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Silence	By : kimbk Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1909 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know any members of Rammstein. This is purely a work of fiction: it does not intend to reflect any aspect of the members' lives and I do not make any profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Author's Note: Alrighty, another really long and convoluted chapter up! This one actually has more than just Richard navalgazing for several thousand words. Action, in other words. It was very difficult coming up with the conflicts presented, but overall I intended to invoke a very tense environment - between Till and Richard, between the other bandmates, between bands. Flake gets a massive expansion here, so massive that I actually wonder if I've used him as more of a plot advancer than a character. x_x
The next update should actually be fairly quick. This chapter was originally a lot longer but I cut out half of it. That'll be the next one, and I think it might be a bit shorter than this. Not like that's a bad thing, though, it just means I update faster and nobody has to spend like an hour trucking through it. Unfortunately, due to the cutting, Till and Richard probably appear to be derailed from their established personalities - especially in the first half - because I didn't put in what happens afterwards. That will be amended soon, I promise.
There's no way that I will be able to end this in six parts, so... this will go on beyond that and until I've gotten out everything. Shouldn't take more than ten chapters in total, I think, and hopefully less than that. Thank you for all the ratings - I really appreciate that people are reading and enjoying this story! Do read on.
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"-All right, my princess. Sleep well, and daddy's going to call again soon, okay? Gute Nacht."
Richard blows a kiss into the phone and disconnects the call, feeling considerably uplifted. It's something ridiculous like four in the morning in Berlin, but he's not tired at all. He lights up a cigarette as he walks to the car, stopping in front of it as he inhales and exhales the smoke; without smoking the rest, he then takes the cigarette out of his mouth and bends down to crush it out on the sidewalk, tossing it into a nearby bin before opening the driver's seat and getting inside.
A get-together with all the members of the band for the first time in about six months. Richard's very much looking forward to it, especially because he hasn't really seen anyone except for Paul in a while. They'll be spending three days together in Flake's house, just catching up on things. The guitarist also has plans for Emigrate that he wants to showcase to the rest of the band - he's actually gotten some people together and have recorded a few songs, although not enough to make an album. He's thinking of releasing those tracks to Rammstein fans who have subscriptions to their newsletter, thus tying the two bands together in a loose sense. This will also ensure that Rammstein fans will get the first chance to listen to Emigrate, and at this early stage, he could really do with observing fan reaction towards this arrangement. Getting constructive criticism from members of the band is one thing, and getting it from the fans is a different matter altogether. Richard values their judgment greatly and hopes that what he's doing will be sufficient to reassure them of this. It's ten past four in the morning when he pulls up in front of Flake's house, and with a grin he leaves the car quickly and runs towards Olli who's waiting for him outside the door.
"There you are!" he exclaims as he grasps Richard in a tight hug, almost lifting the guitarist off his feet. He laughs and returns the hug, suddenly aware of how much he's missed seeing the bassist around. "it's lovely to see you again. Come inside! You must be freezing."
Richard nods and they both enter the house, taking their shoes off and placing them aside before entering the living room. Flake is sitting there with a bottle of beer in hand; he stands up and smiles at the guitarist. "Risch! I'm glad to see you've made it. Very early, isn't it?"
"Tell me about it! But I wouldn't have missed it for the world," he embraces Flake briefly as well. "how have you all been?"
"Waiting up for our lead guitarist to join the party is how we've all been!" Paul's voice calls from the kitchen along with a shouted 'Hallo, Risch!' from Schneider's part. Grinning, Richard opens his arms as the two of them run into the room and give him a hug that does actually lift him off his feet. "it's good to see you!"
"And good to see you too! I can't believe you all stayed up so late - let me down, Doom! Whew, thanks - I'm sorry I was so late, and at this most inconvenient time..." the guitarist sits back down on the coach before noticing that something is a little off. "say, where's Till?"
It can't have been more than two seconds, but it's the first moment during his entire visit where Richard senses that not all is right within the band. At the mention of Till, the laughter and the cheerful atmosphere in the room suddenly plummets - Flake's expression falters a little, most noticeably, along with Olli falling silent. The guitarist blinks, a little bewildered. It's Schneider who doesn't miss a beat and gives him an answer: "Till's upstairs. He's sleeping, I think - he went to bed around midnight. Should I bring him down?"
"Oh no, if he's sleeping I wouldn't want to-"
"I'll get him to call down at least," the drummer dismisses the notion with a casual wave of the hand before walking out of the door. "he's been very - tired recently..."
"That can't be good," Richard gets up with the intention of following the drummer upstairs, thinking that he could probably save his friend the effort of having to walk up and down the stairs for less than a few seconds' worth of greetings. But he doesn't manage to take even one step as Paul reaches out and grabs him by his shoulder, making him turn around.
"Would you like a beer?" Paul asks, smiling and his tone carefree as always. But even though Richard nods and says 'of course, I'd love one' in response, he doesn't let go of the younger guitarist's shoulder. The other's grip is unexpectedly strong, and although he might be imagining things, the guitarist thinks that there was a flash of panic in Paul's eyes just for a moment. "Olli, fetch us a bottle, will you?"
Olli complies, but they're all now awkwardly silent as they listen to the sound of Schneider walking up the steps and quietly knocking on Till's door. "Till, Risch is here. He's just downstairs - do come and call out an hello, at least." Schneider pauses there; if there's any reply, it's far too quiet to be heard. "Christ, you look like hell. You're not up to coming, then?" another pause. "I can't understand what you're trying to tell me."
At this, Flake rises and wordlessly leaves the room, leaving Olli, Richard and Paul to gaze anxiously at each other. There's some more muffled discussions taking place, but before they can try to listen in there is the sound of a door shutting above them; Flake and Schneider re-enter the living room with worried looks on their faces and the latter nervously brushing his hair back.
"Till's not in top form at the moment. I think we should wait. I'm sorry about that."
"Is he drunk? Hungover?"
Schneider shakes his head, frowning. "No. I really wish he'd actually go and get drunk, just get it out of his system for good. But no, he hasn't touched a drop of alcohol in ages, he's just... always like that now."
