail as he texted on his phone using only his thumb.

Brad opened the waffle maker to pull out the last of his massive batch of blueberry waffles. He had stacks of them already on two platters, and now he could finally get all the hungry bellies served. He'd already made sure everyone had a glass of water and another of orange juice with a little vodka mixed in per Mark's instructions.

Brad unplugged the waffle maker before he picked up the first platter and headed for the table. Plates were already set out, so now it was just a matter of serving. "Oh darn," the chef said as he started to hand out waffles, "I forgot the bottles of syrup. Ryan? Would you mind getting them? They're on the island." He knew if he asked, Ryan would do it. He was usually quick to please when it came to food or even just helping in general. He loves to help Jason, too. With everything. Where is that cousin-in-law of mine? Brad glanced toward the hallway of the master bedroom, but he couldn't see anything.

Ryan was up on his feet before Brad had barely gotten the request from his mouth. He rounded the bar, and spotted the two large bottles of syrup - one maple and one blueberry. "Blueberry on blueberry. My favorite," he mumbled to himself with a lick of his lips. The plus to helping out was that he got first dibs on the syrup, everyone else would have to wait.

Jason took one last look in the bathroom mirror before he flipped off the light switch and squared his shoulders. It was time to put memories from last night away and get to work. He didn't feel like facing Mark, but it couldn't be avoided after spending the entire second half of the day in bed a few nights ago. It had actually surprised him that Mark had taken off without him the night before, and he'd been thrilled to be in bed, feigning sleep, when Mark got home. It had been convenient, and Jason was grateful for the break from pretending everything was fine between him and his husband, but like most good things, he knew it couldn't last.

He could hear the chatter in the kitchen and smell waffles in the air, a scent that got closer as he walked down the hallway to the dining area. Mark's back was to him, and he slipped around his husband's side without an acknowledgement to sit down, taking his glass of water immediately and downing half of it in one gulp. He could see Ryan from the corner of his eye as his lover sat down several seats away, a bottle of syrup in his hand.

Ryan had carefully watched Jason enter the room. He knew he wasn't allowed to stare, or even to say 'hi' or 'good morning'. Either would come off as suspicious, and Ryan was hyper aware this morning of how dangerously reckless the two of them had been the last few nights. First there's was Jason's 'headache' and then the night out on the town last night. It had all been so much fun, but now it was back to work and back to reality, and that meant keeping his eyes to himself and pretending like Jason was just another boss, another person to take orders from.

Chester was already rubbing his stomach as he and Mike walked down the stairs. He'd smelled the waffles the moment he'd stepped out in the hallway, his striped beanie pulled down over his head and his hand latched onto his lover's. "We need to hurry," he begged as he pulled Mike to pick up his pace. "They're all animals, Sexy Boy, they'll eat everything before we even get there!" He was half tempted to tell Mike he was on his own and make a mad dash for the quickly disappearing plate of blueberry waffles, but he didn't. The old Chester would have abandoned him for food. . .but I'm a good boyfriend, he decided, and he could only hope his moral high ground would award him with more than a broken piece of waffle and no syrup.

Mike nodded, his stomach in agreement with picking up the pace. He loved eating almost as much as he loved Chester, and even if he had to endure Mark and the others, he wasn't going to miss a meal. "It smells good, Ches," he said, taking a deep whiff of blueberry scented air. "But I think that's it. Just waffles." He knew there was a tone of disappointment to his voice, but he couldn't expect bacon every morning.

"And syrup," Chester was quick to say. "It's practically its own food group." Their feet hit the floor, and Chester let go of Mike's hand to round the table and grab a seat. He was relieved to see that Brad had already put two waffles each on their plates - big, plump waffles with real blueberries peeking out from the honeycomb shaped crevices.

"Brad, these look amazing," Mike chirped, looking at his waffles. Both bottles of syrup were currently in use, but he knew he wouldn't have to wait too long. He wasn't like Chester, worried that there wouldn't be enough syrup. A nice criss-cross of the sticky, sugary liquid was enough for him. He picked up his glass of orange juice but quickly put it back down as soon as he tasted the alcohol. He made a face at Chester, but his boyfriend only had eyes for the syrup.

