Special Needs [1/5]
Title: Special Needs
Author: elizabeth21r
Pairing(s): Tom/Bill
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Warnings: OOC
Author's notes: I know this is a tricky subject and I might be horrible at describing it, so I'm sorry in advance. I was inspired by my little cousin who has been through a lot the last couple of years because of his disability. I dedicate this to him.
Thank you so so so much littlemrstom for the beta, I owe you ♥ Also, thanks to whoever offered me help with this short fic and of course, to every reader :) I'll be posting a chapter every other day so this will be completed by next week!
Banner made by chicaintcheap.
Summary:
"There are people out there who can see more than whether you can walk or not."
Bill hadn't met any of them in his nineteen years but Tom was determined to burst his bubble.
The loud beating on the door didn't stop, no matter how hard Bill tried to ignore the man behind it.
"You should have told me, Bill!" he kept shouting. "You should have told me, fuck."
Bill knew he should have told him. It was a matter of honesty. He could have easily said "It's none of your business," or "It doesn't matter, it's not important." But it was.
It was a matter of fucking honesty.
He kept his eyes glued to the floor as if someone was watching him, piercing him with eyes full of betrayal and Bill couldn't look up; his guilt weighed hard on him. Reaching out with his small, slender hand, he let it rest on the wooden surface of his room's door; just let it rest there as if touching it would somehow deliver his feelings to the other side.
He looked up, glancing at the creative and artistic paintings on his walls, the ones he used to draw in such passion and inspiration. The room he so loved but had become his prison for so long while he didn't leave his bed, didn't talk, didn't go out; didn't live.
Bill wasn't suicidal; he wouldn't do such a thing to himself. Maybe he wasn’t confident enough, maybe he was depressed. A reasonable thing, actually, but so strange to him. He always was a very happy kid.
This man banging on his door came in Bill's life so unexpectedly, providing a long lost colour to his routine and Bill didn't even realize that. He was caught off guard and maybe it was the best surprise of his life. The truth was that life and faith, luck, God, or whatever people called it, hadn't treated Bill in the best way possible ever since he came to this world. That never made him miserable, though.
Everything will be alright as long as I believe it, as long as I smile were the words Bill kept telling himself as a way of dealing with his life up until the last couple of years, when things became much harder and worse, even for him to deal with.
The last hit on his door was too faint and the sentence provided, "I'm tired of this, Bill," certainly wasn't the best way to leave each other for now. Bill would get up, he really would, he'd get up and run towards Tom; he'd apologize, he'd say he was so sorry for what he did, for hiding the truth, for not being clear towards him. He'd run to Tom and hug him and ask him to forget everything and go for a ride to the nearest park, make plans for future trips or anything anyone could imagine. They could do everything.
Bill definitely would have run to Tom when he heard the door closing, if he could. With a heavy and irritated sigh, he slammed his hands hard on his chair's arms once, twice, as many times as he needed so he could lash out on something. He brought his fingers in front of his face, entwining them on his forehead, and hid his eyes away from the guilt.
Bill would run towards Tom, if only he could get up from that damn chair.
~~
- almost a year ago -
This was probably the first time that Tom was glad to attend a wedding.
He used to hate them and avoid them as much as possible. Attending a stupid religious ceremony with so much money spent on something that could have easily happened in half an hour at the city hall was not his cup of tea. The worst part was meeting all his relatives, people he didn't even know, and being forced to greet them all - "You always have to be a gentleman, Tom!" his mother used to tell him - and he even had to pretend he was glad to be there.
So damn boring.
That day though, after years of studying abroad, he admitted he was glad to find himself at this wedding party. The table he was sitting at was empty for that time, since everyone was on their feet dancing. Tom wasn't complaining; he had perfect company, his beer. He tried talking to a few people; no matter how much he missed Germany, he still didn't enjoy participating in that kind of stuff.
"Tom!"
Taking a deep annoyed breath, Tom gulped down the last sip of his beer and turned his head in the direction of the voice. Before his brain even had the chance to react and find out who the person in front of him was, his body had already moved, wrapping arms around strong shoulders.
"Oh my God, man, where have you been?"
Tom smiled widely, thinking that, finally, he had found a person to talk to, someone he wasn't bored of, someone he liked. Andreas was his cousin, also from the bride's side of family, but most importantly, he was one of the few people Tom used to really like before he left the country.
