He doesn't know when exactly they first became 'friends.' He's never really had genuine 'friends' before, only fans, admirers, co-workers… People still ask how the two can remain friends after everything that's happened. 'After all,' they always ask, 'did he not lock up both your only family and your band mate?' In answer he only smiles, 'We make it work, my Schatzi and I.'
--
He lost everything. He finally realizes this while attending the funeral of his old band mate. There are lines of fans throwing flowers on the grave but no one mourns for his loss. When the crowd disperses and one by one the fans go home, he is left there, staring down at the fresh earth before him. He doesn't know how long he stands there thinking until he hears a voice call his name behind him. Slowly, he turns, seeing none other than his courtroom rival approaching him. An outstretched hand is offered to him which he politely refuses with a shake of his head. 'For support,' his rival explains. There is a silence as the words register in his mind. 'Support…' he repeats, and this time the hand is taken.
--
There are reporters outside his house on the one year anniversary of that case. Despite everything he's told them they still ask questions. Questions he still can't answer, even after a year has passed. He allows pictures but says nothing when they ask him about his family. It is only when they mention the defence attorney does he speak. 'What is your relationship with him?' shouts one eager young reporter. A hush falls over the tangle of newscasters as he answers, 'Purely platonic.'
--
He visits his brother in prison once a month. Yes, his brother did terrible things. Yes, he never saw anything of the sort coming. Yes, he feels deceived, tricked and betrayed… but he is still his brother and he loves him despite the flaws. When he arrives, his brother greets him courteously, as if they were at home. He brings his brother's favourite books; Lolita, Dr. Faustus, Anna Karenina. His brother's taste in books are classic. His brother is charming and polite all throughout the visit, but even that cannot hide the truth and fact: he once looked up to this murderer. He used to wish he could grow up to be just like his older brother… and (here he cringes) part of him still does.
--
He doesn't want to tell anyone about the ache inside him so he doesn't. On the outside, he's still his usual flirty and bubbly self. On the inside, he's wounded and time is healing far too slowly. The only person who suspects there is something wrong is his best friend and rival. When his rival asks, he waves off all concerns with a flash of his bright smile. 'Nothing is wrong, Schatzi,' he says, ruffling his rival's hair. But they both know there is.
--
He drinks to forget. He tells himself over and over that that in itself is a good enough reason. He sleeps away the mornings and at night he drinks. 'To drown my sorrows,' he thinks to himself and gives a curt laugh, 'Now doesn't that sound so cliché?' He'll have to come up with a better excuse if he wants to keep his dignity. He doesn't wonder about how he will get home. At this point he doesn't care. When the bar closes, it is late. He fumbles his way outside, and leaning against the wall, he laughs bitterly just the way his older brother did in court. The sound echoes around the walls of the alley he is slumped in. He doesn't care who hears him. He doesn't care who sees him. He can't bare the strain of pretence anymore. His hand trembling, he takes out his cell phone, calling the first contact on his list… and then he blacks out.
--
He awakes with a gigantic headache the next morning. Holding his head in his hands seems to help with calming himself down. He swings his legs over the side of the unfamiliar bed and at once collapses onto the floor. He leans his back against the side of the bed and pulls his legs up to his chest. His closed eyes open when he feels a hand gently rubbing his shoulder. It's his rival and friend that he sees. 'You don't have to tell me,' his friend says to him, 'but I'm here if you need me.' His rival's calming hand doesn't help him at all and yet he feels comfort in it. He doesn't understand how to explain the ache inside so he says nothing. He leans forward to rest himself against his rival thinking of the fond memories of before. He wishes he could have them all back… But for now, the hand resting on his shoulder is comforting and brings him some peace, even if he is still hurting on the inside.
-Fin-
--
Written and cross posted at 'Objection!: A PW Fanfic Archive' for my good friend 'Ardent Skies' for her birthday this year in 2009. Have a good one and hope you enjoyed! ~Fran