Christine (spaghettitoes) wrote in spaghettific, @ 2010-11-29 22:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | alles was zaehlt awz, rating: pg |
While Essen Sleeps
Title: While Essen Sleeps
Author: Spaghettitoes
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Roman, Annette, Ingo.
Summary: Since Celine broke up with Richard there are some unusual sleeping arrangements in the flat-share. In the early hours of the morning Roman can’t help but reflect on his circumstances.
Rating: G
Warning(s): A couple swear words
Word Count: 733
Author's Notes: Beta’d by my dearest wifey, who has a lot of heart and a lot of patience! Written as a sort of back-up for Hofest :)
Roman listened to Celine descend the staircase and poke inquisitively through kitchen cupboards. For a while he let the distant sounds be the only thing in his thoughts, trying to decipher which doors she opened, what she could be looking for.
Annette moved in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent that Roman assumed was about Lena or fries. Having curled up beside Annette for a few nights now he’d discovered those were the main things she dreamt about, excluding the occasional dream where Ingo’s name was mentioned either in praise or reproach. Roman turned to look at his friend, making careful twists under the blanket until he was on his side and could smile at her, face ungraciously buried into the pillow. Damn but he was glad to have her back.
She had hugged him for a few minutes while he complained about being squashed, insisted he had things to do. Finally he conceded and settled into her embrace, silent tears shed and lost in her brightly patterned shoulders. There had been talking and the consumption of ice cream against his better judgement. Even now Roman looked down to his stomach with a critical squint and reproachful bitching. But he loved Annette for the comfort, the consolation, even the calories.
Soon after her return Ingo had been scolded like a troublesome child. He and Roman sat on the sofa like quarrelling siblings while Annette spoke. Ingo’s defensive jibes were quickly shot down, Roman’s stubborn pride summarily dismissed from the room and both ordered to talk.
When he hadn’t been able to talk, when everything weighed down on Roman in a tidal wave of mistakes and regret, Ingo stopped making jokes. Roman hadn’t the energy left to fight, knew he deserved every scurrilous word for what he had done.
In that moment Ingo had looked at him with realisation and apology. Not that what followed could be called an apology by any normal standards. Ingo clutched Roman to his chest and reprimanded him for not fighting back, not telling him to shut up. But the anxious beat Roman heard in Ingo’s chest and the careful pat of his hair while he spoke in gentle, un-Ingo-like tones was enough.
Roman and Ingo were inseparable for the rest of the day, though not by Roman’s choice. Ingo pulled him around like a teddy bear, keeping Roman at his side or ambling to work beside him. There was no drawn-out conversation or insistence that Roman talk it out but Ingo listened when needed and spoke with uncommon caution. Roman found it reassuring to have Ingo’s arm hanging over his shoulder, folding in front of him like a barrier against the world. A barrier he was happy to hide behind for the day.
Nothing more was said after that day, it would be trite to expect Ingo to discuss issues, to drag up something that was resolved. But Roman felt comfortable around him again, safe; he could analyse and dissect the relationship with Ingo but he would be creating layers that didn’t exist. Roman didn’t have to look around to know Ingo was in the bed with him and Annette, even without the off-key snoring he knew. There were two things he could know with certainty: Ingo loved him and Ingo was an idiot.
Annette loved him, he knew that too. She loved him, she tried to help her friends and was disgustingly passionate about pommes. These were Annette’s inescapable truths and it occurred to him that none of them guaranteed success. She had still made mistakes but he had forgiven them and her him. It was the closest he could find to describing family, they fought, they argued but they’d go to the end of the world for each other.
If this was what Florian wanted in Essen, thought Roman, who was he to deny him it? Everyone needed somewhere to hide from nightmares, needed people who would love them no matter how many times they screwed up, how many pommes they ate or what stupid, life-destroying decisions they made.
Roman nuzzled his face into the pillow and smiled. There would be peace tonight – peace and sleep. In the morning he would have to think again, the self recrimination would return and there would be no escaping what he’d done. But for now he could escape to the bosom of his family. His misshapen, fucked up, brilliant family.