Back in My Life
Back In My Life.
Andreas looks old and worn-out. It worries Eric, not because he wouldn't find Andreas attractive anymore, not because he wouldn't like him anymore; it worries him because Andreas stopped writing music and there is nothing he seems to be able to do about it.
At first, it wasn't all that obvious. They were touring and there was a countless and one things to think about, to make sure everything would go smoothly, or as smoothly as Deathstars, with their infamous luck, could make it go. There were Ole's problems with the elbow and searching for someone to play instead of him, there was the venue bomb threat and Andreas' sore throat. Show must go on, though, and so neither of them noticed that Andreas didn't pick his notebook for weeks.
When the tour was over, it took Eric another week or two before he noticed that something was wrong. He blames himself for it, cursing himself to the hell and back again, but Andreas just shakes his head and assures him that it's okay. They had been moving in to Stockholm together, to be available if the need to write or record arose, and Eric barely had time to sleep and eat, let alone notice that Andreas spent too much time unpacking. He blames himself so much because he knows Andreas hates doing that and probably wouldn't, if he didn't want to punish himself for something,
Eric hates that trait of Andreas' personality. That urge to punish himself for failures. Of course, it's little things that most of the people don't notice, but Eric does. Sometimes he thinks he knows Andreas more than he knows himself, and it's almost funny how they can read each other so well. Andreas knows that Eric's urge to make himself look perfect for the world is a wall he puts up in order to protect himself, to hide the real him behind the veil of narcissistic attitude. He knows that Eric doesn't care much about how he looks when he is around Andreas, and he knows that it's because Eric trusts Andreas with his own life. And Eric knows Andreas is really quiet in private, and that he has the stupidest way of blaming himself for any failure surrounding him.
It was when Andreas started shutting himself not only from the world, but from Eric, too, for hours and hours; that's when it suddenly hit Eric. Something was very wrong.
They had been lying in the bed, Andreas' arm stretched across so that Eric could curl up next to him. He had been toying with the fabric of the T-shirt Andreas used for sleeping, wrinkling it up and smoothing it out again. They were quiet for the longest time, until Eric eventually spoke up: "What's wrong?"
Andreas didn't reply for a moment, but Eric waited without a sign of impatience. The older man always replied to him, even if it was with as much as, "I don't want to talk about it right now, Eric", and he knew better than to pry. Everything came up at the proper time. There weren't any real secrets between them now, and it was one of the things Eric treasured about their relationship so much.
When Andreas eventually replied, his voice sounded thin and tired, as if it was the most difficult thing to speak up. His fingers twitched, stroking the ends of Eric's hair; it was a gesture that Andreas always claimed to be extremely comforting. "I'm trying to work on some music, but it doesn't really go the right way." He paused and Eric waited for him to continue. There was more. "I haven't written anything for months."
Eric looked at Andreas and reached up to stroke a few strands of Andreas' hair out of his face. He had whispered a soft "I'm sorry," and Andreas knew. But that didn't make him start writing again.
A few more weeks have passed. Eric has been on the band's forum a couple of times, and he can see the fans are getting annoyed. There has been no news from them for months, except the little note from Skinny which only made things even worse. But even though Eric loves their fans, it's not the fans he cares about right now.
Andreas spends the days locked in the bedroom they don't use, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and pushing Eric away. He barely talks to him by now, and it's eating Eric alive. There is a thousand things he should have done differently, he thinks as he watches Andreas to slowly walk out of the room to join him for dinner. A thousand things, and maybe then Andreas wouldn't look ten years older.
He doesn't ask how it goes. He serves the dinner quietly, unsure what to do, because he is suddenly unable to read Andreas.
That night Andreas stops sleeping in their bedroom and Eric almost loses it. He lies awake until it's almost light again, sick with worry and helplessness.
It takes almost a week of sleepless nights before anything changes. Eric is lying on his back in the bed that is way too big in a strange, foreign way. He is staring in the dark when the door opens and the smell of cigarettes tells Eric it's Andreas. The bed dips as the other lies down, strong hands pulling Eric close to a warm body. He turns, burrying his face in Andreas' chest, and whispers: "You are scaring me." Both of them know Eric talks about the self-destructive way Andreas spends his days.
"I'm sorry."
"I know. I just... is there something I can do?"
There is a moment of silence and Eric almost thinks Andreas will reply the same thing as he did before whenever Eric had asked, but then Andreas says: "Just pretend everything is normal for tonight."
Eric shifts, presses his lips against Andreas' in a soft kiss, and then whispers against his lover's lips: "I love you."
And maybe it was a spell. Eric thinks it must have been a spell, a spell that would only work in a certain moment, when the starts are in certain positions and everything is ready. Because he had said those words a lot of times during the past weeks and nothing had changed until now.
Andreas sleeps calmly that night, they both do, and the next day, when Eric is sorting out the bills, Andreas walks into the kitchen, putting something on the tabe, and wraps his arms around the boy, whispering in Eric's hair: "Maybe I just needed you back in my life."
