08 November 2008 @ 02:26 am
Title: Wahr
Author: Lilith ([info]lilithilien)
Fandom: Alles Was Zählt
Characters: Deniz/Roman
Summary: Roman wants to face the truth, but Deniz makes it easy to lie.
Rated: Gen
Word Count: 1000 words
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine, a fact that I deeply regret.
Note: This is the companion piece to Schön, set at the same moment but from Roman's POV. It takes place sometime after ep462 (when Roman tells Vanessa about Deniz and the models. Huge thanks to my incredible betas, [info]omarandjohnny and [info]sarcastic_jo, and to the ever fabulous [info]aldiara for her infinite patience in answering my endless requests for translations.

The rink was empty this late at night. Darkened, the arena felt like a cavern, cold and hollow, but a touch of a switch banished the gloom with buzzing fluorescent brightness. The ice below shone in ragged relief. After a day of abuse it looked like a battlefield, chipped as old men's teeth, sure to shred his newly sharpened blades.

Roman had avoided the Centre all day, although of course he would never admit that. He really did have matters to tend to elsewhere. That he couldn't bear to be around Deniz right now had absolutely nothing to do with it. Besides, the Centre was large enough—and their egos manageable enough—that he and Deniz could both be here at the same time, each carrying out their own very separate lives, unbeknownst to the other.


Roman had developed a kind of sixth sense where his ex was involved. It was an odd hyperawareness, the tiniest tickle on the edge of his subconscious, and the next thing he knew the man would appear. It had been convenient enough when he had wanted to see Deniz, giving him time to hop into a lively conversation or maybe out of a boring one. Now it was just an irritant, just like these feelings that stubbornly hung on. The ones he knew he had to exorcise. Time, that and distance, Annette kept insisting these were the only remedy, but how was that possible with Deniz parading through the Centre like he owned it, reminding Roman of how he'd been used?

And that was another lie, wasn't it? He had let himself be used, willingly. He was in love, not delusional. But somewhere along the line he feared they had become the same thing, overlaid like the roots of two trees grown so knotted that they were all but indistinguishable, and impossible to separate without destroying them both.

Roman pushed the question from his head as he pushed off from the boards, letting himself slide across the uneven surface and hoping the rise and fall would soothe his spirit. His toe pick snagged on a chunk of ice, but he welcomed the roughness; Roman was in no mood for unspoiled purity tonight. Raw power was what he craved, cracks to stumble on, an obstacle to rage against, a wall to pound against until his knuckles came up bruised and bloodied. But no, as much as he might want that, it wasn't who he was. His release came in the thrill of rising into the air, in the delight of flying on a thin sliver of steel. Power and precision and discipline, all these he'd nurtured his whole life, and now they sliced the glossy surface like a scissor through raw silk.

Closing his eyes, he heard the frost scrape his blades, the quiet crunch and subtle resistance transporting him to another place. He was at his grandparents' home, and it was Weihnachten, with all the aunts and uncles and countless older cousins gathered around. With long-handled brooms the cousins would brush aside the snow on the Spitzingsee, leaving a pale oval that was clear only for a few moments, only until new falling flakes and blowing winds blanketed it again. For those impromptu hockey games it didn't matter; the boys became mindless beasts on the ice, as intent on working off teenaged hormones and too many second helpings of ham and potatoes as landing the puck in the makeshift goals. Mother would always fuss that Roman was too small to play with them, and he would pretend to pout while being secretly relieved. He knew that at dusk, when the older boys finished, she would bring out his tiny skates, the ones that she'd packed thinking he didn't know. Together they would venture out on the ice together, her big, warm mitten wrapped around his small one as they wove figure eights in the frost. "The ice is true," she'd once said when he feared the thick floating sheet might crack. He'd always remembered that, through all those times when he hadn't been sure who he really was, when his parents hadn't wanted to know who he was, he had always turned back to skating. The ice was always true.

Wahr. It was something he had to hold onto now, no matter how much the world shifted around him. He had lied when he'd told Deniz it was over between them, that his feelings had changed. Even standing there, telling him that he deserved better, his bones had screamed out in protest. He should have been inured to this pain—it wasn't the first time he'd been in love; if anyone had ever cared to ask, he would have said he knew exactly what it felt like to lose your heart to another. But then Deniz appeared as if he'd stepped out of Roman's dreams, his skin baked brown and his lips plump as Turkish delights, and everything Roman thought he knew flew out the window. What they had together—what they'd had together—it was powerful and terrifying. He didn't know if that would ever change; his connection to Deniz felt like it was etched into his bones, gnawing with its tiny teeth the marks that would stay with him forever. But then there was the truth: that Deniz was like the spring ice, its brilliant sparkle enticing and deadly. It was tempting but it was not true.

Roman sped across the ice, feeling his power gathering, reminding him to hold on to what was truly his. At last it released him from the earth, allowing him to escape gravity for just long enough to spin in a perfect double Axel. This had been his long before Deniz arrived, and it would last long after he had faded to a chronic ache. As he landed smoothly on his cushion of steel, Roman felt his sixth sense alert him that someone was watching. He turned his back and let himself spin.

**** The End ****