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Silence	By : kimbk Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1908 -:- 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
- 1
- 2
Author's Note: Here's me dabbling in real person slash for the first time. Boy oh boy this will be interesting. While the tags say 'No Sex' - well, I don't plan to change that for the time being because this is also getting posted on DeviantArt and I'd like to have the same version on both sites - you can look forward to lots and lots of Till/Richard interaction and fluff and (hopefully) character development.
This fic is getting to be ridiculously long. This is only the first chapter and currently I've got about.... 60% written. It's over 19,000 words already. So yeah this is probably going to be a four or five-parter, and each part will be pretty long. Just the way everyone likes it. xDD
My inspiration for this came from Deviantart; a picture there by NightCatty has a depiction of pre-Rammstein!Till working as a basket weaver and Richard trying to persuade him to come to Berlin with him so they can start up the band and it is so adorable I don't even. That one picture is to blame for this huge fanfic and goddamn am I grateful.
As stated multiple times, Till/Richard. The entire fic will be seen through Richard's point of view. I hope you like it!
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"I need you, Till! Come to Berlin with me."
This is the seventh day that Richard has tried to persuade Dietrich Lindemann to be the singer for their new band. Except that he shouldn't be called that because he hates the name 'Dietrich' and prefers to be called 'Till' instead, and the fact that he's not at all an easy person to persuade in those matters. Richard supposes that it was a bit surprising for Till as well; he did kind of spring the news onto the older man without much warning, and he never really gave the man much time to think about it. It's fair enough that he's being hesitant.
But Richard needs to be fair on himself as well. And he justifies this with the fact that his discovery of Till's vocal talent is a very recent development, and that he needs to persuade the older man because he truly does not want that voice being wasted on nothing. He has other ideas for the band as well, but reeling in Till is his first concern.
And for the seventh day in a row, the man refuses to acknowledge his request. He simply looks at Richard, shakes his head, and goes to his workshop. Till has worked a lot of odd jobs in his life and this is possibly the oddest he's had so far - basket weaving. He is incredibly good at what he does, but that doesn't change the fact that it's still bizarre. Richard sighs; he follows the man inside, and leans against the workshop doorway with a pleading look.
"Won't you consider it?" He says. Till simply gives him a wild-eyed look and weaves a long strand of willow through the base of the basket that he's working on, wrapping it deftly around the frame. He's by no means a small man - Till has a truly magnificent swimmer's physique, strong and tightly muscled with a tall, imposing stature - but it's quite engaging to see his large hands working ever so quickly on something like a small basket. How he does that is anyone's guess; delicate is not a word for him and his body, but he manages to be exactly that in so many other ways. But then, as stated before, Till is a man of many talents and it's probably about time that Richard stopped marveling so much at them; however, his vocal talent is not something he's about to let up on.
It all started as one single moment that could have been easily missed. Had it been anyone but Richard who had walked past Till's workshop a week ago, none of this would be happening right now. He's planning a band at the moment; both him and Till are playing in a band called 'First Arsch' - Till plays drums and he plays guitar - but this will be completely different. He's not sure what's going to happen yet, but it'll be a sight to behold; with them both, Paul (the other guitarist of First Arsch and a truly hilarious bastard to have around), and some others, it really could turn out great. But the short version of all this is that he originally planned to have Till as the drummer, which was one decision that got very quickly overturned when he walked past the workshop and the door happened to be open and he heard the older man singing to himself inside. He'd peeked in without Till noticing and had stood there, listening with utter fascination and surprise.
What a beautiful, powerful voice, he had thought, leaning on the very doorway that he was leaning on now. He'd felt dazed with sheer admiration; he'd known that the man was a talented writer, and sometimes he would murmur some of his lyrics whilst testing their rhythm and metre, but he had never really sung like this before. This was not a side of him that Richard was familiar with but he was eager to learn more about it for sure, and with that sprung up the idea - why not have Till as a vocalist? Unfortunately, that's about as far as he got before the older man spotted him and stopped singing, utterly mortified at being discovered. Since then he has barely spoken to Richard at all, probably too embarrassed to be met with unexpected praise.
