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Silence	By : kimbk Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1903 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Author's Note: This will be the last update for possibly over a fortnight (which is my usual update schedule). University work and stuff, mostly. I think I'll still have the sixth chapter up before Feb 10th. As for how long this thing is going to be, still no idea as to the final wordcount nor chapter numbers.
Emigrate subplot is wrapped up here and I'm hoping with crossed fingers that I have given Richard some development and put Till back from his apparently-derailed position. However this isn't an angst fic for nothing, so yeah... you guessed it. More ramblings and ponderings and anguish from both Richard and Till. Also, more Till/Richard stuff is happening. Sometimes I think I should have just named this fic 'Richard Z. Kruspe: Just How Much Misery Can He Go Through?' instead of putting Till/Richard as the main selling point, if not for the fact that I'm staring at the already half-written last quarter of this story and it's very much focused on their relationship.
One day I suppose I will explain what the deal is up with the quotes in the title, or for that matter some of the more indirectly obvious ones referenced in the fic. I think so far their meanings have been quite obvious, but some have deeper meanings than just the obvious that I can't give away yet because those plot points are not yet posted, and at least one quote-title will be pretty much for my own meta-reasons that isn't in the story. But no time for that now. On with the story.
------------
His brief fit of madness is over, and Richard leaves the bathroom feeling even more depressed than before. The others still appear to be in the kitchen, so he walks straight across the hallway without much thought - and stops dead in his tracks to see the door to his room wide open.
"Till?"
He quickly rushes inside, seeing only an empty bed. Till's jacket and boots are also gone, but the bedsheets still have the faint imprint of his body on it, along with a heavily crumpled section on one side of the bed. There's no reason for any of the band members to have physically carried him out again. Richard can only deduce that the singer left by himself while he was having his shower, and loudly utters a heartfelt 'Scheiße!' at the thought of how he could have talked to him if not for his abysmal timing. He quickly pulls on a loose pair of trousers and a shirt before leaving the room and anxiously poking his head around the corner. The voices from the kitchen are low and muffled; he can barely hear anything that they're saying, but within a minute he decides that Till is not amongst them. That only leaves one more option - Richard turns away and jogs upstairs, not sure what he's about to come face to face with but not really caring.
His thought is confirmed when he sees that Till's bedroom door is shut. The singer is quite likely inside and awake, as can be seen from the lights showing through the cracks in the doorway. Richard exhales in relief - he should be annoyed, but he's just so glad to see that Till safely made his way upstairs that he disregards that sentiment. He leans against the wall, letting out another heavy sigh and feeling the tension leave his body in response. Now that Till's most definitely awake, he can at least ask if the singer's up to talking through some things.
Richard knocks three times. "It's me. Are you okay in there, Till?" there is no reply. He presses one ear to the door, hearing what vaguely sounds like footsteps. "can I come in?"
Till doesn't answer, but the guitarist withdraws nervously when he hears the footsteps quicken and start circling the room in an erratic, agitated rhythm. That can't be a good sign. For all he knows he might be riling up the older man even more, and the last thing either of them needs is another fight. Richard stares at the door, biting his lip nervously and wondering what to do next. He's got to talk to the man and get some things through before morning if the remainder of his stay is going to be in any way productive, but how can he do that when he's quite clearly not welcome in the singer's room?
A note might be good, although Richard does immediately dismiss the idea on the grounds that it's impersonal. He's hardly capable of writing a good note of apology, and should he state the wrong thing, it's going to sound much worse in writing. If there's one thing that the younger man hasn't been able to learn yet during his period of recovery from his divorce, or even during his entire life, it's the art of apologizing properly; but at least he's perfectly aware that he's not very good at it. Best to just get his feelings out straight away, right there, regardless of whether Till's listening or not - then at least his stance would be made clear. He can repeat it if need be.
He stares at the grooves on the wood as he organizes his thoughts, figuring out what exactly he should and shouldn't be apologizing for. As much as he wants to make it up to Till, he won't apologize for something that is clearly not his fault. He won't yield unquestioningly to the older man's demands, just because they've argued over it - they're both in the wrong. Till has presented him with an unspoken ultimatum - choose Emigrate or me, you can't have both. Is jeopardizing years' worth of their friendship really worth it just for his own gratification? And Richard doesn't take long to come up with his rebuttal: well, why can't I, exactly? Their friendship shouldn't even be being questioned for something relatively minor like this; with Till blowing it out of proportion to this sort of level, that would make the worth of their entire friendship questionable by proxy. And he knows that Till doesn't want that; losing the younger man as a friend is the last thing he would ever want. He's been acquainted with the singer long enough to be able to safely assume that much, and that fact should really speak for itself. With that assurance, he sits down properly in front of the door and speaks up.
