(no subject)
Title: Five things that Philipp left at Timo's house.
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Timo Hildebrand/Philipp Lahm
Warning: Slash, I suppose. But no one cries or ends up punched, so I would say it's quite mild.
Disclaimer: All in my head.
Archive: Just ask!
Notes: The unofficial answer to this.
I. Endless T-shirts.
Not the substantial kind with logos and patterns and substance - the thin, grey and white ones that go nicely under sweaters and eventually become so soft and tattered and well-worn that they evolve into dust rags and convenient things to stuff into the holes of dresser drawers. These are the t-shirts that, rather than falling beside the couch or under the bed, take flight when tossed. They end up over a lampshade, or behind armchairs, or crumpled pathetically in the middle of the living room.
These are the shirts that are discovered weeks later kicked under the fridge (when could that have - oh, yes, Then) or - even better - by innocent nieces when they come to visit. The girls ask completely reasonable questions (where do all these little shirts come from?) and the only reasonable response seems to be: "well, that's interesting. So, who wants some cake?"
Philipp tries to be sympathetic, but their discussions usually devolve into thing like, "well, maybe if you didn't feel the need to chuck them as hard as you can every time I come over" and "well, maybe if you could keep your clothes on for more than thirty seconds after you stepped in the door I wouldn't have to chuck them" until they either end up sullenly watching game show repeats or just throwing more clothes around.
Timo finally decides that it's better just to let these things lie. Figuratively speaking.
II. Various Playstation games.
Philipp leaves them behind to encourage Timo to practice when he isn't around and hone valuable video-game skills. After each visit Timo tries once or twice, but he's always forced to admit to himself that is just isn't as fun alone.
He'd played with Hitz a few times, and while it was better than being by himself, the experience wasn't quite the same. This was in part because while neither of them were exceptional at any of the games, they were both quite competitive. He and Philipp always played on the same team and this seemed to work out well, but games with Thomas usually culminated in tense chip-crunching and poorly informed and unsolicited bits of gaming advice.
All in all, not nearly as fun.
III. Shampoo.
But boring shampoo. The kind you get at the drugstore that smells like nothing and is, Timo's sure, really just hand soap in a container that says "shampoo" on the front.
"What the hell is this?" he says, glaring at the innocuous looking bottle stuffed perched on the corner of the bathroom counter.
"It's shampoo," Philipp says in a bright, if slightly muffled, voice from behind his towel. "Man shampoo."
Timo gave him a distinctly slanted look. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Oh, you know," Philipp trails off, sensing that the conversation is moving into sensitive territory. "Nothing."
IV. Burnt (hah) out smoke-detector batteries.
Philipp and Timo have long since decided that, during visits, it's really just wiser to go out for meals. The fact that, between them, there is so much culinary ineptitude that it actually reaches dangerous proportions has been grudgingly accepted. Cooking attempts seem to invariably end up in disaster, and even if the recipe is a success (which it rarely is) there are always six hundred dishes to wash afterward.
A dreadful kitchen routine has been established, followed to the T nearly every time.
1) Recipe is decided on.
2) Ingredients are procured, usually after an intensely stressful trip to the grocery.
3) Ingredients are arranged in orderly lines on the kitchen counter.
(Break to consult the book or website where the recipe was discovered)
4) Philipp then (a) forgets to set the egg timer, (b) knocks over something sticky or (c) decides to do something incredibly distracting at an extremely inappropriate time while Timo (a) misreads the recipe, (b) heats up the wrong burner (this works best when there's something flammable on said burner) or (c) becomes hopelessly distracted.
5) The fire alarm goes off.
6) Recipe is scrapped, and takeout is ordered.
V. Notes.
This is Timo’s favorite thing of all of them.
Philipp is incapable of reading a newspaper or magazine without marking pages and circling things that he thinks Timo will find interesting. On paper it sounds sentimental, but what makes it wonderful is that he knows that’s not how Philipp means it. It’s just what he does - and he’s good at it. Timo can rest assured that if he waits an hour or two before reading the morning paper the most entertaining pieces will be marked for his convenience.
He’s constantly surprised at how consistently pleasant it is to stumble across a scribbled message in the margins of a magazine. Even if it just that’s so weird next to a blurb about a particularly aggressive squirrel.