"We've got time," he coaxes. "you know I'll be coming back every day, Till, until you agree or give a better alternative - and to be honest I don't see how there can be a better alternative when you're here. You are talented, you know. Drums, bass and now vocals? I'd kill to have the talent you have."
Till doesn't reply. He tightens the willow handle around the basket, gives it a little polish, and nods at it in approval before putting it back down on the counter. One basket down, six more to go before lunch. Richard figures that he'll try again after lunchtime, and slips out of the workshop. He could use a smoke.
What a strange person Till is, he muses as he lights up and inhales, exhaling pearly smoke where it dissolves in the breeze. He's been friends with the man for years and he still hasn't got him figured out. Till is outwardly gruff and somewhat distant at times, but when they're performing he can be quite energetic - but neither of those personalities are anywhere close to what he's actually like. Richard twirls his cigarette in his fingers and tries to gather what he's seen of the real Till - quiet, contemplative, soulful. All this coming from a man who sings like an angel to boot. The younger man can't see what's so wrong about wanting Till as a singer, it can only do them good if his judgment proves correct. He's a talented lyricist, his voice (bass-baritone, Richard roughly assumes) powerful enough to carry across the whole audience, and he cuts an impressive figure. The singer of a band usually becomes the default image of the entire band itself, and he admits to himself with a smile that having a band in Till's image is quite appealing to him.
They're not really boys after all. Oliver Riedel, the planned new bassist for the band, is twenty-three but one wouldn't be able to guess that from his image and personality. He's eight years younger than Till (their oldest member, if things go well) but doesn't look nor act like he's the youngest out of all of them. Richard figures that none of them are too into making themselves look particularly feminine or 'soft'. No prospective members that Richard's thinking of have a particularly effeminate side, so they've got to work with their masculinity. Till's a fine example of that all right. Strongly muscled from his swimmer days and constant exercise, taller than most and good-looking in a rugged sort of way - he's got the atmosphere of the truly Teutonic around him. Drums are bass are well-suited to him, but ideally he should be somewhere more visible, and Richard will make sure that it happens.
It is starting to rain. When he stubs out the cigarette and goes back inside, the workshop door is closed and it's 9:40am. Still a few hours left before lunch. He keeps that in mind before going back to his work.
-----
Lunchtime has come and gone and the door's remained staunchly closed throughout. Till's work ethic is truly admirable; Richard supposes that he's gotten so engrossed in what he's doing that he's lost all sense of time. He's a little disappointed but not too surprised, because this isn't the first time he's seen this happen. His friend is hardworking like that, and it's actually quite admirable.
Richard smiles towards the workshop door, leaning back on the couch with a drink in hand. He's become quite fond of Till in the time that they've spent working together, and he can't very well deny it. And what's so wrong with him being fond of the man, anyway, when they're genuine friends and when they just kind of click together - snap - just like that? They've both had quite a ride in their lives already. Both of them have daughters that they're raising and Till's been married once, although they're now separated. Neither of them have had a very conventional life so far, but they've both emerged as adults in their own respective ways and that's all it should matter. Both of them have had a blast of a time playing in First Arsch, and Richard's opinion is that things could continue in that direction quite easily. If only Till would eventually come around to his point of view!
The first three days that the younger man spent trying to persuade Till was met with stony silence and a slightly mortified glance or two. But the fourth day had actually been somewhat successful in terms of getting Till's opinion on the project, and that's still what he's referring back to. That was when Richard came across the most significant obstacle in having the older man as a vocalist; it turned out, after much coaxing and pleading, that Till disliked being too visible on stage. "I don't really like performing onstage," he'd admitted in a near inaudible voice, nervously lacing and unlacing his fingers together. From that gesture alone the younger man knew that it was serious. "drums are fine precisely because I'm out of sight. Gives me something to pay attention to."
