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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Author's Note: Still not sure if I like the way the site got fixed. Ah well, I'll get used to it. Humans can get used to anything. I do think the control panel is a bit neater though.
Finally the penultimate chapter of 'Silence' is up! It took me so long and I was struggling so hard with this I don't even. T_T It's a bit of a whammy, this one. I won't say too much about it here because it's the beginning of the chapter and all but there's a pretty important issue of names going on. The time period mentioned is around one or two years so the pacing is quite fast, I think. But it works out in the end.
The quote is from 'Roter Sand'. This is another song about unrequited love, but I did mention before that the full meanings of the songs are less important than the quotes themselves... tee hee. This fic's close to ending and I've never had a review! It's still not too late! XDDDDD Read on and I hope you enjoy!
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It is half-past one when Richard awakes in a warm bed, very much not dead and very much with company. He's been dried off completely, dressed in cotton pajamas, and when he squints a little and reaches out half-consciously, trying to regain his bearings, his hand is suddenly gripped by another and he gasps out in surprise. He can't immediately see what's going on and this makes him panic, his eyes haven't adjusted to the dimness of the room yet - whoever is keeping him company, though, seems to realize this. The mattress creaks and shifts a little as the other sits up and reaches towards the bedside desk; there's the sound of fumbling around before the desk lamp is flickered on and Richard winces and closes his eyes at the sudden brightness.
It doesn't take long, however, for him to slowly open them again - seeing that he's in Till's room, and the man is lying on the bed with him, staring right into his face.
"Till!" Richard yelps, flinching out of sheer shock. He's still so dazed that he's not sure how else to react, but the older man keeps looking at him and it takes only a second or two for the memories to flood back. And then the crushing guilt comes as things fall into place. "Gott, did you bring us here? No, what am I even saying - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... Till, what I said earlier, I didn't mean it, I was just so drunk and upset... it should never have happened, it was a mis-"
Till places a finger to Richard's lips, shushing him; the younger man can swear that this has happened before, a long time ago, but this flash of thought is erased completely when the singer shifts closer to him and pulls him close to lie against his chest. Richard gasps, utterly bewildered at this turn of events, but it is nothing compared to what Till does next.
"Richard," he leans down and breathes softly in his ear, and the guitarist nearly starts weeping right then and there. It's not an American-style 'Richard'; what Till uses is a proper Germanic 'Rikh-hart' whispered in an almost inaudible, gorgeous baritone.
Like how he used to call him, a long time ago. And until that point Richard hadn't even realized how much he missed hearing it.
"Till, you spoke," Richard whispers, tears starting to run down his face. "you finally talked to me, Gott..."
"I'd hoped that the first words I spoke to you would be some of the most meaningful," the singer says quietly, stroking his hair. "but I could never figure out what to say to make things perfectly all right again. But I shouldn't have left you in the dark, it just made things worse for you. I'm sorry that it had to be like this."
"Oh," he cries, and that's all he can manage before he breaks down completely. Richard feels like a fool for being like this now, when he could be spending this precious time in a less embarrassing way, but perhaps he's crying precisely because he's with Till and he knows that the singer understands. They've misunderstood each other all along, and with that realization a weight in the guitarist's heart is lifted so quickly that he can't quite cope with it yet. "it wasn't just your voice that I missed," Richard mumbles through his tears. "I missed you. Everything about you."
The older man would normally have looked a little uncomfortable with this kind of emotional outburst, what with having his best friend crying into his chest, but this is not the case this time. In fact, his arms tighten around the guitarist in a more protective way than anything. "I know," Till's soothing baritone murmurs in his ear. "I know... and how I missed you as well, Risch..."
"'Richard'," he automatically finds himself correcting, blushing as the older man quirks one eyebrow quizzically. "I mean... I'm sorry, it's just that... I haven't been called that in so long, it's just like the old days again..."
Smart move there, Kruspe, he chastises himself, but the older man actually gives him a fond smile at those words. The slightly-concerned look that he held before melts away from his expression completely, and Richard is left completely stunned at how much younger Till looks as a result. "Richard it is, then," he says gently. "let it all out. It's okay."
So Richard, immensely relieved and feeling yet another weight being lifted, closes his eyes and does exactly that. He doesn't want to overwhelm himself or Till, but after all that's happened, he can allow himself this much. "Will you forgive me?" he sobs out as he wipes at his eyes; the older man nods a yes, which is all he needs. The crying doesn't last much longer than two minutes or so, but it is nevertheless an intense and cathartic experience that leaves the guitarist feeling kind of exhausted and light like a feather at the same time by the end of it all. He nuzzles into the other's arms, quiet and feeling washed out and empty as a blown egg.
"Why Schneider?" he asks against Till's chest, his eyes tightly shut and semi-hoping that the singer won't hear.
"Why Schneider?" Till echoes him against his wishes, and when Richard dares to glance up a little he sees that the older man is giving him a small encouraging smile. "what about him?"
He doesn't say anything, but the man's figured it out already. "Because I opened up to him first?" he asks, and Richard gives a barely visible nod, his face still buried in the other's chest. He can feel Till's eyes fixed on the top of his head, and even though he's quiet, he can tell just by the change in the other's breathing patterns that he's thinking of an answer to give. And because he is still so glad that the man is talking to him, even though he's still mortified at what he did hours ago, that he doesn't question it any further and simply waits.
