Palm-Reading for Dummies: Jo and Mäx
Finding your name doesn't guarantee happiness, especially if the other person thinks ignoring the issue will make it go away. Jo's really good at ignoring things he isn't comfortable with.
He’s just a guy Mäx plays guitar with. Neither of them is overly good, but they have fun and that’s what counts when you’re a kid. They get along well, and they sometimes like to play at writing songs. Again, they’re just kids.
So he doesn’t think it’s weird when Schlagi invites him to practice with his band. He thinks it’s cool and exciting. Then Schlagi mentions off-handedly that he thinks one of the guys is Mäx’s match.
It’s a bit of a private thing for Schlagi to point out. It weirds Mäx out for a second before he realizes Schlagi’s known this guy for a while and hasn’t been necessarily reading Mäx’s palms on the few occasions he’s taken his gloves off. And that is exciting.
Mäx has already met his other name. She’s a fucking bitch, and she thinks he’s a bastard. They’ve pretty much mutually decided that they’re on the less pleasant side of the love-hate continuum (hey, school had to call it something). She’s also his cousin. That clears things up completely.
Mäx doesn’t stop to think whether this has any bearing on his first impression of Johannes Halbig (who is he kidding- he doesn’t use fancy language like that), whether he wants Jo to be his so much that he never gets a clear idea of who Jo is before thinking “mine”. Schlagi leads him unceremoniously into a practice room, empty except for a little kid behind a drum set. Mäx doesn’t hold back his snicker. The kid looks up, grins, and pounces on Schlagi. Mäx will later learn the kid’s name is Fabi, and he pounces- and bounces- a lot.
At the moment, he’s just happy the kid’s not Jo and he doesn’t have the very skeevy position of finding his names at far too young an age. He knows this because Fabi throws his head back and yells, “Jo!” very loudly. And then he comes in.
Jo is tall, skinny, and perfect.
Maximilian Schlichter is thirteen, and he knows he’s in love.
ØØØ
Two years pass before Jo talks about it, before Jo even acknowledges it. The band’s taking off, and it’s killing Mäx (as much as anything can kill someone just out of their preteens) to know Jo’s right there, and he knows, and he won’t do anything about it. Jo is not exactly the type to not do anything about things.
Mäx just doesn’t get why. But he’s also not about to ask, because asking means the possibility of rejection, and that’s not an option. So he waits. Mäx waits a long time. It does work, though, because one day when they’re not doing anything and Fabi’s at drum practice, Jo says, “look” and peels back his gloves to show Mäx both hands.
Mäx’s heart stops (he’s fifteen- he’s dramatic with a capital D). Because there, on Jo’s other hand, is Schlagi’s name. Suddenly, Mäx is angry, so angry, at Schlagi because what kind of person does that? Shoves the three of them together just to make the choice that much harder? It’s up to the individual person to find their names and to choose which is which, not whatever Schlagi is trying to do. Mäx isn’t even angry for himself: he’s angry for Jo. He’s angry because one day Jo’s going to choose is and the shaky balance Mäx hasn’t even been aware of until now is going to collapse and take the band with it.
All Mäx can see, though, is the hurt on Jo’s face, the misunderstanding there, and he knows he’s damaged something he might never fix.
They don’t talk about the names again. They date other people. They get on with that part of their lives.
And it gets worse. Schlagi and Jo fight, all the time, over the littlest of things. Mäx sits there with Fabi, feeling bitter and angry, and not wanting the fighting to end.
He hates himself for that.
ØØØ
Mäx will never understand whether the fight was really over the music or whether it was just about the names. The balance between the three of them has never been equal- Mäx has known for years who Jo was going to choose- and it must have been eating at Schlagi and Jo ever since they realized it, too.
“We can change it back,” Jo pleads because all their fights lately have been over changes Schlagi thinks are too close to selling out. Mäx doesn’t care what they play so long as they play. He’s still caught up in the idea that they have made it, that they’re famous.
“Don’t even,” Schlagi says, his words cruel and twisted with anger, “none of you are worth it. The music’s gone to shit. Look at yourself, Jo. Look what you’ve become.” And Mäx doesn’t like the makeup either, and he doesn’t care for the clothes management makes them wear, but he’d never tell Jo that, not this way. Mäx doesn’t like these things, but he likes Schlagi criticizing Jo even less. In all honesty, Mäx isn’t too concerned with the way Jo dresses or does his hair. He’ll take Jo any way he can- stupid clothes, black eyeliner, nail polish, whatever Jo wants. They don’t detract from Jo’s attractiveness. He’s still Jo. He’s still the name on Mäx’s palm. “This isn’t what we wanted to be or don’t you remember?”