This is quite obviously a problem. Richard hasn't figured out if it's a fear of the stage or something else, but either way, there's no way he can force someone with that kind of aversion to take what is essentially the leading position in a band. Till did end up agreeing that it's something he can get over with time, and he did clarify that it's not such a big problem that it would impair his ability to sing completely, but he hasn't expanded on it since.
"Who will replace me as drummer?" Till had also asked, and upon being informed of Christopher Schneider, seemed to frown a little. But they're both acquainted, and Schneider is a charming man (if outwardly a little aloof), so he eventually seemed to approve of that choice after a few minutes of deep thought. Anyone who's seen the man on drums would probably approve as well, because unlike Till who pursues drumming to try to stay out of sight (and thus keeps a laid-back style), Schneider makes it almost a personal vow to be as wild and passionate as possible onstage. He's also a man who's both handsome and extremely versatile in his appearance at the same time, which Richard admires greatly and thinks will be a great asset to his stage persona. Schneider would be eye-catching and at the same time unrecognizable with some cleverly applied makeup or a haircut or even some facial hair, allowing for lots of possibilities regarding his appearance. One could do that with Till but no matter how much he changes his hair or clothes or whatever, he would always look like Till beneath it all and that's really just the end of it. That's a desirable factor, though, if he's to be the singer of the band - he'll always be recognizable, regardless of what's done to him.
Richard knows that his thoughts are wandering, and he glances at the clock and briefly contemplates going to discuss things with the older man again. But he decides against it almost immediately - it's not as if it can't wait. Eventually Till's going to have to stop for food and that'll be his chance. Satisfied, he lapses back into his own thoughts; while Till isn't the most handsome person he's ever seen, Richard somehow prefers his looks. Schneider, for example, has well-defined features that compliment each other, but individually they don't stand out quite as much. Till's features certainly stand out in his radiant, surprisingly wide and clear blue-green eyes and long eyelashes, which become particularly prominent whenever he smiles (quite a rare event) or has a surprised expression on his face. They lend him a variety of expressions ranging from soulful to almost innocent and boyish. He also has the most perfectly shaped mouth, Richard thinks to himself while gazing absent-mindedly ahead and tapping on his long-since empty glass. One wouldn't think it from someone so outwardly stoic as Till, but his lips are most delicately formed, pink and soft and almost feminine in their beauty. If one is looking at Till from a sideways view, preferably when the older man is working with a half-lidded gaze, then from that angle the man's face is perfection in itself. The guitarist follows this thought up with a chuckle directed at himself for having such strange thoughts in his head.
Eyes and lips. The older man's face is a beautifully mismatched one precisely because of those two features. The younger man smiles at the thought and leans further back on the couch, aware that his heart is suddenly beating a little faster than before. That tends to happen whenever he thinks about Till, his expressions, and (recently) his voice. Lately Richard hasn't been quite sure of the extent of his feelings for the man. On one hand, he finds Till a good friend and acquaintance and somebody to share drinks with in a bar and laugh about the most insignificant of things. On the other hand he finds him admirable in a completely different sort of way; Richard would be a liar if he didn't acknowledge that he's sometimes thought about the older man in a more intimate manner, imagined his strong muscular arms around his waist and smiling at him in the way that lovers do. But of course that's just a thought. Richard himself doesn't think that he's in love with Till in that way, but if things ever turned out like that (the possibility is faint but exists, they've got decades of life ahead of them) then he probably won't mind that at all. But he does, just once, want to sleep next to Till - he simply wants to feel the other's warmth and see him asleep and vulnerable and charmingly oblivious to everything. It's probably going to be a very awkward affair if it ever happened, seeing as they aren't used to sleeping in one half of a bed with another man occupying the other half, but it'd nevertheless be something that would make Richard feel quite contented.
