Of Christmas Letters Going Terribly Wrong (Oneshot)
Title: Of Christmas Letters Going Terribly Wrong
Author: elizabeth21r
Pairing(s): Tom/Bill
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Unfortunately the boys don't belong to me :(
Summary: During the last week of school before Christmas break, Tom decides to finally confess his feelings to Bill Kaulitz, but things don't go exactly as he planned.
Author's notes: I haven't written anything in months so I'm glad I did, no matter the quality of this lol. I started writing it when honey_x_flavor was sick and anachan87 was sad as a gift to make them feel better but it took me longer than I expected oops D: It's dedicated to them, I hope you're both feeling a lot better now <33333333333333333
I hope you all enjoy it guys, Happy Christmas everyone! Unbeta-ed, all mistakes are mine.
Tom has been watching the desk opposite him for a long time, he feels his palms sweat and his dreads weigh heavy on his shoulders. Bill Kaulitz seems to follow the teacher's words calmly, maybe he's a little bored but not less stunning than he always looks. Tom feels his heart beat a little faster at the sight of the boy, the way he slightly tilts his pretty face to the right in an attempt to hide from the teacher, the way he gently hits the edge of his pencil on the almost flawless pages of their History book.
He swallows and feels his stomach create another knot. Despite December's cold air, the class is warm; in fact, it's too worm, he almost feels sweat forming on his forehead but he doesn't dare to raise his hand and wipe it away, just in case he accidentally draws Bill's attention towards him and that's something he really doesn't want, especially today.
The two of them have been classmates since forever, but they never hang out a lot. As Bill grew older and older he became even more special, more beautiful, more unique in a class full of fake styles copied from anything cool the kids had been watching on TV.
He was always an individual and Tom, year after year found himself falling in love with the mysterious boy. He radiated such an aura that made Tom jealous but he still loved it, like those characters he sees in the movies and even though he knows he shouldn't be on their side, there's that something that pulls him towards them. He knows he shouldn't think of Bill like that because Bill probably wasn't even gay - because if there's one thing that Tom has learned throughout this short life of his is not to judge others by their looks, no matter if that other person was Bill.
Or even himself. With those stupid dreadlocks and huge buggy clothes that only attract dumb Barbie-girls. Tom would bet an arm that there's not even one person in the entire building who would ever think that he actually loses his words in front of a boy instead of the hottest chick in town.
Well, if he has to be honest, it's not like he had done tremendous efforts to attract Bill's interest. Each time he tried to talk to the pretty boy his sentences weren't longer than 5 words, and those probably didn't make sense either.
He frowns, still watching Bill. He had long ago passed the point of looking beyond ridiculous in his classmate's head, he knows that, and the thought almost makes him fret, because he really wants to do what he's been planning to do but the more he thinks about it, he finds more and more reasons against it and-
"Mr. Trümper?" He hears his teacher's voice, a little louder than he usually calls him.
"Yes?" he immediately answers, turning his body all over the other end of the desk, away from Bill.
"What's so fascinating about Mr. Kaulitz and you're looking at him with such interest?"
Whispers fill the room and Tom believes the small amount of brain cells left in his head are dead by now. "W-what?"
"You've been looking at your classmate for quite some time Mr. Trümper, and I was wondering why would you think Mr. Kaulitz is more interesting than modern history."
Tom dares to glance at Bill's direction - the beautiful boy looks at him with a frown on his face and a puzzled expression. He slightly separates his lips as if to say something and Tom can feel the stroke coming towards him at the speed of sound.
Luckily for him, the bell rings before anything else happens; the class is almost empty before Tom even has the chance to collect the pieces of his broken dignity. He buries his head between his arms on the desk, wishing he could suffocate himself without it actually being a suicide.
"Um... Tom?"
The voice is close and he raises his head so quickly that he suddenly feels dizzy. He meets Bill's huge brown eyes and his throat feels dryer than days of dehydration.