“Please,” Jo says, sarcasm drenching every word, “tell me what you think we wanted to be.”
“Real music, not this shit. Real lyrics. Controlling our own videos and interviews,” Schlagi lists, growing terser and angrier with every syllable. Neither he nor Jo seems to notice Mäx is in the same room.
“You think you have all the fucking answers?” Jo snaps back. “We’re more popular than ever, man. Isn’t that worth something?”
“Not to me,” Schlagi says, voice low and strained. Without warning, he loops an arm around Jo’s skull and all but slams their mouths together. Jo goes rigid. Mäx gets a disquieting feeling in his stomach, something between jealousy and soul-deep rage. Schlagi pulls away, chuckling humorlessly. “You’ve made your choice, Jo. That’s why I’m not gonna stay.”
There’s a moment of quiet, the three of them just staring at each other. Then:
“Get out!” Jo screams. “Get the fuck out! We don’t need you anyways!”
Schlagi looks to Mäx, but it’s not a pleading look. It’s resignation, I told you so. Something deep and sickening settles in Mäx’s chest. He lifts his chin high and doesn’t say a word as Schlagi takes his bass and goes.
ØØØ
“I wasn’t ever going to look for you,” Jo says later, hours after Schlagi’s left. “Once I found Schlagi, I was going to leave it that way. You have to understand, we used to get along. I knew, shit, if I ever found you, I’d have to choose. It’d be easier not to.”
“But he found me first,” Mäx finishes. Jo nods, pursing his lips.
“He found you,” he agrees, “and he brought you here, and it all went to shit.”
Mäx doesn’t think before he covers Jo’s hand with his own. They’re not wearing gloves, and it’s horribly personal. Jo looks at him, a long, level look. Then he pulls away.
“I can’t. Not now. I just lost one of my closest friends, and-”
“It’s all my fault,” Mäx ends the sentence.
Jo’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly. He swallows, the corners of his mouth turning down.
“No. It’s his.”
ØØØ
Schlagi leaving sets them straight. Somewhat. The musical part of them, anyway. In all honesty, that whole statement might be a lie. Schlagi leaving tells them they’re doing it wrong. It tells them they’re getting caught up in being what other people want them to be, in looking the way other people want them to look, and in being too much like what’s already out there. The message takes a while to sink in. A long while.
Before they’ve gotten themselves straight, Jo gets this idea into his head. It’s called fanservice, and it is the most wonderful and most bitterly painful thing anyone could have thought up.
But Mäx is happy, in a way. He’s with Jo most days, and Schlagi isn’t. He gets to lean against Jo and talk to him, and poke him in the side when he’s being an ass.
And that’s okay. Maybe.
ØØØ
A few strange conversations with the members of Panik and Mäx doesn’t feel so bad about, well, life. Mostly because they don’t wear gloves half the time (something about it being difficult to play with them; Mäx’s never had a problem). And because half of them are terrible at hiding their complete obsession with each other. Yes, half. Exactly half. It’s a freaking daisy chain of obsession.
Mäx has known Jo for six years at that point, and he knows he’s never acted like that. What the fuck.
Jo is too worked up over his breakup with his first official girlfriend to notice. Fabi just thinks they’re awesome because they talk to him. He’s taken a special liking to the short blonde, who is the center of the goddamned daisy chain. That fact doesn’t seem to put Fabi in mortal peril, so Mäx doesn’t comment on it.
His relationship with Fabi is strange. Mäx probably wouldn’t be good friends with Fabi if it weren’t for Jo…and he wouldn’t care for Jo as much as he does if it weren’t for Fabi. They’re tied together so completely, two brothers who have become friends in their own right. It is a strange relationship, though no more strange than what Mäx has with David. Fabi gives him a glimpse into who Jo is both in his existence and in his differences. He’s more energetic than Jo, more emotionally stable, less moody. Mäx has long since realized he’ll take the moodiness and the happiness, the craziness and the acerbity, all of it, because it’s Jo’s name he has and not Fabi’s. Fabi has his own names and his own future to find. He just hasn’t had the luck his brother has.
And then Jo gets over his funk. Mäx doesn’t know what happened.
He just knows he doesn’t feel good about it.