Everything else is speculation and possibly just a fleeting fantasy, but this much is true: he wants Till to be open with him.
That's not too much to ask. Or is it? Richard suddenly isn't so sure. Open certainly isn't a word for what the older man's been like for the past week. Till's always making baskets or trying to catch a rest, and barely talks to anyone, let alone Richard. It's getting to be at a near-obsessed level. He finds himself a little alarmed at this, and stands up to put the empty glass away, wondering how much of his friend he truly knows; could it be that him trying to persuade Till without much success is because he doesn't really know about the man? Perhaps if Richard knew him, really knew everything about his personality and opinions and stances in life, perhaps the thought of getting Till in the band wouldn't have occurred to him in the first place. After all, he hasn't been successful yet. He might have been beating a dead horse all this time and never really realized it.
This thought is a very disturbing one for the guitarist, and just to get his mind off it he knocks on the workshop door and goes inside when there is no reply. The older man is still sitting in front of the counter, a finished basket in hand; he gives it a look over, pats it lightly and puts it aside to work on another. He sees not seven completed baskets but fifteen and is inwardly amazed - all hopes of lunch are gone now, it being too late for that, and chances are Till didn't even notice because he was so engrossed in what he was doing. He probably got so into it that he dug up unfinished baskets from the previous days' work as well, along with making a couple of the next day's orders in advance. It is utterly crazy and so completely Till that Richard briefly finds himself at a loss as to what to say.
Mere containers made of willow and reed have stolen his friend away. Ridiculously melodramatic to put it like that, perhaps, but that's a good summary of his opinion on the whole thing.
"How many have you got left?" he finally asks, and Till gestures towards the left-hand corner of the counter. Two left, and they're both nearly finished. From this he deduces that Till isn't particularly up to talking about the project again - but this time, it doesn't come off as annoying or something to feel desperate about. He's quite startled himself at that revelation for a second or two, but then it suddenly makes sense to him. He's pestered Till for days on end without much success, of course they must be feeling drained; and really, now that he's starting to think about it, he doesn't have a right to be doing this to the man. Till has his family to look after, he has work to do, and Richard asking him to give it all up is preposterous. The guitarist bites his lip as he leans against the wall and looks at the older man working - it's never occurred to him, somehow, that Till is doing all of this for a very good reason. Seven straight days of thinking about nothing but Till and years of knowing the man and he's never thought about it, and with that realization comes embarrassment and shame.
Well, he tries to think of the other side of things, he's surely not so desperate for money. He's told me so himself, that he has savings and things to fall back upon should be decide to take on riskier objectives, and Till's one of the sharpest men out there when it comes to managing himself and his family.
All true, of course. But Till being so competent makes him feel ashamed that he can't be more like him. His heart tells him that no one else but Till would do, and the project is still going ahead, but it's about time that he actually became honest with the older man. Now's as good as any time to do it.