Bill is smiling gently at him, as he always does to everyone and Tom knows it's only a simple, typical smile, the same he shares with all his classmates. "Hey," he greets, and Tom nods. "Is everything okay?"
Tom looks around, terrified that Bill is standing so close and he might read his thoughts. His plan doesn't go as he planned and he has to get rid of the boy right now. "Yeah, fine, you want something?"
Bill is definitely taken aback by the short reply and Tom wants to smack himself so hard he'd break his own teeth. "Oh..." Bill stutters, shrinking a bit away from Tom. "Nothing, I was just wondering if you wanted something before during-"
"No, nothing, why would I even want something from you, not a thing," Tom says, so fast that he doesn't even understand his own words. He nervously touches the pages of his book, looking anywhere but at Bill, the little Christmas tree they decorated in the classroom, the awful handwriting of their teacher on the board, the scribbles decorating his classmates' notebooks.
"Oh... Okay, sorry I bothered," he hears Bill's defeated voice, and a small piece of him rots inside his chest, he can feel it burning him. Bill leaves the room with slow steps and Tom is now sure that if his confession turns out to be a huge mistake, he will destroy even the last piece of positive opinion Bill might still had for him.
"You're such a dork, apologizing to a jerk," he mutters, lifting his backpack and quickly searching inside of it. His movements are desperate until he suddenly stops when he finds it; a small smile lights up his face as he holds the white envelope in his hands.
Looking around him once more, suspicious as he always have been, he monitors the room for at least a couple of minutes to make sure he is alone.
He suddenly leaves his chair, walks towards Bill's desk, opens his History book and leaves the envelope between its pages; he then immediately closes it back.
When the class is filled up with voices again, and all important historical events are replaced by math, Tom feels a little tingle of hope when Bill grabs his History book and puts it back in his bag with typical gentle movements. Between these pages, Tom hides the most important secret of his life and hopes that finally, he will be able to share it with the only person he wants to - and the only person who should know.
--
Tom knows he's being paranoid. He has reached the point of stalking every single of Bill's moves this past week, hoping to find even the smallest indication that his classmate had found the envelope in his book, but no luck. Bill still kept being his usual self, kind smiles and shiny eyes and annoyingly cute stifled giggles during class time.
Tom is losing his patience. He hadn't really understood that until he found himself in the school bathroom, following Bill. He's in front of the mirror, looking at his pretty face, touching wisps of his hair. Tom feels as if he's mesmerized by the movements for a moment, until Bill turns towards him, smiling.
"Tom, hey!" he says, with his familiar gentle and happy voice. Tom is almost ready to smile at the sound of it, but he restrains himself and simply shrugs a heavy shoulder.
Bill's attention is completely towards him by now; they both look at each other confused. It's as if there's no one else in the building, Tom observes, when Bill's eyes are on him. As if nothing else in the world matters, as if everything he ever needs to know will come out of these lips.
For Tom that actually is true.
"Is something wrong?" Bill asks puzzled, his slender long fingers slightly touch the edges of his t-shit, his tiny t-shirt that covers enough skin to leave Tom unsatisfied by the limited sight of it.
He raises his eyebrows. "I don't know Bill, what do you think?" he answers, and for the first time his voice doesn't break, his eyes don't linger on any random object. He wants answers, and wants them now. He's tired of waiting.
Bill raises his own brows. "You want to tell me something?" he asks, looking strangely at Tom. He crosses his arms and leans his body on the sink, his hips are so tiny that they almost seem plastic and his shirt lifts up just a tiny bit, displaying a small piece of flesh right in front of Tom's eyes. He looks at it and feels the great need to tear all of it and see the rest of the ink on the skin.
"I don't know Bill, do I?" he asks back, and crosses his own arms. Yeah, okay, he knows he's basically been a loser until today, but his words and intentions were perfectly clear in the lines he wrote, and Bill is too cruel if he doesn't recognize that. He could at least recognize it; he doesn't have to respond to it.