"I'm not going to apologize for Emigrate," Richard says as firmly as he can manage, hoping that the message is being properly carried through the door separating them both. "that is not something that I feel that I should be apologizing for, Till. I don't think I can make it clearer that my allegiance is to our band, first and foremost. Emigrate is not much different in essence to you acting or writing. Neither are exclusively for Rammstein, but you integrate both into the band's input, don't you? At the same time, you take up acting roles and publish poetry outside all of that anyway. We've never had a problem with that. If I come off as too arrogant for asking you to show me the same courtesy... then I'm afraid that this is still where I stand. I won't ask you to appreciate or even listen to what I've got for the project - I won't even demand that you approve. I don't really have a say in what you feel and I wouldn't want it the other way either, not when you're so much better off for it. But I'm a human being like you. Like all of us. It's not a matter of controlling, you can't control how or what I feel. And what I feel is that I need Emigrate when I'm not actively working within Rammstein. I need a means of emotional release like you do with your poetry, now more than ever. I'm still getting over the divorce, it's hard, and to be honest I'm not sure if I'll be completely over it even after a year or two. Or ever. I'm..." he pauses for a second, flashing back to the events of late morning and closing his eyes tightly to forget before opening them again. "I'm not a traitor, Till. That's what I want to say. You hurt me a lot this morning, and you need to understand that."
There's of course no response. But he can vaguely hear some shuffling behind the door, so the singer must be awake and listening. Good enough.
"But..." he sighs. "... I do owe you an apology too. For not understanding. For just assuming things instead of explaining myself to you. I made a mistake in not consulting you first - hell, if I'd just given you a call, had talked things through with you properly before I came here, I don't think things would have escalated to this point. I'm sorry, Till. I mean it. We could have avoided this if I'd just been more attentive, and I accept that I was negligent. God knows how anybody puts up with me. I'm sorry that I jumped straight to accusations, when I know that you're depressed and tired as well. You're the furthest thing from an arrogant bastard that anyone can think of; it's obvious in the way you act, that you haven't let our success get to you, and that's just the way things should be. I genuinely didn't think that Emigrate might come across as me rubbing your troubles in further."
He pauses there for breath, wondering if he's getting his apology through or if it's coming off as a thinly veiled insult in Till's point of view. The latter would be absolutely disastrous. Richard then suddenly has a horrible thought; what if Till had actually been somewhat conscious when he'd been curled up with him? What if he felt Richard in his arms, stroking his hair and touching his skin? And what if by doing all of those things, Richard has ended up unwittingly giving the older man another reason to dislike him? This is such a terrible possibility that Richard very nearly gets cold feet right there and then, wanting desperately to run back to the solace of his bedroom, but he nevertheless stays. This is for Till, he tells himself - he can go away to wherever he may please, but not before completing his apology, and that makes him steel his nerves a little.
"I wish... you'd talk to me more often. Don't think I haven't noticed you struggling, because I have. You helped me at the worst times, Till, you stayed by me and let me heal when I was still trying to concile myself with Caron leaving... and I want to help you, too. I can't be close to you often because I'm living in the USA now and it's far away, but I've never been further away than a phone call away from you. Today's proved to me that I don't know you as much as I ought to and want to. And I can't stress enough how much I want to. I'll make more effort from now on... the times before Rammstein, when we had nothing in the world to worry about and just sat together, remember those times? I want it to be like that again."
"I've seen the way that you don't even look at the audience anymore and just stare far ahead when you're on stage, for one. I still remember you telling me about that phobia, if it's still there, then please... talk to me. That goes for anything you're finding hard," Richard can't stop himself from saying the next part aloud, though: "but... what exactly are you searching for, Till? What's missing?"
It might just be his imagination, but he's certain that sometime during his apology the footsteps behind the door have stopped. But the light's still on, so the older man must still be awake. He thinks of the singer's gaze, his eyes fixed in the lights behind the audience, blank yet intense - and rather fancies that Till is seeking understanding. That might be the solution to everything, dastardly simple and yet ever so elusive. Not even Richard is currently able to provide it for him, after all, though he's going to try his damnedest from now on. And what if he alone doesn't satisfy the singer's will?
"I think I might know, Till," Richard murmurs against the door, pressing against the wood and imagining Till standing behind it, waiting for him to say more. "but I don't think that anyone else does. And even if I was right, I don't know if that's enough for you."