ØØØ
Jo is less an enigma than a headache. Mäx feels his friend’s eyes on him more and more, their conversations becoming less words and more body language and looks, but nothing happens. Years go by and still Mäx remains the too-close friend, the one Jo’s friends and family look at and think, that must be his match. They pepper conversations with pointed questions- hell, even the fan clubs do. Jo keeps silent on the matter. Mäx has an arrangement going with an old school friend. Ria’s been unable to find either of her names for all that she’s searched and searched.
A few years ago, the EU declared it a human right to be able to find one’s names. There is a registry you can file your name in which will find your names for you, if they’re there. It’s not very useful, seeing as it’s illegal to register anyone under the age of thirteen and doubly illegal to register anyone who doesn’t want to be found. Outside of the EU, it’s even harder. The Americans and the Chinese have made it near impossible to access records on their people, and anywhere in the Near or Middle East charges exorbitant fees.
Mäx is guessing Ria’s names are in one of those places. He’s happy to pretend for her until she finds them. People look at you with pity if you haven’t found your names by a certain age. Ria’s not the type to appreciate that.
Then David figures his shit out, and Mäx gets his face shoved into a newly-matched couple, which he really didn’t need at this point in his life.
ØØØ
One night, after spending an afternoon around David and his match, when Mäx feels his own issues pulling him down, Jo slips onto the floor where Mäx is laying, hands crossed behind his head, and rests his head on Mäx’s belly. One of Mäx’s hands comes down automatically to scratch at Jo’s scalp. The brunette closes his eyes happily.
“I don’t know how to love you,” Jo says soberly, the happiness suddenly gone. Mäx stares at the ceiling. Some people find their names and decide they are too much trouble. “I keep thinking it should be easy, but it’s not.” Jo tilts his head back to look at him. “You know?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Mäx says because what is there to say? I’m twenty-one and you’re twenty, and I have no idea what I’m doing? I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but I love you, and it would kill me if you left now?
“You think so?” Jo’s craning his neck so far to look at Mäx, he’s going to be complaining about it later. It’ll be Mäx’s fault, of course.
“I think we can try.”
ØØØ
One day, out of the blue (because that’s how everything works in his world), Jo shoves Mäx against a wall and kisses him. Just presses his lips to Mäx’s without asking. Mäx opens up to him because there’s nothing he wants to do more.
And Jo’s just as beautiful as he was all those years ago.
He’s just a guy Mäx plays guitar with. Neither of them is overly good, but they have fun and that’s what counts when you’re a kid. They get along well, and they sometimes like to play at writing songs. Again, they’re just kids.
So he doesn’t think it’s weird when Schlagi invites him to practice with his band. He thinks it’s cool and exciting. Then Schlagi mentions off-handedly that he thinks one of the guys is Mäx’s match.
It’s a bit of a private thing for Schlagi to point out. It weirds Mäx out for a second before he realizes Schlagi’s known this guy for a while and hasn’t been necessarily reading Mäx’s palms on the few occasions he’s taken his gloves off. And that is exciting.
Mäx has already met his other name. She’s a fucking bitch, and she thinks he’s a bastard. They’ve pretty much mutually decided that they’re on the less pleasant side of the love-hate continuum (hey, school had to call it something). She’s also his cousin. That clears things up completely.
Mäx doesn’t stop to think whether this has any bearing on his first impression of Johannes Halbig (who is he kidding- he doesn’t use fancy language like that), whether he wants Jo to be his so much that he never gets a clear idea of who Jo is before thinking “mine”. Schlagi leads him unceremoniously into a practice room, empty except for a little kid behind a drum set. Mäx doesn’t hold back his snicker. The kid looks up, grins, and pounces on Schlagi. Mäx will later learn the kid’s name is Fabi, and he pounces- and bounces- a lot.
At the moment, he’s just happy the kid’s not Jo and he doesn’t have the very skeevy position of finding his names at far too young an age. He knows this because Fabi throws his head back and yells, “Jo!” very loudly. And then he comes in.
Jo is tall, skinny, and perfect.
Maximilian Schlichter is thirteen, and he knows he’s in love.
ØØØ
Two years pass before Jo talks about it, before Jo even acknowledges it. The band’s taking off, and it’s killing Mäx (as much as anything can kill someone just out of their preteens) to know Jo’s right there, and he knows, and he won’t do anything about it. Jo is not exactly the type to not do anything about things.