Tom watches Bill's face; it's clouded by something he can't make out but it's certainly not positive. His usual smiling lips are pressed into a thin line, his eyes are drier and darker and his forehead looks as if it moved a few inches lower as his furrowed brows pull hard at it.
"Tom, look, stop doing that," he says, and Tom feels his heart break in a thousand pieces before Bill even has the chance to complete his sentence. He read it, he thinks, and he's ready to hit me or laugh at my face for daring to think that a guy like me can ask for something like that. Bill moves towards him and Tom feels his legs walking backwards before he even orders them to do so.
"I don't know what the hell is your problem but I'm done losing my head over it," the boy goes on. "You're looking at me as if I killed your mum or something. At first I thought it was just my idea but then you did it during class and you know what, it's not funny."
Tom blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to understand what's happening. There's no saliva left in his mouth and he can't swallow. "What?"
Bill exhales harshly and brings his hands to his waist. "If you don't want me talking to you then just say it."
"Me?" Tom shouts, he can hear his voice reaching a humiliating tone but he doesn't care. He's angry. "You're the one who doesn't talk."
"For God's sake!" Bill shouts back. "I've been trying to do it for days and you either glare at me or completely ignore me. I don't know what I did to you but whatever it is, I'm sure we can find a way to solve it."
Bill's eyes shine positively again and Tom feels disgusted that his classmate is trying to bribe him with his familiar attitude. "Don't play dumb!" he says, and moves towards Bill this time. He feels his veins tease the skin of his arms and neck, it's like all of his anger comes out in all forms but the one that it should.
His face is close to Bill's, not very close, but definitely closer that it's ever been, and his feelings don't pass from the emotional side of his brain for the first time in his life. He doesn't feel the desire to touch the face or taste the lips, all he's feeling is frustration and rage and disappointment and he did not expect this to happen, and that hurts him.
Bill lowers his gaze slightly and his voice is softer this time. "I really don't know what's going on," he says, and dares to rest his hand on Tom's arm. "Please explain. You're one of the few decent guys in this school and I don't want you to be like everyone else."
"You are like everyone else," Tom glares and shouts, and he knows Bill can see the anger in his face but he doesn't feel guilty. If any of them should feel guilt, that's Bill. "I thought you were different and you'd understand but you know what, you are just like all of them. You've got that... fake style, trying to look all special and you pretend to be polite so that everyone likes you," he continues, touching a wisp of Bill's hair, as if he's trying to prove a point.
Bill looks at him completely shocked. "You don't know what you're talking about," he whispers, taking a few steps back until he finds his body touching the sink again. He looks around, trying to find something to save him from the uncomfortable situation, but Tom will have none of it.
"And it turns out that you're disgusting, you know that?" The words come out from Tom's mouth unprocessed, raw and piercing. Bill blinks, but doesn't take his eyes away from Tom's, as if he's trying to feel all of the other boy's feelings.
Tom frowns harder and tightens his jaw in an attempt to stop talking without thinking, but it seems his mouth works on autopilot. "Because you're fake from head to toe and everyone pretty much knows you suck and that's why no one talks to you. Open your fucking eyes."
Bill swallows loudly and it sounds so clear in Tom's ears that he feels like he's recovering from a stupor. He barely realizes where they are and how risky it is to start a conversation so personal in the school bathroom where everyone could listen. Everything around them is too quiet and he assumes that probably the bell had rung and neither of them heard it.
Tom lowers his head and stares at his shoes, not because he's regretting what he said, but he can't look at Bill right now. He knows that if he sees his face he'll feel a million times worse than how rejection makes him feel right now. He turns around, decides to go to class because no, he won't lose more class time because of him. He's had enough of it, enough. From now own he'll live his life without thinking of Bill Kaulitz and either way, it's just this year and then each one follows their own path in life and then he won’t have to see Bill's stupid face anymore.