But what Till says next makes him look up, baffled. "Do you know why I agreed to join back up last year?" he asks, and it's clear from his tone that he expects a response. Richard blinks at the question and knits his eyebrows a little as he tries to figure out an answer. He's not sure what this has anything to do with Schneider.
"Our reuniting after the hiatus?" the older man nods. "wasn't it... wasn't it because we wanted to all start back up? Did you-"
"I was ready to get it over and done with, you know," Till says, cutting him short (though not in a malicious way). "I had the feeling that we might not last long when we joined back up. Things were bad between us, all of us, and I knew it was mostly my fault that we were destroying ourselves. I thought it was going to be the end, and that when it happened, it would be a long time before we saw each other again - and things would never really be the same from then onwards."
"But... it wasn't your fault, Till. All of us were out of ideas and tired and taking it out on each other. All of us share the blame. You know that."
"Before the hiatus was my depression and disillusionment. Poisoning myself and everything around me. I didn't want to let on to any of it, but it came out anyway. You know what it was like, Richard, with me just lashing out at you back then for doing something fairly reasonable creativity-wise."
Richard looks down guiltily. "I'm not entirely clean in that aspect either, Till. I was far away most of the time and wasn't attentive enough to you."
"Believe me, I now think you were much better off being away from me. I was monstrous, utterly monstrous. Throwing a fit at the slightest thing," Till sighs, his eyes clouding over. "talking to you every now and then and occasionally having manners beaten into my head helped just a little. It helped to keep me enough of a decent human being so that I didn't just completely lose it altogether. So when we got back together, I wasn't feeling much better than before - I was still heartily sick of the media and how nobody seemed to understand a thing that I wanted to say. But what would that have made me? I thought of the best thing I had in store, the only thing of mine that I could offer you readily. My poetry. My voice. So I wrote and sang the best I could, but for months it didn't work out exactly the way I wanted to and that made me sad. Angry, too. Then I lost both, and I... I just didn't know what to do anymore."
"So you did really become mute."
Till hesitates. "I don't know how to explain the first few days. I wish I could, but all I could say is... everything just... got to me eventually. Not as if they weren't getting to me before, but I honestly didn't expect it that morning, when I found out that I couldn't respond to you. When I tried to read or write to calm myself down, I couldn't focus because the words simply made no sense to me. I thought that it was just a temporary loss, possibly a bout of flu coming on, and that I'd worn myself out. And after a few days my voice did come back, bit by bit - I tried it out when no one was listening - but for the first three days or so, I was just so confused and exhausted that I didn't know how to act."
The guitarist doesn't know what to think anymore at this bit of revelation. He simply stares at Till, his thoughts becoming increasingly complicated, wondering why the older man then kept up the facade of mutism for weeks. "I knew I could sing after the sixth day or so, that my voice had recovered. That's why I asked to be allowed to go the rehearsal. It wasn't just a leap of faith," the singer's saying, but the words sound strangely distant.
"I don't understand, Till," Richard says faintly. "you sang perfectly every time we went onstage, and you say that you were capable of talking, but then why - why did you withhold it from us?"
"I didn't mean to at first. But once I shut off - once the world fell silent - I saw how everyone stopped fighting. I saw how my state just seemed to repair relationships, just like that, and I calmed down. Then I thought that perhaps that it was me who had been the catalyst all along. That my state of things - my inability to let go - affected all of us. I was better off as just a singer, for all I could see. I didn't want to lose you, any of you, and who was I to just mess everything back up again when we could function as a band whether I talked or not - and when the world was quiet and peaceful like this? I just wanted to wait for my creativity to come back. Even though I could sing, and could talk, I simply decided that it would be best for everyone if I didn't talk for a while so that things could be evened out a little. Just for a while to get my thoughts together, of course; I didn't want it to be permanent, I didn't want to put any of you in jeopardy, and how would I have gone about the rest of my life completely mute? I thought that perhaps the coming days after the concert would be the ideal time to sit down with everyone and start up," he pauses there for breath, looking a little weary from the sudden burst of talking but determined. "but over time - the longer it carried on, the more I found myself at a loss as to what I would say, how I'd explain myself. If I'd just started talking as nothing had happened, there would be questions, and what would have I said to that? That I took a vow of silence for the good of everyone and to stop all the fighting? It'd have just ended up making everyone feel terrible in the process. I couldn't have that. Eventually I couldn't figure out how to form words around anyone in the band. Not even for simple things like thanking anyone or apologizing. The concert came and went, I gave it my all, but in the end I hadn't achieved a thing when it came to the things that mattered the most."
"That's why you became more..." this is awkward. What if his feelings are hurt again? "... withdrawn?"
Till doesn't look offended, thankfully, and gives him a nod.
"That's why I followed the songs, perhaps," he says quietly. "our songs were already written and composed ages ago. I'd sung them countless times before. There was no need for me to agonizingly worry about every word and phrase that I was saying. I guess in that way - that I couldn't find anything unrehearsed to say at all - I did become quite mute. And then I became scared. I was ready to call it quits before, or so I thought, but then I became suddenly afraid that this would actually be the end, that what I'd started to keep the peace was going to ruin things again..."