"Looks like he won't be back in shape until afternoon rolls around, at least," Flake puts in with a grim nod. "I wouldn't advise that you go to see him yet."
Richard nods, but he can't stop himself inwardly being suspicious. For some reason, Paul and Schneider in particular aren't meeting his eyes and nobody else seems to want to discuss anything about the singer. The conversation doesn't continue on for much longer, only about an hour at most, before Paul says that he is tired and that they ought to have a little bit of sleep - Richard is shown to his room. down the hall from the kitchen, as they all bid each other good night. Richard's first thought is that perhaps Till's depression is particularly bad at the moment, and annoying the older man in such a sensitive state is already a highly unadvisable endeavor as it is. So everyone is just keeping as wide a berth from him as possible. That makes sense.
But what if they're trying to keep Till away from him? That's another plausible explanation. Richard tosses and turns in his bed, recalling how Paul had stopped him when he had tried to follow Schneider upstairs. That was an uncharacteristic moment if nothing else was.
They’re hiding something. He's very unsettled at the thought - why would they need to do such a thing in the first place?
He's tired, but at the same time far too nervous to sleep. A shame, because the bed is very soft and warm and inviting; Richard nevertheless throws off the blankets and looks at the alarm-clock to see that it reads half past six in the morning. Still far too early. Groaning, he lies back down and closes his eyes.
Well, he'll go and find out soon enough. Only a few more hours to go. Slightly consoled by that thought, Richard falls into a light sleep for a short while.
-----
It's half past ten in the morning when Richard wakes up and immediately heads for the bathroom, cleaning himself up and getting dressed before venturing out into the other parts of the house. It's surprisingly quiet - there's a note pinned to the fridge, addressed to no one in particular, informing him that Paul and Schneider have left the house to take care of some things in town. They won't be back until after lunch. Olli's added to it by saying that he's going to walk over to the gym, but will be back before the two. Nice to know, the guitarist thinks as he looks around - Flake's nowhere to be seen, but he could also be out of the house. That would leave him and Till alone. Richard leaves the kitchen and walks up the stairs, unaware of what's waiting for him behind Till's doors.
There are three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, and two of the bedrooms are empty, devoid of belongings that he can recognize as belonging to anybody else in the band. Only the singer must be occupying this space. Richard takes note of this and knocks a couple of times on the only door that's closed.
"Till, it's me. Can I come in?"
There's a sleepy mumble given as a response. Richard politely waits for a minute or so before trying out the handle - it opens smoothly as he walks in. It's not pitch black but nevertheless very dark compared to the other rooms, so he has to squint a little as he walks over to the bed. But the sight of Till lying on it is nothing like what he expected; the singer's hair is messily strewn on the pillows, his face oddly gaunt-looking and he looks as if he hasn't shaved in a couple of days. Till isn't known for being impeccably groomed, but this is different from his casual nonchalance - it genuinely looks as if he's given up caring. As he stares down at the man, Till stirs with a frown, opening both of his eyes.
"... Risch?" Till's voice is slurred with sleep; his eyes have the somewhat-haggard look of someone recovering from a hangover about them. But he certainly doesn't have one - at least, Richard is thinking this based on his own experiences with hangovers, until the point where the singer near-leaps out of bed and lunges towards him, grabbing him by the collar.
"Till, what - let me go!"
"The hell I will," the older man shouts, sounding so completely sane yet so inebriated and angry that the guitarist can't comprehend it. He shakes the younger man hard by his shoulders. "we saw you through while you were feeling sorry for yourself and this is how you treat all of us? You contemptuous, ungrateful little bastard. Well, I hope you're happy in Emigrate."
Oh.
"I can't believe you. Switching sides when we could all be getting back in form for another album! That's a new low if I've seen one-"
That's why they tried to keep him from me.
"-completely irresponsible, Lord only knows why nobody else has called you out on this-"
Shit. What the hell do I do now?
Richard is vaguely aware that his shoulders are still being gripped, so tightly that he can almost feel Till's nails digging into the skin, and with all his strength pushes the older man away. "Well, how's you screaming at me going to change my opinion of things?" he shoots back defensively, clenching his fists - his words are coming out a lot harsher than intended, but his only concern at the moment is putting them both at an equal level. "or for that matter, I don't see you preparing any new material for Rammstein, either! This is a nice way to greet a friend who you haven't seen in months! I haven't even told you the full story behind this, have I? Did you think that I was going to abandon everyone - make a different name for myself and steal away the spotlight from you or something? If that's why you're so angry, then I'm afraid that you're wrong! Way to just go and assume things, you arrogant bastard!"
Till stares at him, his eyes wide and half insane and burning with an emotion that Richard can't recognize. "Just as I figured," he hisses, finally breaking his gaze and walking over to the window. He angrily throws open the curtains, enveloping the room in cold sunlight before leaning over, his hands tightening on the windowsill as he glares at the outside world. "nobody understands, not even you."
It should sound childish. It sounds like something a sulking teenager, convinced that the world's turned against him, would say. But this isn't just a random youth going through a crying jag - this is Till, the one who solves conflicts rather than starts them, the unchallenged leader of their band, and most of all Richard's closest friend. Being told that he doesn't understand anything is just as devastating a blow as a series of insults. "It's not an attack on your person. I'm not challenging your authority or your talent. I've had it hard over the past months, you know that... and what's wrong with having something like this as a hobby? It's better than... than moping about it in some corner."
"And that excuses you from flaunting your input in a completely different band when we could do with more creativity? Really feeling the dedication there."
"I chose Rammstein over Caron!"
Till actually lets out a near crazed laugh at this; Richard steps back, having not expected such a reaction. "You and your messed-up priorities! The one thing you probably could have done with spending more time on than the band! What, am I meant to be moved by your undying loyalty or something? After you've proposed moving ahead with Emigrate?" Richard tries to interrupt and is silenced by yet another glare from the singer; but contrary to expectations, Till actually drops his gaze and goes to sit by his desk, staring defiantly at the wall. "… no, forget what I said about your dedication. You were loyal to death, Risch. Not like Flake who keeps threatening to leave whenever any little thing doesn't seem right to him. You started Rammstein, it was you who gathered us all together - we wouldn't be anything without you..."