Brad smiled Mike's way, always appreciating the compliments. He scanned the table one last time; everyone was sitting and eating and accounted for, everyone but his cousin. He'd made sure to put three waffles on Mark's plate, but his chair was still empty, the boss walking off toward the living room before rounding back by the table. "Mark?" Brad called, "are you going to eat?"

Mark looked up from where he'd been reading on his phone. He was almost surprised to see all the seats full. "Guess it's that time," he said, stuffing his cell phone into the pocket of his dress pants. He took his seat, his eyes bouncing from face to face, until he got to Ryan. His eyes narrowed as he watched him eat, as he stuffed drippy bits of waffle into his mouth and jovially knocked his elbow into Chester while they gushed over the potency of the syrup. What does Jason see in him? He's so. . .uncultured. He's the picture perfect fuck boy. He's. . . Mark's teeth grit a little. Everything he'd seen while following his husband and the others around the night before had made him think that Jason and Ryan had entered into a romantic relationship. But maybe not. Maybe his husband was simply having fun, at Mark's expense.

"I love this stuff," Chester was swooning as he pushed a piece of waffle through the river of syrup on his plate. "The only reason to even eat waffles is for the syrup." He licked his lips, the sugar hitting his system instantly like he'd shot it right into his veins with a needle.

"God, it's just like you two with the ketchup last night," Mike said without thinking as he drizzled a delicate line of syrup back and forth over his waffles. He didn't even realize what he said until he looked up and caught Ryan's eyes on him. He bit down on his bottom lip and tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in the air.

Ryan's mind was stunned. He wanted to look to Jason for help - for reassurance - but he knew he would be a dead man if he did. Instead, he swallowed down his bite of waffle and smiled briefly. "I like ketchup," he mumbled before he dropped his eyes to his plate, hoping no one had noticed, no one was paying attention. But he didn't dare look up to see. Instead he concentrated on his food, wishing for something to happen. Maybe a phone would ring or Brad would catch something on fire in the kitchen or Amir would find something to complain about.

Mark was just rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt when the comment had escaped Mike's mouth, and it had turned his head immediately. Now he could see it, the stiff awkwardness that was hovering over the four of them. All of them. Jason, Ryan, Mike. . .even Chaz. "I'm not much of a ketchup fan," he said, picking up his fork and a knife to properly slice his stack of waffles, "so I guess I should count myself lucky that I was not here for dinner. Tell me, Ryan, what was so wonderful on the menu last night that you had to use so much ketchup for?"

Ryan was frozen. He could feel himself starting to sweat, and he thanked God that he was wearing a tank top so it wouldn't show. He allowed himself to look toward Mike and Chester, but they were no help. Ryan had no idea what was served by their personal chef for dinner, and he was pretty sure the only people who could help him out of this didn't know either.

"Fries," Amir supplied helpfully around a mouthful of waffle. "Those two are idiots for fries and ketchup. Dipping them like a normal human being isn't good enough. They pour it all over the top of the fries and get ketchup all over every damn thing." He rolled his eyes and poked another forkful of waffle in his mouth before Mark could ask him a question.

The table went quiet with only the sound of chewing and utensils hitting plates as the backdrop. Mark watched as Ryan nodded in agreement with Amir's comment, but then his eyes were back on his food. "French fries," Mark said, shifting his gaze from Ryan to Jason. "That doesn't seem like a full meal and I know my cousin. He never would have let you all go hungry. Jason? What else did you guys have last night? I can't have Brad getting slack." He'd already seen Brad step away, excusing himself to his room. There would be no hurt feelings or frantic answers from the chef.

"Oh, Brad's fine," Jason said, lifting his eyes to meet Mark's straight on, "how funny you'd think he'd only serve us fries. It was burger night." Jason kept steady eye contact with his husband as he lied and hoped for the best. He was pretty sure there weren't fries or hamburgers on the menu last night, but he was also certain none of the boys would dare to disagree with him. They weren't stupid. The only wild card was Brad, and Jason had to make sure that someone got to him before Mark did.

"They were really good, too," Devon offered, catching Mark's attention for a split second. "Juicy and cheesy." He'd wanted to help, since he'd been around long enough to know how things worked. Besides, Mark getting upset at anyone usually equalled a bad day for all of them, so it was in everyone's best interest to stick together. He glanced to his right, and he didn't miss the confused look on Noah's face. He kicked the redhead under the table, and tried to give him a nonchalant just go with it look.

