Herzeleid ~ Rammstein Fan Fiction

Chapter 7

""Are you sure you feel like it, Paul? You look a bit pale." Oliver said as the shorter one insisted that they go skate together. It had been a while since the others had seen him strange, since he passed out on stage. He didn't look fine at all, his eyes were circled by heavy dark eyebags and he also seemed to be constantly out of breath. Above all, he ate very little, which gave too much suspicion. Paul had always been a hell of a foodie, especially when it came to fast food. The request to go skating together had upset the shy bassist, but he had gladly accepted anyway.
Once at the rink, they got out of the car together, taking their skates.
Paul inhaled the cold air of that morning, shivering as the wind touched his skin, through the fabric.
"I don't think it's a good idea, Paul." Oliver insisted. He loved skating but he wasn't too much in the mood, seeing his friends conditions. "You look seriously weak and sick."
"Come on, I'll get over it! It's not that I'm dying." the guitarist said, as he forced a chuckle, hoping that the painkillers he has sneaked and ate not long bedire would help. But he was wrong, because after a couple of rounds, the guitarist ended up curled up on himself on the ground, holding his arms tightly around his stomach, eyes closed shut in an attempt to force the pain away.
It was so hard to breath and he felt all those painful streaks he had learned to recognise and that haunted him while he was asleep and awake, always.
Paul held his breath putting an enormous effort on his tired, sore lungs holding back the tears and a scream of pain that would have shown to everyone his dark companion which was silently taking away everything from him.
He would have left Richard and the others alone and they would have hate him for not telling them.
He struggled into a sitting position. Doing so he flexed his abs and the nth flash of pain shot through his body, like his organs were burning and ripping.
He was feeling nauseated and again blood on his tongue.
He cursed himself; that was supposed to be a funny and pleasant morning with Oliver! His stupid ass problem was always there to ruin everything and kill the mood!
He wanted to ran away from his thoughts and pain and problems, just for a couple hours! No. He wasn't allowed.
The bassist was immediately next to him, a concerned look on his face.
Both of their skateboards abandoned on the opposite side of the rink.
"Is everything okay? Did you hurt yourself?" Oliver worried, a broad hand a warm presence on Paul's shoulder.
"I'm...I'm fine..." The smallest was finally able to hiss trough his teeth, trying to control his breathing and the feeling of nausea clenched around his throat. "It's just a cramp, I think my abs flexed weirdly."
"Are you sure?" Oliver asked, helping the shortest man on his feet. "I am, Olli. I think I'm just a bit rusty and old. I'll be fine." He cracked a smile to reassure him heading back to the car, pressing strongly on his stomach. "Oh, okay. Do you mind if I...do a few more jumps?" The youngest asked, as he was afraid to hurt him by saying so. "Not at all!" Paul said, rising a hand. "Have fun, please! I'm sorry I cannot join you today, maybe next time."
Sat in the car Paul chugged, unseen, a few more painkillers, observing his youngest friend with eyes full of tears.
Tears of pain, sadness and fear.
Driving back home none of the two man spoke; Oliver was concentrated driving, Paul had his attention lost somewhere else he himself didn't know where.
And that was weird, Paul was always chatting and joking, lighting up everyone's bad mood or preventing them from feeling nervous.
But now he looked almost sad.
When Oliver parked the car, Paul sprinted in the house and locked himself in the bathroom, as soon as he felt a drop of blood stream down his soft, not yet carved cheek.
He fell on his four and coughed heavily, spitting blood on the m black tiles of the floor.
He was so so tired, he wanted to lay down there and let the cold pavement sooth his burning and aching body.
"R...Reesh...Reesh!" He called, glad for the others, except for Richard and Oliver to be still asleep and only once he heard the shower of the bassist's room. "Richard..!" He sobbed, unable to stop the pain and curling up on the floor, blood smearing on the floor and his lips.
"Paul?" The lead guitarist called, trying to open the door. "Hey, Paul, it's me, are you okay? Open the door!"
Fuck! He had locked it and now he couldn't even open for his lover.
"Paul, its me, please, open the door!" The youngest guitarist began to worry terribly, when his partner didn't open.
"Paul!" Richard had to throw down the door, with his shoulder. "Oh, Jesus Christ! Paul!" The tallest knelt next to his lover and caressed his cheek, wiping the blood from his face.
Paul curled up impossibly, screaming at the top of his sore lungs.