Not knowing what else to say and feeling emotionally drained, Richard sighs heavily, thinking of how he can end it there and bid Till good night without sounding careless - but he freezes in place when he hears something creak behind the door, clearer and a lot closer than he expected. "Till?" he whispers. "are you... are you there?"
Silence. But when Richard looks down, he sees the door handle twitch a little, as if someone behind the door has rested their hand on it. Shocked, the guitarist follows his line of sight downwards and sees that the light pouring from the room beneath the doorway has been shadowed somehow.
"...!"
With a startled gasp, the younger man presses himself against the door again and hears something that confirms his suspicions: the sound of breathing, a little quicker than normal but undoubtedly Till's. The man is there, standing right in front of the door, hesitating to open it and come face to face with the guitarist. This can only mean (coupled with the lack of any anger from the other's part) that only a piece of wood is standing between him and a considerably-sobered up Till.
Who knows what'll happen next? Till might be wanting to invite him in, he might be wanting to give Richard a more calm version of events. The night might end with reconciliation and forgiveness, both of them coming downstairs to inform the band that they've sorted out things properly. But then again, the door still hasn't opened and Till hasn't said a single word to him; what if he's somehow angered the older man even more? He can't think of anything that he might have said that could have set him off again, but he thought that before he came to Berlin and that didn't turn out well at all. In his excitement and fear, Richard imagines various scenarios as to what might happen next; Till inviting him in and quietly apologizing, both of them embracing in mutual forgiveness, Till and he both standing in awkward silence, Till opening the door to snarl that he should go back to his goddamn room because he understands precisely nothing about the older man, even him throwing open the door and starting another shouting match that will inevitably end up involving everyone in the house. What makes it more utterly terrifying is that all of those are equally possible, and more than one might happen at the same time or one right after another. It seems to be too much of a risk to take right now.
And even if he wasn't angry, Richard suddenly isn't sure whether he'd actually be able to look Till in the face and talk to him, after all that's happened and after his various fantasies in the shower. Will he be able to keep a straight face and be able to talk, really talk to the singer without being distracted by the thought of the other's warmth and the smoothness of his skin? Richard has the uncanny feeling that his expressions and body language will give his feelings away as clear as anything to someone as sensitive as Till. He just can't handle all this tonight. So Richard bites the bullet and goes for the choice that he will grow to dearly regret in the days and weeks afterwards; he mumbles a quick 'schönen Abend' against the door and pulls away without waiting for an answer. He takes a few steps backwards, seeing that Till isn't about to follow, and then spins around and runs down the stairs, fleeing into the darkness and into his solitude.
-----
Till's warmth is still lingering on the sheets.
That's the first thing that Richard notices when he comes back, dejected, and sits down on the bed. He brushes the imprint of Till's body on the sheets lightly, now wanting nothing more than to just go to sleep, but before he can smooth it out he stops as he feels that it's still warm. Without a further thought he lies down on the bed fully, cautiously laying one arm over the spot and marvelling at how it's managed to last this long. Till radiates truly incredible amounts of body heat. Really, come to think of it, this isn't a new or surprising fact; the singer sweats quite heavily during performances from a combination of adrenaline and hours' worth of stage lighting, and he doesn't wear long sleeves and warm clothes that much even during winter because he simply claims to not feel the cold. Richard's thoughts drift over to what it would feel like to lie with Till without the barrier of clothes between them, to feel his burning skin against his own body, making him blush. Only a lover could have that sort of privilege, of course, but he can dream.
So what if my feelings towards Till don't equate to love, the detached voice in the back of his mind quips. Who says that I can't go for him anyway? If he and I understand each other to the same extent, which is to say not as much as we initially thought, then how is it any different to just a casual fling with a groupie? Neither of us are exactly strangers to those kind of encounters. What harm can it do? Richard ponders on this before he shudders and mentally chastises himself for even considering such a thing - first he tried to touch and hold Till while the other was passed out, and now he's thinking of just forcing himself on him. Whatever he's becoming, Richard is disgusted at it. And all this after having rambled on about how Till can always talk to him, how he'll always be there, and destroying his points entirely by running away like a coward. How can Till consider him a friend at all?
He might be finding it hard to figure out the exact nature of their relationship, but one thing he knows for sure is that it's worth a hell of a lot more than just a friends-with-benefits kind of thing. Potentially falling for a man doesn't bother him - the younger man would have been perfectly happy to start a relationship with him before the formation of Rammstein. He'd have been happy to kiss the older man in 1994, be seen holding hands in public, all the usual things that lovers do given that they were actually in love. Richard also concurs that his stance hasn't really changed since then; if one morning he had the sudden revelation that he was in love with the singer, and it turned out that the man felt the same, he probably wouldn't hold back.