"I see," Mark muttered before he took his fork and stabbed a bite of waffle. "So Ryan," he said, and he paused long enough to see the deer in the headlights stare from his employee, "tell me about this boyfriend of yours."

Mike dropped his fork as soon as the words came out of Mark's mouth, his eyes wide as it clattered to the tabletop. He felt all eyes turn to him for a second and he mumbled, "sorry." It was remarkable how quickly his feeling of relief at having escaped the dinner questions turned right back into a fear of what might be coming next. It was hard to know what Mark knew all the time, and even though they'd all managed to deflect suspicion after he'd mentioned ketchup, he had no idea what was happening with Mark asking Ryan about his boyfriend. A sick feeling washed over him as he kept his eyes on his plate, afraid to even look at Chester. Here we go. It's all going to come out right here at the breakfast table, and we're all screwed.

Ryan's mind was already on overdrive. He knew he had a fake boyfriend. Amir had called him the night Mark had dragged him and Chester to the club, and had told him all about. . .What was his name? What was it? Jay. . .something. It was like Jason. It was, it was, "He's fine," Ryan blurted out. He knew he had to say something, and maybe he could buy some time to remember the elusive name. He cleared his throat and tugged at the super loose collar of his gray tank top. "He misses me, of course."

Several seats away, Jason sat perfectly still for a moment. Boyfriend? What the fuck is Mark talking about? Ryan doesn't have anyone but me. I know he doesn't. But if Mark knows about us, this wouldn't be the way he'd confront it. He forced himself to pick up his orange juice and take a sip, then turned to look at Ryan. He could see the discomfort in his body language, and was suddenly struck with the thought that maybe, maybe he wasn't the only one in Ryan's life. It would serve me right. I can't give him everything he deserves, so why wouldn't he be looking elsewhere. He doesn't believe I'll ever truly leave.

Jason made an attempt at a smile, turning to face Ryan. "Hopefully it doesn't start interfering with your work. I don't know if we can handle anymore relationships around here." His eyes drifted over to Mike and Chester, who also looked uncomfortable. They know something. I can't believe it. I won't. He lifted his chin and looked right at his lover, waiting to hear what he had to say.

Ryan had abandoned his plate. He was fidgeting with his fingers, the watch on his wrist. He still couldn't quite place the name he'd been told only once a few nights ago, and he didn't dare guess. He leaned forward so he could see Jason better, trying to get a read on his face. Surely he knows. Chaz would have told him. . .wouldn't he? I should have said something to him, but I forgot. A lot has been happening. Fuck. No. No, Jay, it's not a real boyfriend. It's not! He begged from his mind for a few more seconds, hoping somehow the message would get across to his lover. "You don't have to worry," he said, right to Jason. "My heart belongs here." A quick smile flashed across his lips - an action he couldn't stop.

"Glad to hear it," Jason responded, still a little unsure what was going on. I know him. I know he's not cheating on me. So what is Mark talking about? He felt his heart skip a beat as the only other explanation sunk into his thoughts. He knows about us. Somehow, he knows. He didn't dare look at Mark. Instead he focused his eyes on his drink, his body on high alert in the event he needed to say something else to deflect suspicion.

Mark's gray eyes shifted from Ryan to Jason and back. His grip on his fork tightened. This is just annoying. And there's too many damn people around to protect them. I'll have to get Ryan alone. Make him sweat. I still can't believe he's got the nerve to be doing all this right under my nose. Somehow he's filled Jason's head with ideas or promises. Jason's smarter than that. He glowered at his husband for a second before he switched his deadeye stare to Chester. His eyes narrowed. "Chaz," he barked roughly, "take that hat off while we eat. You know the rules."

Chester had jumped at the sound of his own name, his heart pounding in that instant as he looked up at his boss. He'd been very happy about being left out of the conversation, even though he felt bad for Ryan. If he could have jumped in and helped, he would have, but Mark would have shut him down. He raised a hand to the black and white striped beanie, but hesitated.

"I said, take it off," Mark ordered, his bark becoming a growl. "Go on. Show everyone what you've done to yourself."