"Jesus Lord!" Schneider cursed standing behind Flake at the door of the bathroom, where Richard was holding Paul in his arms.
"It hurts..." Paul sobbed, breathless. "I can't take it anymore...make it stop..."
The lead guitarist sighed and closed his eyes, leaning in to brush his lips against Paul's heated forehead.
"It hurts..." The shortest coughed and blood spilled on his chin, spotting the pale skin.

"That's it!" Flake exclaimed, pulling out his mobile. "I'm calling the hospital."
Paul felt a wave of panic hit him violently. No! They would've known! He couldn't permit it!
Not yet!
"Flake, don't you dare!" Richard snapped. "Put it away!"
Everyone looked at the guitarists in disbelief.
"What!? Richard, I never seen him in such pain, he just spit blood! Are you stupid or what!?"
The lead guitarist opened his mouth to reply but Paul pulled on his shirt to get his attention. "I just need to sleep...Flake. It's just a cramp, I swear...I bit my tongue falling...don't call...please..."
Paul rest his head against Richard's broad chest and sighed.
"I'll take him to bed, he really needs rest." Richard stated taking Paul in his arms and walking past the others and upstairs in their room.

Richard wrestled Paul out of his clothes and then in his pyjama, trying to touch Paul's belly as less as possible.
"There you go, warm and safe, Liebe." The tallest said softly, standing on the side of the bed. "May I do something else for you? Do you want some company?"
Paul hummed weakly and nodded. "Company would be nice...thank you." Paul cracked a smile. The bed dipped and shifted at the sudden add of Richard's weight.
"You are mad and disappointed, aren't you..?" The lead guitarist quirked his brows and tilted his head. "Why would I be? Because you're afraid of what the others would say?"
Paul nodded and searched for the tallest's hand.
"I'm sorry...if I was in hospital, you wouldn't have to deal with me."

"I'm not dealing with you." Richard replied, sounding almost offended. "I love you, I worry and I care about you."
He leaned in to kiss his lover. "What would I do without you?" He whispered, running his fingers across Paul's arm. "You'll survive my dear, I'm not that important after all, am I?"
Richard laid on his side and looked at Paul. "You still don't realise that you saved my life, do you?"

"I suppose I'll never learn, Reesh." The tallest hummed at that and adjust the cover over the smallest shaking body.
"I'll bring some painkillers to you, okay?" Despite his eyelids feeling heavy, Paul was able to understand and nod his agreement, before he sighed in relief; the pain had faded a bit more.
He heard Richard pad around the bed and open the door, which closed immediately after.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Richard felt five pair of eyes staring directly at him. He looked down and quickly walked to the sink.
"Richard, sit." Till gruffed. "I have to go back..."
"No!" The frontman barked, grabbing strongly on the youngest's bicep. "You have to sit down and listen to us! What the hell is going on?!"
Richard swallowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Paul, we are talking about him!"
"Oh, yeah, about that...he's still sick. Probably just a flu or..."
"A flu, Richard?! Jesus, but are you listening to yourself? He was crying and...he spat blood! How can you claim its just a flu!?"
"Look, it's complicated, alright? I cannot tell you anything!"

Till slammed a closed fist on the table. "Richard, I'm serious! What's going on?!
Richard swallowed and felt his legs began to shake.
Why couldn't he be able to control his panic attacks!? That was shit!
"Richard." Oliver soft voice called, soothing his ears, hurt by Till's low voice. The lead guitarist looked gladly at the youngest. "Paul is our friend too, we are worried. We are begging you, what's going on? You were with him at the hospital, please tell us."
Richard closed his eyes and swallowed.
He breathed in deeply; the air seemed stuck in his throat and lungs.
He had to, they had the right to know.
"Paul has stomach cancer..."