Whilst in the middle of his tirade, there's the sound of footsteps quickly coming up the stairs; Richard looks around to see Flake himself standing there, sending him into a fresh wave of panic. The keyboardist's wearing a loose white labcoat, which would make him look as if he's living up to his 'Doktor Lorenz' image if it weren't stained with many different shades of colour; he must have been working on another painting. He's twisting the lid back on a small tube of red acrylic paint, hastily shoving it in his pocket afterwards.
"What on earth-?"
But when he looks around the scene, with Till sitting by the desk and glaring ahead at the wall and Richard standing helplessly behind him, he seems to realize quickly that this is not something that he should yet be interfering in. Flake meets the guitarist's eyes for a second or two before taking a few steps back, standing in the doorway silently, watchful and at the same time sending the other a signal to disregard his presence.
"-and now here you are, telling me that it's acceptable to for you to jump ship and go back and forth whenever it's convenient. When we're all down in the dumps, nonetheless. I'm a fool," the older man's shoulders slump down as he says this, seemingly in defeat. "so much for me expecting all this to last."
"You're being unreasonable," Richard says, feeling slightly better at the added support of Flake. Till's reaction is to bury his head in his hands with a groan. "of course it will last! I'm here now, aren't I? Hell, this argument shouldn't even be happening in the first place when I'm right here, wanting to seek your approval before I go ahead. I care for Rammstein more than anything. Do you think I'd have come here to talk things over with you if I was just going to run off and do my own thing by the sidelines?"
"Don't even pretend that you care, Risch," Till says thickly, and suddenly makes a sound disturbingly reminiscent of a choking sob. Despite what's happened, Richard becomes very distressed at this, all the anger and frustration melting away at that one sound. He steps forward cautiously towards the singer - he's prepared to say all sorts of things to make it better. For one second he even considers withdrawing the idea of Emigrate altogether, as irresponsible as that is; but he doesn't need to in the end as he lays a hand on Till's shoulder. Before he can so much as get out a 'please don't' or 'I'm sorry', Till spins around and roughly shoves away the other's hand from his body.
"You traitor," he whispers, uttering that one forbidden word and at the same time destroying something between them. Richard can only gasp and stare in response; he can't think straight or attempt to deny it. As he stares into Till's eyes, which are dark with fury - but at the same time wide and filled with hurt - the sense of pain, guilt and utter loathing mingled in those two words burrow their way deep into Richard's heart, scalding and hurtful in their venom, so unbelievably cruel a burn that it fills his entire being with a sense of horror and betrayal. Till hadn't even flinched.
"That's..." he stammers in a barely audible voice. "that's... mein Gott, that's not true..."
It is a blessing that Flake jumps in to intervene at this point. "Not in my house, you won't," he exclaims as he marches into the room, throwing his labcoat aside on the bed. Till blinks and moves back in a startled manner, having only just noticed Flake's presence there. "just because your life is a mess doesn't mean that you have any rights to take it out on him, Till, and I have no qualms about having you removed from this place if you refuse to approach this like a mature human being."
"Flake, please tell me that this isn't what everyone feels about me," he wouldn't have thought it, but he's just so desperate for an ally that Richard finds himself reaching for the keyboardist's hand and gripping it tight; he's surprised when Flake actually gives him one tight squeeze on the hand in return. "I haven't even had the chance to explain!"
"I believe you," Flake responds quietly. "and no, it's indeed not. Be assured of that."
Watching this, the singer suddenly slams a fist into the desk and leaps up from his chair. "He is!" he shouts, pointing an accusing finger at Richard (who winces again). "he is a filthy traitor if I've seen one! I've thought of almost nothing else and nobody else but him in the past week, and forgive me if I can't be as completely level-headed as you about this matter, but as the frontman of Rammstein I genuinely can't get over what he's proposing!"
"Dietrich," Flake says in a tone of warning, but it goes unnoticed by Till in his frenzy.
"You're ruining our balance. Goddamned bandwrecker. Self-concerned doesn't even begin to cover what you're like," Till keeps shouting. In blind anger he swipes a hand across the table, sweeping off his notebooks and the desk lamp with a horrible crashing sound, before cursing out loud and hastily picking them back up again to check for any damage. "goddamn it! The bulb in that got replaced only a week ago."
"You brought it on yourself," the keyboardist shoots back, thankfully before Richard can protest, snatching the lamp out of the other's hands and rearranging the items back on the desk. "I know you're upset with him, but if you think you're going to feel better by destroying random objects, you've got another think coming."
Till folds his arms, glaring at Flake; the latter gazes back unflinchingly. "Damn right that I'm upset with him! What I don't understand is why none of you are!"
"Till-" Richard whispers, taking a step towards the singer in spite of his anguish. Till is slipping away from him, further and further with each hurtful insult he's hurling in the younger man's direction, and he just can't let that happen. "please... hear me out."
Flake turns to Till before the older man can respond, seeking to end the situation before either of them get more hurt. "Look, if I promise to keep this quiet from the rest of the band, will you leave this room? I want to talk to Risch."
"I'm not done with him yet," the singer snarls. "don't you understand that-"
"I'll understand better if he and I talk. I don't want anyone else around. Now leave."
For a moment or two Till looks suitably shocked, and while Richard wouldn't admit it for anything he is also; Flake isn't particularly a passive person, but he has been never been so confrontational towards the singer before. It's not long before his expression reverts back to a scowl, although most of the fight seems to have gone out of him at that point. "All right," he says quietly, sounding strained but otherwise sincere. "I understand - I'll leave you be. And I'm sorry for this, I really am. To both of you. We'll discuss this when... when I'm calmer."
"Thank you," Flake says in an equally quiet tone before Richard can say anything. "now, if you won't mind." Till nods in response, and without looking back he strides across the room and leaves; the door then swings shut, leaving Flake and Richard alone. Almost immediately afterwards the keyboardist's frown falters into a nigh-defeated look and he sinks down onto the bed.