Out of pure curiosity, he tries saying 'I love you' out loud. The words come, but they sound dry and oddly far away; it simply doesn't feel right, awkward and childish, nothing like what it ought to be. Richard sighs heavily, too dejected to try again, knowing that he has no business making that sort of statement when he doesn't even know what to believe anymore. Love is love, regardless of gender or sexuality. It's also a word with heavy responsibilities and various connotations clinging to it, as Richard and Till both know from their ill-fated marriages. Not a word to throw around with ease.
Maybe this is just an infatuation, a simple crush that's somehow carried on for over ten years. Maybe it's the desire to satisfy his physical needs, now that Caron is out of his life, and the singer just happens to be intensely attractive to him. None of those things are love, and that disturbs Richard. Wanting Till and loving Till are not the same thing, and he's got no desire to use the man for his own pleasure if that's all it's ever going to be, because if Till tried the same on him he wouldn't like it either. And it's just a darn shame that none of those problems will be solved even if there are genuine feelings of adoration involved. Richard might simply be in love with the mere idea of Till for all he knows, desiring what he thinks that the singer can offer him. He made that mistake with Caron, and it's really not one that he wants to repeat ever again in life, let alone even bring his friend into it. Richard is too old to let himself chase a fantasy again and expect it to turn out perfectly in real life. Even if Richard genuinely and completely loved the singer for who he was, Till then has reciprocate and the rest of the band has to be fine with it for things to work out. If not, that's just the end of it regardless of how intense the guitarist's feelings are. There are far too many different complicated layers to consider here, and until he gets to grips with his own feelings, telling the older man about any of this is completely out of the question.
Perhaps it'd be a loss to tell him at all, the voice in the back of his mind says yet again in that detached tone. He's already angry at me. Even if he forgave me, things won't quite be the same anymore after what we both said and did.
Where was all this care and consideration when he was with Caron?
Wow, Till was right. My priorities are screwed up. Apart from the initial sense of disbelief, Richard is actually more surprised at how apathetic he feels towards this - like it's something that he should have known all this time and somehow didn't quite manage to get until now. Without really thinking about what he's doing, the guitarist wriggles out of his shirt and lets it drop to the floor, still lying sideways on the bed. He unbuttons his trousers and slides them off as well, still with the same amount of apathy towards the entire situation. Only Till and what he feels for the singer seems to matter at all. And he hates himself for caring so much, for clinging pointlessly onto someone who probably doesn't like him as anything more than a close friend. But most of all, he hates the fact that he's burning for the other's touch without having sorted out his feelings to a coherent form, because it feels like he's degrading Till to a mindless obsession. He feels cold and ugly inside, and while his touches were as minor and as gentle as possible - he hopes that Till really hasn't noticed, hasn't seen the ugly side of him, because if he did then he might just die of shame.
He won't waste himself on me.
He can settle for leftovers, at least. Richard curls up on the bed, having shed the majority of his clothes; he gently presses the side of his face onto the sheets and closes his eyes longingly, feeling the last of Till's warmth against his bare skin. Without realizing that he's doing it, he slowly clutches the sheets closer to his body and shivers with desire, imagining the older man's hands on him, enveloping him in his heat, holding him there in the darkness. It consoles him just a little bit, lets him think that perhaps he's happier this way; the singer's slowly-fading warmth penetrating deep within his confused and exhausted mind, soothing and saddening him at the same time.
"Ich..." he murmurs against the fabric, keeping his eyes tightly shut to maintain his fantasy. "Ich will..."
But no matter how much he wishes for the moment to last, no matter how much he tries to save both, Till's scent and heat eventually vanish into nothingness; Richard spends the night alone, full of yearning and yet so cold and empty at the same time, the knowledge of all his flaws driving him further into despair.
-----
"Sie kom-men zu euch in der Nacht-"
Richard is at the conditioner stage of dying his hair, having gone out at seven in the morning to buy his own damn hair dye. Five minutes before he can rinse it off. At least the smell of dye isn't too bad, the guitarist having locked himself in a spare room to prevent it spreading through the house and having kept the windows open through the entire process. Richard is a lot of things, but inconsiderate is something he isn't, especially regarding other people's living space. This stems from the time that he lived together with Olli and Schneider, and it's a fine personality trait to have, too.
"-und stehlen eure kleinen heissen Trä-nen!"