"I thought we were friends," he hears Bill's defeated voice once he reaches the door, and there are so many things running through his body. It's their last year and he had such different expectations, and now not only he'll never see Bill after school again, but he also destroyed even the slightest possibility of having an average contact with him as friends. He shouldn't have done it, he thinks, some things should never step out of their closets for everyone's well being.
But Tom isn't fake or kind, he's honest and says whatever it is that he's feeling. Something hot and hard is stuck in his throat and he feels more defeated than Bill probably looks, because he really is. "We were never friends Bill, and you know that," he mutters, before opening the door and running so hard that he feels his legs giving up on him.
--
i'm sorry
The lights of the Christmas tree keep flickering in front of Tom's eyes and he can feel his sight getting blurry. His cell phone lays secure in his palms, message sent, and perhaps he's feeling a little relieved - but he's not sure he can sort out if that's the feeling in his stomach.
The living room is warm and welcoming and the smells from the kitchen tickle his nose, but Tom can't put himself in the Christmas spirit. These past weeks he had gone through a major inner battle with himself, trying to understand, justify himself and eventually find a middle ground. The fact that he had the chance to do so without seeing Bill was very helpful.
Maybe it was too late, he had thought, or maybe that was simply Bill's way of denying him - by not even recognizing the fact. Maybe Bill didn't want to say it in his face, maybe something terrible had happened and he suffered a small memory loss and the incident was deleted from his mind before he even had the chance to save it there.
Anything, any kind of excuse was good enough to prevent the situation he had created.
Tom had been pondering about it for days, and he still does. His behavior had been stupid and immature and he doesn't want to lose Bill. He knows they're not the best of friends, he knows they're not hanging out much together, he knows it probably doesn't mean that much to Bill, but Tom never intended to hurt him, he just couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut. All he wanted was an answer, and when he never received that he felt awful, sure he did, but later on when he was calm and saw things with a different light, he realized that it was Bill's right to manage the situation in any way he wanted, and if that's his way, then who the hell is Tom to indicate the correct one?
His thoughts stop when he feels the vibration in his hands. He immediately reads the answer.
fuck you
Tom groans under his breath and glares at his cell phone. He breathes in and tries to make up his mind. Does he even have anything to lose? He gets up on his feet and starts walking nervously around the living room, trying to relax his head before he picking up his phone and dialing Bill's number.
He's calling for a long time, and the beeping is slowly killing him, repetitive and monotonous. Tom though doesn't stop, because he's stubborn and wants Bill to accept his apology; he wants to go back to looking ridiculous in his classmates eyes, and not an asshole. The beeping echoes three more times through his phone before Tom decides that maybe he should end the call and try again in a while, but right before he does that, Bill picks up.
"What the fuck do you want?" he says and his voice is strangely low, it sounds defeated. "You'll ruin my Christmas too?"
"Bill," Tom stutters, throwing a quick glance towards the kitchen. His mother is too busy cooking Christmas meals and singing a familiar tune. "Look, I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have said all these things," he says, trying to sound as honest as he could muster.
"Oh, no, don't be," Bill replies angrily, and Tom grimaces. "You were honest to me for the first time, I guess I should thank you."
"Don't say that, I was angry and couldn't control myself," Tom tries and feels his cheeks burning. He really said awful things to Bill. "You know the reason, don't-"
"No, Tom, I don't," Bill interrupts him, he sounds more frustrated than before. "And I don't care either, seriously, leave me alone."
"You can't not know."
"Well, I don't okay? Nothing to do about that. Look, I've got to go-"
"I opened up to you Bill, and you acted like nothing happened." Tom feels his head buzzing hard and his hand is numb as he holds his cell phone. He said it, really said it.
Bill sighs at the other end of the line, and it's not the good kind of sigh. "What did you want me to say? Thanks for making me feel like shit?"
This can't be happening. Tom frowns hard once more, his stare glued to a spot on the back of the couch in front of him. "You haven't even read it..."
"What?"
Kicking the couch, Tom raises his free hand to his forehead, clenches it hard into a fist and hits his skin. "Just, look at your History book."