"It's far too early in the day for me to deal with this," he says as if this completely explains his forcefulness. (It doesn't, but it's the only explanation he's ever going to give.)
"Thanks," the guitarist mutters reluctantly, not knowing how exactly to respond to this. He's forgotten how cryptic Flake can be sometimes. "I owe you one,"
Flake doesn't actually reply to this for what seems like a few minutes, making Richard fidget, but when he finally opens his mouth it ignites the fire of resentment yet again. "Forget owing me anything. When Till comes back, you have the responsibility to apologize to him."
"What? What the hell do I owe him an apology for?" Richard clenches his fists. "he's the one who started it!"
Flake sighs quietly. "I did warn you to not see him until afternoon, Risch. And I also told him before you came over to keep things calm and civilized, but looks like his pride was hurt too deep for him to take that advice. Till's too dignified towards himself, that's what he is. And I guess I'm similar to him. This is what happens when nobody listens to instructions."
"He pretended to screw you onstage and you ran him over with a Segway. How the hell is any of that dignified. And I just wanted to talk to him, how could I have understood that I was meant to stay away when none of you would tell me why?"
"Till feels threatened, can't you see that?" Flake says; Richard would snap back at him, but the keyboardist looks so miserable and exhausted about the whole thing that the retort just dies down before he can voice it. "I'm not taking his side, I want to make that very clear, Risch - I understand where he's coming from, but I think the way Till's dealing with this is just as irrational as you think it is. Rest assured that Paul, Olli and Doom think exactly the same. We've discussed it amongst ourselves. This is your side project, no more different to what you're doing with this band, and quite frankly he has no business meddling in it."
"Could have taken the words right out of my mouth," the guitarist says bitterly. "I didn't complain when he took up acting roles or branched out as a poet, did I? I thought for a while that he might switch careers altogether with the positive reception he received. I'm not even doing anything completely different to what I've done in the past years, and this is really just uncalled for!"
Flake rubs his forehead with a sigh. "Ever thought about the possibility that that's precisely why he's so upset?"
"What? How?"
"Musician to poet or actor is more difficult than musician in band A to band B. It's that simple. There really isn't more to it. If you'd decided to devote some time to modeling or contributing to a photography club or something like that, I bet Till wouldn't have given it a second thought, no matter how much time it meant you would be spending outside of this band."
Silence. Richard sinks down on the bed, feeling like he's suffocating. "I just... I don't... understand this. There's no reason for Till to feel so threatened! I might have put the band together in the first place, but it's mostly Till who's keeping it going. How can he think that I can just switch my allegiance like that? Rammstein is my life, Flake, anyone with half an eye should be able to see that! I can never be the kind of singer that he is, I can never write as well as he can, and that's a good thing. That's why I'm comfortable with Emigrate because it's less demanding and it makes me feel better," his voice suddenly rises to a near hysterical shout. "so why the fuck can't he just let me feel better. What the hell have I done wrong?"
"Think of how we started out, Risch! Till didn't agree to join Rammstein for kicks, he agreed because there was genuine potential from the beginning. He knows that you're a good singer in your own right and a wonderful guitarist. He knows that you're capable of organizing a successful band because the proof is right here. I mean, think about Feeling B - First Arsch - and how we all made the transition from our previous bands to here. And Emigrate is a band that you will unquestionably be the leader of. Don't you see how that terrifies him, when he can see the possibility that you will become more successful there?"
"You suddenly sound like you know how things were between me and Till better than I do," Richard spits out; he has the horrible feeling that Flake's hit the nail on the head, but he can't admit that and doesn't know how else to react. The keyboardist doesn't even flinch.
"I don't and would never claim to. I only know how he must have felt because as far as I know, me and Paul went through the exact same thought process - the second half of the band to join, I might remind you. You don't credit yourself with half the amount of talent you actually have."
"So what, that's the problem? Till thinks I'm too talented to let loose into the world? That makes no sense at all!"
"You doing something different isn't exactly why he's so bothered, Risch. You could have volunteered to have taken up guitars at an already-established band as a secondary thing for all it matters. Let's face it, what you are doing is going to be longer lasting than just being a guest artist for a single song or album - that's never perturbed him, you'd agree," Richard nods tensely, waiting for more. "he's not worried about any of that as much as the possibility that you will neglect or leave Rammstein for good."
The pieces only fall together with the emphasis that Flake puts on those final two words. "For good?" Richard repeats weakly, feeling as if he's about to faint - of course he's considered that Till might be upset with him due to starting a different band, but he's never thought that the man might have taken it as an unofficial withdrawal from Rammstein. There simply seemed to be no sense in thinking that. But the keyboardist nods grimly back at him and suddenly he feels like the biggest jerk in the world.
"You could do with knowing a little more now that we've come to this," Flake says. "Till's not been having a good couple of months. I see that he didn't tell you - well, he had a horrible breakup about two months back. I can't say it was worse than your divorce, it's not on the same level to begin with, but let's just say that he became violent and almost got arrested. Really messed with his mind, it did."
Richard can't hold back. "Oh God."
"You'd think he'd have shrugged it off, it's not his first time being threatened with prison or being violent or even breaking up, for that matter. But you know how he's been really quite depressed for the past months? And how he refuses to get help for it? All of those factors coming together really broke him up, I think. He's stayed with me for over a week now and only four days ago I walked into him throwing a fit because he was hit with a major case of writer's block and everything he wrote was making no sense at all. It was then when he really started resenting the idea of Emigrate, and he fell to it fast. In his point of view, he's the one left behind not being able to contribute anything and only being able to piss people off - while you're perfectly capable of coming up with new material. New things that you are keeping for your side project and not for this band."
He shouldn't have jumped straight to accusing Till of being an arrogant bastard. Even though the older man's said much worse to him, Richard still curses himself out for not calming down and hearing the entire context first. He should have known; while the news of Till's breakdown is new to him, the man being depressed and worn out is something that he was perfectly aware of. He was like that even before they even went on their second hiatus. It doesn't excuse any of the hurtful things that the singer's hurled in his direction, but the things that the younger man unquestionably did do wrong are far clearer to him now. "I didn't even think that... oh shit, don't tell me that everyone else thinks that I'm a heartless freak too?"