"Look, Till," he speaks up, staring outside at the rain. The reflection on the glass shows that the older man is still hard at work. "I know I've been pestering you something awful the past few days. God knows why you haven't hit me yet, even though I must have bothered you half to death. I probably deserve it. No, that's not right - I do deserve it. I can't deny that, Till. I'd be pissed if I were you, too," he pauses for breath for a couple of seconds. "but I'm really being serious here. This isn't just about the band, you know - I've got no desire to cheapen your talent by displaying it everywhere, I really don't want that to happen. Your voice is beyond that. It might sound like a load of rubbish but I really do mean it when I say that your voice is the best thing that can ever be added to this band. No, screw that, it's the best thing I've come across in nearly ten years, honest. God knows how I never noticed after years of being friends with you and performing together in the same band, and after you made lyrical contributions as well. If I'd noticed earlier, perhaps we could have worked things out without me bothering you like this so much. We'd have had more time. I'm sorry for that, Till. I do mean it. I don't blame you for being hesitant-"
While he's spilling his heart out like this, he realizes that Till is no longer working on the basket; he's put it down altogether, listening intently to Richard's confession and silently waiting for more. Heart skipping a beat at this realization, the younger man nevertheless finds himself quite excited and pleased that he's gotten the other to pay such close attention to him. "-because, well, this is a risky venture after all. It's perfectly understandable. Who am I to undermine your feelings, really? I can't and I shan't pretend that I can. But despite all that I want you in the band - I want you as the vocals and no one else because your voice is just so beautiful and I know that I won't find anyone like that even if I searched high and low for years. Your voice is - how do I put this - well, your voice is the right one. It might not be the most powerful nor the most beautiful voice gifted to mankind, but it's the exact one that we need and no other factor matters to me. And..." he glances at Till's reflection on the glass, and sees that the older man has actually turned his body in his direction. "... me needing you? It's not strictly just in the voice sense or even your poems. I have no desire to use you just for the talents you've got to offer when you're so much more than that. I want you with me because you're how you are. I want to be where you are because you're Till Lindemann and you're a hard worker who takes on eccentric jobs and always has something odd and insightful to say about every situation. Because you're clammed up half the time and don't talk to anyone, but then sometimes you sing as if possessed by some sort of angel. Because you bang on those drums as if they were ex-girlfriends and not drums and end up spending a fortune on drumsticks, but at the same time you write poetry and weave baskets almost as if you've done nothing but weave baskets all your life."
"I want to be with you for this project because I'm confident that this can make you happy and I need you to be as fulfilled as possible," Richard stops there and smiles sadly. "I sound like a goddamned mother, don't I? You must think that I'm so selfish..."
He doesn't turn around, but he knows that the older man is watching. They remain silent for a few minutes, listening to the rain beating on the pavement outside, before the Richard sighs and turns to go.
"I won't bother you again today, Till..."
He gets as far as five steps before he hears the sound of a chair being scraped against the floor; glancing back, he sees that Till is standing right behind him, his expression surprisingly soft. Richard stops in his tracks, wondering what's going on. "Did you want to say something?"
Till keeps looking at him, and as gentle as his gaze is, Richard finds the silence somewhat unnerving. He's about to say something when Till finally makes a move and reaches out, taking one of the other's hands in both of his.
"I will, Richard," he says quietly. "I will come with you."
Richard is over the moon at those words. He immediately grabs Till in a tight embrace, pressing a passionate kiss of gratitude onto his cheek and repeatedly gushing about how grateful he is, that he won't end up regretting it under any circumstances ever because Richard won't allow it, and would he like to go out for dinner together because he'll pay for everything. The older man blinks at him, rather taken aback by the gesture, but he nods and smiles back within a few seconds. From that the younger man thinks that maybe things will go a lot more smoothly from now on.
-----
But he doesn't hear from Till after their dinner and a few initial agreements. When he drops in around five in the afternoon two days after, he finds Till in his workshop again, working on another basket.
"You don't have to make baskets anymore, Till," he says, rubbing his forehead and his mild irritation magnified by an hangover. The older man simply gives him another look and continues his work, delicately twisting a reed into place. "Jesus. Don't tell me that you're contracted to carry for another month or something? I thought you were quitting today."
"I did," Till replies quietly. "I've got enough to live on for now."
"Then why the hell are you-" Richard doesn't finish this sentence, simply throwing his hands up in defeat. The room is tidier than usual, and only then does the younger man notice that there aren't piles of unfinished baskets lying around as it usually does. There are still raw materials strewed over the counter, but the basket that Till has in his hands is the only one he can see. It's also rather large and a little deeper compared to the baskets that he's made in the past months. He thinks that this is certainly very odd, but shrugs it off - he can make at least five more with what he's got, he assumes, and this just makes him more annoyed.
"It'll just be this one," the older man says in a somewhat tired tone of voice. "I promise."