Amir perked up from his seat across from Chester. "Ooh, Chazzy, have you been bad? Did you dye your mohawk to match Mike's hair or something?" He pointed his fork at Chester and narrowed his eyes. "Or maybe something worse? Green? Orange? I have a thing for orange tips, you know."

Chester didn't even look up. It wasn't funny, and even though he didn't dislike what he'd done to himself, not really, he knew there would be questions. Speculations. And worst of all, judgement. His love for his mohawk and the strong fanbase that adored it too, was well-known around the YRS camp. Chester let out a short breath before he pulled the beanie off, his eyes shutting for just a moment before he looked up to see everyone staring at him.

Mike reached over and took Chester's hand, lacing their fingers together and holding on tightly. "I think it looks good, Ches," he offered, knowing that his boyfriend was hating every second of Mark's wrath being turned on him.

"I still can't believe it," Mark grumbled, his piercing stare blazing into the shape of Chester's head, and how his ears stuck out. Without the bright red-tipped mohawk to draw your attention, other features stood out more now - his ears and the curve of his skull that wasn't quite symmetrical. "And it doesn't really matter what you think," Mark added with a huff toward Mike. "Hopefully the fans will accept. . .this." He rolled his hand toward Chester. "I can already guarantee that your ratings will go down, Chaz. It will take people time to get used to it." He curled his lip, ready to say more, to finish tearing Chester down to make a point to the others, but he stopped himself. The business part of him recalled what time it was, and the shooting schedule. If he wanted to get a good scene out of Chester, he couldn't completely stomp him to the ground.

Mark left his plate on the table as he stood up. "Everyone finish up," he instructed as he looked at his watch and unrolled his sleeves. "I want to get a jump on things this morning." He looked around at the boys, all of them sitting like sad statues. He was pretty sure not a one of them was actually eating in that moment. Except for Amir, but even he seemed to be chewing his bite extra slow.

Mark headed off toward the bedroom, ready to look over paperwork and check his phone. He had a call to make before it got too late in the day and he wanted some privacy for it, so now was a good time since his husband wasn't getting up to follow him.

"Fuck. What was all of that about?" Jason huffed, looking toward the hallway Mark had just disappeared down. "Chaz? Your hair? I mean, it was all there when we..." He paused, looking around the table. Everyone had their eyes on Chester, whose head was bowed over his plate. "Never mind." He pushed his chair back and stood up, knowing he was visibly frustrated, but unable to hide it any longer.

Ryan watched as Jason stood up, as he put his hands on his hips and took deep breaths. He wanted to stand up with him, and put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't. He couldn't, at least not now. Whatever reassuring words he could say to his lover would have to wait. Instead he looked back at Chester, who hadn't moved since he'd uncovered his head. Ryan reached over, squeezing Chester's upper arm gently. "What happened?" he whispered. "Chaz, you could have come and talked to me. . .you didn't have to do this."

Chester looked over, his eyes still lidded. "It was late," he answered simply before pressing his fingers over his skull. Mark's right. Everyone will hate it. And when our numbers go down, I, I don't know what he'll do.

Mike looked up at Ryan. "It's fine. It's not like Mark owns the rights to his hairstyle. I don't see why this is such a big deal." He found himself defending Chester's decision to cut off his hair when a half hour ago he'd been asking the same questions, but he didn't like the way everyone was reacting, as though it were the crime of the century. "Ches, you can do whatever you want with your hair, babe. I think it's cute and fuzzy." He was trying to get Chester to look over at him and smile.

Chester let out a sigh before he gave his boyfriend what he wanted. He looked his way, ready to force a happy face, but he didn't have to. The moment he saw the look on Mike's face, the kind gesture in his eyes and the warm squeeze of his hand, Chester smiled for real. "Thanks," he answered softly before he picked up his orange juice and took a sip. "And I'm fine," he told Ryan next. "I just needed a change." That wasn't completely a lie. "I didn't mean to piss Mark off, just bad timing." He took another sip, enjoying the punch of the tart orange juice against all the sweet syrup he'd been downing in.

"Come on, babe. Let's go sit on the couch until they're ready for us," Mike suggested, wanting to get away from the others for a few minutes. It seemed like Chester really needed some time to refocus before they had to work. He wanted to save him from any more unsolicited questions about his lack of hair.

