Work Text:
Berlin, November 2001, Tuesday 5PM
After a yet another argument with the rest of the band (minus Till), Richard came to the conclusion: this needs to end at once, now. Seeing angry Ollie closing the door, seeing Paul’s annoyed head shake – seeing it all fall apart in front of his eyes, something he has helped to create, something he loved – all of it broke Richard’s seemingly cold, cocaine-soaked heart. Yes, he had a heart… before today. It was weak and thin, white and bloodless, ostensibly seeking just that one thing, but it was there. Now the splinters were poking at the bleeding edges, cutting deeper and deeper, making him feel like vomiting blood. That pain, however, was nothing compared to what he felt when the others leaving.
After the door closed behind Schneider, the last of his bandmates that he saw that day, a moment of sober clarity followed. The revelation stood proud and tall in thick white fog in his otherwise unclear mind: everything was going downhill, and he was the reason. He caused all of this. This was his fault. His fault! He knew he was the cause and had to fix it; he just didn’t know what to do and how to do it, or where to start. All he could do now was to face his own guilt and mess. It seemed to be talking to him, and it said “you are mine; mine alone”. Faces of his (former) friends started to appear in his mind, angry at first, then in their happiest moments to torture him even more. Richard observed them carefully, revelling in the pain.
And then, all of a sudden, he knew what was to be done. This needed an end; a messy end to close the messy situation he has caused. The end was to be his mission. He almost smiled, felt like he was swallowing more blood from the hole he felt in his chest. Then and looked around the kitchen in their rehearsal flat (where the whole argument happened).
The room was empty apart from him and Till. The others left because he chased them away. Another stab through what used to be his heart. All right. Keep it like this.
Richard looked at Till, who was watching him carefully. No, do not think about what he means to you. Concentrate on your mission.
Richard walked up to Till without swaying once. He knew going through his better half was the hardest part – he was the only thing that could stop him now.
Till looked at him, clearly worried and then said: “Whatever you want to do, you should wait… you should sleep first, or else you might…” He stopped. Richard wasn’t listening, and Till knew well he was the only person Richard would listen to in any state. “I am afraid something will happen to you. Come with me, you could have some rest.” It was clear to him that logical reasoning with a vacant Richard was not an option.
Tears were now running down Till’s cheeks – exactly what Richard didn’t want to happen. He hated seeing his boyfriend cry, and he hated the fact that he made him cry even more. However, he was now on a mission, a mission he had to accomplish without a slightest failure. It’s his only way out.
He had to make something up to distract Till from wanting to take him home, so he leaned over, hugged him and wiped his tears away. It almost cost him the last bit of resolution, to feel the familiar and very welcome warmth, but he managed to let go.
Mission, he reminded himself. You are on a mission.
“Danke, mein Schatz. I might come to you later. However, I am the one that began this all and thus the one that should clean up. I am going to apologise to Flake first, then clean my own flat. I have a plan to fix this, you know? And then I might come to yours.”
Richard sat opposite his best friend and reached for him. Till took Richard’s hand and put it on his cheek. “You know I love you. I believe in you. I know you can make it all good again. We can,” he added almost in tears again. He had a genuine hope for his best friend.
Mission, Richard. You are on a mission.
Richard smiled and kissed his hand, then hugged him again. He simply couldn’t let go! The hug was warm and smelt heavenly. He felt Till’s heartbeat. He wanted to stay like this forever. Instead, he said his goodbyes (Richard, you are on a mission!), and went straight home, not bothering with visiting or calling Flake or anyone yet. He had no time to waste!
💕
When he arrived to his flat (same Tuesday, 6:30 PM), he muted the phone and put it on the kitchen table. He was shivering as he was inhaling his fix in the bathroom. He cleaned the sink, then went to the living room and lie on the couch for a minute before he began. Several seconds later, he started to feel cold all of a sudden – the flat was cold, Till wasn’t there and drugs didn’t help. Yet he didn’t bother with turning the heating up; his addiction was making everything cold (apart from when he was in bed with… somebody). Human heat could stop his shivers, and he wished he could be in Till’s bed now but there was work to be done.