"What? What does that have to do with anything? I don't even have a History book."
Tom feels like his eyes will literally fall off his face. "What?"
"I don't have a History book; I lost it some time ago. I borrow Andreas' one lately. What's wrong with it?"
It takes a while for Tom to understand what Bill told him. His face reflects the perfect image of absolute shock and he ends the call, saying "I have to go," to Bill, before running to his room and putting his shoes on.
--
When the door finally opens, Tom faces a puzzled Andreas behind it, dressed in a semi-formal outfit in the living room of his house. Tom wants to explain why he is there but he's breathless - he ran to go there, they're not living that close. Andreas opens the door further and they both enter the house, it's warm and Tom wants to remove all of his clothes, he's burning.
"Tom? What's going on?" Andreas asks, as they walk inside the living room. The sound of people fills the atmosphere and the smell of food reaches Tom's nostrils even more intensely than it had when he was in his small kitchen. Tom remembers his mother at home - he promised he would be back soon and he doesn't want to leave her alone at days like these. He grabs Andreas by his arm and pulls him back, before they moved further into the house.
"I want your History book," he tells him quickly, his cheeks bright red and he looks like he really needs some water.
"Wait a minute," Andreas says and walks to the table, grabbing a glass of water. As Tom swallows it greedily, Andreas goes on. "What on earth is going on with my History book? Come on, let's go to my room, Bill's also here."
Tom feels the water tickling his throat, threatening to come out of his mouth right away when he hears that - but he holds it in once he remembers where he is. Everything is a blurry image until they reach Andreas' room, the table full of food, his family ready to eat, his parents greeting Tom. And all Tom wants is to go in that room and prevent the worst.
When they're in, Bill is already there, searching the books in Andreas' desk until he finds what he's looking for. When he hears the door opening he turns around sharply, his eyes dangerously dark.
"What are you doing here? You came to get it? I'm not letting you," he said to Tom quickly before turning back to the desk and searching even faster than before.
"Bill..." Tom exhales, he wants to tell him to leave it, to not see it, not now, not with Andreas in the room, not here. He will look even more ridiculous than he thought he did weeks ago.
"Can anyone tell me what's going on?" Andreas shouts, but before anyone says a thing, Bill lets out a small shout of victory and turns towards them, holding the big, heavy History book.
"We'll all find out right now," he says, and searches between its pages. It doesn't take a lot to find the white envelope.
"What's that?" Andreas asks and takes a step towards Bill, but Tom grabs his arm for the second time that day, pulling him back. "What the..."
"Bill," he warns him, his heart beats incredibly hard against his chest. "You shouldn't do this right now."
"Why not?" Bill asks, challenging Tom. "Andreas is my friend and I have nothing to hide from him."
Tearing the envelope easily, he unfolds the paper he finds inside of it. "Wow Tom," he says, before he even looks at it for good. "You wrote an entire letter to tell me how much you hate me?" he asks, raising his eyes at Tom, and walks to the end of the bed, standing above it.
Tom's head is completely empty by now. He wants to run to Bill and grab the paper from his hands and tear it in a thousand pieces and ask him to forget about all of this and turn back the time to when he never fucking wrote it. His touch on Andreas' arm softens and he sits in the nearest chair he finds, his elbows rest on his knees, he's not feeling good. "Bill..."
"Alright, here we go," Bill says, and clears his throat. "Bill, this is something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time but I couldn't find the courage to do it. Congratulations, Tom, you wouldn't even say it in my face. That's great. I know that writing it will probably look stupid to you, but try to understand that it's not easy to do this while looking at you. Well, at least you have the guts to admit that," the beautiful boy spats, looking at Tom's lowered head.
"I've been your classmate for years," he goes on, " and we shared many experiences together, and I guess you must think of me as a friend, but I'm not. Yeah, we got that."
"I don't understand. Did you two fight?" Andreas asks, looking at Tom and then at Bill.