"I didn't see you before!" Andreas said, not giving Tom a chance to respond. "Always antisocial, Jesus, Tom! Come, come sit with us! Why don't you dance, man? But yeah, when did you ever dance in your life? Come on, let's go."
Tom wasn't taken aback by his friend's jabber; he didn't find it annoying or rude. For many years the two of them had been really close friends, hanging out almost daily. They had even had their first sexual experience in the same room - Tom shook his head at the thought. It was one of his most terrible memories.
His friend was as chatty as he ever was in all circumstances and all occasions of their lives. Andreas always had something to say, something to add, something to shout or laugh about. There had only been one time when Andreas was silent as a grave, and that was when Tom's parents had died.
Smiling widely and grabbing his glass from the table, Tom walked along with Andreas, listening to him shouting something about someone but Tom couldn't hear a thing above the really loud music. When they reached the table, Tom sat on the first chair he found and immediately poured more beer in his glass.
"Man, seriously now," Andreas shouted, smiling tipsily and shoving a finger in Tom's face. "Couldn't you find a better outfit?"
Tom gasped, hitting Andreas slightly on the forehead. "We haven't seen each other for so long and that's all you have to say?"
Andreas laughed so hard, his face looked even redder than before. "Oh God, yes, you have to tell me everything!" he said, taking a sip from his glass. "Just wait a second," he added, getting up on his feet. "I have to use the bathroom."
Tom rolled his eyes and laughed, watching as his cousin tried to find a path between all the dancing and flying arms around him. Looking down at his glass, he realized it was almost half empty again.
Tom had a little problem with drinking. It wasn't that he got easily drunk or tipsy, but that he consumed so much alcohol and he didn't even realize it. Drop after drop, his glass became empty and Tom always found himself wondering when he had even drunk it.
Reaching out, he grabbed the closest beer bottle he found, which, unfortunately for him, was empty. Tom didn't stop there, though; he grabbed the next one, which was empty, too. And the next one ,and the next one. Sighing, he glanced around the whole table and for the first time since he sat there, he realized there was someone else sitting with them.
Tom couldn't tell a lot about the person; he could only see the back of a head as it was turned towards the entrance, looking away from the dance floor and all the people walking around.
He stayed there for a while, looking at long black hair and slender fingers touching the wisps; he mentally hit himself for being so rude and not greeting them. He didn't know if he should blame it on the alcohol or not; Tom wasn't that polite or social in most situations.
With as gentle movements as possible, he reached out towards the mysterious person, shaking their shoulder faintly. He saw how the body tensed in front of him as if someone had brutally awakened it, and then the face looked toward Tom; sharp, huge, surprised eyes were looking back at him.
And Tom felt as if he had been slapped.
"Oh, man, sorry, I totally forgot," Tom heard Andreas's voice, and he wondered when he even came back. Was Tom seriously that drunk? "I'm such a loser, sorry! This is Bill, his dad is a great family friend. Bill, this is Tom, he's my cousin and a very good friend."
Tom had no idea how much time had passed where he just froze, looking at Bill's face, saying nothing. He assumed it must have been quite a long time, judging by the look on Bill's face. The boy reached out in a movement that God only knew if it was to make Tom snap out of it or for an actual handshake.
Tom swallowed thickly, reaching his hand out, too, and squeezed Bill's fingers in his fist. His mouth felt solid, completely dry; he didn't know what to say, and so he said nothing. He did look down though, trying to examine Bill's torso in the most discreet of ways, just to make sure he was a boy. Bill didn't seem to realize it, still keeping his hand attached to Tom's, maybe because Tom didn't let go. It was so damn soft.
Lowering his eyes even more, Tom finally let go of Bill's hand quite suddenly, but not suddenly enough to make Bill wonder or suspect that it was due to his surprise.
The boy was sitting in a wheelchair.
"Tom is studying photography," Andreas said to Bill, who was looking at him with much interest. "In London!" he added, emphasizing the word as if it was something to be very proud of.
Tom, shocked as he still was, hadn't moved his eyes away from Bill's face. He bowed his head, tapped his fingers on his glass, and tried to expel the feeling swelling inside him.
Sympathy. Pity. Bill certainly didn't need that.