Having a slightly larger than usual fix in him, he drank some water, then began tearing through his flat to forget his best friend and the entire situation. Mission, Richard. You are on a mission. He was going to use every single piece of strength the drug gave him to go though the rest of the day and the following night with minimum breaks. He took every piece that belonged to him and throwing it either into trash or into a recycling bags, Marie Kondo style. Only the necessary things stayed, along with the piles of things he meant to give to someone else: the books about arts were to be gifted to the only person that would lament him after he is gone. The collection of small-format Hermann Hesse was for Ollie, the strings for Paul, etc.
By the next morning (Wednesday, 9 AM), half of the flat was empty in comparison to the cluttered state before. As predicted, Richard hasn’t slept a single wink that night because something as trivial as sleep was beyond him now. Two hours before the next rehearsal, he checked the phone again. There was only one text, from Till: As your friend, I am worried about you. As your lover, I long to see you in private again.
Richard felt like running to him at the exact moment. He opened the messages and replied, Skipping this afternoon. See you the day after tomorrow. Too busy. He hesitated, then added Love you, then hit “send”. Mission, Richard. No distractions.
He put the phone away and got to work again. He sorted out some more trash, then felt the effects fading so he took some more cocaine so that he could keep the pace and continued cleaning. In the late evening, only the area by the entrance and the kitchen haven’t been made spotless yet. The rest of the flat looked pleasingly empty; not like someone has just thrown everything out because they had a fit of… whatever; rather, it looked like someone tidy, organised and non-addicted lived there. Like it belonged to someone who played instruments and worked with music in general, someone who Richard no longer was, or at least didn’t feel like anymore. The drugs helped him work; he felt work was the only thing he was good at, the only thing about him that mattered. But he also knew if this went on… he wouldn’t even have this. He’d just be a junkie and maybe not even alive.
Current Richard, however, sat in the armchair, looking at the first half of his tasks almost completed and sighed. So this is the end. This is where it happens. In one or two days, he will have solved the problem of the band. The feeling of almost completion of the first step and the first longer pause since texting Till made him aware of his empty stomach and aching head. And he needed the lavatory. Then, the kitchen battle begins, he decided.
Yet when he was coming out of the miraculously clean bathroom (apart from blood in the sink since another fix was necessary), he heard banging on the door, loud, aggressive. At first, he considered staying quiet so that the visitor(s) would leave him alone (it was 10:30 in the morning, for heaven’s sakes!) but then he heard it; he heard Till’s voice yelling his name.
💕
On that horrible Tuesday, Till was watching Richard leaving their shared flat (the one where they rehearsed in and maybe spent the night after a fight with a spouse) and didn’t believe a word he heard from him. But it was clear to him that Richard would not go to Flake’s – or anyone else’s, for that matter – and he was sure the solution Richard came up with was not a round of personally delivered apologies. He decided that if he didn’t appear at least at one flatmate’s (of which he was one thousand percent sure), then he would talk to him more openly at Wednesday session. He might be able to let Richard manipulate him because he loved him so much but even then, he wasn’t blind. Especially when Richard was up to something like he surely was this time, and it could be something horrible! What should he do?
So he stood at Richard’s door on Wednesday morning and knocked. It took ten knocks of increasing intensity when he heard noises from behind the door. He had felt Richard was at home, and certainly not out cold. So why was he not opening?!
He roared Richard’s name again and finally, the door opened.
💕
Whatever Till was expecting, it was not what he saw: he expected a pale and angry Richard that would spit and yell at him for making this visit, basically what he saw every time someone else than him tried to talk to him earnestly. What he got was a horror version of any Romantic or even Dark Romantic hero he has ever read about: there was a trail of half-smeared, dry blood running from Richard’s nose to his mouth. Then there were dark, deep shadows under his eyes whose intensity were untypical even for Richard. And then there was the general impression that Richard desperately needed his attention and he also needed a great deal of help. Richard was looking at him a bit disoriented and bit… disappointed? Disappointed that he saw his lover? Something was definitely off, now it was clear.