'I'm so sorry', Richard remembers Till writing on his notepad, so many weeks ago. It suddenly makes even more sense than before. 'All I do is mess everything up for you.'
"... But you were stronger than I thought you would be, all of you were. I wouldn't have been surprised if any one of you just threw up your hands up and left because of how I was acting, I would have deserved it completely. I wondered how anybody could stand being with me in this flat at all when I wasn't speaking a word and moping around - admittedly I still do marvel at it - but you did. It would take me days to properly express how grateful I am for that. Eventually the support I was getting reassured me enough that I could function again, but I certainly couldn't have done it on my own."
He stops there for breath, rolling over to lie on his back and closing his eyes. They remain quiet for some minutes: Till is resting, worn out but satisfied that he's gotten most of his side of things through, and the guitarist is thinking about everything the older man told him. It then strikes him that Till hasn't answered his original question, and he looks up, intending to ask again - the slightly exhausted look on the other's face makes him back down, but the other still notices and turns his head towards Richard. "Did you want to ask something?"
"No, not if you're tired... you've talked a lot already..."
"I want to clear things up, Richard. It's the least I can do. If there's anything to ask then do so, I won't bite."
The guitarist hesitates, but decides to trust in Till. "Was there a reason... that it was Doom first?"
"Of course," the older man responds immediately as if it was the most natural thing. "I never would have guessed that he felt that way about me. It was one of the things that really awakened me to my surroundings, truly paying attention to him for the first time in years. You know what I'm talking about, what happened a few days before the rehearsal-" Richard nods. "-I really did start thinking and observing everyone around me after that. I saw how Schneider looked guilty every time we looked at each other - I know I was giving him a hard time before I lost my voice, and even after that he was getting steadily more distressed because I couldn't talk. I must admit, I didn't think that... that he would end up being so hurt; he's not the first person you'd think of for something like that. It just had to be him that I had to reassure first. I didn't want to let on that I'd heard - so 'Schneider' was the name I used, but I wanted him to know that I cared, that I really do hold him in high regard, how sorry I was for putting him through all of that and never even noticing it until recently."
And it had been very much appreciated, Richard recalls, judging from the way the drummer had smiled for days afterwards. Till and Schneider have most definitely become closer since then. "What about the others?"
"I did choose to speak to Flake next, and then to Olli and Paul as well," Till continues, stroking the other's back. "and I do confess to saving you for last. But I had a reason for that - coming back to the original question I asked you..."
"About why you came back?"
The singer nods and actually tightens his grip on the guitarist, as if feeling nervous about what he's about to confess. "I... came back because I wanted to say farewell to you," he says, his voice dropping to an almost-shy murmur. "that feeling of loss was especially strong with you, before we joined up, although it was mostly my insecurities getting in the way-" Richard is a little stunned but nods. "-and I wanted to prepare for what seemed like the inevitable at the time; losing you to the dissolution of Rammstein. I wanted to always remember you the way that you were. I never wanted to forget. Even if I joined another band, or married again, or became a full-time author - even when I grew old and weak over the years - I wanted to always be able to cry whenever I thought of you. I wanted to hurt whenever I looked at pictures of us. I wanted to miss you with every fiber of my being through the rest of my life."
... Mein Gott... am I... hearing this right? I'm not just hallucinating all of this?
Oblivious to Richard's completely stunned expression, Till carries on. "It was you I feared hurting the most when I fell silent, you know. You were my lead guitarist and my best friend for all of those years, and yet I could barely communicate even to you. I was terribly ashamed of myself for that. But in the end it was you who first really helped me recover, Richard."
"I was?"
"That day, when I was diagnosed. Do you remember? You sat with me."
Of course he remembers. It isn't something he'd forget any time soon. Till carries on. "With that in mind, I saved you for last because I wanted it to be special. I didn't want it to be just a casual sentence thrown in your direction. I wanted to tell you everything, when we were alone, and when I could find the words. But whenever I thought the time was right, and even though my muse came back, I could never come up with anything truly meaningful for you - and the hours and days just stacked up without me being able to say a single word to you. I thought about what I'd say, how I'd explain all this and how to tell you that I was grateful for all the things you did for me, but nothing I could come up with ever seemed good enough."
Richard clutches at the older man tightly, trying to hold back the second flow of tears. Till doesn't comment, and he's grateful for it, whether he's pretending not to notice or genuinely hasn't. "I never wanted to hurt you," the singer murmurs softly, brushing away a lock of hair from Richard's forehead. He raises the other's chin up so that they can gaze at each other. "any other time more cheerful than this one and you'd have been the challenge of my life."
What can he say to such beautiful honesty? "I never..." he stammers. "... would have... expected..."
"It would have been irrational of me to expect you to understand all of this without a single bit of explanation. Remember what I just said about how it'd take me days to tell everyone how grateful I am? That can't apply in this case. You utterly defeated me when it comes to words, Richard."
It's nearly too much, what Till's telling him. Richard is being paid the highest compliment that any poet could possibly give anyone and he'd be grateful for that alone as it is. The fact that it is Till who's saying it raises it to heights beyond imagination. He keeps looking at the older man, searching for hints as to whether this might possibly be all a dream or even the vaguest hint of jest in the other's eyes - it's not that he wants it to be, but this is years' worth of truth and trust being spilled out to him and it's more than he can grasp at the moment. Till looks back him with the utmost sincereness and Richard suddenly feels a strange mix of emotions rising inside him, one of confusion, utter ecstasy, understanding and a strong desire to spill out the more-than-friendly feelings he's had towards the singer for ages. He doesn't because he's too eager to hold onto what he's already gained as it is.