"No, no," Flake shakes his head. "Till is truly not in his usual state of mind. Paul, Olli, Doom and I have discussed it and don't see any wrong with what you want to do. I can't say that you're clean in this matter - my opinion is that you ought to have informed and discussed things with him first instead of just leaving him to figure it out - but he's the one who's definitely done the most wrong here."
There's nothing to say to that. They both fall completely silent for a few minutes, both of them lost in thoughts of their own.
"I can't think of going through with Emigrate without Till's approval," Richard finally says in a hoarse voice.
"You should consider it," Flake tells him quietly - he looks remorseful for having to say such a thing, which is more sympathy than Richard would have ever expected from him. "he may never approve. You know how ridiculously stubborn he can be. But it's your project and you have the final say in what becomes of it. I know Till means a lot to you, Risch... but you can't let him get in the way. It's not fair on you or anyone else involved."
"But I'll lose him if I do. And I won't lose him. I can't."
"Sing something from Emigrate," Flake responds without blinking an eye. Startled with the sudden turn of conversation, the younger man blinks and frowns in confusion.
"... I beg your pardon?"
"Sing something that you wrote for the band. A demo might work better, actually - I do realize that your vocals and a single guitar might not represent your sound properly. If you won't recognize your talents and Till won't give you a down-to-earth judgment, I will."
Richard hesitates for a while, weighing his options; no obligations to accept, of course. He doesn't actually have any qualms about allowing Flake to hear his output, because the man's prized for his harsh but fair judgment as it is. It can be a valuable piece of criticism he can get right now if he agrees.
"I don't know, I was... well..."
But if he does that, it means that Till won't be the first in the band to hear some of his proper songs. That's really all it is. He was hoping that the singer would appreciate some of his songs, be able to grasp the message behind his lyrics, and it's only when Flake gives him an odd look that he is reminded of their argument not ten minutes ago. Richard sighs in defeat. "All right. I'll get the CD from my car."
-----
He does so within five minutes and gives the CD to Flake, who takes it carefully and examines it. Without comment, he then walks downstairs with Richard following behind him and puts it in the CD player in the living room. "I'll, um, leave you to it, then."
"Thank you," Flake says with a nod, and the guitarist shuts the door before collapsing on the floor, waiting for judgment.
"All I do is going nowhere... and I want to go back home..."
He's not sure what he's expecting, really. Flake might scoff at him, Richard can just imagine it - ''you can't be serious, Risch, that is just so unbearably American' - but the keyboardist is nothing if not fair. It's not as if Flake hasn't done his fair share of singing in English either, so he wraps his arm around his knees and hopes for the best.
"Don't you know that you're so special?"
'Temptation'. Richard thinks that it's one of the better things he's ever written in his life, but whether anybody else will agree is another matter. There are a couple more demo tracks recorded there, all of them shorter than what the full versions will be like; he's proud of what he's managed in such little time, but at the same time waiting for even one song to finish feels like agony tenfold.
"Don't you ever cloud your thoughts like falling rain?"
He could do with a cup of coffee. The guitarist gets up and shakily makes his way to the kitchen, ignoring the sound of his own voice through the walls as he puts on the kettle and fills it full of water. He won't need it all, but it'll take longer to boil all of it and quite frankly he's happy with any excuse to not go back there for a few extra minutes. Environmental awareness can wait until another day. He slumps against the counter and gazes blankly at the kettle, wondering how on earth he's managed to get himself into such a mess.
He also hopes that Flake will understand most of the content in his songs, but not too deeply, either - some of those songs were written when he had Till in mind. They might not be about the singer, but Richard is not extremely talented at hiding his feelings, and he's afraid that some of that might have bled out into his songs. He probably wouldn't mind if the older man himself picked those nuances up, but anyone else noticing it would be the embarrassment of his life.
The kettle starts whistling. Richard makes two cups of coffee to be nice; Flake's helped him out big time that morning and it's the least that he can do. He quietly loads both mugs onto a tray and carries them out to the hallway, noting that the music's stopped completely before pushing open the living room door and coming face to face with the keyboardist.
"Have one."
Flake nods and takes a mug before standing up to go. He moves past Richard wordlessly, without giving him the CD back nor giving away anything via his expressions - back to the cryptic and cynical Flake that they're all used to. "Well? What did you think of it?" Richard calls to him anxiously. "they aren't polished, but... were they okay nonetheless?"
Flake pauses, and turns around to give him one lingering, surprisingly sad smile.
"I don't think we ever fully appreciated how much of a wonderful vocalist you can be, Risch," he says, and without another word walks out of the room, leaving Richard feeling as if his heart's being torn into shreds. Somehow Flake's full, passive acceptance is just as devastating as Till's anger. He closes his eyes and sits down on the floor, holding his head in both hands; he doesn't cry, but nevertheless there is the sense of something having broken between him and the rest of the band, and it almost physically hurts to feel it. Then it also dawns on him that it took only a few sentences from Flake's part to get Till to listen to him, with a somewhat sincere apology from the man to boot - what Richard completely and utterly failed to manage with over fifteen years of solid friendship and an entire argument on hand. A slap in the face of moral support.
It's as if the past months of recovering from his separation and divorce - and subsequently, Till's care for him during this time - meant absolutely nothing. And Richard is hurt by this, more than he ever imagined that he would be, and frantically reaches for a cigarette to try to let himself forget. But he can't, no matter how much he tries, even as the smoke spirals up into the air and fills the room. Not this time.
-----
Flake does indeed keep his promise, which is the sole comforting thing about the entire fiasco. Richard spends most of the day alone and musing to himself, the keyboardist quietly practicing on his piano in a different room. For all the negative emotions that he sometimes feels towards Flake, listening to him play a classical piece is a soothing and effective reminder as to how much he still respects and admires the other man, and why he wanted him to join the band so badly in the first place. Nothing like the effect that Till has on him, of course, but considering that the singer is furious at him, it'll have to do. Olli comes back from the gym around two o'clock and greets them both cheerfully, fixing them all a simple lunch, which lightens the atmosphere considerably. Flake keeps quiet about the incident with Till, and the guitarist is grateful because quite frankly nobody else needs to be exposed to all this misunderstanding and hurt. But even the keyboardist starts looking a little restless when it begins to get dark outside without even a call from Till, Paul or Schneider.