He likes to strum on his guitar quietly whenever he's dying his hair. Not getting it all over the instrument is an art that he's mastered over the years. After this he's got to put on some nail polish as well, but of course there's where he draws the line - he never touches his guitars straight after painting his nails, and actually quite often leaves them be for the entire day for fear of ruining the strings or getting the polish chipped.
"Sie warten bis der Mond erwacht..."
Richard quietly bobs his head to the rhythm of the song; he put on a random song from 'Mutter' in the background so that he can play along. Richard prides himself in his ability to sound almost exactly the same live as in the recording studio, and this is not a new kind of practice for him; being able to keep the important flourishes and sense of timing in the sheet music is one thing and being able to improvise things live is yet another. The guitarist is well accomplished enough for both, and he knows it well.
"und drücken sie in meine kalten Venen!"
It's not the best kind of song for him to play alone; he really would do better if Paul were around. But for now, the recorded music will have to do. It's just something that'll allow him to pass five minutes anyway and keep his mind off things. Richard did think about working out some chords for the next Emigrate song, but decided that perhaps he was better off playing that material under request only. He's still going to go ahead with the project and share his ideas about it to the rest of the band members, but after all that fiasco, they could all do with not hearing Emigrate all over the place. Besides, having gotten his apology out (and having slept considerably more), Richard is feeling somewhat better about Till and is just as enchanted as ever with his voice. The fact that this song doesn't have anything to do with romance or unrequited longing also helps - he can think of his daughter first and foremost and Till second.
"Nun, liebe Kinder, gebt fein Acht," he can't resist singing along; 'Mein Herz Brennt' was the perfect opening song to their third album, and Richard's always appreciated it particularly for its chorus. "Ich bin die Stimme... aus dem Kiss-en...!"
Khira Li was eight when they made that album, and at that young age they'd 'commissioned' her voice to use there. Come to think of it, Till had written a lot of songs dedicated to or about children back then, and Richard can't help but wonder if his daughter's presence sparked it somehow. After all, when they were making 'Mutter', they had been all out of their earlier material and Till had worked long days and nights to come up with totally new and original things. He took inspiration from anything nearby, and Nele had been too old to be called a child then whilst Khira Li was still quite little. He'd also been very gentle with Khira Li during the few recording sessions they'd had together, sitting her down and telling her stories whenever there were breaks, and these times are likely a big part of why she thinks of the singer as a second father of sorts.
"Ich singe bis der Tag er-wacht-"
Khira Li, like both Till and Richard, also has very little fear of fire and often innocently comments on pyrotechnics that the band could have arranged to be 'more spectacular' whenever she sees videos of their shows. She's also never been scared of Till, even with all the nightmarish things that he frequently sung about, often right in front of her. Even the stories that he told her, while nowhere near as dark as his usual poems, had their fair share of morbid bits. He'd even asked Till about it once, only to be answered with a little smile and a casual statement that he'd done the same when Nele had been little. Moreover, being in the same band, Richard isn't one to talk - he quite likely hasn't helped matters much. They've both unwittingly conditioned their daughters to accept horror, and while some might be outraged, his personal opinion is that it was probably for the best. He wonders if the others have brought up their children similarly.
"-ein heller... Schein am Firmament..."
The singer probably found all this quite endearing, and it shows in this song quite wonderfully. Till's own dark lullaby.
"Mein - Herz - brennt!"
Richard breaks out into the main melody, playing the familiar chords with his eyes closed, whispering along to the words. He's very much into it, but thankfully also has the sense to peer at the clock and determine that he has most of his five minutes still remaining. Richard lets the song fade away to its relatively quiet bridge before swinging a foot over and pressing 'stop', the entire room falling silent with the faint 'click' of the button. Not enough time for another, but maybe there's room for a couple of chord progressions before he calls it a day.
"B," he mutters, taking up his pick again. "C-sharp - E-flat-"
"Risch."
Startled, the guitarist narrowly stops himself from dropping the pick on the ground; taking a deep breath, he reluctantly turns around, pretending as if nothing happened and faking a blank expression.
"... Yes?"
Till is standing in the doorway with the phone in hand. He doesn't meet Richard's eyes, but he looks considerably cleaned up and in a more calm state of mind. "Khira Li called."
"Oh."
Pause. Till shifts uncomfortably on his feet before raising his eyes to meet Richard's - he doesn't look angry, which the other is relieved to see. "I told her you would be calling back. She sounded quite cheerful."
"That's good," the guitarist says stiffly. He switches to playing a different set of chords, frantically thinking of a way that he can get out of this situation. "uh... thanks for that, I guess."