"You're not getting away this time," Andreas told him, grinning at Tom. "We're taking a picture, right here, right now!"
Tom tried to protest but Andreas had already moved towards him, trying to leave his cigarette on the closest ashtray and sit by Tom at the same time. "Bill, would you mind? Your phone has the best camera ever."
Bill smiled - Tom still found himself almost gaping at him - and grabbed his cell phone with long fingers, his movements elegant and gentle, as if he was trying not to break something extremely valuable. As Bill looked at the screen in front of him, Tom could get a better look of his eyes while the bright light made them shine.
They were so beautiful, he wanted to cry a little.
The flash from the camera made his eyes burn by the sudden light and Tom rubbed them as hard as he could, trying to ease the discomfort. Andreas was soon next to him again, showing him the picture in which Tom looked weird once again, as he always did. He might've been extremely talented in taking pictures, but his own face looked like shit on paper.
"Just wait a second, I need to find the Bluetooth," said Andreas, and Tom suddenly felt shocked for the second time in such a short amount of time.
Bill had a folder in his phone gallery, a folder named by Tom's all time favorite photographer.
"I can't believe this!" he exclaimed, looking straight at Bill. "You know Häring?"
Bill looked back at Tom, an indifferent expression on his face. "Yes, of course. He's one of my favorite DOPs-"
"Mine too!" Tom shouted, excited, maybe scaring Bill a little, but he couldn't tell. One of the strongest consequences of alcohol was Tom being extremely social towards his surroundings. Bill was looking at him confused - but not in a negative way, and Tom hurriedly apologized, "I'm so sorry if I seem weird, but it's the first time I’ve met a fan, almost everyone at school hates him."
"What, are you serious?" Bill gasped, bringing his hand in front of his mouth, a perfect shocked face. "I love him, all his films are amazing."
And Tom felt as if his heart suddenly had grown wings and left his body, flying up into the clouds along with Bill and a bunch of Polaroids and old, dusty films.
"I bought his album!" Tom exclaimed proudly, his eyes shining. "You know, the limited one he released 2 years ago-"
"Oh my God!" Bill gasped again. "You’re so damn lucky! I so wanted to see it, but it never made it here."
"Yeah, I know," Tom answered, already feeling like shit that he had the album and Bill didn't. "I only managed to find one of the last copies left, actually."
"Ah, you're so lucky!" Bill exclaimed, reaching out towards Tom and hitting him gently on the shoulder, the touch so faint, like a gentle wind blow or a soft kiss on the lips. "I used to think I’d become a photographer one day," he went on, and Tom sincerely wanted to know what changed Bill's mind. Tom loved it, for lots of different reasons, but most of all, he loved memories and he loved making new ones, no matter the kind.
Who would turn down such an opportunity, travelling around the world, taking pictures of anything he could, anything he wanted? How could someone deny such a form of art, and why?
"But yeah, it didn't work out eventually," Bill concluded, and Tom felt like a complete loser for even wondering about it. It was obvious why Bill hadn’t made it as a photographer, how could he, since he couldn't even stand?
For the rest of the evening, they kept talking about any kind of topic one could imagine - and realized they had a lot in common. Apart from them both loving photography, they liked losing themselves in music, sketching on the walls of their rooms, drinking coffee, eating pasta and browsing the Internet.
When Bill eventually had to go - Tom found out that he had spent the weekend with Andreas' family since his mother had serious appointments in Hamburg - they decided to exchange numbers; Bill seemed a bit hesitant to Tom, even though he tried hard to hide it. Tom promised him he'd show him Häring's album and made the move by giving Bill his number, so he could call whenever he felt like it and arrange a meeting one of the following days. Whether Bill would do it or not was a mystery to Tom.
Once Bill was gone, Tom went back to drinking beer and enjoying his lonely time. He watched as Andreas came back to their table a few moments later.
"Wow, that was weird," he told Tom as he sat on a chair, trying to breathe properly after his hard dancing. "I haven’t seen him talk with someone like that in a long time. Tom, you're good!"
Tom thought the same applied to him, too.
~~
"So, you didn't tell me," Simone tried, her eyes focused on the street in front of her. "Who was that boy you were talking to at the party?"
Bill took a breath and ran his thumb over his phone's screen, leaving a trail wherever he touched it. "His name's Tom. He's Andy's cousin."