Mäx just doesn’t get why. But he’s also not about to ask, because asking means the possibility of rejection, and that’s not an option. So he waits. Mäx waits a long time. It does work, though, because one day when they’re not doing anything and Fabi’s at drum practice, Jo says, “look” and peels back his gloves to show Mäx both hands.
Mäx’s heart stops (he’s fifteen- he’s dramatic with a capital D). Because there, on Jo’s other hand, is Schlagi’s name. Suddenly, Mäx is angry, so angry, at Schlagi because what kind of person does that? Shoves the three of them together just to make the choice that much harder? It’s up to the individual person to find their names and to choose which is which, not whatever Schlagi is trying to do. Mäx isn’t even angry for himself: he’s angry for Jo. He’s angry because one day Jo’s going to choose is and the shaky balance Mäx hasn’t even been aware of until now is going to collapse and take the band with it.
All Mäx can see, though, is the hurt on Jo’s face, the misunderstanding there, and he knows he’s damaged something he might never fix.
They don’t talk about the names again. They date other people. They get on with that part of their lives.
And it gets worse. Schlagi and Jo fight, all the time, over the littlest of things. Mäx sits there with Fabi, feeling bitter and angry, and not wanting the fighting to end.
He hates himself for that.
ØØØ
Mäx will never understand whether the fight was really over the music or whether it was just about the names. The balance between the three of them has never been equal- Mäx has known for years who Jo was going to choose- and it must have been eating at Schlagi and Jo ever since they realized it, too.
“We can change it back,” Jo pleads because all their fights lately have been over changes Schlagi thinks are too close to selling out. Mäx doesn’t care what they play so long as they play. He’s still caught up in the idea that they have made it, that they’re famous.
“Don’t even,” Schlagi says, his words cruel and twisted with anger, “none of you are worth it. The music’s gone to shit. Look at yourself, Jo. Look what you’ve become.” And Mäx doesn’t like the makeup either, and he doesn’t care for the clothes management makes them wear, but he’d never tell Jo that, not this way. Mäx doesn’t like these things, but he likes Schlagi criticizing Jo even less. In all honesty, Mäx isn’t too concerned with the way Jo dresses or does his hair. He’ll take Jo any way he can- stupid clothes, black eyeliner, nail polish, whatever Jo wants. They don’t detract from Jo’s attractiveness. He’s still Jo. He’s still the name on Mäx’s palm. “This isn’t what we wanted to be or don’t you remember?”
“Please,” Jo says, sarcasm drenching every word, “tell me what you think we wanted to be.”
“Real music, not this shit. Real lyrics. Controlling our own videos and interviews,” Schlagi lists, growing terser and angrier with every syllable. Neither he nor Jo seems to notice Mäx is in the same room.
“You think you have all the fucking answers?” Jo snaps back. “We’re more popular than ever, man. Isn’t that worth something?”
“Not to me,” Schlagi says, voice low and strained. Without warning, he loops an arm around Jo’s skull and all but slams their mouths together. Jo goes rigid. Mäx gets a disquieting feeling in his stomach, something between jealousy and soul-deep rage. Schlagi pulls away, chuckling humorlessly. “You’ve made your choice, Jo. That’s why I’m not gonna stay.”
There’s a moment of quiet, the three of them just staring at each other. Then:
“Get out!” Jo screams. “Get the fuck out! We don’t need you anyways!”
Schlagi looks to Mäx, but it’s not a pleading look. It’s resignation, I told you so. Something deep and sickening settles in Mäx’s chest. He lifts his chin high and doesn’t say a word as Schlagi takes his bass and goes.
ØØØ
“I wasn’t ever going to look for you,” Jo says later, hours after Schlagi’s left. “Once I found Schlagi, I was going to leave it that way. You have to understand, we used to get along. I knew, shit, if I ever found you, I’d have to choose. It’d be easier not to.”
“But he found me first,” Mäx finishes. Jo nods, pursing his lips.
“He found you,” he agrees, “and he brought you here, and it all went to shit.”
Mäx doesn’t think before he covers Jo’s hand with his own. They’re not wearing gloves, and it’s horribly personal. Jo looks at him, a long, level look. Then he pulls away.
“I can’t. Not now. I just lost one of my closest friends, and-”
“It’s all my fault,” Mäx ends the sentence.
Jo’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly. He swallows, the corners of his mouth turning down.
“No. It’s his.”