They fall into a very awkward and uncomfortable silence after that, which only lasts something like half a minute but seems to last forever anyway. It's Richard who nevertheless speaks up first, gathering all his courage to stop a repeat scenario of the previous night from happening. "Listen, about yesterday..."
"I did hear your apology last night, Risch," Till says, and his voice is so soft that the younger man actually stops playing for a moment to pay him his undivided attention. "I accept it, too. And I... I also acknowledge that I massively overreacted yesterday. You didn't deserve to be treated like that from me, not... well, not after everything that's happened. It was inconsiderate of me-"
I need to rinse out my hair, Richard inwardly screams in his mind, although at the same time he's marveling at the ease with which Till is apologizing to him. It's starting to burn. How do I get out of this?
"-to indeed just assume things. So, yes... I'm sorry too, Risch," Till takes a deep breath, and even though it was fairly laconic of him, Richard knows that it must have taken immense bravery on his part to be able to say it face to face. The older man extends his hand. "still friends?"
"Yes, of course," he grasps it with his own, feeling a mixture of joy and a strange emptiness arise within him as Till's large (and much to his chagrin, very pleasantly warm) hand closes gratefully around his. "still friends. And I did mean it when I said that I want to understand you better. If there's anything troubling you... promise me that you'll tell me, please?"
What looks a little like plaintive sadness flickers behind Till's eyes for a moment, but soon enough the older man nods. "I promise."
Another stretch of silence falls between them; it's a little less tense this time, but somehow it's still a hefty presence. "I also meant it when I said that I wouldn't force Emigrate's output on you, Till. So don't worry about that. I've got only a demo CD anyway, it's juvenile and not even polished, there's no need for you to listen-"
"I already did," Till says, making Richard blink in surprise.
"You did? How?"
The singer reaches into his jacket and very carefully takes out the demo CD of Emigrate, walking forwards to hand it over to Richard. "Flake told me that he'd listened to it, and that it was good. I checked it out myself. And he wasn't lying at all, you know how he is."
This statement hits Richard like a metaphorical brick to the forehead in so many ways that he briefly feels like he's about to either pass out or run out screaming from the room. For one, a considerable feeling of light joy and happiness is welling up within him - Till approved, he finds himself thinking excitedly, he thought it was actually good! In the span of that one day Richard had pretty much given up all hope of Till ever wanting to listen to Emigrate, so this is incredibly good news. Overshadowing it, however, is a mind-numbingly negative surge of emotions that even he didn't see coming. He feels utter dread that his friend might have sought out the demo when it wasn't really in his best interests, dismay that he in the end didn't get to be the one who personally presented Till with his work, and the old feeling of bitter irrational resentment that it had to be Flake out of everybody else who did so (even though logically nobody else would have known, the keyboardist wouldn't have told them about the fight because he's nothing if he can't keep secrets).
Can you stop mindlessly resenting your keyboardist for a second, the voice inside his logical centre scolds. If anything, you still owe him something for getting you out of that mess and setting you straight.
"Anything that you want of me regarding Emigrate... I'll be happy to provide it for you," Till is saying.
You wanted this in the first place, didn't you? You got it in the end, didn't you? So what are you so stunned about?
"Thanks, Till, I appreciate it," Richard grins and pauses awkwardly before making a feeble gesture towards his hair. "I... I don't mean to be rude, but... I need to..."
The older man's eyes widen for a second. "Oh. Oh, of course. I'll leave you be, then. Hope it turns out all right," much to the guitarist's simultaneous relief and disappointment, Till then turns around to go; he pushes open the door before stopping for a moment. "Risch?"
"... Hmm?"
"... I'm quite fond of 'Mein Herz Brennt' too," the older man gives him a faint ghost of a smile. "your riffs are sublime. Maybe we should have made that a proper single back then after all."
And then Till leaves him be.
Richard stares ahead with the same forced, vague smile on his face, playing the same couple of chords over and over again - when he suddenly reaches over, grabs the amp and turns it up to max setting before stabbing viciously at the E-string with his pick, making his guitar produce an inhuman wailing noise, letting it scream for him because he can't do it himself. It's exquisitely painful to listen to and by this time it really does feel like the conditioner is burning right through, but he clenches his teeth and endures it with that manic grin, his happiness mingling into what he might describe as the good kind of pain.
It's not long before he dimly registers a pounding on the walls through the wailing. "Risch. Risch!" Schneider's voice calls out, punctuated with a couple of loud thumps. "will you cut that out? Seriously!"