"Really?" Simone asked, a bit confused. "How come we'd never seen him before? I don't think David ever mentioned him to me."
"Yeah, he's from the bride's family," Bill answered tiredly, looking out the car window; houses and landscapes travelled in front of his eyes. One of the things Bill sincerely enjoyed was looking out the window whenever he found himself on a moving surface, whether it was a car or a train or a bus. It fed his imagination, helped his mind wander far, far away, creating images and situations; a whole new world, completely built in his brain, only for himself, something that was too important for Bill.
He loved making up stories in his head, calculating angles or colors or lights, imagining how great something would look if it was printed on paper and stayed there forever, even if it was only for one person to ever see, even if it only mattered to them.
He immediately thought of Tom, of everything they talked about over the space of the last few hours. Bill couldn’t even remember the last time he had communicated with someone in such a way and he felt more than happy for that. He felt ecstatic, even if he didn't look like it, simply because he had probably forgotten what it was like to feel such euphoria.
Those previous hours he’d spent talking to Tom were the most vivid and fascinating ones he'd had for months, and he couldn't help but feel grateful. He had shut himself away for so long and it was only natural. It was a shock, literally losing the ground beneath your feet, no matter if you were prepared for it or not.
Bill knew his mother did the best she could to help him take his mind off itas much as possible, to provide as much imagination he could’ve lost because of it, and Bill found himself apologizing on a regular basis, opening his heart and confessing to her. He often felt guilty for making her stay by his side almost all the time, changing her life completely, and practically forcing her to take care of him even if he was nineteen already. Simone would scold him, would always tell him to stop talking and thinking like that. She always said she'd do anything for him.
And that made Bill feel even worse. He would never be able to pay his mother back for everything she did for him, and that made him miserable inside.
Staring at his cell phone for a good amount of time, Bill found himself browsing his contacts, stopping at Tom's name and looking at his number. Could he ever really call? Would it be too silly, since they had only just met? But they seemed to share a lot.
"He's a photographer," he told his mother after long moments of silence. "I mean, he's studying to become one. He's getting his diploma in a couple of months."
Simone's eyes lit up and she looked at her son grinning. "That's wonderful, Bill!" she said, reaching out her hand to touch her son's shoulder. "Maybe he could help you, show your work to someone really big and-"
"Mom," Bill interrupted her, his tone sharp. "I have nothing to gain from that."
Simone breathed in, her face shadowed by a feeling of discontent. "Come on now, Bill, don't be like that. You know you're talented, you used to work so hard on it. So many artists have said all those positive things about your work."
"I don't want that anymore," Bill shouted, moving his hands with irritation. "I don't want to do it like this, can't you see? I'd be the most ridiculous thing in the world."
Simone suddenly stopped the car and Bill yelped as he felt his arms and torso flying forward. The street around them was empty and dark, their faces were barely illuminated but Bill could bet his mother was frowning.
"Don't say that," she whispered, looking at him. Bill was staring at his knees, his head bowed in front of his mother's. "Don't you dare say that again!" she shouted, reaching out to touch Bill's face and hair. "You're a beautiful, talented young man, even if you think I'm only saying this 'cause I'm your mother. You'll realize it one day on your own and you won't need me to remind you. You used to know it; you'll remember it again someday."
Bill said nothing at that. He remained silent while his mother started the car after a long, nervous sigh escaped her lips. He grabbed his cell phone again, looking at Tom's number, feeling as if the digits were laughing at him. He didn't know if they should talk again or not. He really didn't know what to do, and he knew he had to solve it alone. He didn't want his mother involved in all of this.
"And how was your weekend?" she asked after a while, both of them visibly more relaxed than before.
Bill ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment, tired as he was. "Eh," he sighed. "Nothing much. Didn't have many things to do."
"Okay," she sighed, driving carefully, her eyes glistening and tired. "You seemed to enjoy your time with Tom, though, so at least you had a bit of fun."
A smile found its way onto Bill’s face as he remembered how Tom's eyes lit up every time he talked about his job and his studies and all the little things he loved in photography. "Yeah, it was fun," he admitted.
For the rest of the ride, neither of them talked again. Simone kept driving silently while Bill fell asleep after a while, his cell phone securely trapped in his hands.