"So look at us now... nearly as close as the day we first got together. We'll break up one day, that's inevitable, but it won't be now. I will carry on alongside you until come what may," Till pauses a little there, looking directly into the other's eyes, and Richard is left breathless at how tender his gaze is. "and I hope for this to be... the longest goodbye... that I will ever say in a lifetime."
That's all he needs to hear. Richard's lips suddenly tingle, and for a second, just for a second he imagines that he wants to - and maybe that Till wants him to, as well - but he doesn't go through with it. Instead, Richard settles for burying his face in the crook of the other's neck again and exhales contentedly; the last thing he hears is a whispered 'Sleep, Richard,' and he's out like a light.
They've put each other to bed numerous times before, when one of them had been too drunk or otherwise unable to take care of themselves, but this time is very different to the ones that came before. Till stays with him for the entire night, for one thing. Richard clings to him all throughout the night and the older man lets him, even though it seems to be that he's forfeiting his own share of sleep to take care of the guitarist. At half-past six in the morning, Till tucks him in and leaves the room for a while only to come back with a glass of orange juice and some hot, salty soup in a thermos to ease the other's inevitable hangover; Richard wakes up to the sun shining beneath the red curtains (making the place certainly brighter but much easier to bear) and the singer sitting beside him in bed, casually sipping at some water and reading through his notes.
"I got those for you," Till tells him, and when the younger man puts the pieces together he almost bursts into tears again out of surprise and appreciation. It only sinks in then, how everything suddenly seems to have changed for the better; he's so ecstatic about it that he's not even half as hungover as he ought to be. Around midday the other band members come back, and they're just as taken aback by how things between the two men have changed literally overnight.
"Did something happen between you and Till?" Schneider asks Richard when they're alone; the guitarist simply shrugs but he can't stop himself smiling, either. Now he knows how the drummer felt when Till first talked to him.
"He finally opened up to me as well, is all," is the only answer he gives. Schneider's expression is full of questions, and he can see that everyone else is also dying to know what's happened (although they are still immensely happy about this development), but that's all he'll let on. What happened between him and Till is something quite special; Richard takes some pleasure in this secrecy, and judging from the occasional glances that Till gives him, he can see the older man feels the same. In the height of his euphoria, the guitarist feels - for the first time in years - as if things might play out in a significantly better way from now on. And this time, he doesn't experience any doubts about that statement. A true blessing.
-----
"We're going to write a song together," Till announces, two days later, as he puts down a blank sheet of paper in front of them. "right here. Right now. All six of us."
"For the album?"
"Forget the album for the time being. We're writing a song together. That's all it is, whether it gets recorded or not."
Flake raises an eyebrow, but nevertheless sits himself down properly, grabbing a pen from his pocket and scrutinizing the paper. "What brought this on?"
Till doesn't respond but throws a glance in Richard's direction (prompting a little smile) before sitting next to him. "What would it be about, for starters?" Schneider asks from opposite him, stretching his back slightly.
"I don't have a clue. What do you want it to be about?"
"Lieber Gott, Lindemann," the drummer sighs in faux-exasperation, but his eyes are twinkling. "just because you're back to normal doesn't mean you get to be cryptic as hell again! There needs to be some sort of idea, a form that we can give a meaning to if we want to start, you know none of us have really written a song for ages apart from you," he pauses there, his expression suddenly changing. "hang on..."
"Well, we've already got three in our bag," Paul thinks aloud as he chews the end of his pen. "two obligatory songs about sex and abuse and the soft ballad that we can't decide on the lyrics for. Why don't we... why don't we write one for our fans?"
There falls a silence so thick that one would be able to hear a pin drop. The older guitarist looks around, confused, before he grimaces nervously. "... Did I say something wrong?"
"No, you said just the right thing, actually," Flake says softly. "in fact... what do you say that we go meta and write something dedicated to our fans and ourselves? After all, they have been waiting for about three years now-"
"-and so have we," Olli finishes for him. Without further ado, he delicately plucks out the pen from Flake's hands (the older man doesn't complain) and writes down the very first line of his input. The rest of the band leans in to read what is being written. 'Ein Weg - ein Ziel - ein Motiv," the bassist murmurs to himself, pauses, and then writes 'Rammstein' beneath it in brackets.
"Leave out the brackets, we'll use it. And let's put a hyphen halfway through," Till suggests, nodding in approval, and does exactly that. "it fits the meter better if there's a pause. What else are we?"
Richard, observing, is quite surprised at how everyone is jumping in with suggestions. Paul and Schneider don't get to contribute very often, and Richard's efforts have lessened in recent years. This is certainly a bonding event if nothing else is.
'What else are we?'
One direction - one feeling, of flesh, of blood - one collective.
