Waiting For You, David/Timo, G
Oct. 5th, 2009 01:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
steins_storiesTitle: Waiting For You
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
steinsgrrl
Fandom: Panik
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I in no way intend to insinuate that any of the below actually happened. It is simply a piece of written entertainment based on the public personas of real people.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: David is devastated when Timo moves to his own apartment.
Author's Note: Timo actually did move out. This is pure angst and 100% brain dump. Thank you tohollie136 for pre-reading and to my lovely beta, ma_chelle for the quick turnaround. I love you both.
Right there, right on the table next to the bed, there used to be a picture in a small, silver frame. It was a picture of two small boys, one with dark curly hair, one with bright blonde hair, their arms thrown around each other and big, chocolate smiles on their faces.
David lay on his side, staring at the empty spot, his chest aching and his arms empty. A little dust was gathering in that spot now, and David looked at it every day, but he couldn’t bring himself to clean it up. As if dusting that spot would somehow take away the very last bit of Timo that remained. As if that would keep him from coming back.
He knew why Timo had to leave. He knew. In his head, he knew.
But his heart knew David missed him so much that his stomach hurt and his arms tingled with need. David needed to hold him, needed to feel Timo breathe next to him, his heart beat under his cheek, as he had for so many years.
Timo had to leave. He said he needed to find out who Timo really is, without David. Because it had always been Timo and David. From the time they were very small, the boys had been attached at the hip, playing together, laughing together, crying together. They were each other’s security blanket, each other’s best friend. Eventually, they were lovers.
Now Timo was in his apartment in Berlin. It wasn’t big, his apartment, but it was his, Timo said, and that meant a lot. It was the first step in being Timo without David. His lover’s words had shredded little bits of his heart, but David had smiled at him then. He smiled that wide, beautiful smile that made fangirls weak and he hugged Timo to congratulate him.
He’d wished his lover good luck, told him the apartment would be great. Just think, he’d said, you could walk around naked if you wanted, drink milk from the carton, not have to wait for the bathroom or wonder whose hair was in the shower drain.
He’d even helped Timo move, packing away all his clothes for him while Juri, Linke and Timo had loaded big boxes of albums into the van. David had pulled Timo’s shirts from the drawers and re-folded them slowly and carefully before placing them in Timo’s suitcase. He’d gotten through the tank tops and had just started on the tee shirts when the next one he pulled out of the drawer made his stomach clench and he doubled, holding the shirt to his face. It was an old one; blue, threadbare and faded, but David recognized it.
Of course he recognized it. Timo had bought it at an outdoor festival they’d attended when they were fifteen, right around the time things had gotten confusing and tense between them. At first, David hadn’t realized what was wrong, all he knew was that Timo had stopped laughing as much, stopped talking as much, stopped touching him as much. The air had grown thick around them, always electric around them, and David found himself drawn to Timo, found himself thinking about Timo in ways that felt scandalous and hot and wrong and good, and it scared him shitless.
But the night of the festival, that night when they’d laid their blanket out under the trees and leaned back on their elbows to listen to the heavy jazz notes floating from the stage, that night was when it all made sense.
That was the night Timo had kissed him. He’d leaned over David, blocking out the stars, blocking out the trees, blocking out the rest of the world until Timo was all David could see, and he kissed him.
Things hadn’t been the same for them since.
David had clutched the tee shirt to his face, smelling it, smelling the scent of his lover that would never completely wash from the cotton threads, and he let himself cry. Not daring to make a noise, not wanting Timo or anyone to come and find him, he’d cried heavy, salty tears, soaking the soft fabric clutched in his fists.
Almost as soon as it had begun, he’d had to make himself stop. He shoved the feelings down, swallowing them hard until all he felt was numb, and without giving it a second thought, he’d stuffed the tee shirt under his pillow.
Now David picked at the neckline of Timo’s tee shirt, a size or two too big for him, and brought it up to smell the fabric again. Timo’s scent was so faint now, and David felt a wave of panic. This thing he held onto, this was just one more thing of Timo that was gone. Like the picture, like Timo’s giant stereo system, like his shoes lined up in their closet, Timo’s scent was fading from the shirt, from their bed, from their room. And David was terrified that it wouldn’t be long before Timo’s scent faded from his memory.
Lying there and aching certainly wouldn’t bring Timo back. He sighed into the thin cotton and hauled himself off their bed—and it would always be their bed. Slipping sweatpants on, he brushed his fingers through disheveled hair and shuffled downstairs.