“What are youdoing here?” Richard croaked, throat absolutely dry. Then, after Till made no sound he added, “Come on in.”
They didn’t hug or exchange light kisses like they usually would.
Richard looked uncertain. He felt that Till was on edge; why though? Why was he on edge the whole time since he they saw each other today? What could happen worse than what was already happening? Of course, a situation could always turn for the worse, but what was it now? What’s the problem?
Richard asked him exactly this after having directed him to the kitchen.
Till sat at the table like he has million times already when they decided to sleep at Richard’s. “Why am I on edge? Well, I slept horribly this night and it was because my best friend decided to spend his night alone, doing cocaine. I was worried, as the said best friend looks like death at the moment and still tries to convince me that everything is fine.” He thought for a moment. “That might be it.” He was speaking in a calm tone of voice, even if it had a slight provoking edge.
Richard gave him his cup of coffee, not reacting to the previous comment. He didn’t even look at him properly while doing it, his wrists resembling bare bones. This made Till even more angry. The kitchen suddenly seemed smaller. Richard swayed slightly and had to sit down on the opposite side of the table.
“So to answer your question: what am I doing here? I would rather ask what are you doing. I am not the one that is going to…” He stopped. What was he going to say? Faint? (This felt like a prediction.) Run away without him? (Again?) Till’s thoughts started to run wild. He just waved his hand dismissively at his dearest friend.
Richard felt as if a blunt blade cut through him. This was exactly what he tried to avoid yesterday but the Fate wasn’t going to help him with that one, obviously. He simply had to deal with his lover’s emotions before he ended it all.
“I am not doing anything, Till. I am not the one that is cutting himself.”
This comment made Till straight mad because first step in recovery is to admit that you have a problem which Richard refused to do. (Also, yes, he sometimes cut himself – but not to the point of fainting! …usually.)
“It is you that does not come to the rehearsals, you that stares at walls motionless, you that…” He caught himself screaming at his best friend. He also knew that yelling at Richard will not solve a single one of their problems so he breathed deeply in and out, sighed, moved his hands frantically around and then reached toward Richard. But instead of a slap Richard was expecting, Till brushed his fingers across his cheekbone with the lightest of touches.
He sighed again and went back to a gentler tone: “What is it that you cannot tell me? What is it that you do you not want to tell me? Why can’t you confide in me? You know you can. You have me. You know this.” He was speaking in a normal tone again, feeling a wave of despair coming.
Richard took Till’s hand from his face. As expected, it was large and warm, the heat was seeping into his cold, malnourished body and he wanted more.
“I know… You are too good to me.” He kissed his palm and held his hand to absorb his warmth at least this way.
It was then when reality closed on Till: his friend didn’t want to leave just temporarily; he didn’t want to go to America (as per usual) or leave the band; he wanted to die! If Richard died, one half of Till’s heart was going to die as well – a part of him would die with him. He couldn’t let this happen; not now, not ever.
Shocked at the realisation, Till sat at the kitchen table and stared at Richard mutely.
Richard realised his plan was discovered. “I tried to fix it… but it is the only way.”
“You have decided, haven’t you?” Till couldn’t stop the tear from running down his face.
Richard stared at him, seemingly emotionless. “Do you see any other way? Do you see any other way I can stop ruining everything for everyone? Because if you do, I am listening,” he said, almost on the verge of tears, which was unusual.
Seeing his favourite person so unhappy in the middle of preparations for what he has considered the right way, Till hung his head.
“The only thing I know that might help – and would not involve cold bodies – costs energy. Lots of energy. But I know you are strong enough. I believe in you.”
Richard saw that Till is trying to talk him out of this (of course and Verdammt!), so he shook his head in disagreement.
He was no longer sitting; not even knowing when, he had stood up and reached out for Till again. It wasn’t a conscious reaction anymore, he just automatically touched him when they were next to each other. The darkness coming from the borders of his mind melted his brain. Subconsciously, he looked for his lover’s support. Confused, Till stood up as well. Something was going to happen, he felt it.