"I'll add to it too," he offers, and then throws himself into it along with the others. And just like that, everyone is working on their own little section and throwing about bits of advice and corrections, stitching together a message to their fans and themselves. Till is leading them when it comes to basics like meter and rhyme, his low voice testing each line methodically. Apart from that, not only are they working from basically nothing, all of them are actually contributing evenly to this song. A far cry from when Till would just come back with pages of lyrics now and then and ask Olli for an initial bassline before asking for further suggestions. Soon even their talk begins to die down as the song takes shape, only the frantic scribbling of pens and the occasional murmur breaking their sacred silence. It is not until this moment that Richard realizes that Till's mutism has been a blessing in disguise, that it's helped them bond in a way that they haven't imagined before. It's not just about being a collected entity known as Rammstein - but as human beings and close friends first and foremost.
It is four hours later and one o'clock in the morning when they finally collapse, tangled in a mass of limbs and empty bottles of schnapps, shockingly exhausted and yet perfectly sane in their elation. It is Olli who gets a new sheet of paper and writes up their established lyrics due to his significantly more elegant and legible handwriting, and when he's finished, they all stare down at the lyric sheet and the paper they were making all their corrections in, silently comparing the two.
"Perfekt," the usually-critical Flake finally manages to say, Till grins widely in response, and that makes it final as far as the rest of them are concerned. Out of every song they will work on for their sixth album during the following months, it is this one that takes them the least amount of time, and the collective look of pride and affection on the other's faces is something that Richard will remember for years on end.
He is especially proud of his contribution: four lines making up a verse, repeated at the very beginning and at the very end.
The one who waits with prudence
Will be rewarded at the right time!
Well, the waiting has ended...
The last line is his favourite: simple but powerful, a proud declaration to all and a secret ode to one at once. Richard takes much pride in it.
Lend your ears - to a legend!
-----
"Risch, pass me the stein over there, would you, bitte?"
"Sure thing," Richard says and does so from the side table, which is loaded with a variety of drinks. Paul thanks him as he accepts the drink, sitting himself down next to the younger guitarist; they both sit there in mutual silence, happy and feeling contented. It is early November and less than a month since their sixth album, 'Liebe ist für alle da' came out to great fanfare and critical reception - along with a generous dose of controversy as well, just the way they like it. They've just finished the first gig of the first tour they've been on since 2005 and Richard thinks that he can't be the only one who's missed this feeling for the past few years. The love from the fans has been practically tangible that evening. "are you feeling okay then, Paul?"
"I'm beat," but the older man's grinning happily. "but I feel better than I have for quite a while. You?"
"Much of the same. Looking forward to tomorrow, really."
"What, for the dinner that Till and Flake promised if this thing ended up being censored?"
Richard sniggers in response. "Pfft. There's that too, of course! But really, I just missed touring. I nearly forgot how good it felt to stand in front of all those people and perform - and it's much better, actually having new songs and stunts as well," he leans back, his gaze shifting from the other's face to around the room. The rest of the bandmates are scattered about, clearly just as in high spirits as both he and Paul are. Even Flake's laughing and lightheartedly talking to people. "I think I'm really going to enjoy this tour."
The older guitarist follows Richard's gaze, which is now resting on Till's form (who's chatting amicably to the roadies and dabbing at his forehead with a towel). Unbeknownst to Richard himself, the sight's making him smile a little - seeing this, Paul hesitates for only a second before he casually leans towards the younger man.
"So... have you told Till yet?" Paul asks quietly, keeping his voice very low in the way that he does when he's being particularly serious. Richard flinches at the remark and stares at him nervously.
"Told... told him what?"
"Well, you still like him, right?" he gestures in Till's direction with his stein, but doesn't look away from Richard. "so did you tell him that when he recovered?"
"... I don't understand what you're talking about, Paul, of course I like Till. 'Still' doesn't come into it! It would have been a problem if I didn't like him at any point."
Paul gazes at him for several seconds before chuckling and slapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, no. That's not what I meant, Risch! You can be so innocent sometimes!" Richard is completely at a loss for words and is struggling to think of a response before he is briefly saved by the presence of Olli coming over and sitting beside them.
"Far too crowded where I was at, hope you don't mind me joining you. What are you guys talking about?"
"Risch and Till," Paul answers, not expanding on any further - it could mean anything in that form. But the lingering fear in Richard's heart is confirmed when understanding dawns on the bassist's face.
"Oh," he says. "that."
Before Richard can even inquire as to what the hell is going on, Olli stands up and gestures for the two of them to follow him. Paul drags the younger guitarist along by one wrist, drink still in one hand, and together they find an empty dressing room where Olli securely closes the door and sits down on a stool. "Three's a crowd," he says matter-of-factly as if that explains everything. "better off here where we won't be joined by anyone else."
"Would either of you please explain what the hell is going on already? What are-"
"Oh, Risch, stop teasing us! You know what already. Six albums, fifteen years and still not a word? I swear-" Paul takes a sip of his beer while saying this, his voice light and casual; but when he sees the confused expression on Richard's face he immediately falters. "- no way," he breathes, looking genuinely in disbelief. "don't tell me... you haven't figured it out?"
The younger guitarist sighs in frustration. "Figure what out?"
"Why, you're in love with Till, right?" Olli says, raising his eyebrow.
Richard is completely speechless for the second time that night. Olli has spelled things out for him in such an unexpectedly matter-of-fact tone of voice, and Paul looks just as calm that he can't quite grasp it properly yet. He can't even shake his head to deny it.