Eric smiles. The notebook on the table is open and the new pages are filled with Andreas' neat hand-writing.
At first, it wasn't all that obvious. They were touring and there was a countless and one things to think about, to make sure everything would go smoothly, or as smoothly as Deathstars, with their infamous luck, could make it go. There were Ole's problems with the elbow and searching for someone to play instead of him, there was the venue bomb threat and Andreas' sore throat. Show must go on, though, and so neither of them noticed that Andreas didn't pick his notebook for weeks.
When the tour was over, it took Eric another week or two before he noticed that something was wrong. He blames himself for it, cursing himself to the hell and back again, but Andreas just shakes his head and assures him that it's okay. They had been moving in to Stockholm together, to be available if the need to write or record arose, and Eric barely had time to sleep and eat, let alone notice that Andreas spent too much time unpacking. He blames himself so much because he knows Andreas hates doing that and probably wouldn't, if he didn't want to punish himself for something,
Eric hates that trait of Andreas' personality. That urge to punish himself for failures. Of course, it's little things that most of the people don't notice, but Eric does. Sometimes he thinks he knows Andreas more than he knows himself, and it's almost funny how they can read each other so well. Andreas knows that Eric's urge to make himself look perfect for the world is a wall he puts up in order to protect himself, to hide the real him behind the veil of narcissistic attitude. He knows that Eric doesn't care much about how he looks when he is around Andreas, and he knows that it's because Eric trusts Andreas with his own life. And Eric knows Andreas is really quiet in private, and that he has the stupidest way of blaming himself for any failure surrounding him.
It was when Andreas started shutting himself not only from the world, but from Eric, too, for hours and hours; that's when it suddenly hit Eric. Something was very wrong.
They had been lying in the bed, Andreas' arm stretched across so that Eric could curl up next to him. He had been toying with the fabric of the T-shirt Andreas used for sleeping, wrinkling it up and smoothing it out again. They were quiet for the longest time, until Eric eventually spoke up: "What's wrong?"
Andreas didn't reply for a moment, but Eric waited without a sign of impatience. The older man always replied to him, even if it was with as much as, "I don't want to talk about it right now, Eric", and he knew better than to pry. Everything came up at the proper time. There weren't any real secrets between them now, and it was one of the things Eric treasured about their relationship so much.
When Andreas eventually replied, his voice sounded thin and tired, as if it was the most difficult thing to speak up. His fingers twitched, stroking the ends of Eric's hair; it was a gesture that Andreas always claimed to be extremely comforting. "I'm trying to work on some music, but it doesn't really go the right way." He paused and Eric waited for him to continue. There was more. "I haven't written anything for months."
Eric looked at Andreas and reached up to stroke a few strands of Andreas' hair out of his face. He had whispered a soft "I'm sorry," and Andreas knew. But that didn't make him start writing again.
A few more weeks have passed. Eric has been on the band's forum a couple of times, and he can see the fans are getting annoyed. There has been no news from them for months, except the little note from Skinny which only made things even worse. But even though Eric loves their fans, it's not the fans he cares about right now.
Andreas spends the days locked in the bedroom they don't use, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and pushing Eric away. He barely talks to him by now, and it's eating Eric alive. There is a thousand things he should have done differently, he thinks as he watches Andreas to slowly walk out of the room to join him for dinner. A thousand things, and maybe then Andreas wouldn't look ten years older.
He doesn't ask how it goes. He serves the dinner quietly, unsure what to do, because he is suddenly unable to read Andreas.
That night Andreas stops sleeping in their bedroom and Eric almost loses it. He lies awake until it's almost light again, sick with worry and helplessness.
It takes almost a week of sleepless nights before anything changes. Eric is lying on his back in the bed that is way too big in a strange, foreign way. He is staring in the dark when the door opens and the smell of cigarettes tells Eric it's Andreas. The bed dips as the other lies down, strong hands pulling Eric close to a warm body. He turns, burrying his face in Andreas' chest, and whispers: "You are scaring me." Both of them know Eric talks about the self-destructive way Andreas spends his days.
"I'm sorry."
"I know. I just... is there something I can do?"
There is a moment of silence and Eric almost thinks Andreas will reply the same thing as he did before whenever Eric had asked, but then Andreas says: "Just pretend everything is normal for tonight."
Eric shifts, presses his lips against Andreas' in a soft kiss, and then whispers against his lover's lips: "I love you."
And maybe it was a spell. Eric thinks it must have been a spell, a spell that would only work in a certain moment, when the starts are in certain positions and everything is ready. Because he had said those words a lot of times during the past weeks and nothing had changed until now.
Andreas sleeps calmly that night, they both do, and the next day, when Eric is sorting out the bills, Andreas walks into the kitchen, putting something on the tabe, and wraps his arms around the boy, whispering in Eric's hair: "Maybe I just needed you back in my life."
Eric smiles. The notebook on the table is open and the new pages are filled with Andreas' neat hand-writing.