“You have to trust me on this. You’ll get over me, you’ll be better off without me in the long run. Trust me. I know you already do but… do you think I would leave you alone if I saw any other way?” Richard hugged him. He felt the unconsciousness taking over, and suddenly, he was afraid. What of, he couldn’t tell, he just began shaking. He tried to form words of gratitude but the darkness washed away before he could make it further than just saying: “I have… I did…”
And then Richard stopped abruptly and went slack in Till’s arms.
Till noticed, of course. And he panicked, of course: he was holding what he for a second believed to be the dead body of the love of his life.
💕
The next thing Richard noticed was that he was in his own bed but not alone. Next to him was a soft, breathing hill of his best friend.
Till was fast asleep, under the influence of hypnotics, it seemed. Richard turned the lamp on the bedside table on. Till didn’t make the smallest of movements, but he was breathing. Richard finished the bottle of water he had on the bedside table, then turned towards his friend. He went back to sleep, holding his hand.
💕
He slept through to the next morning but when he woke up, he felt different. Not too good but he still felt better than on any other day since the one in 1987 when he first could without any doubt declare, albeit in his mind and for himself only, that Till was not going to leave him.
Now, however, he couldn’t see any sign of him in his bedroom, or in his whole flat. There wasn’t as single sign he hasn’t dreamed about the encounter and that his lover really came to save him. Admittedly, it was an image out of a fairy tale: a troubled princess – him – gets help she so badly needed from a knight in shiny armour – his own real living boyfriend. Now it seemed the fairy tale was over because there was nobody going to keep him company anymore.
Richard was sitting on the bed, thirsty, and this time he wanted to drink his coffee, not just make it, when he heard scratching sounds from the corridor. Half expecting it to be a hallucination, he crossed the corridor and opened the kitchen door. He didn’t get to coming in, however, because then the scratching began again, louder this time. The entrance door opened and Richard froze. So he wasn’t dreaming!
Trying to press a bunch of brim-full bags through the door was his best friend. Of course, he saw Richard as well and tried to move to him but narrow corridors and a large shopping didn’t work well that way.
Richard scratched his arm to make sure he was grounded. Was he seeing right? Was Till really there, pushing everything away so that he could hug him? The answer was yes (he found out, when his head collided with his friend’s shoulder). Till was holding him like he was his most precious belonging.
“You are up. I was going to make you something you might like,” was the first thing he said, squeezing Richard tightly but not painfully. Richard smelt his natural smell and freshly damp hair. It was like home; after years, it felt like he belonged. The icy lump in his chest – his dead, cold heart – melted a little. It wasn’t as cold as yesterday, too.
“Food?” He croaked into Till, unsure of what to say. Richard knew Till will demand he eat as well. Will he be able to do so? When it came to basic needs, there was something else that would fit his mood this morning better, you know?
He swallowed the demand and instead of it, he asked, “Are you fine? After how I treated you… all of you… I mean… you know?” He tried to make puppy eyes, like has seen Till do countless times but wasn’t sure he was succeeding. Besides, he meant it this time around.
“No, I do not know. What exactly do you mean? That you made all of us worry about the future of the band and, most importantly, worry about the health of one of us? Hm?” And when Richard tried to squirm his way out of Till’s arms after the uncomfortable comment, Till pulled him harder against himself. This scared Richard a little, unsure of his best friend’s intentions. However, it changed at once when Till kissed the top of his head. Even finished, he didn’t release him from the hug.
Till was still speaking in a normal, balanced tone as if he was dealing with some normal, everyday chore. “Of course I am angry. One could even say I am mad. But not because the kitty snapped at me yesterday like I was the origin of his state. No.” They were no longer hugging, just standing very close to each other. Till held his face carefully because he wanted Richard to look at him while he was speaking. “I am mad because I could have lost my oldest friend, my best friend, my lover and a bandmate all at once. That really made me mad. Do you understand that, Scholle?”
He knew calling him that will get Richard’s attention, which it did: Richard pulled even further from him, shaking again.