"I... I don't know, I mean... how..." he speaks up, his mouth feeling dry. "how long have you known? Who else knows?"
Not the best of questions, but Olli and Paul look so relieved to see that he's not in denial that he doesn't try to amend it. "It has to be at least five years, probably more," the bassist says softly. "Flake saw it first - he told us that he could see hints of it when we started touring after our first break. We haven't... well, we've never gotten together and discussed it or anything, but I think everyone except for you and Till knew by the time your divorce was finalized."
"And it wouldn't be preposterous to say that maybe Till felt the same all along, actually. From the way he's acted in the past, it probably stretches back to even before you got married. He's probably just not about to make the first move." Paul adds. Richard sighs.
"So everyone except for me has a concrete idea of my feelings towards Till. Even he probably knows about it."
"Very likely."
"Ah."
An awkward silence falls between the three of them as Richard tries to process what this means for the band. He probably should be asking for clarification as to where Paul and Olli are getting this assumption from, that perhaps Till feels the same. But all he wants to know, really, is why Till never said anything about any of this if he really knew. Sure, the guitarist hasn't done a very good job of hiding his feelings, especially in their last encounter; for all he knows, though, Till's understood for over a decade. That would place things quite some years before his ill-fated marriage, when Richard himself hadn't even thought about the possibility that he might have been in love with the singer, which offsets things by a significant amount. The thought of Till reciprocating, though, gives him a brief surge of hope followed by a strange emptiness. "Well... erm, that's good enough, isn't it?"
Paul looks at him, seemingly startled. "What is?"
"If Till knows... that's good enough, right? I mean, I'm certainly not about to jump straight in and grab him by the collar and insist that we're soulmates or anything like that, Caron was bad enough. We're middle-aged - we can't really go and blunder on about stuff like this. If it's mutual... that should be okay by itself, shouldn't it?"
Olli lets out a small 'oh' at this remark, while Paul stares at him incredulously. "Risch... well, I can't tell you your business, but this kind of thing is really not what you'd just pass off as mutual and keep silent about. Of course you've got to tell him. Don't you think that it's precisely because we're middle-aged that you've got a responsibility to tell him before time runs out?"
"Well, then why hasn't he told me? He's older than I am, and if he knew all along..."
"Till's probably taken a similar approach to you," the bassist stands up and walks over to a makeup table, checking his face in the mirror. "let's face it, you had it pretty damn hard the last few years because of your ex-wife and other things. Till went through the same things as you did, but earlier, and he's had a lot of time to heal and express himself so it doesn't show that much. He'd have known exactly what you felt. And he's a sensitive man, I doubt he would have wanted to spring that on you so soon after your divorce when he understood your situation too well. He probably wanted to approach you even less when we were going through that rough patch, who knows what kind of misunderstanding might have occurred? Denial might have been involved, too."
"Hang on," Richard interrupts, holding up a hand. "I'm not... really grasping this yet. I should have asked earlier. How did you figure him out? I certainly haven't..."
Paul swirls the last bit of his drink around his stein and downs it, setting it down on the table. "Anyone with half an eye could see it, really. Maybe you and Till were just so constantly in contact with each other that you never noticed small changes in his behavior. But I'd figured that you'd at least gained some inkling of his feelings, a couple of years back, when you brought up Emigrate and he completely lost it on you."
"That was meant to be a hint? Jesus, Paul, Till absolutely terrified me back then!"
"He was terrified of losing you," the older guitarist says pointedly. "you weren't there when he was ranting and raving about approving Emigrate over his dead body. Yes, that's what happened before you came over to Flake's that time, and when me and Doom met him at that bar - he told us about arguing with you back then, too. Now you know. You explaining yourself probably did him a lot of good, even if you two ended up arguing."
Olli turns away from the mirror and stands with his hands in his pockets. "Emigrate aside, I thought just the way he acted around you in general was enough of a hint, Risch. ('I second that', says Paul) The look that he gives you when you play your solos onstage. How he likes to sit next to you and keep you company during after-concert parties and whenever we go anywhere by plane - Flake and I've seen him amend entire bookings for that, you know. How he doesn't even want to do any interviews in case they ask him something about you that he doesn't feel that he should respond to - not like he likes interviews anyway, but I'm sure that's a big reason. There are all sorts of things."
Richard is silent as he thinks about all of those things. He can't honestly say that he ever noticed Till giving him looks onstage, having always thought that their interaction during performances had dwindled significantly after his marriage and had never really recovered. Given that he's always too engrossed in playing his guitar, that's another reason as to why he might not have noticed. But the more he thinks about it, the better what Olli and Paul said fits into his memories. He doesn't even really remember flights or bar parties in the past few years when Till didn't end up sitting next to him. He's not sure what to feel about this except for a vaguely unsettling realization that all of this happened right in front of all his bandmates, who were watching and observing for all of those years. If all of those things played a part in their collective reluctance to confront either Till or Richard during the former's period of silence-
As if his mind's been read, he feels Paul's hand squeeze gently on his shoulder. "We certainly wouldn't mind, Risch. We never have," he says with his characteristic smile, so bright and honest that the guitarist can't help but nod back. "we've been wondering whether Till or you would make the first move for quite some time now. Doom even has a bet going with Olli."
"What?!"
