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Autor: Scar

Beta-reader/editor: Panos, Müge and Hannival Kinney.

Category: Soap opera

Series: Alles was zählt
Characters: Deniz Öztürk
Pairing: Deniz / Roman
Genre: introspective, sentimental, character study
Rating: G, green
Notes: One shot, timeline pre-AWZ and episodes 288/289.

Summary: He can melt the ice inside you with a single look of his blue eyes, and hurt you with his words, harder and sharper than the blades of his skates.

Warnings: slash

This is my first fanfiction about AWZ, written in May 2011.



Close your eyes


Close your eyes

Stop the world

everything will be alright

with your eyes closed ...


After your dad had left the city, you used to stay in your room for hours, lying on the bed, the headphones firmly anchored to your ears: a wall against your mother's screams and her thousand reproaches. Your heart used to fly so high that you couldn't almost remember to have one. The rhythm could pump the blood into your arteries and make you feel alive for a few hours, forgetting that there was only a tiny part of you which was still alive.

Everything - maybe nothing – would be changed for you. You, so little appreciated by your family, acquaintances, friends, and weird enough to be just a teenager to keep under control.

After all, their thoughts and their looks hadn't changed in the meantime: too German for Turks and still too much Turk for Germans.
Not Armin. He hadn't suffered from people's looks, pinches or wet kisses on his plump and rosy cheeks. Armin, so similar to your father, the same eyes as the colors of the sea, and too baby yet for figuring out what was going on. He hadn't been awake in the nights to hear mom and dad bitching for a cent, he hadn't shut his eyes too strongly or plugged his ears, hoping that it was just another bad dream.

Instead, everything was pretty damn real. No one would have surprised you any longer in the mornings with a caress, whispering: Günaydin, Küçük. It's late.

No one would have followed you to the gate of the school for seeing you disappear behind the door.

And no one would have cooked krep and kebap for brunch on Sundays.

Who would have heard what you had to say when it became so bulky and noisy to blow up your chest.

Who would have told you quietly and gently that everything would be alright?

Certainly not your mother, too busy with her job and her boyfriends who were becoming, year by year, less young, more rich and, as a kind of compensation, much more bitch.

The silence was your only alternative, and rock music used so strong words that you were too scared to get them out of your heart.


Close your eyes

Stop the world

no one can touch you

with your eyes closed ...


The years flew by through general indifference, from your sport successes to bad grades. A few friends. Some pretty girls for a kiss.

The summers with your father gradually became shorter and colder.

Your father. Baba. The man who has become less and less a hero in your eyes, day after day, year after year. Jailbird. Idiot. Loser.

And you were following his footsteps, according to what your mother kept saying.

Insatiable Veronika. Steel Veronika. Beautiful and still young. Perfect example of maternal instinct.

But you are her son and inherited her vanity. In two years you became taller than all the boys in your class. And your muscles... oh, how much you loved your muscles! How much time in front of the mirror for caressing your arms and abs, forgetting everything else. And you loved the way the others used to look at you. It was an exciting feeling girls' eyes sliding like silk over you, boys' envy burning in their eyes. It left a sweet and warm feeling on your skin, like caramel melting on an ice cream.

You had just to close your eyes and your hands would have done the rest.


Close your eyes

Stop the world

Let it drop at your feet

with your eyes closed ...


And then that damn night came. Four friends, a porn and a bottle of vodka.

I wonder what it might be like to kiss a boy...

You couldn't know it, but sometimes you have imagined about that, when you were suspended between wake and sleep, when you had less control or too many beers in your body to seem at least credible. And so, in those moments, you used to find other questions as answer: weird... different... filthy...?

Gerhardt wanted to check just with you, and you trembled at the thought. Excited.

Weird. Different. Certainly much less filthy than you had thought at first. Suddenly your tongue got its own life, crazy, and Gerhardt pushed you so hard that you fell off the couch.

Are you queer?

Fear wrapped you into its frosty grip, and every sensible answer stopped in your throat. You babbled something that you wouldn't have remembered anymore and then you ran away.

It was almost summer, but the coldness of that night penetrated your bones so deeply that it wouldn't leave you for days and days.

What had happened? Someone could have explained to you the meaning of that tingling on your lips and that urgent desire to sink your tongue into Gerhardt's mouth. No, no one could have explained it, because you wouldn't have told to anyone. And your friends, or whatever they were, how would they behave?

One.

Two.