"It'd better be!" Richard says (it comes out much harsher than intended) before stalking out of the room; Till's probably stayed in there for the entire day again, he thinks to himself, while they could have discussed their future prospects instead. Something inside him protests that he's hugely overreacting, because it really isn't any of his goddamned business what Till chooses to do with his time and it's not as if the older man hasn't kept his promise. He didn't take his agreement back, and he's cleaned up his workshop and quit proper. What's Richard so anxious about?
"Richard."
Perhaps anxious isn't the right word, per se. He's just eager to get things started. He's just far too eager to work with Till. Whatever happened to that epiphany that he'd had forty-eight hours ago?
"Richard, wait."
He's already regretting his outburst and is about to turn back and apologize when Till rushes out of the room, obviously rather distraught. He grasps Richard by the shoulder and spins him around, his eyes wide with panic; this is weird because the older man's not known for being particularly emotional. He's actually gotten Till to stop focusing on his baskets twice in a row somehow, this has got to be some kind of record-
"You misunderstood," Till says, so softly that Richard barely catches it.
"What didn't I understand?" he says, inwardly hitting himself when his words come out as childish sulking against his will. When Till looks away (without loosening his grip, however) and doesn't answer, Richard realizes that he's probably hurt the other's feelings more than he ever thought he would and hangs his head in shame.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, hoping that it sounds just as sincere as he thinks it sounds. "I... don't know what got into me, really. I'm just so eager about this project and gathering members together that I just... lost control, I guess. I didn't mean to-"
Till silences him by looking straight into his eyes. Richard falters and lets himself be lost in that gaze, feeling searched and oddly vulnerable. "It's all right," he finally says, grasping the younger man by the wrist and leading them both back into the workshop. "but you and I need a talk right now."
This doesn't bode well. Richard bites his lip at the words, nevertheless letting himself be led by the older man because his fingers circling his wrist feels too warm and pleasant to turn away from. Till shuts the door behind them and gestures for the guitarist to sit down first; he obeys and hoists himself atop the counter next to the half-formed basket, his hands gripping the edges of the counter.
"I wasn't exactly thinking of there," the older man remarks on this. Richard merely tightens his grip, and seeing that he's not about to move, Till sits down on the stool and takes the basket off the counter to rest upon his lap. Seeing this sends an unpleasant jolt through the other's stomach; it's almost like jealousy, except that would be ridiculous because he shouldn't be competing against a mere basket.
"Tell me what's wrong."
"Everything's fine, Till. I'm just... hung-over. And I told you about me being overexcited about this already. It's just nerves."
The other's fingers stroke against the sides of the basket absent-mindedly, and Richard feels that surprisingly unpleasant sensation again. "That's not the whole truth that you're telling me, Richard."
Damn himself for being so transparent, he thinks furiously, staring at the ground and trying to think of an answer. But lying to Till would be nigh impossible - it's not that the man would call him out on it, but rather that Richard doesn't have the courage to look at the older man and lie to his face. If he kept on avoiding his gaze, Till will just keep on asking until he gets the truth out. But then, what is the truth, really?
It's times like this that the guitarist misses the other's usual silence. It would most certainly be appreciated right now if Till stopped asking questions.
But he can't very well deny the man an answer either. So he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: "I don't like seeing you weave baskets."
Till stares at him as if he were a lunatic and Richard feels like hitting himself repeatedly over the head for saying something so pointless.
"Not that I'm going to question your opinion," Till replies after a long period of silence (and he's still fiddling with that damn basket), still looking rather bewildered. "but I'd like to know why."
"Because I swear you're obsessed with them," the guitarist mutters. "because you act like you were born to weave baskets all your life when I think you're suited to do better things. Because you... you spend so much time on them that you forget to eat or drink, when they're just damn baskets - that you aren't even going to use for yourself-"
Pause. Silence.
"-because you just don't open up to me when you work on those! And I can't even call you out on it most of the time because it's - well, was - your source of income and you have family to look after! And just when I've managed to persuade you and you've quit, here you are working on one again, and I just..."