"Yes, Tom explained to me in full detail how disgustingly fake I am and he also wrote me a letter so I can get the picture better," Bill answers sarcastically, walking towards Tom. "Truth is, I also thought so until a few years ago, but my feelings turned out to be different, and maybe I realized it too late. I hope I won't scare you away with this and it won't stop you from talking to me. Okay, Tom? For your information, the next time you want to tell someone how you feel and it's something so negative, better not to say it at all."
Tom is back on his feet and walks towards Bill dangerously quickly. Andreas lets out a small cry when Tom grabs Bill's hand and tries to take back what belongs to him. "Enough," he says, his voice is hoarse and he's feeling more ashamed than he could ever feel if he was completely naked in the middle of their schoolyard. He feels completely humiliated, and he wants to disappear.
Bill manages to escape his grip and takes a few steps backwards, reaching the wall. "Why Tom, didn't you want me to read it? That's what I'm doing."
"Not like that," Tom whispers, trying to beg Bill with his eyes, but failing miserably. "Not like that, please."
"Too late," Bill smiles sarcastically, and picks up the paper in front of his face again. "To be honest, I admired you for years because I thought you were very different from the rest of the school," he stops, laughing bitterly and throws a glance at Tom. "Later on though, I realized it wasn't admiration. It took me a while to comprehend it but I think I can finally admit that I am definitely in love with you."
The world stops right then for Tom. Finding himself in this position, in Andreas' room with Bill reading his confession out loud... That must be what people mean when they say they "died of embarrassment". Bill is at a loss for words standing in front of him, his mouth slightly open in shock and Andreas looks incredibly uncomfortable, as if someone put him in a situation that he didn't want to be.
"God," Bill whispers, raises his hand to his mouth and looks hard at the paper in front of him. "I know it will probably mean nothing to you but I had to get it out of me, since this is our last year in the same school, and I was just wondering if maybe we could spend Christmas together, that is, of course, if you want to. Oh God, Tom," Bill mutters and raises his eyes again. His face holds so many emotions that Tom can't even sort them out, and he doesn't think he wants to anyway.
Everything around him spins in uncontrollable speed and all he wants is to go back home and share a Christmas evening with his mother and her warmth and the warmth of their house and run away from this humiliation. He wants nothing more than to disappear from this house.
"Well," he says, swallows, licks his lips and slightly lowers the front of his hat in an attempt to hide is face, to regain a little part of his composure. "I think you got your answer," he whispers, and almost runs away from Andreas' room.
--
New Year's night is colder than he expected, and Tom finds himself slightly trembling as he stands in the backyard of his house. He slowly inhales his cigarette, trying to warm his lungs a little, but doesn't succeed.
Noise and music can be heard from far away, traveling with the air and sending chills down Tom's skin as they pass him. His mother is asleep in her warm bed inside, and it's only natural; it's been hours since the year changed and they both spent their night playing cards and drinking beer. Tom can't remember another time that he felt more grateful to have his mother by his side, he sincerely had spent a wonderful evening.
He feels sleepy and tired; the rest of the day weighs hard on him. He takes a last drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke slowly out between his separated lips, and looks at the city lights for one last time. Turning around, he almost lets out a frightened cry when he sees Bill standing right in front of him.
"What the hell," he mutters out of breath, opening his palm on his chest as if trying to calm his heart from the surprise and shock.
Neither of them speaks. Tom stays frozen while Bill looks tiny and lonely and magical under the dark light of the night. Removing his hands from the pockets of his tiny jacket, he leans towards him and Tom automatically opens up his arms, and when Bill falls between them Tom thinks that, quite frankly, this is it. This is the feeling of perfection, of right, of getting what you deserve. And when Bill locks his arms around his neck and leans his head on his shoulder, there's nothing else for Tom. The city lights, the music, his mother, the warmth of his home, none of them exist. The only thing that matters is the feeling of Bill all around him.