The rest of the band was out and the house was quiet, a phenomenon that rarely happened but he was exceedingly grateful for it. The guys knew what David was going through and they were good at making themselves scarce when he needed time alone. A rush of gratitude flowed through him as David made his way to the kitchen. He would have to do something for them, something to pay them back. Maybe he would write them a song.
But it wouldn’t be anytime soon, he thought. He could sit down at the piano and hover around the damn thing all day and not a note would come. It was as if they floated over him, just beyond his reach. He could see them, he could feel them, but they wouldn’t come to him. He would wring his hands as if trying to wring the music right from them but still, nothing would come and David was scared they would never come again.
He hadn’t thought that his music was Timo’s. David had started playing music before he even met Timo, so why should his music belong to him? Why should Timo have anything to do with how David created? But it apparently had something to do with it because now that Timo wasn’t here, neither was his music.
Fire burned in the pit of David’s stomach as he rounded the corner into the living room and came face to face with the shiny, black baby grand. He wanted to be there, sitting on that fine stool that he had to tilt ever so slightly, creating something that would bring tears to his eyes. He wanted to. Maybe when the tears are already there, the music doesn’t have to be.
David grunted and shook his head. He had to get over it. He knew he had to get over it. He plopped himself down into the easy chair that Juri usually sprawled in, all legs and hair, and he pulled his legs to his chest.
Timo was happy, right? Isn’t that what David wanted? Didn’t he want Timo to be happy?
And if that happiness didn’t include being with David…well, David would just have to try to make himself understand. And if he couldn’t understand, he would have to make himself forgive, and he would have to move on. Move on.
He would have to find the music without Timo. He’d have to find his joy without Timo by his side. He didn’t want to. His stomach roiled and his chest ached and he really, really didn’t want to. But this wasn’t about him, was it?
He pushed the heels of his palms roughly into his eyes, twisting them to wipe away lingering tears and David relished the pain his hands brought.
David’s cell phone rang in the kitchen, propped up where it was plugged in on the counter, slicing through the heavy silence in trilling measures. He jumped, his hands flying away from his face.
Timo’s ring.
It was Timo on the phone and David wanted to sprint to the kitchen, but he made himself breathe and walk. Just walk, taking careful note of how each step fell until he reached the phone. He picked it up and blew a quick breath out before answering.
“Hi.” He tried to sound cheerful but he could hear the lump in his throat and he knew that if he could hear it, Timo damn well could hear it. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How’s things?”
“Davii,” Timo started and David’s chest clenched. Timo was the strong one. He’d always been the one to support David. As broken as Timo had been by the people who were supposed to love him, he had taken that pain and that ache and channeled it right into loving David as hard as he could. Now Timo was quiet and now Timo sounded tired and in pieces.
“Hey,” David soothed, trying to be Timo for a while. “Tell me something good. Tell me good things, Timo.”
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. And then David heard Timo breathing, heard it catch and his vision shimmered before him.
“Something, tell me something,” David pleaded, his knees buckling and sending him sinking to the cold kitchen floor.
Timo’s voice broke when he spoke again. “I can’t do this.”
“What?” David’s eyes opened wide, staring up at the ceiling. He focused on the one light bulb that was blown out in the fixture overhead and he sucked in a breath. “You can’t do what?”
“I was wrong,” Timo whispered, giving up.
David sat back and rapped his head sharply against the cabinet behind him. He held his breath, hoping. He wasn’t going to say a word. He couldn’t say a word. This was all Timo. It had to be his decision, and David wouldn’t say a word.
“I was wrong. This isn’t where I belong.” He paused, sounding distant. “Are you there?”
David breathed out through his nose and wrapped his arm around his belly, holding himself in. “Yeah.”
“I…” David could almost see his face, could almost see the wince there on Timo’s strong features. His fingers itched to smooth it away and he waited. “I don’t belong here because this isn’t where you are.”
“No.” David breathed.
“I want to come home.” The words ran together with embarrassment and need and he must have realized because he said it again, making David’s chest clinch hard. “Baby, I need to come home.”
Tears spilled before David could stop them and his voice was thick and moist with his answer. “Come home. I’m waiting for you.”
They said a goodbye that was really hello and hung up as David dried his cheeks with a hasty palm. Timo was coming home and he needed to clean up and change his clothes.
But on his way back through the living room, the baby grand called to him. It gleamed there and promised to play nice if David would give it another chance.
David sat on the slick bench, settling his bones into it, raised the lid, flexed his fingers and played.