Well, this is awkward. Understatement of the year. Richard is aware that he's rambling at this point, and even more painfully aware that he has no idea how to finish what he's started. He's seriously contemplating just mumbling a quick apology to Till and making himself scarce when he's saved by the sound of the older man chuckling. He quickly looks up, seeing Till grinning from ear to ear and his shoulders shaking with mirth.
"It's not funny," he protests, but all the fight's gone out of his voice and he knows that all too well. Till then takes everything Richard's ever known about him and throws it out of the window when he gets up, placing the basket on the counter, walks in front of him and grasps him in a warm, tight embrace. It's so sudden that the younger man doesn't have the frame of mind to even gasp or say anything, and when it occurs to him that yes, Till is holding him in a way that he'd only ever vaguely fantasized about before, his first instinct is to clench his eyes shut and hold his breath so he can engrave the moment in his mind. It doesn't sink in right away that the older man has never been so close to him before, that he's only wearing trousers and a wife-beater that barely conceals his muscular form, and Richard takes the opportunity to lean into the embrace, preserving the other's warmth and his faint dusty scent in his memory forever. It's surreal and at the same time absolutely breathtaking.
"I never thought that bothered you so much," Till tells him with a smile. "probably a good thing that I've quit, then."
This makes Richard suitably embarrassed with himself, and he wriggles free of the embrace against his own longing. "You must think that I'm such a manipulative, foul little bastard," he mutters. "you got pressured into doing things that don't even make sense at this current point in time because of what I want. It's already too late for you to turn back, and instead of being grateful I got jealous of you working on that thing - you must think me so petty and ridiculous."
"Richard?"
"W-what?"
"Be quiet."
Till takes him by both hands and helps him down from the counter, leading them both out of the workshop and closing the door. He gestures for the younger man to sit down on the couch, and goes to the kitchen to fix some drinks for the two of them; while his hangover is still present, Richard doesn't have the heart nor will to turn down whatever he's making. It's gotten cold and the sun is just setting outside, but for some reason Richard feels a little too warm in his jacket. He shrugs it off along with his buttoned-up shirt and kicks his shoes off as well, now dressed only in a sleeveless undershirt and trousers. He's pleased with the result for all of two minutes before the chill starts getting to him again.
Bother, he thinks to himself, gazing irritatedly towards the clothes he's taken off and pondering whether if he'd be better off if he at least draped his jacket around his shoulders.
"Want me to turn the heat down?"
Richard spins around at the sound of Till's voice; the older man is staring at him in an amused manner with two drinks in hand. One is a mug of hot, steaming coffee and the other is a glass of Spezi. Till sets both down on the little coffee table and sits down beside Richard, gesturing for the younger man to take his choice of drink - he chooses the coffee, and Till takes up the glass and takes a long swig, also kicking off his mostly-unlaced boots as he does so. "The heat's not even on that high at the moment, but if you wanted me to I could make it a bit cooler."
"No," Richard replies a little too quickly, taking a hurried sip of the coffee (it is a very deliciously made drink, even though he nearly burns his tongue with that one sip); he's just noticed that Till and he are dressed similarly, and the chill doesn't seem at all bad when the older man is sitting right next to him. No point making it colder in the house, either. "I like it like this. Really."
Till leans against him, their bare arms now rubbing against each other; the contours of his muscles press against Richard's skin, making a curious heat flare up inside him. The older man doesn't comment at all, having lapsed back into silence and allowing Richard to regain his composure before they discuss anything further, simply focused on drinking his Spezi and putting his glass back on the table when he's done.
"You might not believe me, Richard, but I have faith in you," he speaks up. The younger man steals a glance at him at those words and sees that Till's expression is serious as anything. "I spent all of yesterday thinking about it. I know all the guys that you plan to have in the new band, and when things are finalized, I think we could work well. Never mind what I feel about the stage for now, it's something that can be fixed - if it couldn't be fixed, I wouldn't have taken up drumming in the first place nor have accepted a position in a band twice."