Bill travels his finger gently on Tom's skin, behind his dreadlocks and low on the back of his neck; he scratches him in a relaxing and apologizing pace and Tom doesn't want to move, but he feels his eyes drop shut before he has the time to prevent them. He feels as if this is a dream and somehow the real world collided with his dream-world and confused him; he wants to open his eyes now, afraid of the disappointment he'll have to face if he wakes up later.
But his senses never felt that real in his dreams, Tom can recognize the difference when Bill tilts his head slightly upwards, leaving a tiny kiss on his lips. It's not enough, and Tom pulls him back towards him, grabbing the back of his neck and yes, it's not a dream. In fact, nothing had ever felt so real in his life.
When they pull apart and exhale, their breaths warm each other's faces and Tom feels his mouth turning upwards in a spontaneous smile after so long. Bill follows the same pattern and before their lips touch again, he moves Tom's face towards his, leaves a gentle kiss on his cheek and whispers, "Happy New Year."
Author: elizabeth21r
Pairing(s): Tom/Bill
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Unfortunately the boys don't belong to me :(
Summary: During the last week of school before Christmas break, Tom decides to finally confess his feelings to Bill Kaulitz, but things don't go exactly as he planned.
Author's notes: I haven't written anything in months so I'm glad I did, no matter the quality of this lol. I started writing it when honey_x_flavor was sick and anachan87 was sad as a gift to make them feel better but it took me longer than I expected oops D: It's dedicated to them, I hope you're both feeling a lot better now <33333333333333333
I hope you all enjoy it guys, Happy Christmas everyone! Unbeta-ed, all mistakes are mine.
Tom has been watching the desk opposite him for a long time, he feels his palms sweat and his dreads weigh heavy on his shoulders. Bill Kaulitz seems to follow the teacher's words calmly, maybe he's a little bored but not less stunning than he always looks. Tom feels his heart beat a little faster at the sight of the boy, the way he slightly tilts his pretty face to the right in an attempt to hide from the teacher, the way he gently hits the edge of his pencil on the almost flawless pages of their History book.
He swallows and feels his stomach create another knot. Despite December's cold air, the class is warm; in fact, it's too worm, he almost feels sweat forming on his forehead but he doesn't dare to raise his hand and wipe it away, just in case he accidentally draws Bill's attention towards him and that's something he really doesn't want, especially today.
The two of them have been classmates since forever, but they never hang out a lot. As Bill grew older and older he became even more special, more beautiful, more unique in a class full of fake styles copied from anything cool the kids had been watching on TV.
He was always an individual and Tom, year after year found himself falling in love with the mysterious boy. He radiated such an aura that made Tom jealous but he still loved it, like those characters he sees in the movies and even though he knows he shouldn't be on their side, there's that something that pulls him towards them. He knows he shouldn't think of Bill like that because Bill probably wasn't even gay - because if there's one thing that Tom has learned throughout this short life of his is not to judge others by their looks, no matter if that other person was Bill.
Or even himself. With those stupid dreadlocks and huge buggy clothes that only attract dumb Barbie-girls. Tom would bet an arm that there's not even one person in the entire building who would ever think that he actually loses his words in front of a boy instead of the hottest chick in town.
Well, if he has to be honest, it's not like he had done tremendous efforts to attract Bill's interest. Each time he tried to talk to the pretty boy his sentences weren't longer than 5 words, and those probably didn't make sense either.
He frowns, still watching Bill. He had long ago passed the point of looking beyond ridiculous in his classmate's head, he knows that, and the thought almost makes him fret, because he really wants to do what he's been planning to do but the more he thinks about it, he finds more and more reasons against it and-
"Mr. Trümper?" He hears his teacher's voice, a little louder than he usually calls him.
"Yes?" he immediately answers, turning his body all over the other end of the desk, away from Bill.
"What's so fascinating about Mr. Kaulitz and you're looking at him with such interest?"
Whispers fill the room and Tom believes the small amount of brain cells left in his head are dead by now. "W-what?"