"Sorry about that, Doom!" he calls back, and releases his grip on the string. He turns the amp down again, still grinning, the screaming noise ringing in his ears. "an accident with the amp!"
The pounding stops.
"I didn't mean to do that, honestly."
Pause.
"It won't happen again."
-----
His remaining stay at Flake's goes well otherwise. The band members' relief at seeing Till and Richard on cordial terms is almost tangible to the guitarist, although they do a very good job of hiding it. When he returns to New York City, with some new ideas for lyrics, multiple appointments with his friends in the city who are also joining him in his project and another entire song planned out in his notebook (along with an ecstatic Khira Li jumping into his arms and asking how his trip was), he can almost fool himself into thinking that perhaps things will be smooth from now on. But Richard has been through far too much in recent years and knows far better than to be naive like that.
It's odd how triumph can feel so utterly hollow. Richard tells himself that he should be feeling better: he's gotten what he's wanted, with Till's full approval Emigrate has been given the full go-ahead by proxy and he no longer should be feeling guilty about anything. Yet with every passing day he becomes only more and more aware of his pyrrhic victory, and it tears him up inside. He could have Till and Emigrate both; what he didn't count on was having his confidence badly shaken in return. Confidence that he'd built up over all that time, recovering from his divorce and trying to sort himself out. Somehow he can't help but think that he's perhaps had to forfeit a large chunk of the most valuable asset that he'd possessed so that he could keep both Till and Emigrate. Can't have everything, indeed. Work needs to be done, though, so he at the same time tells himself that there are far more important things at stake and suspends his angst for the time being. It's not fair on the others who have aided him with Emigrate, and it's certainly not fair on his daughter if he keeps on moping around. He hasn't been the best example of a good person so far, but this incident has shaken him up so much that he starts actively thinking of the possible effects that any minor action of his might have on others, and this arguably both helps him become a better human being and a temporary neurotic.
It's probably a human moral that he missed out on from the beginning, back when he was still a boy and life was considerably free of serious consequences. At least he's learning now, so he should be grateful and also accept the punishment for not having learnt in all those forty years that he's been alive because beggars can't be choosers. The only real consolation is that he's come out of this with a slightly better idea as to how to be able to reach out to Till.
But nobody said anything about it actually working. Richard stretches out and rubs his eyes, exhausted; his daughter's already said goodnight to him, and he should be going to bed too but there's still one thing left for him to do. He looks at the clock - 2:30 in the morning, which means that it must be 8:30pm in Berlin. Picking up the phone, he makes the international call to a number that he knows off by heart.
"Hallo-"
"Guten Abend, Till-" but he stops as he recognizes that particular tone of voice. It's not Till at the other end; at least not his actual self. Richard sighs worriedly as he lets the answering machine message play.
"-das Telefon von Till Lindemann erreicht. Bitte sprechen Sie nach dem Signalton," a small pause, then Till's voice repeats the message in his accented English. "please leave a message after the tone. Vielen Dank, und schönen Tag."
Beep. The younger man speaks up, keeping his voice neither too cheerful nor too depressed. "It's me, Richard. I hope you're doing okay, I just wanted to check up on you. As for me, things are all right back here, but I do..." he pauses for only a second, hoping that what he's about to say is not going to be a give-away. "...miss having you around. I assume you're out having dinner or something along those lines, whatever it might be, I hope it's good," a chuckle. "it's half past two, so I need to go to bed, but call me back soon, Till. I'll always be here. Guten Abend."
After checking that his message has indeed been recorded, he puts the phone down and leans back, allowing the worry to wash over him yet again. Till has kept his side of the bargain for most part, approving and offering honest (if a little distant) feedback to his songs. He's also faithfully calling Richard or returning the other's calls as quickly as possible. But the one thing that he still isn't yet doing, despite Richard's pleas, is talking to people about his problems. Of course he gives honest answers when Richard asks for them, but only if the man actually asks and not out of his will. There is also no indication that he's letting on anything of this vein to other people, either. It's frustrating as all hell - if he's not depressed about Emigrate anymore, then what is he actually depressed about? Richard doesn't know, and by this point in time he also realizes that whatever the reason might be, he might do even more harm by prodding Till for answers. Seeing as he's reached the point where he's listened to their songs so much that he can't derive more from them, there's no help there, either. Perhaps if he looked through one of Till's personal notebooks he would find out more, but that is a privilege that no one apart from the man himself will have. Not even significant others would be an exception. Richard sighs heavily and turns out the light, climbing haphazardly into bed, knowing that in a few hours Till will awaken him with a call.