"Don't feel forced, Till, I mean it. You matter more to me as a person. If it can't be done, I'm not going to let you be uncomfortable."
"Thank you," the older man says, looking grateful but at the same time determined. "but you've done your part by having faith in me, and I'm going to make sure that you aren't disappointed. It'll be good to work with you more closely now. So if you feel at any point that you aren't happy, or you want me to do something, then just say it - I won't bite your head off, promise. I had no idea that me basket-weaving bothered you so much," Richard squirms and shakes his head at this, extremely embarrassed at his previous outburst. "no?"
"I'm just worried about stuff and taking it all out on you. You just deserve so much better. I'm an idiot."
"You aren't," the older man tells him, unfailingly polite yet firm enough to make Richard fall silent. But judging that it's not quite enough to reassure the guitarist, he takes the empty mug from his hands, sets it down, and grabs Richard around the waist before flopping right down on the couch with him. The younger man yelps in response, but when Till tickles him on the waist lightly he can't help himself chuckling at how immature and ridiculous and utterly wonderful this is. It's the best thing the older man could have done, because it's lightened their moods considerably. "tell me about it, Richard."
"I'm scared," Richard admits to both Till and himself for the first time. It's easier when he's got the other's arms wrapped around him as if his skinny body was actually worth holding onto. "you haven't got a source of income right now because of me. Don't shake your head, it's true, you know it is - I persuaded you - and Till, I'll be damned if I can't make this work. It's about you as well now, and you've probably got more to deal with than any of us, and I'd feel like such an asshole if it was all for naught. What if you quitting now turned out to be a crappy decision? I'm to blame and I know that. I know this is far from our first band, and it's really not as if the guys I've got in mind are completely inexperienced, but-"
Till shushes him by placing a finger on his lips. The intimacy of it makes him blush. "True," he says, simple and laconic in that way that Richard secretly loves him for. "it might turn out wrong in the end. The possibility is there. But even if that happens, while quitting this job might have been a crappy decision, it was my own crappy decision at the end of the day and you shouldn't blame yourself for it."
Richard doesn't have anything to say to this.
"I didn't have to listen to you, no matter how heartfelt your pleas were, Richard. But I did because I wanted to. The responsibility is mine as well."
Strange how Till can use such few words and still manage to put more things in perspective than the younger man ever could. Richard smiles with a mixture of sadness, relief and gratitude, burying his face into the other's chest.
"I can do this, Till. I'll make it work for you if nothing else."
"We," the older man corrects him gently, smiling in that beautifully innocent way that he very rarely does, and Richard is utterly enamored. "we'll make it work for all of us."
They are lulled to sleep together, the last of the sun stretching across the room and their barely-clothed bodies; the last thing Richard hears is the regular beating of Till's heart in his ear and the light tickling of his breath on his forehead. Till is so warm and despite his bulk is surprisingly accommodating next to him, he's far better than a bed or duvet. It is every bit as awkward and beautifully comforting as he'd imagined, the sound of Till's heartbeat better than any poetry or song, and he wouldn't want to exchange it for the world. He squints towards the general direction of the workshop and manages a triumphant smile with the knowledge that he makes far better company than a basket.
-----
The next morning, Till wakes up first and carries Richard to the bedroom, laying him gently out on the bed. But he then turns and leaves him lying there alone, locking himself in his workshop for three hours and not answering to Richard's (somewhat-hurt sounding) calls for breakfast or pleas to talk to him. He then comes out of there with the very basket that he'd been making the day prior - the last basket he would ever weave - which is filled with little bits of ribbon, confetti, fine Belgian chocolate truffles and a handwritten letter of appreciation and hands it over to Richard without a word. Till then goes into the bathroom and takes a long shower, and Richard can't help but wonder whether he was just being an asshole about this whole basket thing.
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