Chapter Text
Rain is constant and comforting against the roof of Till's flat. He can hear it, speaking to him in soft murmurs as he stands in the kitchen. The window above the sink is opened slightly, just slightly, enough for Christoph to hear the pattering of the droplets against the sides of the building, against the balconies, against the road down below. The sound, the coolness, the atmosphere—it calms him. Contentment sits in him, as he languidly circles a spoon around and around in the murky heat of Till's tea.
A book waits for him from where he left it in the living room, perched atop Till's coffee table. Till himself waits for him, waits for the deliverance of the tea Christoph had promised him; not that Till had asked. Christoph had offered, with the desire to please, to make him utterly content like he himself feels.
And once he sets that used spoon down, cradles the cup in his hands, and steps back into the living room, that contentment only rises, once back in the presence of the man he loves. Panning his gaze up, he is surprised that said man is no longer sitting slouched against the armrest of the couch, book lazily clutched in a hand—he's now laying with his head against the pillows, book placed open against his chest, his broad hand resting atop it. He's snoring, and his eyes are closed.
He had been awfully tired today. Christoph isn't surprised. With a weak smile on his face, Christoph quietly paces up to the coffee table to set the tea down. Then he turns away, towards the closet. Approaching it, he draws it open and pulls out a knitted blanket. Shaking it out, he turns back to the living room and steps up beside the couch, where Till lays.
Till's face is relaxed. His full lips are slightly open, his eyes closed, eyelashes against his scarred cheeks. His brow is no longer furrowed, as it tends to be when he reads. Christoph watches him breathe as he gently drapes the blanket over his broad body. Till doesn't shift from the disturbance, and surprising Christoph, it doesn't wake him up, even slightly. Usually Till stirs from any touch.
Satisfied, Christoph sets his hands on his hips and just watches the other man sleep for a moment. His chest rises and falls with each slow, deep breath, his eyes roaming under closed eyelids, his snores overlapping the sound of the rainfall against the roof. Christoph smiles to himself. He leans over to grab his book from the coffee table, and then takes a quiet seat on the recliner draped in blankets—where he had sat before he rose to make Till's tea.
For maybe ten minutes, Christoph sits there with crossed legs (wearing articles of clothing he's taken to leaving at Till's place, for the sake of changing into after work; a pair of jeans and a comfortable sweater), reading the book he had borrowed from Till's collection. The sound of him flipping the pages is punctuated by Till's snoring. The tea perched on the coffee table is billowing with steam, contrasting with the chilly air of the living room. The tall lamp between the recliner and the couch is glowing softly, just enough for Christoph to comfortably read. This is what complete tranquility is like, right?
Peering over at Till's sleeping face, he's beginning to think it isn't. There is one other place he could be right now, that is more tranquil than this—sitting in a chair, reading a book while listening to his boyfriend snore, and sipping the tea made for said boyfriend. Instead, to find that perfect spot, Christoph bookmarks his place, quietly sets down the book, and rises from the recliner.
Pacing around the coffee table, he stands before Till with his arms loosely crossed, fingers curled against his biceps, into the soft sleeves of his sweater. He doesn't want to wake him, but that is unavoidable. Till won't mind.
Reaching out, Christoph gently draws back the blanket to reveal Till's body, his disheveled clothing (a plain shirt and the joggers he typically wears while sleeping), and the book that remains resting on his chest. Carefully, Christoph curls his fingers around the book and tries to slip it out from between his hand and chest without disturbing him. It proves to be a failure; Till twitches slightly, and then his eyes blearily blink open. Christoph gives him a weak, guilty smile, while he bookmarks Till's place and reaches back to set it on the coffee table.
“Sorry, I fell asleep,” Till mumbles in a quiet slur, raising his hand to rub at his heavy eyes. Christoph moves to take a seat beside him, on the edge of the couch cushion. He nods. Reaching out, he delicately strokes back the loose black locks from his forehead, earning a tired glance from green eyes.
“Can you make some room for me?” Christoph asks with a slight smile. Till nods and sluggishly scoots back as far as he is able, while angling his body to rest on his side. He holds his arms open. Christoph gladly accepts the invitation and moves to lay beside him. There really is no room; Till's couch isn't wide and they're both large men. But when they're both on their sides and Till wraps his arms around him to pull him against his chest, it works. Christoph rests his forehead against Till's collarbone, their legs tangling. Reaching out, Christoph blindly feels for the blanket. Finding it, he then draws it over both of them and tucks it around Till's back.
“You are so warm,” Christoph whispers, while winding his arm around Till's side. Till is big, warm, and soft—he's a lot like a teddy bear, actually. The thought has Christoph smiling. Till gently tucks his chin over his head; Christoph's short mohawk tickles his skin.
“And you are so cold,” Till murmurs, “But I'll warm you up, my love.”
Christoph hums with that smile lingering, and then closes his eyes. Till strokes his hand up and down his back. Christoph nuzzles closer and melts against him, completely and truly tranquil now.
For five minutes, they just lay there, tangled and warm and glowing with love, until the soothing sound of Till's breathing and the rainfall joined by that warmth lulls Christoph into a light sleep.
He had been awfully tired today, too.