Author:
steinsgrrlFandom: Panik
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I in no way intend to insinuate that any of the below actually happened. It is simply a piece of written entertainment based on the public personas of real people.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: David is devastated when Timo moves to his own apartment.
Author's Note: Timo actually did move out. This is pure angst and 100% brain dump. Thank you to
hollie136 for pre-reading and to my lovely beta, ma_chelle for the quick turnaround. I love you both.Right there, right on the table next to the bed, there used to be a picture in a small, silver frame. It was a picture of two small boys, one with dark curly hair, one with bright blonde hair, their arms thrown around each other and big, chocolate smiles on their faces.
David lay on his side, staring at the empty spot, his chest aching and his arms empty. A little dust was gathering in that spot now, and David looked at it every day, but he couldn’t bring himself to clean it up. As if dusting that spot would somehow take away the very last bit of Timo that remained. As if that would keep him from coming back.
He knew why Timo had to leave. He knew. In his head, he knew.
But his heart knew David missed him so much that his stomach hurt and his arms tingled with need. David needed to hold him, needed to feel Timo breathe next to him, his heart beat under his cheek, as he had for so many years.
Timo had to leave. He said he needed to find out who Timo really is, without David. Because it had always been Timo and David. From the time they were very small, the boys had been attached at the hip, playing together, laughing together, crying together. They were each other’s security blanket, each other’s best friend. Eventually, they were lovers.
Now Timo was in his apartment in Berlin. It wasn’t big, his apartment, but it was his, Timo said, and that meant a lot. It was the first step in being Timo without David. His lover’s words had shredded little bits of his heart, but David had smiled at him then. He smiled that wide, beautiful smile that made fangirls weak and he hugged Timo to congratulate him.
He’d wished his lover good luck, told him the apartment would be great. Just think, he’d said, you could walk around naked if you wanted, drink milk from the carton, not have to wait for the bathroom or wonder whose hair was in the shower drain.
He’d even helped Timo move, packing away all his clothes for him while Juri, Linke and Timo had loaded big boxes of albums into the van. David had pulled Timo’s shirts from the drawers and re-folded them slowly and carefully before placing them in Timo’s suitcase. He’d gotten through the tank tops and had just started on the tee shirts when the next one he pulled out of the drawer made his stomach clench and he doubled, holding the shirt to his face. It was an old one; blue, threadbare and faded, but David recognized it.
Of course he recognized it. Timo had bought it at an outdoor festival they’d attended when they were fifteen, right around the time things had gotten confusing and tense between them. At first, David hadn’t realized what was wrong, all he knew was that Timo had stopped laughing as much, stopped talking as much, stopped touching him as much. The air had grown thick around them, always electric around them, and David found himself drawn to Timo, found himself thinking about Timo in ways that felt scandalous and hot and wrong and good, and it scared him shitless.
But the night of the festival, that night when they’d laid their blanket out under the trees and leaned back on their elbows to listen to the heavy jazz notes floating from the stage, that night was when it all made sense.
That was the night Timo had kissed him. He’d leaned over David, blocking out the stars, blocking out the trees, blocking out the rest of the world until Timo was all David could see, and he kissed him.
Things hadn’t been the same for them since.
David had clutched the tee shirt to his face, smelling it, smelling the scent of his lover that would never completely wash from the cotton threads, and he let himself cry. Not daring to make a noise, not wanting Timo or anyone to come and find him, he’d cried heavy, salty tears, soaking the soft fabric clutched in his fists.
Almost as soon as it had begun, he’d had to make himself stop. He shoved the feelings down, swallowing them hard until all he felt was numb, and without giving it a second thought, he’d stuffed the tee shirt under his pillow.
Now David picked at the neckline of Timo’s tee shirt, a size or two too big for him, and brought it up to smell the fabric again. Timo’s scent was so faint now, and David felt a wave of panic. This thing he held onto, this was just one more thing of Timo that was gone. Like the picture, like Timo’s giant stereo system, like his shoes lined up in their closet, Timo’s scent was fading from the shirt, from their bed, from their room. And David was terrified that it wouldn’t be long before Timo’s scent faded from his memory.
Lying there and aching certainly wouldn’t bring Timo back. He sighed into the thin cotton and hauled himself off their bed—and it would always be their bed. Slipping sweatpants on, he brushed his fingers through disheveled hair and shuffled downstairs.
