five times
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undoreverse c:
Fic: Five times Andreas falls asleep and one time he doesn't wake up
Pairing: Martin/Andreas
Verse: NY
Word count: 1 771
1. The bar is quiet when Martin walks in and the smoky, alcohol-laced air is already strangely familiar. He remembers his mom telling him – this was before she died and he grew up, really – that every place, no matter where, has its own spirit. If this bar was a person it would’ve been the way it feels: dusty and a little bitter, but welcoming to other weary souls.
He doesn’t fit in, he knows this. He’s nothing like the usual crowd. Not that these people are alcoholic down-on-their-lucks with nothing to say but a curse or a sob story, because they’re really not. But every single person in this bar looks like they’ve seen a little more than they wanted.
Martin is the exception. Andreas is the perfect example.
He looks particularly dark today when Martin takes the seat next to him, all slightly unfocused eyes and five-o-clock shadow. The glass is on the table. The drink is, presumably, in his system. Martin doesn’t comment on that, because that’s what bars are for, even if it’s only seven in the evening and the sunlight is still climbing into the room in stripes through the windows.
He does, however, choose to comment on the general state of the guy who was a stranger up until a week ago.
“Long night?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Andreas’ forehead comes to rest against the table with what sounds like a somewhat-painful thump, and Martin knows he’s okay. It’s a few moments later that he figures out Andreas is dozing off, but he decides to leave him be. Instead he goes to order a light drink and steal some peanuts from the counter.
2. It’s Sunday on the outskirts of the city and Martin is driving home. He’s been visiting his brother who was just as well off as the last time he saw him. Married with two beautiful kids and a well-paid job and that’s the only part where Martin has him outdone, honestly, because his pay is better than David’s. He doesn’t have a wife, doesn’t have kids, and doesn’t particularly want to have either, which he suspects will never stop bothering their father who never misses an opportunity to ask or push or shove.
Martin’s sick and tired of it, honestly. He loves his father, loves his family, but he doesn’t love that. The expectations. The demands.
But he’s not actually thinking too much about that when he’s driving, because the car is one of few places where you don’t think. You just drive and watch the lines.
And that’s why he doesn’t recognize the person on the sidewalk at first. Or at least, that’s what he’ll tell himself later on. It has to do with a lot of things (the dark, the distance, the music on the radio) but he’d like to believe he could spot Andreas anyplace, anytime.
He pulls up next to him, of course.
“Hey, sunshine.”
And he can see so clearly how Andreas grits his teeth like he’s frustrated, but he does stop to look at Martin, eyes narrowing as he takes in the car.
“What the hell’s this supposed to be?”
Martin smiles and shrugs, then reaches over to unlock the passenger door.
“Come on, let me drive you. Where are you going?”
“Ala-fucking-bama”, Andreas mutters under his breath, but does go around the car to hop in. The usual reluctance isn’t as palpable and Martin watches the other man for a moment, considering, but then they’re off and driving.
Apparently the destination is Central Park – Andreas didn’t want to be more specific than that, but Martin’s hardly one to complain. He glances at him every now and then, but Andreas keeps his eyes ahead and his mouth shut, so the ride is silent but not unpleasant.
There’s a strange camaderie in Andreas’ company, really. Especially now when Martin’s managed to weasel his way into his life. There was a lot of kicking and screaming (figuratively) but they’re at some kind of peace now, despite the gruffness and name-calling.
Martin is enjoying it. He’s not sure why.
When he looks over again he likes the look on Andreas’ face even more; eyes closed as he rests his head against the window, lulled to sleep by the drive. There’s a small jolt as the car comes to a stop next to the park, though – the stretch of changing green dark now, from the late hour and season – and that seems to wake him up to a moment of confused blinking and a quick look around.
He watches Martin for a moment and Martin watches back. Then, without saying anything, Andreas opens the door and leaves. Walks straight into the park in an unyielding line that Martin trails with his eyes for longer than he’d admit before he puts in the car into gear again and finally sets out to go home.
3. It’s November and it’s been months since their first encounter when Andreas called him a fucking moron and told him to piss off, but Martin remembers that with a wry smile now as he watches the other man reach down to pet the gray petite cat he dubbed Dusty somewhere down the line.