Olli rolls his eyes. "Trust you not to keep anything like that quiet, Paul! You let onto every secret but the most important ones. Don't worry about it, Risch," he says quickly, seeing the unreadable expression on the other's face. "it doesn't involve money. That'd be tactless beyond belief, putting monetary value on the relationship between you and him - if Till confessed first, I'd have to maintain and shine his drumkit for a week and vice versa with my bass if you were the first to let it on."
"So technically Doom's lost that bet," Paul says.
"I don't even think I'll pursue it, though," the bassist says while standing up. "a silly bet that me and Doom created a whole year ago doesn't matter to anyone else, and even if we both kept to it, it'd cease to be relevant after a week. You and Till working out is a completely serious matter. How could we measure your relationship in the scale of who's got the shiniest musical instrument in the band? Till has eyes only for you. We've all known him for long enough to notice. Be good to him, all right?"
For someone who isn't even in their forties yet, Olli sure understands the grievances of his bandmates who are. Richard nods blankly before his mind registers what's been said, and he downcasts his eyes. "I... well, I don't know how to be good to Till, Olli. I really don't. Good doesn't describe what I've been like to him all of those years, and that's really rich coming from me - I promised him from the very beginning that I wouldn't let him be unhappy, and look what good that's done. Months and years of making him suffer with me because I couldn't keep my own problems to myself, and after that I didn't even know how to help him for a long time until recently. And Till... really deserves somebody who isn't a complete and utter bastard to him. He'll be fifty before any of us will be, he's hardly going to want to play around with stray feelings by that point, and he really doesn't need the crap that he gets put through all the time as it is. You'd agree there."
"Of course we agree," Paul answers kindly. "and that somebody is you because you aren't a complete and utter bastard. We've been playing alongside you for fifteen years. Do you think we'd have let you become an asshole? If you'd turned out to be one, that would have been our failure too, as much as yours. Till wouldn't have looked at you twice. You haven't failed."
Olli adds to this with a nod - "Risch, you said it yourself just now. You might not have known how to help him 'until recently', but it probably matters to Till more that you've gotten it now. As for the other side of things, I wouldn't say that he was completely and utterly flawless regarding you either. But it's worked out, hasn't it? You can just see it in his eyes. Till's a much happier man now, Risch, there's no need to worry. Why would he have bounced back so quickly otherwise?"
Richard looks at them for a few seconds and casts his eyes downwards, a little flushed at the compliment. Things are moving so fast; his worldview has gone through yet another major change and it's only taken five minutes or so. And yet he knows not to question his bandmates' confidence, knows that they're sincere - snapshots of events from his past are flickering in his head, and suddenly he realizes that what he's never dared to state with utter conviction before makes plain, perfect sense now: I am in love with Till Lindemann. Along with that realization comes the adjacent re-interpretation of everything his bandmates had been doing in the past years: the way all of them had tried to keep Till from him as long as possible back during the row about Emigrate, the way Olli had looked at him while they'd been dealing with a drunk and passed out Till in the bedroom, Flake's constant mediating between them, how they had all taken the blame for the singer's mutism first so that Richard would not have to suffer alone, even how they would always either leave a room that the two were in or occupy it according to the atmosphere. He looks up, a little smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, and sees that both Olli and Paul are smiling back encouragingly at him.
"You might not be an angel, Risch, but you'll be good to Till. Perfect, even. We've been together for a very long time and we can see it. We know."
"Supposing that you actually tell the poor guy within the next century," Paul chuckles, and gets tugged into a playful wrestling match with Richard in response. That's the way the conversation ends, with the three of them walking back to the main room afterwards, casually laughing and joking around. None of them mention it again that night. But while they're all back in the tour bus, driving overnight to their next destination, Richard does find himself thinking over everything as he lies in his bunk. He's agonized about whether what he felt for the singer was really love for years - but this time, no matter how much he tries to raise questions again, the objections he had before simply refuse to come. It's just a fact now, something that became truth without his knowledge. God knows if he can pinpoint exactly when, but that's not important.
His realization is not without quite a bit of regret, however. When he thinks of Till or performs alongside him, he keeps himself extra alert to the things that Paul and Olli told him about, just to see if they're true. Within a gig or two he has to concede that they are, that the singer does throw him approving glances and brush up against him when he thinks Richard isn't paying much attention. Richard also notices the way Flake and Schneider respectfully try to give them as much room as possible (along with the fact that Olli gains a suspiciously bright shine to his bass for about a week after their initial discussion, despite what he said then). They've cared for Till, they've cared for Richard individually - and they were indeed being considerate for the feelings between them all along. An eye-opener. This makes him very happy, but at the same time a little sad because he spent so much time not noticing any of this. He can't deny that things have worked out well, perhaps better than they would have if he'd noticed beforehand, but Richard is forty-two years old now and he does feel a little melancholy when he thinks of the years that - for the lack of a better word - have essentially been wasted. They're simply not young anymore, and his wistful mind can't help but think that he should have made a move earlier.