Author: elizabeth21r
Pairing(s): Tom/Bill
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Warnings: OOC
Author's notes: I know this is a tricky subject and I might be horrible at describing it, so I'm sorry in advance. I was inspired by my little cousin who has been through a lot the last couple of years because of his disability. I dedicate this to him.
Thank you so so so much littlemrstom for the beta, I owe you ♥ Also, thanks to whoever offered me help with this short fic and of course, to every reader :) I'll be posting a chapter every other day so this will be completed by next week!
Banner made by chicaintcheap.
Summary:
"There are people out there who can see more than whether you can walk or not."
Bill hadn't met any of them in his nineteen years but Tom was determined to burst his bubble.
The loud beating on the door didn't stop, no matter how hard Bill tried to ignore the man behind it.
"You should have told me, Bill!" he kept shouting. "You should have told me, fuck."
Bill knew he should have told him. It was a matter of honesty. He could have easily said "It's none of your business," or "It doesn't matter, it's not important." But it was.
It was a matter of fucking honesty.
He kept his eyes glued to the floor as if someone was watching him, piercing him with eyes full of betrayal and Bill couldn't look up; his guilt weighed hard on him. Reaching out with his small, slender hand, he let it rest on the wooden surface of his room's door; just let it rest there as if touching it would somehow deliver his feelings to the other side.
He looked up, glancing at the creative and artistic paintings on his walls, the ones he used to draw in such passion and inspiration. The room he so loved but had become his prison for so long while he didn't leave his bed, didn't talk, didn't go out; didn't live.
Bill wasn't suicidal; he wouldn't do such a thing to himself. Maybe he wasn’t confident enough, maybe he was depressed. A reasonable thing, actually, but so strange to him. He always was a very happy kid.
This man banging on his door came in Bill's life so unexpectedly, providing a long lost colour to his routine and Bill didn't even realize that. He was caught off guard and maybe it was the best surprise of his life. The truth was that life and faith, luck, God, or whatever people called it, hadn't treated Bill in the best way possible ever since he came to this world. That never made him miserable, though.
Everything will be alright as long as I believe it, as long as I smile were the words Bill kept telling himself as a way of dealing with his life up until the last couple of years, when things became much harder and worse, even for him to deal with.
The last hit on his door was too faint and the sentence provided, "I'm tired of this, Bill," certainly wasn't the best way to leave each other for now. Bill would get up, he really would, he'd get up and run towards Tom; he'd apologize, he'd say he was so sorry for what he did, for hiding the truth, for not being clear towards him. He'd run to Tom and hug him and ask him to forget everything and go for a ride to the nearest park, make plans for future trips or anything anyone could imagine. They could do everything.
Bill definitely would have run to Tom when he heard the door closing, if he could. With a heavy and irritated sigh, he slammed his hands hard on his chair's arms once, twice, as many times as he needed so he could lash out on something. He brought his fingers in front of his face, entwining them on his forehead, and hid his eyes away from the guilt.
Bill would run towards Tom, if only he could get up from that damn chair.
~~
- almost a year ago -
This was probably the first time that Tom was glad to attend a wedding.
He used to hate them and avoid them as much as possible. Attending a stupid religious ceremony with so much money spent on something that could have easily happened in half an hour at the city hall was not his cup of tea. The worst part was meeting all his relatives, people he didn't even know, and being forced to greet them all - "You always have to be a gentleman, Tom!" his mother used to tell him - and he even had to pretend he was glad to be there.
So damn boring.
That day though, after years of studying abroad, he admitted he was glad to find himself at this wedding party. The table he was sitting at was empty for that time, since everyone was on their feet dancing. Tom wasn't complaining; he had perfect company, his beer. He tried talking to a few people; no matter how much he missed Germany, he still didn't enjoy participating in that kind of stuff.
"Tom!"
Taking a deep annoyed breath, Tom gulped down the last sip of his beer and turned his head in the direction of the voice. Before his brain even had the chance to react and find out who the person in front of him was, his body had already moved, wrapping arms around strong shoulders.
"Oh my God, man, where have you been?"
Tom smiled widely, thinking that, finally, he had found a person to talk to, someone he wasn't bored of, someone he liked. Andreas was his cousin, also from the bride's side of family, but most importantly, he was one of the few people Tom used to really like before he left the country.