She’s a stray – or well, she was, before Martin found her and decided a half-grown kitten shouldn’t be huddling beneath the steps from the rain like that. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, it really was. But no owner came to claim her and since then she’s been the only other resident in Martin’s apartment.
She’s a good tenant; pleasant, doesn’t make noise or leave messes, and seems happy enough with whatever he has to offer. Andreas gives out scratches though, and that seems to be more of a priority at the moment. He’s tired, Martin can tell, and he knows him well enough now to know why – to know of the combination of drugs, drinks, night terrors and regrets that keep him up for days before he finally crashes in a useless protective little curl, like he’s afraid something’s coming to get him.
There’s a comparison to be made between him and Dusty, in a way, even if the cat is a lot friendlier. Because they both don’t look like much at first and Martin decided to take them both in. Andreas would kill him if he knew he thought of him that way, Martin’s perfectly aware, but that’s precisely why he doesn’t tend to make his musings known.
An hour or two later after a conversation that involved a lot of dodging but offered a surprising amount of details all the same, Martin indulges in that comparison again when he watches Andreas fall asleep on his couch with Dusty curled up next to him.
He actually pets his hair for a second. Just because.
4. It’s barely spring when Martin finds Andreas asleep on a park bench. It’s been raining and his hair is still wet and Martin isn’t gentle at all about waking him up. He does it with an urgency he doesn’t normally display, because it’s freezing out and Andreas looks really really pale.
He realizes he’s worried. And scared.
Relieved, when Andreas starts awake and almost flinches beneath the touch, the firm grip on his shoulder. He looks disoriented and Martin just kind of wants to hold him. He doesn’t, though. He asks the typically useless customary question anyone would and when Andreas nods, he goes off on a small rant about how fucking stupid this was, and does he want to get himself killed, and how long has he been out there?
Days, apparently.
Martin blames himself for this because of the fight they had and will beat himself up about it for the next few days. The lost look resting on him right now just isn’t Andreas’. He’s going to tend to that look and mend whatever he can.
5. Andreas’ skin is cold so Martin makes every effort to warm it. His fingers and nose and feet are especially bad and sent discomfort up his spine a while ago but Martin’s mostly gotten used to the chill in the other man’s body. He’s familiar now with the nuances, intimately so, and he marks the thought by kissing the shoulder closest to his lips.
It’s slow but not happy because Andreas is having nightmares again. When he wakes from them it’s not with a gasp or a yelp – he just stills and holds his breath, like he’s scared something will hear him if he doesn’t. When this happens Martin usually isn’t there. Whenever he is, though, he quietly hugs him a little closer and hopes that will be enough.
What he’s gotten to know over the months he really has no idea how to deal with, other than to try to be there whenever he can. There are many times Andreas doesn’t let him. But Martin reasons that as long as he’s always there to return to, maybe that’s what matters in the end, what counts as something important.
He’d like to be important to Andreas. Andreas is important to him.
+1. “Hey”, he calls when he enters the apartment that isn’t his with keys that are. The fact that there’s no answer doesn’t register as unusual because it really isn’t. Andreas will never stop being just that quiet and scratchy kind, after all. Fickle like a cat, Martin had teased him once and earned a glare for it.
He tosses the keys on the table because that’s what he does, then kicks off his shoes when he steps back into the hallway. It’s a Swedish thing, Andreas had told him once. Take your shoes off.
So he does, then calls Andreas’ name, and that’s when he’s starting to get uneasy. Yet it’s nothing compared to the feeling that hits him when he opens the dingy bedroom door and finds the pianist seemingly passed out next to what’s supposed to be a bed.
“—Andreas?”
But he already knows. He’s already aware, and his heart is speeding up in preparation for the truth. When he kneels next to his – his what, his friend? boyfriend? lover? does it even matter? – he tries gently to shake him awake and there’s no response. None.
Martin freezes for a little while. Just completely shuts off - he has no idea for how long. But when he returns to Earth and Andreas still isn’t reacting at all and his lips are blue and there’s no pulse, his fingertips start shaking as they trace the other man’s face.