But slowly, he comes to terms with the fact that this was in no way a bad thing. He couldn't stop Till, back in their 'Rosenrot' days. He couldn't stop Till getting older any more than he could stop himself; he understands now that that was the natural thing to do, that there was no point holding onto a past form of the singer and that it was good enough that they were tied together during the years, every step of the way. When Richard became depressed and angry, Till would take care of Khira Li for him, bring him meals, and when the younger man went through his divorce he'd offered his silence and acceptance to speed up his healing. When Till was going through his own depression and anger afterwards, the experience he'd gained before from the older man had helped; Richard had given him the little things to appreciate, had been the first in many occasions to reach out or make physical contact, and when he was angry he would not react by throwing a fit as before, preferring to think of the singer first no matter how much he wanted to lash out. In hundreds of tiny ways Till had taught him care, he had taught him control, and Richard had never realized that he was learning. He's been struggling all along with relatively minor but abrasive feelings, when the most important things were there all along; they had all come to him as naturally as breathing or eating, and he had treated all of those occasions as if they were nothing but that - natural and unquestionable - without realizing that those things were the ones that affirmed his bond to Till in the first place.
Well, I've sorted myself out. What about Till?
Truthfully, he can't raise his head high and say that Till feels exactly the same for him and that there's nothing left but for them to be together now. Years' worth of cautiousness doesn't just evaporate like that, and Richard knows this because he's been hurt many times before as well. Once bitten, twice shy. Trust takes years to build up but seconds to destroy. The bond that they have is strong, far stronger than any other bond they will ever create with anyone else even if they lived another forty-plus years. It is also too precious, still far too fragile to risk destroying, and that's the last thing either of them would ever want. Not something that should be jumped into without thought, because as Richard himself noted before, they're middle-aged. There's no time to play around with stray feelings and petty arguments. Better to consolidate their emotions completely, even if it takes more years, or not make a move at all. If he does make a move, though, he won't let time run out. That much is clear.
After all those years of tension, some might wonder why he's even holding on, why he's persistently walking along a knife edge when it's still not too late for him to seek a much less complicated relationship. He's not that old yet. People might tell him that he can do better, he could go for someone who's more beautiful or handsome - someone better adjusted. A decade ago, he really hadn't done badly in that regard with Caron. But if people said that to him now, he'd simply shake his head and say no, he can't. Of course Caron had been absolutely beautiful. Richard had high standards then, and nothing much has changed now. But then every single woman he had ever been with, for however long, had been beautiful; dressed in beautiful clothes, living in beautiful houses, laughing, talking and smiling ever so beautifully. Even he is a beautiful man for his age; his body is still very lean and fit, and he's still considered very handsome and charming. Caron, other groupies, his countless fans, himself, becoming slowly natureless in their combined beauty.
Till isn't beautiful. He certainly doesn't have a pretty face like Schneider or Richard. He's still tall, strong, the very image of manliness; but it would be a stretch to call him beautiful with his curiously mismatched features and an almost nonchalant unkemptness. And even then, it might not last very long. Richard has seen the other's hairline recede a little in recent times, and how he looks rather washed out and thin after performances compared to before - age isn't being particularly kind to his stamina, if not his looks. But because of that, his charm is more clearly highlighted along with the individual little bits of beauty that he does possess - his eyes have only become more clear and expressive recently, his lips more lovingly defined by age and the occasional stubble, and his voice has matured to such an extent that listening to him can provoke unexpected surges of emotion at any time. Till's soul shows through his every word, every movement - every time the singer as much as looks in his direction, it's obvious that he truly understands the younger man - and all this adds up to Richard wanting him so much that he feels as if his heart is about to burst.
Thoughts that he had only ever guiltily entertained before flood into his mind with far more ease nowadays, especially seeing as Richard isn't attempting to push them away anymore: Till lacing his fingers through his own, running his lips over his forehead and cheeks, kissing him full on the mouth, holding them both in his strong embrace as they lie naked in bed and get to the final stage of genuinely knowing everything about one another. Those intrusive thoughts make Richard blush often, especially that last one, and they're certainly quite embarrassing thoughts to have onstage when a shirtless and sweat-slicked Till is often singing right next to him. And despite all this, Richard quite likes it because even though he might feel like a blushing schoolgirl it means he's come to terms with the extent of his feelings. It's about time he stopped struggling with them.
The only threat to their relationship are themselves. He understands that now.
But that doesn't mean that it's the time to go to him and declare his feelings out loud. They're in the midst of a tour for one thing, a tour that looks like it will last a good long while - and there's no sense in unbalancing the dynamics of the band in the middle of it. Once he confesses, things might or might not be better for them both, but things will change in irreversible ways; he doesn't know whether that will benefit their current situation, and knows that this is not the time to take the risk. He still has his daughter to take care of when he's not on tour, things to sort out and clean up. Richard does want to talk to Till again, desperately so, but he's wise enough to know that this isn't quite the time yet. Nevertheless, they've overcome a major obstacle in their relationship, and when Till gives him one of those smiles of his or lets his hand brush against Richard's skin, the guitarist wants to hold his hand and look into his green eyes and say: you know me, Till Lindemann, and I know you. Perhaps we might not find out absolutely everything about each other right now, and probably not ever, but I will never meet anyone who will ever know me better than you do. What we know is more than enough.
In a couple of years those words will mean so much more to both of them, but now is not the time to say it.
You know me, Till.
It'd be like telling the sea that it was wet.
So Richard closes his eyes and strums his guitar and every time he hears Till sing something inside him aches with a fond longing - and he lets it happen because it is the natural way things should be.
- 7
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