"I didn't see you before!" Andreas said, not giving Tom a chance to respond. "Always antisocial, Jesus, Tom! Come, come sit with us! Why don't you dance, man? But yeah, when did you ever dance in your life? Come on, let's go."
Tom wasn't taken aback by his friend's jabber; he didn't find it annoying or rude. For many years the two of them had been really close friends, hanging out almost daily. They had even had their first sexual experience in the same room - Tom shook his head at the thought. It was one of his most terrible memories.
His friend was as chatty as he ever was in all circumstances and all occasions of their lives. Andreas always had something to say, something to add, something to shout or laugh about. There had only been one time when Andreas was silent as a grave, and that was when Tom's parents had died.
Smiling widely and grabbing his glass from the table, Tom walked along with Andreas, listening to him shouting something about someone but Tom couldn't hear a thing above the really loud music. When they reached the table, Tom sat on the first chair he found and immediately poured more beer in his glass.
"Man, seriously now," Andreas shouted, smiling tipsily and shoving a finger in Tom's face. "Couldn't you find a better outfit?"
Tom gasped, hitting Andreas slightly on the forehead. "We haven't seen each other for so long and that's all you have to say?"
Andreas laughed so hard, his face looked even redder than before. "Oh God, yes, you have to tell me everything!" he said, taking a sip from his glass. "Just wait a second," he added, getting up on his feet. "I have to use the bathroom."
Tom rolled his eyes and laughed, watching as his cousin tried to find a path between all the dancing and flying arms around him. Looking down at his glass, he realized it was almost half empty again.
Tom had a little problem with drinking. It wasn't that he got easily drunk or tipsy, but that he consumed so much alcohol and he didn't even realize it. Drop after drop, his glass became empty and Tom always found himself wondering when he had even drunk it.
Reaching out, he grabbed the closest beer bottle he found, which, unfortunately for him, was empty. Tom didn't stop there, though; he grabbed the next one, which was empty, too. And the next one ,and the next one. Sighing, he glanced around the whole table and for the first time since he sat there, he realized there was someone else sitting with them.
Tom couldn't tell a lot about the person; he could only see the back of a head as it was turned towards the entrance, looking away from the dance floor and all the people walking around.
He stayed there for a while, looking at long black hair and slender fingers touching the wisps; he mentally hit himself for being so rude and not greeting them. He didn't know if he should blame it on the alcohol or not; Tom wasn't that polite or social in most situations.
With as gentle movements as possible, he reached out towards the mysterious person, shaking their shoulder faintly. He saw how the body tensed in front of him as if someone had brutally awakened it, and then the face looked toward Tom; sharp, huge, surprised eyes were looking back at him.
And Tom felt as if he had been slapped.
"Oh, man, sorry, I totally forgot," Tom heard Andreas's voice, and he wondered when he even came back. Was Tom seriously that drunk? "I'm such a loser, sorry! This is Bill, his dad is a great family friend. Bill, this is Tom, he's my cousin and a very good friend."
Tom had no idea how much time had passed where he just froze, looking at Bill's face, saying nothing. He assumed it must have been quite a long time, judging by the look on Bill's face. The boy reached out in a movement that God only knew if it was to make Tom snap out of it or for an actual handshake.
Tom swallowed thickly, reaching his hand out, too, and squeezed Bill's fingers in his fist. His mouth felt solid, completely dry; he didn't know what to say, and so he said nothing. He did look down though, trying to examine Bill's torso in the most discreet of ways, just to make sure he was a boy. Bill didn't seem to realize it, still keeping his hand attached to Tom's, maybe because Tom didn't let go. It was so damn soft.
Lowering his eyes even more, Tom finally let go of Bill's hand quite suddenly, but not suddenly enough to make Bill wonder or suspect that it was due to his surprise.
The boy was sitting in a wheelchair.
"Tom is studying photography," Andreas said to Bill, who was looking at him with much interest. "In London!" he added, emphasizing the word as if it was something to be very proud of.
Tom, shocked as he still was, hadn't moved his eyes away from Bill's face. He bowed his head, tapped his fingers on his glass, and tried to expel the feeling swelling inside him.
Sympathy. Pity. Bill certainly didn't need that.