"Are you sure that you haven't heard from Till, Olli?"
"Positive," the bassist says, frowning and checking his phone for any missed calls or messages. There are none. "I didn't run into any of them, either. I thought Till was with Paul and Doom? Or is he taking care of some different business altogether?"
Flake glances quickly at Richard, who gives him a barely perceptible nod. "He left the house quite a while after they did. Doubt it was anything related."
"Do you think they might ha-" Olli is cut off from responding when the door crashes open. "-lieber Gott!"
Standing in the doorway are Paul and Schneider, both very disheveled; the former is even shivering from the lack of a proper coat. That alone is surprising enough, but nothing can prepare them for the sight of a barely-conscious Till half-draped around their shoulders. "Help us out, will you?" Schneider manages to utter, breaking the stunned and horrified silence that has settled over all of them. Olli hurriedly moves forwards, but it is Richard who pushes past him and gets to Till first.
"What the hell happened to him?" he demands, taking Paul's place and ushering them inside. The coat that the older guitarist put around Till's shoulders falls off, and the man retrieves it with a small groan, rubbing his shoulders. "no, screw that. Where did you find him in the first place?"
"We didn't find him," Paul responds in an exhausted voice. "he found us. We were in a bar downtown for lunch when he came in, we sat together. He looked, uh, okay, I guess. We left around half two and said goodbye to him. We dropped back in later and he was still there, slouched over the bar - thanks, Risch - and that's when we decided to take him back with us. He didn't even protest. Wouldn't even talk to us at all the second time around."
"Tell me about it," Schneider adds grimly. "I know I said that I'd rather Till get drunk and get it all out of his system, but I really didn't count on this happening. Talk of the devil."
"Did he say why he was there the first time you ran across him?" Richard asks, and narrows his eyes when Paul and Schneider both shake their heads. They're not looking at each other nor at the younger guitarist, and their reactions are just delayed enough to be obvious. They're hiding something from me again, he thinks, and this just adds to the pain.
Flake appears to have noticed the same thing, and although he doesn't pursue it, he crosses his arms and glares at the two severely. "That's all fine and well, but can't either of you have called at any point? It was fairly nearby, we could have come and helped if you'd just told us."
"Oh, sure," Schneider snaps back, uncharacteristically irritated. "it's not as if we were too concerned with getting him back here before he developed full-on alcohol poisoning or anything, distance be damned-"
Richard's had enough of arguments. He needs to get Till to lie down somewhere; he's certainly not about to attempt going upstairs with him in tow, especially when the singer is nearly comatose and barely responds beyond a few twitches to any kind of stimulation. But he catches Olli's eyes and the bassist nods in understanding, and they quietly (and slowly) walk towards the hallway, leaving the others to argue by themselves. "We'll take him to my room," he says, inviting no objections, and thankfully Olli nods again in agreement. After a couple of minutes of shuffling down the hallway and into the room, they finally manage to roll Till onto the bed. The guitarist steps back and stretches, wincing as he hears his back creak - how Till manages to carry his own bulk, he has no idea, when two fairly strong men struggle to do it. But then, there is a considerable difference in height between him, Olli and Till, which couldn't have made it much easier.
"He is just drunk, right? He hasn't been doing any other drugs?"
"I don't think he's high or drugged up," Olli replies as he carefully shifts Till to assume the recovery position. The singer grunts almost inaudibly and for a moment frowns as if he's about to wake up, but ultimately doesn't. "but drunk as hell for sure. I think this might be the worst he's ever gotten," he gently pries an eyelid open. "no, his eyes aren't watery or bloodshot or anything, and he's breathing normally. It'd be easier to see if he were awake. I can't see much, but I think he is all right. Just... completely wasted."
Richard lets out a breath that he hasn't noticed that he was holding. "Thank God for that. It could be better, sure, he could actually be conscious for one thing-"
"-but he can be so much worse," the bassist finishes for him. He sighs heavily, rubs his forehead and steps back as well; for a moment they just stand together, helplessly gazing down at Till. Drunkenness is the most common ailment suffered by all six of them, and they can all get quite bad about it, but that's when they're being social. This is beyond just drowning one's sorrows. "he's not going to be back in action until tomorrow, is he?"
"Let him to recover. It's the only thing we can do."
Olli bites his lip lightly. "I suppose. I might as well make some dinner for us while we're at it and stop the other lot arguing. Are you coming?"
Richard doesn't even need to consider the answer. "I'm not hungry," he says quietly and sits down next to Till. "you go, Olli. I'll stay and watch over him."
It doesn't register to him for a while that Olli is giving him a long, searching look. The bassist gazes at him with an emotion that he can't quite decipher, but then he nods wordlessly and slips out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Any other time and Richard might have taken this as another indicator as how strange everyone is acting around him, but Till's his priority for the moment so he pays attention to him instead. Till's breathing is barely audible, but it's normal, as Richard can see that his chest is rising and falling at regular intervals. He slides his arms around the other's torso and lifts his upper body up - a considerable feat - to slide the jacket off him, and drapes the garment around the back of a chair. He also takes the time to carefully unlace Till's boots and put them aside and readjusts his limbs back to the recovery position before sitting back.
"Till."
No response. Richard can't say that he's surprised, although it doesn't stop him trying again.
"Wake up," a shake of the shoulders. "I swear to God. Lindemann," he gives the singer a hard shove, suddenly furious. "snap out of it already! Stupid bugger. This is all your fault!"
It works about as exactly as Richard thought it would, which is not at all. He's raised his hand to attempt a slap around Till's face, but he can't help but drop it when he sees that he's achieved nothing. The flash of anger disappears as quickly as it came, along with the realization of how utterly pointless it is to push around and curse out a man who's dead to the world. The guitarist sighs heavily and shifts positions so that he's leaning against the headboard and sitting on the mattress, looking down at Till's unmoving form. He silently gazes ahead for a while, his mind having gone pretty much blank.