“You know I am not him anymore. Yes, I remember Scholle was yours, I even remember the moment you told me he was yours, back in Schwerin, but no; he is dead. It is only Richard now, a weak, despicable creature that somehow still keeps disappointing you yet for some reason you still keep investing your time into.” He accented every single word – but not in anger. He was disappointed with himself and felt like he was dragging Till (and the others) to hell with him. He sagged into Till’s arms, feeling the tears threatening to run down his face. He reached out to Till again, unconsciously seeking his calm.
“Is he? Is Scholle dead? Isn’t it rather that you want him dead? Or in different words, isn’t Richard so far from everyone out of fear they might not be kind? Isn’t Richard afraid that if he asked for help, he would be told off? I think Scholle, the bold, creative and unafraid being still lives in Richard. Scholle is mine but so is Richard. And I don’t easily give up on what is mine. Of all the people you should know that the best, Scholle.” He repeated Richard’s original nickname to provoke a real reaction.
Richard knew Till meant to be encouraging, to help him believe in himself again. In his head, he imagined himself as a young man named Scholle again, unimpaired and lively, exactly like Till has described him. Maybe the night slept through helped, or the presence of his boyfriend, or the stars were in the correct constellation, because Richard felt a faint tug in his dead heart: there still was a ray of hope.
There was a reason Richard didn’t want Till especially to find out what the solution to his problem was: he knew Till wouldn’t let him do it, thinking him too precious for it. On the other hand, he was positive Schneider or Paul would even help him carrying it out. Also Till was convinced there was good in everyone: one had to prove absolutely evil for Till to stop believing in them. He believed in Scholle. Maybe Richard could try harder this time for the half of his heart and actually quit.
💕
Mecklenburg, June 2003, Tuesday, 9 AM
Richard woke up cold and shivering as there was nobody next to him and the sunrays still haven’t reached his spot on the bed. He rubbed his eyes – this dream has been particularly vivid. There was still an unclear but intense feeling in the back of his nose where the drug used to stick. He looked out of the window – very few clouds were in the sky. But why was he alone again?
He let himself fall against the pillows again. He knew Till must be somewhere close not just because he was in his house but also because he didn’t feel horribly empty inside. Actually, he has been feeling steadily well for last months, a result of an intense period of serious purging. He thought about it once again for the millionth time and once again he was thankful it was Till that has come that day, not anyone else. Had it been anyone else, he would probably have ended up dead.
In the first – and worst – days, Till had been reluctant to let anyone see him while he was unable to process anything but his own pain, shame and disappointment. It was Till who called the boys to explain the situation, who stayed with him, who tried to deal with the outer world instead of him.
Later, when Richard was better but still not well, Till refused to leave anyone in room with him for longer than minute without him being there as well. Ollie and then Flake were the first of the other four Till put the trust in and let them take care of Richard. The moments with them weren’t easy – there were long stretches of difficult silence and shameful explanations – but they were still less difficult than when he tried to face Schneider and Paul. Whereas Ollie and Flake tried to listen from the first minute on, even in their anger, Paul and Schneider had no limits. Richard still wasn’t sure if it was true but at one moment during early phases of recovery, he heard Till speaking to Ollie about the situation. The gist of the discussion was that Till was afraid that if he left Richard with Paul, they would end up fighting or that Schneider would kill him in a fit of rage. Richard tended to tell himself it was just his cocaine-induced paranoia but the strange impression was still there.
Till kept his word and stayed with him all the time. It was easier for him to manage the two fronts than for the others because he didn’t go to the rehearsal room every time they played and they spent a lot of time in each other’s homes anyway. Most of the past two years Till either stayed at Richard’s place or created new poems in the next room when Richard needed a minute alone or was asleep.
Till was nowhere to be seen. Now, during their holidays in Mecklenburg, Richard never panicked like he had in Berlin, during the first days. Two years ago, anytime he found himself alone in the room, after he woke up or after a time of withdrawal blackout, he would swear Till has had enough and left him to rot on his own. Not now; Richard knew he just needed to stay in Till’s room and he would come to him.
He was right: not one minute later, the door opened and before he knew it, Till was holding his hand again.