"You're not getting away this time," Andreas told him, grinning at Tom. "We're taking a picture, right here, right now!"
Tom tried to protest but Andreas had already moved towards him, trying to leave his cigarette on the closest ashtray and sit by Tom at the same time. "Bill, would you mind? Your phone has the best camera ever."
Bill smiled - Tom still found himself almost gaping at him - and grabbed his cell phone with long fingers, his movements elegant and gentle, as if he was trying not to break something extremely valuable. As Bill looked at the screen in front of him, Tom could get a better look of his eyes while the bright light made them shine.
They were so beautiful, he wanted to cry a little.
The flash from the camera made his eyes burn by the sudden light and Tom rubbed them as hard as he could, trying to ease the discomfort. Andreas was soon next to him again, showing him the picture in which Tom looked weird once again, as he always did. He might've been extremely talented in taking pictures, but his own face looked like shit on paper.
"Just wait a second, I need to find the Bluetooth," said Andreas, and Tom suddenly felt shocked for the second time in such a short amount of time.
Bill had a folder in his phone gallery, a folder named by Tom's all time favorite photographer.
"I can't believe this!" he exclaimed, looking straight at Bill. "You know Häring?"
Bill looked back at Tom, an indifferent expression on his face. "Yes, of course. He's one of my favorite DOPs-"
"Mine too!" Tom shouted, excited, maybe scaring Bill a little, but he couldn't tell. One of the strongest consequences of alcohol was Tom being extremely social towards his surroundings. Bill was looking at him confused - but not in a negative way, and Tom hurriedly apologized, "I'm so sorry if I seem weird, but it's the first time I’ve met a fan, almost everyone at school hates him."
"What, are you serious?" Bill gasped, bringing his hand in front of his mouth, a perfect shocked face. "I love him, all his films are amazing."
And Tom felt as if his heart suddenly had grown wings and left his body, flying up into the clouds along with Bill and a bunch of Polaroids and old, dusty films.
"I bought his album!" Tom exclaimed proudly, his eyes shining. "You know, the limited one he released 2 years ago-"
"Oh my God!" Bill gasped again. "You’re so damn lucky! I so wanted to see it, but it never made it here."
"Yeah, I know," Tom answered, already feeling like shit that he had the album and Bill didn't. "I only managed to find one of the last copies left, actually."
"Ah, you're so lucky!" Bill exclaimed, reaching out towards Tom and hitting him gently on the shoulder, the touch so faint, like a gentle wind blow or a soft kiss on the lips. "I used to think I’d become a photographer one day," he went on, and Tom sincerely wanted to know what changed Bill's mind. Tom loved it, for lots of different reasons, but most of all, he loved memories and he loved making new ones, no matter the kind.
Who would turn down such an opportunity, travelling around the world, taking pictures of anything he could, anything he wanted? How could someone deny such a form of art, and why?
"But yeah, it didn't work out eventually," Bill concluded, and Tom felt like a complete loser for even wondering about it. It was obvious why Bill hadn’t made it as a photographer, how could he, since he couldn't even stand?
For the rest of the evening, they kept talking about any kind of topic one could imagine - and realized they had a lot in common. Apart from them both loving photography, they liked losing themselves in music, sketching on the walls of their rooms, drinking coffee, eating pasta and browsing the Internet.
When Bill eventually had to go - Tom found out that he had spent the weekend with Andreas' family since his mother had serious appointments in Hamburg - they decided to exchange numbers; Bill seemed a bit hesitant to Tom, even though he tried hard to hide it. Tom promised him he'd show him Häring's album and made the move by giving Bill his number, so he could call whenever he felt like it and arrange a meeting one of the following days. Whether Bill would do it or not was a mystery to Tom.
Once Bill was gone, Tom went back to drinking beer and enjoying his lonely time. He watched as Andreas came back to their table a few moments later.
"Wow, that was weird," he told Tom as he sat on a chair, trying to breathe properly after his hard dancing. "I haven’t seen him talk with someone like that in a long time. Tom, you're good!"
Tom thought the same applied to him, too.
~~
"So, you didn't tell me," Simone tried, her eyes focused on the street in front of her. "Who was that boy you were talking to at the party?"
Bill took a breath and ran his thumb over his phone's screen, leaving a trail wherever he touched it. "His name's Tom. He's Andy's cousin."