Till's touched him many times before, let his hands brush over the other's shoulders or arms when performing. They've hugged too, although not so much in the past few years out of respect for Richard's now-ex-marriage. But it's nearly always been the singer who initiated any kind of physical contact first - except for this time. He's never really touched the singer of his own volition, although he's wanted to for a long time - his interest piqued, Richard carefully slides down next to Till and peers at the other's form closely. He raises a hand, hesitates - and strokes Till's coarse hair, slightly damp with sweat and the condensation caused by the warmth in the room, feeling how surprisingly soft it is. Till is so deeply unconscious that he doesn't react to this at all; taking a gamble, Richard lets his hand wander down and lightly brush the nape of his neck. It's one of the few parts on the other's body that's never been burnt at all, and it shows from the taut smoothness of the skin. His fingers delve a little further downwards, just beneath the other's shirt collar, finding that Till's entire body is hot and a little slippery with a thin sheen of perspiration; he swallows hard at the feel of his skin, his throat suddenly feeling dry, a hot and not entirely uncomfortable sensation coiling up deep inside him. But he withdraws his hand respectfully, opting to not go any further.
The younger man shifts closer so that they're face to face. He briefly winces at the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol soaked into his clothes; but nevertheless he curls up slightly so that the side of his face is pressed against Till's chest. He closes his eyes, letting the sound of Till's heartbeat take him back to one evening that took place in far more honest times. The sound is as strong and rhythmic and soothing as ever, at least. Without really knowing that he's doing it, he reaches out and tightens one arm around the singer's waist, holding him close. It's a pity that Till can't respond to it, but it'll have to do. Richard snuggles deeper into the warmth, looking up at Till's face. The older man's eyes are fully closed, the lines across his forehead rather prominent in his expression (which i still softened with sleep), and the guitarist is suddenly gripped with a desire to reach up and hold the other's face in his hands. He'd stroke the other's hair and lie so their cheeks are brushing lightly together, and in an ideal world he would greet Till with a quiet 'guten Morgen' and a kiss on the forehead when the sun rose and the singer would gaze at him with his half-lidded eyes, glass-green and intense in the sunlight, and he would return the greeting with his rare sultry-innocent smile...
Richard briefly contemplates just falling asleep there, curled up with the singer as he once did over ten years ago. Strange bedfellows they were, for that one night, but it was one of the most significant nights of his life and certainly an unquestionably happy one. But he doesn't go through with it, settling for moving away, lying on the other side of the bed and quietly watching the man sleep. He can't afford to overstep his boundaries, and he's too fond of Till to actually put wistful thinking into action without any kind of consent. Besides, there's the possibility of Till being woken up - in their current terms, the best Richard can hope for if caught is the singer pulling roughly away from him with a 'fuck off' or some variant thereof. At worst there could well be violence. He might be sluggish from the drink, but Till's an unpredictable man and is still probably capable of injuring Richard grievously.
Huh, Richard thinks, now a bit put off by that chain of thought. maybe not. I should go and... do something else. Me being here isn't helping.
He turns over and picks up the little travel alarm clock he's brought with him, reading the display. Half past six in the evening - not that bad. He guesses that Till is going to be out cold for a long time and that none of the other bandmates are really up to doing anything that night. Richard lies there for a few more minutes, weighing his options, before slowly getting up and grabbing a towel before leaving the room; he could do with a hot shower. He makes sure to close the door behind him as to not disturb Till.
Flake has two main bathrooms in his house and a couple of ensuites scattered around. All of them are always kept meticulously clean - Richard chooses the one opposite his room and goes in, switching the light on and immediately heading for the shower stall. He lets out a little 'hmm' as he steps inside with one foot and peers at the shower tap; he's probably been in hundreds of different showers already, but figuring out how to turn on an unfamiliar one is always daunting. Luckily, this one doesn't need to be fiddled with that much. He lets the shower warm up as he takes off his clothes, folds them in a pile and stashes them away in a corner of the bathroom; before walking back, he makes sure to observe himself in the mirror. Looking fairly well for a man who's forty in a few months and is currently worried out of his mind. Richard looks away from his reflection and steps into the shower, sighing blissfully at the water raining like bullets upon his skin. Letting the water soak through his hair, he picks up a bottle of shampoo and gazes blankly at the label - but in reality, he's far away in his own thoughts and wondering what's so special about the older man anyway. Beneath Till's voice and philosophical outlook in life lies an otherwise normal human being; he can be very irrational, breaks things for no reason, and still gets himself into things that he has no full control over. He still finds pleasure in the most childish things, even if it's not entirely benign, and he's not free of vices either. Till really isn't perfect by a large margin. But as the guitarist massages the shampoo into his hair, he considers that everything would be so much worse off if Till were truly perfect. Then he'd have very little to offer in terms of equal standing.
When did all this madness all begin, anyway?
Technically it started a long time before Rammstein, arguably even before First Arsch, when Nele had been very little. Richard can't say that there was an exact point where he started feeling that odd fondness towards the singer; there was no significant event that made him feel that Till might be good to pursue. It was a slow development and he's never really thought much about how it happened, and really, there still isn't much sense in trying to pinpoint an exact event. It just happened, and by late 1993 he'd been having images of Till embracing him - and even then he'd managed it without feeling any particular need for intimacy. Those have only become evident since his divorce. His feelings towards the older man back then were more chaste, a mixture of respect, gratitude and a sense of wonder. Discovering the other's vocal talents probably gave him that little nudge from the friendship territory to genuinely developing such a fascination.