“You stupid fuck”, he manages, choking on his voice.
undoreverse c:Fic: Five times Andreas falls asleep and one time he doesn't wake up
Pairing: Martin/Andreas
Verse: NY
Word count: 1 771
1. The bar is quiet when Martin walks in and the smoky, alcohol-laced air is already strangely familiar. He remembers his mom telling him – this was before she died and he grew up, really – that every place, no matter where, has its own spirit. If this bar was a person it would’ve been the way it feels: dusty and a little bitter, but welcoming to other weary souls.
He doesn’t fit in, he knows this. He’s nothing like the usual crowd. Not that these people are alcoholic down-on-their-lucks with nothing to say but a curse or a sob story, because they’re really not. But every single person in this bar looks like they’ve seen a little more than they wanted.
Martin is the exception. Andreas is the perfect example.
He looks particularly dark today when Martin takes the seat next to him, all slightly unfocused eyes and five-o-clock shadow. The glass is on the table. The drink is, presumably, in his system. Martin doesn’t comment on that, because that’s what bars are for, even if it’s only seven in the evening and the sunlight is still climbing into the room in stripes through the windows.
He does, however, choose to comment on the general state of the guy who was a stranger up until a week ago.
“Long night?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Andreas’ forehead comes to rest against the table with what sounds like a somewhat-painful thump, and Martin knows he’s okay. It’s a few moments later that he figures out Andreas is dozing off, but he decides to leave him be. Instead he goes to order a light drink and steal some peanuts from the counter.
2. It’s Sunday on the outskirts of the city and Martin is driving home. He’s been visiting his brother who was just as well off as the last time he saw him. Married with two beautiful kids and a well-paid job and that’s the only part where Martin has him outdone, honestly, because his pay is better than David’s. He doesn’t have a wife, doesn’t have kids, and doesn’t particularly want to have either, which he suspects will never stop bothering their father who never misses an opportunity to ask or push or shove.
Martin’s sick and tired of it, honestly. He loves his father, loves his family, but he doesn’t love that. The expectations. The demands.
But he’s not actually thinking too much about that when he’s driving, because the car is one of few places where you don’t think. You just drive and watch the lines.
And that’s why he doesn’t recognize the person on the sidewalk at first. Or at least, that’s what he’ll tell himself later on. It has to do with a lot of things (the dark, the distance, the music on the radio) but he’d like to believe he could spot Andreas anyplace, anytime.
He pulls up next to him, of course.
“Hey, sunshine.”
And he can see so clearly how Andreas grits his teeth like he’s frustrated, but he does stop to look at Martin, eyes narrowing as he takes in the car.
“What the hell’s this supposed to be?”
Martin smiles and shrugs, then reaches over to unlock the passenger door.
“Come on, let me drive you. Where are you going?”
“Ala-fucking-bama”, Andreas mutters under his breath, but does go around the car to hop in. The usual reluctance isn’t as palpable and Martin watches the other man for a moment, considering, but then they’re off and driving.
Apparently the destination is Central Park – Andreas didn’t want to be more specific than that, but Martin’s hardly one to complain. He glances at him every now and then, but Andreas keeps his eyes ahead and his mouth shut, so the ride is silent but not unpleasant.
There’s a strange camaderie in Andreas’ company, really. Especially now when Martin’s managed to weasel his way into his life. There was a lot of kicking and screaming (figuratively) but they’re at some kind of peace now, despite the gruffness and name-calling.
Martin is enjoying it. He’s not sure why.
When he looks over again he likes the look on Andreas’ face even more; eyes closed as he rests his head against the window, lulled to sleep by the drive. There’s a small jolt as the car comes to a stop next to the park, though – the stretch of changing green dark now, from the late hour and season – and that seems to wake him up to a moment of confused blinking and a quick look around.
He watches Martin for a moment and Martin watches back. Then, without saying anything, Andreas opens the door and leaves. Walks straight into the park in an unyielding line that Martin trails with his eyes for longer than he’d admit before he puts in the car into gear again and finally sets out to go home.
3. It’s November and it’s been months since their first encounter when Andreas called him a fucking moron and told him to piss off, but Martin remembers that with a wry smile now as he watches the other man reach down to pet the gray petite cat he dubbed Dusty somewhere down the line.