"Really?" Simone asked, a bit confused. "How come we'd never seen him before? I don't think David ever mentioned him to me."
"Yeah, he's from the bride's family," Bill answered tiredly, looking out the car window; houses and landscapes travelled in front of his eyes. One of the things Bill sincerely enjoyed was looking out the window whenever he found himself on a moving surface, whether it was a car or a train or a bus. It fed his imagination, helped his mind wander far, far away, creating images and situations; a whole new world, completely built in his brain, only for himself, something that was too important for Bill.
He loved making up stories in his head, calculating angles or colors or lights, imagining how great something would look if it was printed on paper and stayed there forever, even if it was only for one person to ever see, even if it only mattered to them.
He immediately thought of Tom, of everything they talked about over the space of the last few hours. Bill couldn’t even remember the last time he had communicated with someone in such a way and he felt more than happy for that. He felt ecstatic, even if he didn't look like it, simply because he had probably forgotten what it was like to feel such euphoria.
Those previous hours he’d spent talking to Tom were the most vivid and fascinating ones he'd had for months, and he couldn't help but feel grateful. He had shut himself away for so long and it was only natural. It was a shock, literally losing the ground beneath your feet, no matter if you were prepared for it or not.
Bill knew his mother did the best she could to help him take his mind off itas much as possible, to provide as much imagination he could’ve lost because of it, and Bill found himself apologizing on a regular basis, opening his heart and confessing to her. He often felt guilty for making her stay by his side almost all the time, changing her life completely, and practically forcing her to take care of him even if he was nineteen already. Simone would scold him, would always tell him to stop talking and thinking like that. She always said she'd do anything for him.
And that made Bill feel even worse. He would never be able to pay his mother back for everything she did for him, and that made him miserable inside.
Staring at his cell phone for a good amount of time, Bill found himself browsing his contacts, stopping at Tom's name and looking at his number. Could he ever really call? Would it be too silly, since they had only just met? But they seemed to share a lot.
"He's a photographer," he told his mother after long moments of silence. "I mean, he's studying to become one. He's getting his diploma in a couple of months."
Simone's eyes lit up and she looked at her son grinning. "That's wonderful, Bill!" she said, reaching out her hand to touch her son's shoulder. "Maybe he could help you, show your work to someone really big and-"
"Mom," Bill interrupted her, his tone sharp. "I have nothing to gain from that."
Simone breathed in, her face shadowed by a feeling of discontent. "Come on now, Bill, don't be like that. You know you're talented, you used to work so hard on it. So many artists have said all those positive things about your work."
"I don't want that anymore," Bill shouted, moving his hands with irritation. "I don't want to do it like this, can't you see? I'd be the most ridiculous thing in the world."
Simone suddenly stopped the car and Bill yelped as he felt his arms and torso flying forward. The street around them was empty and dark, their faces were barely illuminated but Bill could bet his mother was frowning.
"Don't say that," she whispered, looking at him. Bill was staring at his knees, his head bowed in front of his mother's. "Don't you dare say that again!" she shouted, reaching out to touch Bill's face and hair. "You're a beautiful, talented young man, even if you think I'm only saying this 'cause I'm your mother. You'll realize it one day on your own and you won't need me to remind you. You used to know it; you'll remember it again someday."
Bill said nothing at that. He remained silent while his mother started the car after a long, nervous sigh escaped her lips. He grabbed his cell phone again, looking at Tom's number, feeling as if the digits were laughing at him. He didn't know if they should talk again or not. He really didn't know what to do, and he knew he had to solve it alone. He didn't want his mother involved in all of this.
"And how was your weekend?" she asked after a while, both of them visibly more relaxed than before.
Bill ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment, tired as he was. "Eh," he sighed. "Nothing much. Didn't have many things to do."
"Okay," she sighed, driving carefully, her eyes glistening and tired. "You seemed to enjoy your time with Tom, though, so at least you had a bit of fun."
A smile found its way onto Bill’s face as he remembered how Tom's eyes lit up every time he talked about his job and his studies and all the little things he loved in photography. "Yeah, it was fun," he admitted.
For the rest of the ride, neither of them talked again. Simone kept driving silently while Bill fell asleep after a while, his cell phone securely trapped in his hands.