Jason watched Chester nod and stand up, following Mike into the living area adjacent to the kitchen. Ryan was facing him, with Devon, Caleb, Noah, and Amir still at the table, keeping them from being alone. He wanted a private moment with Ryan before work got started and the day slipped away from them. In his heart, he knew whatever Mark had been playing at wasn't true, but he needed to hear it from Ryan. He needed that reassurance, and he had no idea how to get Ryan alone long enough to talk to him.

He caught Ryan's gaze, and a little bit of the fear he'd been feeling dissolved just from the soft look in his eyes. I know it's not true. But I need to hear him say it. No matter how dangerous it is to be alone right now. Jason cleared his throat. "Ryan? I'd like to talk with you for a minute before we start shooting. Can you follow me?" he asked formally, even though three of the employees at the table knew exactly what was going on. His firm boss-like exterior was for Noah's benefit, and for a second he felt like telling Amir to just go ahead and clue the new kid in to his relationship with Ryan.

Despite the amazing blueberry waffles still on his plate, Ryan was on his feet. "Sure, boss," he said, knowing he needed to follow suit. He watched as Jason nodded at him before heading toward the stairs, and Ryan was quick to follow. He knew his lover was upset, probably about all the boyfriend talk and probably even a little about Chester's impromptu haircut. Ryan only had answers for one of those things.

He followed closely behind Jason, resisting the urge to reach for him - his hand, his ass, his hip - whatever he could touch. He wanted to pull him into his arms and reassure him that there was no boyfriend, and that he only had eyes for one person. He glanced over his shoulder as they went, but Noah was watching their every move as they made their way up the open staircase.

Jason moved with purpose down the upstairs hallway to the room Ryan was sharing with Amir, ducking inside and spinning around to face his lover as soon as he stepped in the room. "What was all of that about?" he asked, his voice low and strained. "Boyfriend? Ry... tell me what he's talking about," Jason pleaded, his stomach feeling sick.

"Jay, it's nothing," he said, before he glanced over his shoulder into the empty hallway. He turned back, and took Jason's hand, squeezing it. "It's a lie that Chaz and Amir told Mark while they were at the club. He was asking questions, and that was their diversion. I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said before he took a breath to slow down. "I love you. Just you," he promised, tugging on Jason's hand to see if he would step closer.

"Asking questions?" Jason repeated. "About you? Oh my god, Ry, what if he knows? He was on everyone's ass this morning. About the dinner last night, like he knew we weren't here. How would he know? He was gone!" he adding, feeling seconds from an emotional breakdown. He wanted leaving to be on his terms. He wasn't ready. There were plans to make, and a lawyer, and none of it would go right if Mark already knew what was going on between them.

Ryan shook his head. He wasn't used to seeing Jason panic. There'd been occasions, but they were few and far between. "I don't know what he was asking exactly, but, I. . ." He stopped, his gaze going over Jason's shoulder at the two beds that occupied the room. "He can't know about last night. He was already gone, like you said," he decided as he looked back at Jason's stressed features. His mouth was open, his eyes twitching, his free hand shoving his dark hair from his face. "Jay, Jay it's okay," he assured him, and he took the step forward to bring them together. He let go of his boyfriend's hand, to wrap his arms around him instead, practically swallowing him. "He's just fishing. You know how he is. . .he likes to stir up trouble. He doesn't know. He can't know." He pressed a kiss to Jason's head, forcing his voice to stay steady and calm.

Jason leaned into Ryan, wrapping his arms tightly around him. "Ry, we'd be so fucked if he found out. We've got to be more careful." He shivered even with Ryan's body heat pressed against him. The thought of what Mark could do to make them miserable, of the things he was capable of, was enough to put Jason on the edge of being sick. "I knew there wasn't anyone else, but I needed to hear you say it. I'm sorry." He grazed his lips over the soft skin of his lover's neck as he worked his way around to connect their lips. Kissing Ryan made his uneasiness feel far away. He put everything he had into that one kiss, trying to convey the strength of his feelings as the kiss went longer, wetter, deeper. Ryan was the whole world, and Jason was terrified that they were getting sloppy and Mark might soon discover them - if he hadn't already.