Three.
On the fourth day the rumors at school became more and more insistent, and before you realize, sounds and images whirled around you, like a maelstrom of fists and blood.

You shut your mind, your eyes. When you reopened them later, you were in a police station, with ink-stained fingers and a bloody shirt, waiting for your mother.

You would never have regretted that gesture and would have done it again if you had gone back of course.

You wouldn't have threatened to kill the teacher who wanted to help you, maybe. Indeed, if you had known his address, you'd have sent him also a letter of apology and a bouquet of flowers.


Close your eyes

Stop the world

no one can hurt you

with your eyes closed ...


Heartbeat.

Trembling fingers.

You put as much as possible in your bag.

You didn't leave any note, or message, or warn someone with a call. You didn’t want to be stopped, if your mother had found some remains of maternal instinct or a piece of heart somewhere.

You bought a ticket to Essen without almost thinking, without knowing if it was really the right thing to do.

But you didn't know another place where you could go. All you knew surly was that you didn't want to live another day in Munich.

Thankfully.

Away.

Away from dozen faces who were studying you as a guinea pig trapped behind a glass.

Away from your mother who had never shown you a shred of tenderness.

Away, forever, from people's loud voices and from Gerhardt's red lips.

It wasn't a problem if you wouldn’t see your father for a year or so, or if it would be hard talking to him even on the phone. But you were there, where you wanted to be from the start.

At first glance, you felt a lump in your throat, because of that woman, and something bitter down in your stomach. You pretended indifference, but the truth was a disappointment that hit you like a slap. Because all that you wanted from him was a smile, the same one when you were a child, and a warm embrace.

At the end, he surrounded you with his arms, shorter than yours, but equally strong.

The lump in your throat made no move to leave, though.


Close your eyes

Stop the world

Nothing can hurt you

with your eyes closed ...


You thought you could forget the cold and dark years spent with your mother. You thought that being what you've always been it was enough to get your father back, but you were wrong. Now, he was that parent who hasn't been close to you for years, and you couldn't remember well the meaning of being a son of his.

You thought that calling someone a 'friend' was enough and that flirting with a girl would help you forget what it feels like kissing a boy.

You imagined that everything would have been perfect and you wouldn’t have any doubts in your mind.

Until now... with him...

Him, who unlike Gerhardt hasn't asked your permission for kissing you and entering into your dreams.

Him, who can melt the ice inside you with a single look of his blue eyes, and hurt you with his words, harder and sharper than the blades of his skates.

Because Roman Wild isn't like you. He isn't afraid of people's thoughts. He doesn't hit someone just to feel safe from gossip. He doesn't pretend to flirt with a girl for looking like a real man in his father's eyes. Because he's already a man. Someone who has a name that matters in Essen and in all Germany, third at the World Championship and, now, first place in your thoughts.
Roman ... Roman ... Roman ...
No sound seems to you so sweet and strong at the same time, with such a savage taste in his last name and in his eyes that you feel over you and in your mind, in the shivering of your body that reacts against your will, because it too often forgets that you must be a full-time Öztürk.

And now you're with him, sitting in front of him, while he's caring of you. But there's a third presence which never lets you alone: your bad conscience.

Now, both have something in common – he says, with his half smile - you, too, have been beaten up by Bulle.

He touches your face with his kind fingers, a warmth in your chest you've never felt before. And, for a while, you totally forget who you are or who you should be, what you made, what you made to him.

You get closer to his mouth.

You need to feel its taste, as you couldn't in your first kiss, when he was too drunk and you too surprised.

There's only a heartbeat at an inch from his lips, your mind is totally lost.

It would be easy to close your eyes once again and pretend that nothing had happened or that everything will be resolved by itself, without having to lift a finger. The only thing that matters, right now, is satisfying a desire that didn't give you a rest for weeks. But you're learning that it can't always be this way, because you could beat your head or lose everything that could realize only in your dreams.

Maybe you're growing up Deniz, against your will and in spite of what all that people have always thought about you.

And that third presence is the most adult and the most tenacious part of you, so it comes forward and breaks this magic moment.

"I was there, Roman ... I was there and I didn't stop them."

He doesn't want to hear what you have to say, and sends you away, screaming with anger and pain to you.

You're wandering the street, trying to take back all the air stolen from you for a few seconds.

You never thought that growing up would be like this, that love would be like this, and that your heart could bleed without having a shot, or rest.

No wound has ever hurt you this much.

 

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