It's surprisingly harder than he thought it would be to support someone who's otherwise grown up and capable of taking care of themselves, which does make the guitarist marvel as to how the older man dealt with him when he was in that downward spiral. Now Till's passed on the responsibility of mutual care for a friend in hard times onto him, and Richard is doing his hardest to return that obligation. Unfortunately it appears that the man has no idea that he ever passed that metaphorical baton on at all. Richard needs to be given a break, Khira Li needs to be given a stable and happy family environment, and as for Till, it might be too late now to be give him anything. But he can't accept that thought, so it doesn't stop him trying anyway. Even though his feelings are growing stronger daily (much to his dismay), he only needs to think of the dejected expression on Till's face or the promise he made a long time ago, where he swore that he would not let the singer be unhappy, to be able to push them aside for the time being and focus on helping the man out.
So Richard doesn't make any advances, instead letting his songs speak for him. He's attempting to reach out on the same level as Till, in something beyond language - not German nor English, but through music and very carefully chosen combinations of words. It's the best that he can hope for; he's holding out his hand towards the older man, hoping to be able to lead Till out of his depression the same way the singer did for him. He might not yet fully understand Till, but nevertheless he's making it as clear as possible that he's always there to talk to. Richard knows that he's verging on genuine desperation and subliminality when he finds himself sending Till one of the first printed copies of Emigrate's first album - with the lyrics of the final song underlined in faint pencil in the lyrics booklet. (As for whether it actually worked or if Till even looked in there, the guitarist has no idea.)
Help me

Sing this song for you

Like I always do.
But what use is that, if Till won't let him help?
Of course, Till and Richard are hardly the only ones going through this sort of turmoil. They get back together and officially announce the end of their hiatus in 2007, but in reality Richard suspects that they aren't actually feeling that motivated to start working on a new album; it might be more the demand of the fans and the desire to prove a point, that they aren't breaking up, rather than genuine inspiration. Nevertheless, the guitarist is practicing being a man of his word, and dutifully finishes his album and his input within Emigrate, leaving the project on a positive note to develop without him during his absence. Olli's advice has come in very handy there. He's achieved his goal, received the assurance that he will be welcome to come back to his side project at any time, and has wrapped up things very neatly. In essence he resolves one thing nicely and leaves it so that he can merrily wander into another mess.
And what a mess it is. In their still bland and uninspired state, disillusionment is still running rampant amongst them. They just can't see past the smoke and the grit, and even though Richard (along with Paul) is one of the more freshened-up members of the band after their hiatus, sometimes he finds himself lighting up a cigarette or pouring himself a drink and thinking: I temporarily hate all of you. It upsets and disturbs him, but doesn't hinder him thinking it anyway, because he still bears some hard feelings towards everyone (save for Till and Flake) for hiding the singer's outbursts from him until that confrontation took place. A warning would have been acceptable, but not downright covering everything up.
What they need is a reset. It's not in the sense of trying to invoke a new sound or taking another long break, either; no amount of hiatuses will help, not when they're already far too famous and adored by many. It isn't quite as special anymore, and contrary to what some might expect, none of them actually were well-equipped to handle such popularity and pressure from the beginning. Not even Richard, arguably the one who was the last to become disillusioned with fame. No, he wants to revert back to simpler times, back during the days of their first two albums, performing smaller gigs underground and enjoying a cozier atmosphere. They'd all been closer to each other then, only what they did and the things they loved mattered. Richard and Till had been much more open with each other. Sometimes the guitarist can't help but think that this is his fault for getting the band together in the first place, and maybe Till would have been more content weaving baskets or doing little jobs here and there. Maybe all of them would have been better off doing their run-of-the-mill jobs. Just goes to show that no one truly appreciates privacy and comfort until they lose it.
Is it too late to have it back?
The entire band takes out their rage on each other and apologizes and goes on to do it all over again during this rough period. Till gets a particularly heavy dose of this; after all, he's the one who's most chased after by reporters and groupies, and it's not even as if he needs to worry about his relationships. He's got children but he's away for six months of the year with the band, and when he's back he spends as much time as possible with them. Till's period of angst has been going on for so long that their patience with him is running thin, and it shows. Richard's prediction that Rammstein would take primary focus on Till's image has come true in a truly vicious way; it would have been nice to know that earlier, but they're slowly realising this only now, over ten years too late. Little do they understand that all this is just grounding down the man even more in his inner torment, eventually building up to one fateful morning when Till suddenly loses his beautiful voice.
Then everything well and truly goes to hell.
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