Richard rinses the shampoo out of his hair and lathers some shower gel onto his body. As he runs it over his biceps he thinks of Till's truly incredible muscles - one of his many physical characteristics that impressed the younger man back then and still does. Then there are his eyes, clear and lovely as ever, and his lips that Richard still maintains are the most perfect shape. Till's personality has changed over time, and not always in the best ways - the development of his stubbornness and the tendency to snap at the most minor things come to mind - but the things that made him so irrevocably Till, such as his calm, stoic demeanor, the beauty of his voice and his surprising modesty, are still very much there. When they were first introduced, they had been somewhat quiet and reserved towards each other, saying little beyond the usual greetings and the barest minimum of questions while they slowly got used to each other's presence. The singer had been quiet even after they had become better acquainted, but always polite and attentive. Richard lets the water rinse his body free of lather, closing his eyes and thinking of that one day, a long, long time ago, when he had been sitting with Till in his living room and drinking some coffee. Richard had been reading a book, comfortable in their shared silence, when the older man had simply reached over and gently pushed his hands down, lowering the book to his lap. Before the younger man could even question it, he was staring suddenly into the other's eyes as Till asked him in a deep and almost-shy voice - 'darf ich Sie duzen?'
It took them almost two years from the initial introduction to get to that stage, and it was also well worth the wait. Turning his back on the shower, he lets out a quiet sigh - Till's charms haven't lessened any in the subsequent years that they've been friends. A lot of things have changed, but not those. A mixed blessing. Till hasn't let fame and wealth get to what makes him attractive in the first place, and because of that Richard's now left to struggle with his emotions. His thoughts are cut short when the showerhead splutters, interrupting the spray of water - noting it as a precursor to the hot water running out completely, the guitarist quickly reaches up and shuts it off, letting himself drip dry before he steps out. A chill runs through his body, but he largely manages to ignore it as he reaches for the towel and starts dabbing himself dry. Quite a hot and refreshing shower, overall satisfying; it hasn't helped with his feelings towards Till, but then he didn't expect it to in the first place. Hopefully he can get back to watching over the man soon. Richard drapes the towel around his waist and picks up the pile of clothes before wiping off some of the steam from the bathroom mirror - he gives his reflection one casual glance and turns to go, before something catches his eyes and he backtracks.
The roots of his hair are showing through, creating the jarring contrast of light brown and black. The guitarist runs his fingers through his hair, peering closely - it'll become harder to ignore within a day or two. Richard sighs heavily and searches the cupboards to see if there's any black hair dye. Flake often dyes his hair in many different shades, so dye is an essential commodity to have around. He'll replace it after. Sadly, there is no such luck - there's dye for blond, auburn and light brown hair, but not the one he's looking for. But then, he probably has no business staying at Flake's place and using his hair dye out of all the things he could use.
He scrutinizes himself in the mirror again, leaning over as far as he can over the sink. Richard nibbles at his bottom lip lightly and runs his hand through his hair again, frowning. He used to have brown hair once, which was light enough to show hints of blondism; but a darker tone always seemed to suit him much better, and everyone else seemed inclined to agree.
Till really likes blondes. The women he's usually seen with nearly always have beautiful blonde hair. Richard suddenly wonders whether he should quickly dab on some of that dye now; his current hairstyle won't work as well with blond hair, but if Till saw him like that he might feel like forgiving him sooner. Maybe it'd even turn him on. At this point in his thoughts, and in his sheer exhaustion over the day's events, Richard lets out a chuckle that quickly turns into near-hysterical peals of laughter. He's aware that he's sounding utterly demented, and somehow that makes the situation seem more darkly humorous; he slaps the edges of the basin while laughing, clutching at it eventually, feeling as if he's about to keel over from lack of breath.
"Oh my God," he whispers to himself in between deranged bouts of chuckling, inhaling and exhaling in sharp irregular bursts, trying to calm himself down and failing. "I'm so fucked up."
He could be spending this time in a more productive manner; he could watch over Till, he could fetch them both some dinner, he could even wait for the older man to wake up and have a long heart-to-heart with him. Especially the latter - there haven't been many conflicts between him and the singer that a long heartfelt conversation over tea hasn't been able to solve. But instead he's entertaining a strange and ridiculous fantasy while stark naked in somebody else's bathroom. How does he manage to know so much about Till and yet know nothing but nearly useless things? It would be wholeheartedly hilarious if it wasn't so screwed up or so sad.
Only does then the realization come: what he knows of Till is not enough. He's enchanted by Till's creativity and the idea of him, he knows the singer through his poems, but he's overestimated his ability to understand the man as a person. Suddenly the older man feels so far away, locked away too deeply within his own mind for Richard to reach out to him, and along with this sense of loss comes another wave of crushing self-hate and disappointment. All because of a tube of hair dye. Life is a tragicomedy, Olli once said; there's no need to even try to prove that statement when one can just sit back and let the thing write itself.
All this does is to add yet another layer to his already-confused and complicated feelings towards the singer. He would quite like to be with Till, spend more time with him, hold him and maybe even pleasure him, but then there are thousands out there who feel exactly the same. Plenty of women and some men out there would give anything for a piece of Till, and chances are that they don't know the man to his fullest extent, either. Perhaps about as much as Richard does at the very most. He's certainly not alone in his extent of knowledge, but this is not at all comforting because he's meant to be Till's best friend, his lead guitarist and closest moral support. Surely he, out of all people, should be doing much better in that department. But for all he claims to know, he might as well be exactly like just one groupie out of thousands, and how can he justify his feelings as genuine and special when that's all it seems to be?
Richard groans and leans forward, letting his forehead rest on the mirror with a dull thud. All of this is far too unpleasant to dwell on for too long, and it always seems to be the case that Richard ends up doing exactly that. He wonders if Till understands him as a human being, and within seconds comes to the distasteful conclusion that he doesn't. In fact it might even be worse, because Till outright refuses to acknowledge the younger man's need for emotional release beyond what the singer can support him with. That's not even a matter of concern; it's simply a need to control aspects of the guitarist's life out of belief that that's the best thing for both of them. As he mindlessly rubs off the steam clouding the surface of the mirror, he also becomes conscious that Till likely knows all of this himself - and simply doesn't even want to accept it. In that sense, he's not much better off than Richard is.
Even though they've got the other's best interests in mind - they both have a long, long way to go when it comes to acceptance.
And Richard can't see the end of it.
Nobody understands, not even you.
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