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Timo Hildebrand/Philipp Lahm
Warning: Slash, I suppose. But no one cries or ends up punched, so I would say it's quite mild.
Disclaimer: All in my head.
Archive: Just ask!
Notes: The unofficial answer to this.
I. Endless T-shirts.
Not the substantial kind with logos and patterns and substance - the thin, grey and white ones that go nicely under sweaters and eventually become so soft and tattered and well-worn that they evolve into dust rags and convenient things to stuff into the holes of dresser drawers. These are the t-shirts that, rather than falling beside the couch or under the bed, take flight when tossed. They end up over a lampshade, or behind armchairs, or crumpled pathetically in the middle of the living room.
These are the shirts that are discovered weeks later kicked under the fridge (when could that have - oh, yes, Then) or - even better - by innocent nieces when they come to visit. The girls ask completely reasonable questions (where do all these little shirts come from?) and the only reasonable response seems to be: "well, that's interesting. So, who wants some cake?"
Philipp tries to be sympathetic, but their discussions usually devolve into thing like, "well, maybe if you didn't feel the need to chuck them as hard as you can every time I come over" and "well, maybe if you could keep your clothes on for more than thirty seconds after you stepped in the door I wouldn't have to chuck them" until they either end up sullenly watching game show repeats or just throwing more clothes around.
Timo finally decides that it's better just to let these things lie. Figuratively speaking.
II. Various Playstation games.
Philipp leaves them behind to encourage Timo to practice when he isn't around and hone valuable video-game skills. After each visit Timo tries once or twice, but he's always forced to admit to himself that is just isn't as fun alone.
He'd played with Hitz a few times, and while it was better than being by himself, the experience wasn't quite the same. This was in part because while neither of them were exceptional at any of the games, they were both quite competitive. He and Philipp always played on the same team and this seemed to work out well, but games with Thomas usually culminated in tense chip-crunching and poorly informed and unsolicited bits of gaming advice.
All in all, not nearly as fun.
III. Shampoo.
But boring shampoo. The kind you get at the drugstore that smells like nothing and is, Timo's sure, really just hand soap in a container that says "shampoo" on the front.
"What the hell is this?" he says, glaring at the innocuous looking bottle stuffed perched on the corner of the bathroom counter.
"It's shampoo," Philipp says in a bright, if slightly muffled, voice from behind his towel. "Man shampoo."
Timo gave him a distinctly slanted look. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Oh, you know," Philipp trails off, sensing that the conversation is moving into sensitive territory. "Nothing."
IV. Burnt (hah) out smoke-detector batteries.
Philipp and Timo have long since decided that, during visits, it's really just wiser to go out for meals. The fact that, between them, there is so much culinary ineptitude that it actually reaches dangerous proportions has been grudgingly accepted. Cooking attempts seem to invariably end up in disaster, and even if the recipe is a success (which it rarely is) there are always six hundred dishes to wash afterward.
A dreadful kitchen routine has been established, followed to the T nearly every time.
1) Recipe is decided on.
2) Ingredients are procured, usually after an intensely stressful trip to the grocery.
3) Ingredients are arranged in orderly lines on the kitchen counter.
(Break to consult the book or website where the recipe was discovered)
4) Philipp then (a) forgets to set the egg timer, (b) knocks over something sticky or (c) decides to do something incredibly distracting at an extremely inappropriate time while Timo (a) misreads the recipe, (b) heats up the wrong burner (this works best when there's something flammable on said burner) or (c) becomes hopelessly distracted.
5) The fire alarm goes off.
6) Recipe is scrapped, and takeout is ordered.
V. Notes.
This is Timo’s favorite thing of all of them.
Philipp is incapable of reading a newspaper or magazine without marking pages and circling things that he thinks Timo will find interesting. On paper it sounds sentimental, but what makes it wonderful is that he knows that’s not how Philipp means it. It’s just what he does - and he’s good at it. Timo can rest assured that if he waits an hour or two before reading the morning paper the most entertaining pieces will be marked for his convenience.
He’s constantly surprised at how consistently pleasant it is to stumble across a scribbled message in the margins of a magazine. Even if it just that’s so weird next to a blurb about a particularly aggressive squirrel.