ØØØ
Schlagi leaving sets them straight. Somewhat. The musical part of them, anyway. In all honesty, that whole statement might be a lie. Schlagi leaving tells them they’re doing it wrong. It tells them they’re getting caught up in being what other people want them to be, in looking the way other people want them to look, and in being too much like what’s already out there. The message takes a while to sink in. A long while.
Before they’ve gotten themselves straight, Jo gets this idea into his head. It’s called fanservice, and it is the most wonderful and most bitterly painful thing anyone could have thought up.
But Mäx is happy, in a way. He’s with Jo most days, and Schlagi isn’t. He gets to lean against Jo and talk to him, and poke him in the side when he’s being an ass.
And that’s okay. Maybe.
ØØØ
A few strange conversations with the members of Panik and Mäx doesn’t feel so bad about, well, life. Mostly because they don’t wear gloves half the time (something about it being difficult to play with them; Mäx’s never had a problem). And because half of them are terrible at hiding their complete obsession with each other. Yes, half. Exactly half. It’s a freaking daisy chain of obsession.
Mäx has known Jo for six years at that point, and he knows he’s never acted like that. What the fuck.
Jo is too worked up over his breakup with his first official girlfriend to notice. Fabi just thinks they’re awesome because they talk to him. He’s taken a special liking to the short blonde, who is the center of the goddamned daisy chain. That fact doesn’t seem to put Fabi in mortal peril, so Mäx doesn’t comment on it.
His relationship with Fabi is strange. Mäx probably wouldn’t be good friends with Fabi if it weren’t for Jo…and he wouldn’t care for Jo as much as he does if it weren’t for Fabi. They’re tied together so completely, two brothers who have become friends in their own right. It is a strange relationship, though no more strange than what Mäx has with David. Fabi gives him a glimpse into who Jo is both in his existence and in his differences. He’s more energetic than Jo, more emotionally stable, less moody. Mäx has long since realized he’ll take the moodiness and the happiness, the craziness and the acerbity, all of it, because it’s Jo’s name he has and not Fabi’s. Fabi has his own names and his own future to find. He just hasn’t had the luck his brother has.
And then Jo gets over his funk. Mäx doesn’t know what happened.
He just knows he doesn’t feel good about it.
ØØØ
Jo is less an enigma than a headache. Mäx feels his friend’s eyes on him more and more, their conversations becoming less words and more body language and looks, but nothing happens. Years go by and still Mäx remains the too-close friend, the one Jo’s friends and family look at and think, that must be his match. They pepper conversations with pointed questions- hell, even the fan clubs do. Jo keeps silent on the matter. Mäx has an arrangement going with an old school friend. Ria’s been unable to find either of her names for all that she’s searched and searched.
A few years ago, the EU declared it a human right to be able to find one’s names. There is a registry you can file your name in which will find your names for you, if they’re there. It’s not very useful, seeing as it’s illegal to register anyone under the age of thirteen and doubly illegal to register anyone who doesn’t want to be found. Outside of the EU, it’s even harder. The Americans and the Chinese have made it near impossible to access records on their people, and anywhere in the Near or Middle East charges exorbitant fees.
Mäx is guessing Ria’s names are in one of those places. He’s happy to pretend for her until she finds them. People look at you with pity if you haven’t found your names by a certain age. Ria’s not the type to appreciate that.
Then David figures his shit out, and Mäx gets his face shoved into a newly-matched couple, which he really didn’t need at this point in his life.
ØØØ
One night, after spending an afternoon around David and his match, when Mäx feels his own issues pulling him down, Jo slips onto the floor where Mäx is laying, hands crossed behind his head, and rests his head on Mäx’s belly. One of Mäx’s hands comes down automatically to scratch at Jo’s scalp. The brunette closes his eyes happily.
“I don’t know how to love you,” Jo says soberly, the happiness suddenly gone. Mäx stares at the ceiling. Some people find their names and decide they are too much trouble. “I keep thinking it should be easy, but it’s not.” Jo tilts his head back to look at him. “You know?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Mäx says because what is there to say? I’m twenty-one and you’re twenty, and I have no idea what I’m doing? I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but I love you, and it would kill me if you left now?
“You think so?” Jo’s craning his neck so far to look at Mäx, he’s going to be complaining about it later. It’ll be Mäx’s fault, of course.
“I think we can try.”
ØØØ
One day, out of the blue (because that’s how everything works in his world), Jo shoves Mäx against a wall and kisses him. Just presses his lips to Mäx’s without asking. Mäx opens up to him because there’s nothing he wants to do more.
And Jo’s just as beautiful as he was all those years ago.