She’s a stray – or well, she was, before Martin found her and decided a half-grown kitten shouldn’t be huddling beneath the steps from the rain like that. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, it really was. But no owner came to claim her and since then she’s been the only other resident in Martin’s apartment.
She’s a good tenant; pleasant, doesn’t make noise or leave messes, and seems happy enough with whatever he has to offer. Andreas gives out scratches though, and that seems to be more of a priority at the moment. He’s tired, Martin can tell, and he knows him well enough now to know why – to know of the combination of drugs, drinks, night terrors and regrets that keep him up for days before he finally crashes in a useless protective little curl, like he’s afraid something’s coming to get him.
There’s a comparison to be made between him and Dusty, in a way, even if the cat is a lot friendlier. Because they both don’t look like much at first and Martin decided to take them both in. Andreas would kill him if he knew he thought of him that way, Martin’s perfectly aware, but that’s precisely why he doesn’t tend to make his musings known.
An hour or two later after a conversation that involved a lot of dodging but offered a surprising amount of details all the same, Martin indulges in that comparison again when he watches Andreas fall asleep on his couch with Dusty curled up next to him.
He actually pets his hair for a second. Just because.
4. It’s barely spring when Martin finds Andreas asleep on a park bench. It’s been raining and his hair is still wet and Martin isn’t gentle at all about waking him up. He does it with an urgency he doesn’t normally display, because it’s freezing out and Andreas looks really really pale.
He realizes he’s worried. And scared.
Relieved, when Andreas starts awake and almost flinches beneath the touch, the firm grip on his shoulder. He looks disoriented and Martin just kind of wants to hold him. He doesn’t, though. He asks the typically useless customary question anyone would and when Andreas nods, he goes off on a small rant about how fucking stupid this was, and does he want to get himself killed, and how long has he been out there?
Days, apparently.
Martin blames himself for this because of the fight they had and will beat himself up about it for the next few days. The lost look resting on him right now just isn’t Andreas’. He’s going to tend to that look and mend whatever he can.
5. Andreas’ skin is cold so Martin makes every effort to warm it. His fingers and nose and feet are especially bad and sent discomfort up his spine a while ago but Martin’s mostly gotten used to the chill in the other man’s body. He’s familiar now with the nuances, intimately so, and he marks the thought by kissing the shoulder closest to his lips.
It’s slow but not happy because Andreas is having nightmares again. When he wakes from them it’s not with a gasp or a yelp – he just stills and holds his breath, like he’s scared something will hear him if he doesn’t. When this happens Martin usually isn’t there. Whenever he is, though, he quietly hugs him a little closer and hopes that will be enough.
What he’s gotten to know over the months he really has no idea how to deal with, other than to try to be there whenever he can. There are many times Andreas doesn’t let him. But Martin reasons that as long as he’s always there to return to, maybe that’s what matters in the end, what counts as something important.
He’d like to be important to Andreas. Andreas is important to him.
+1. “Hey”, he calls when he enters the apartment that isn’t his with keys that are. The fact that there’s no answer doesn’t register as unusual because it really isn’t. Andreas will never stop being just that quiet and scratchy kind, after all. Fickle like a cat, Martin had teased him once and earned a glare for it.
He tosses the keys on the table because that’s what he does, then kicks off his shoes when he steps back into the hallway. It’s a Swedish thing, Andreas had told him once. Take your shoes off.
So he does, then calls Andreas’ name, and that’s when he’s starting to get uneasy. Yet it’s nothing compared to the feeling that hits him when he opens the dingy bedroom door and finds the pianist seemingly passed out next to what’s supposed to be a bed.
“—Andreas?”
But he already knows. He’s already aware, and his heart is speeding up in preparation for the truth. When he kneels next to his – his what, his friend? boyfriend? lover? does it even matter? – he tries gently to shake him awake and there’s no response. None.
Martin freezes for a little while. Just completely shuts off - he has no idea for how long. But when he returns to Earth and Andreas still isn’t reacting at all and his lips are blue and there’s no pulse, his fingertips start shaking as they trace the other man’s face.
“You stupid fuck”, he manages, choking on his voice.