The rest of the band was out and the house was quiet, a phenomenon that rarely happened but he was exceedingly grateful for it. The guys knew what David was going through and they were good at making themselves scarce when he needed time alone. A rush of gratitude flowed through him as David made his way to the kitchen. He would have to do something for them, something to pay them back. Maybe he would write them a song.
But it wouldn’t be anytime soon, he thought. He could sit down at the piano and hover around the damn thing all day and not a note would come. It was as if they floated over him, just beyond his reach. He could see them, he could feel them, but they wouldn’t come to him. He would wring his hands as if trying to wring the music right from them but still, nothing would come and David was scared they would never come again.
He hadn’t thought that his music was Timo’s. David had started playing music before he even met Timo, so why should his music belong to him? Why should Timo have anything to do with how David created? But it apparently had something to do with it because now that Timo wasn’t here, neither was his music.
Fire burned in the pit of David’s stomach as he rounded the corner into the living room and came face to face with the shiny, black baby grand. He wanted to be there, sitting on that fine stool that he had to tilt ever so slightly, creating something that would bring tears to his eyes. He wanted to. Maybe when the tears are already there, the music doesn’t have to be.
David grunted and shook his head. He had to get over it. He knew he had to get over it. He plopped himself down into the easy chair that Juri usually sprawled in, all legs and hair, and he pulled his legs to his chest.
Timo was happy, right? Isn’t that what David wanted? Didn’t he want Timo to be happy?
And if that happiness didn’t include being with David…well, David would just have to try to make himself understand. And if he couldn’t understand, he would have to make himself forgive, and he would have to move on. Move on.
He would have to find the music without Timo. He’d have to find his joy without Timo by his side. He didn’t want to. His stomach roiled and his chest ached and he really, really didn’t want to. But this wasn’t about him, was it?
He pushed the heels of his palms roughly into his eyes, twisting them to wipe away lingering tears and David relished the pain his hands brought.
David’s cell phone rang in the kitchen, propped up where it was plugged in on the counter, slicing through the heavy silence in trilling measures. He jumped, his hands flying away from his face.
Timo’s ring.
It was Timo on the phone and David wanted to sprint to the kitchen, but he made himself breathe and walk. Just walk, taking careful note of how each step fell until he reached the phone. He picked it up and blew a quick breath out before answering.
“Hi.” He tried to sound cheerful but he could hear the lump in his throat and he knew that if he could hear it, Timo damn well could hear it. He cleared his throat and tried again. “How’s things?”
“Davii,” Timo started and David’s chest clenched. Timo was the strong one. He’d always been the one to support David. As broken as Timo had been by the people who were supposed to love him, he had taken that pain and that ache and channeled it right into loving David as hard as he could. Now Timo was quiet and now Timo sounded tired and in pieces.
“Hey,” David soothed, trying to be Timo for a while. “Tell me something good. Tell me good things, Timo.”
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. And then David heard Timo breathing, heard it catch and his vision shimmered before him.
“Something, tell me something,” David pleaded, his knees buckling and sending him sinking to the cold kitchen floor.
Timo’s voice broke when he spoke again. “I can’t do this.”
“What?” David’s eyes opened wide, staring up at the ceiling. He focused on the one light bulb that was blown out in the fixture overhead and he sucked in a breath. “You can’t do what?”
“I was wrong,” Timo whispered, giving up.
David sat back and rapped his head sharply against the cabinet behind him. He held his breath, hoping. He wasn’t going to say a word. He couldn’t say a word. This was all Timo. It had to be his decision, and David wouldn’t say a word.
“I was wrong. This isn’t where I belong.” He paused, sounding distant. “Are you there?”
David breathed out through his nose and wrapped his arm around his belly, holding himself in. “Yeah.”
“I…” David could almost see his face, could almost see the wince there on Timo’s strong features. His fingers itched to smooth it away and he waited. “I don’t belong here because this isn’t where you are.”
“No.” David breathed.
“I want to come home.” The words ran together with embarrassment and need and he must have realized because he said it again, making David’s chest clinch hard. “Baby, I need to come home.”
Tears spilled before David could stop them and his voice was thick and moist with his answer. “Come home. I’m waiting for you.”
They said a goodbye that was really hello and hung up as David dried his cheeks with a hasty palm. Timo was coming home and he needed to clean up and change his clothes.
But on his way back through the living room, the baby grand called to him. It gleamed there and promised to play nice if David would give it another chance.
David sat on the slick bench, settling his bones into it, raised the lid, flexed his fingers and played.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-20 07:43 pm (UTC)