"You've been looking at your classmate for quite some time Mr. Trümper, and I was wondering why would you think Mr. Kaulitz is more interesting than modern history."
Tom dares to glance at Bill's direction - the beautiful boy looks at him with a frown on his face and a puzzled expression. He slightly separates his lips as if to say something and Tom can feel the stroke coming towards him at the speed of sound.
Luckily for him, the bell rings before anything else happens; the class is almost empty before Tom even has the chance to collect the pieces of his broken dignity. He buries his head between his arms on the desk, wishing he could suffocate himself without it actually being a suicide.
"Um... Tom?"
The voice is close and he raises his head so quickly that he suddenly feels dizzy. He meets Bill's huge brown eyes and his throat feels dryer than days of dehydration.
Bill is smiling gently at him, as he always does to everyone and Tom knows it's only a simple, typical smile, the same he shares with all his classmates. "Hey," he greets, and Tom nods. "Is everything okay?"
Tom looks around, terrified that Bill is standing so close and he might read his thoughts. His plan doesn't go as he planned and he has to get rid of the boy right now. "Yeah, fine, you want something?"
Bill is definitely taken aback by the short reply and Tom wants to smack himself so hard he'd break his own teeth. "Oh..." Bill stutters, shrinking a bit away from Tom. "Nothing, I was just wondering if you wanted something before during-"
"No, nothing, why would I even want something from you, not a thing," Tom says, so fast that he doesn't even understand his own words. He nervously touches the pages of his book, looking anywhere but at Bill, the little Christmas tree they decorated in the classroom, the awful handwriting of their teacher on the board, the scribbles decorating his classmates' notebooks.
"Oh... Okay, sorry I bothered," he hears Bill's defeated voice, and a small piece of him rots inside his chest, he can feel it burning him. Bill leaves the room with slow steps and Tom is now sure that if his confession turns out to be a huge mistake, he will destroy even the last piece of positive opinion Bill might still had for him.
"You're such a dork, apologizing to a jerk," he mutters, lifting his backpack and quickly searching inside of it. His movements are desperate until he suddenly stops when he finds it; a small smile lights up his face as he holds the white envelope in his hands.
Looking around him once more, suspicious as he always have been, he monitors the room for at least a couple of minutes to make sure he is alone.
He suddenly leaves his chair, walks towards Bill's desk, opens his History book and leaves the envelope between its pages; he then immediately closes it back.
When the class is filled up with voices again, and all important historical events are replaced by math, Tom feels a little tingle of hope when Bill grabs his History book and puts it back in his bag with typical gentle movements. Between these pages, Tom hides the most important secret of his life and hopes that finally, he will be able to share it with the only person he wants to - and the only person who should know.
--
Tom knows he's being paranoid. He has reached the point of stalking every single of Bill's moves this past week, hoping to find even the smallest indication that his classmate had found the envelope in his book, but no luck. Bill still kept being his usual self, kind smiles and shiny eyes and annoyingly cute stifled giggles during class time.
Tom is losing his patience. He hadn't really understood that until he found himself in the school bathroom, following Bill. He's in front of the mirror, looking at his pretty face, touching wisps of his hair. Tom feels as if he's mesmerized by the movements for a moment, until Bill turns towards him, smiling.
"Tom, hey!" he says, with his familiar gentle and happy voice. Tom is almost ready to smile at the sound of it, but he restrains himself and simply shrugs a heavy shoulder.
Bill's attention is completely towards him by now; they both look at each other confused. It's as if there's no one else in the building, Tom observes, when Bill's eyes are on him. As if nothing else in the world matters, as if everything he ever needs to know will come out of these lips.
For Tom that actually is true.
"Is something wrong?" Bill asks puzzled, his slender long fingers slightly touch the edges of his t-shit, his tiny t-shirt that covers enough skin to leave Tom unsatisfied by the limited sight of it.
He raises his eyebrows. "I don't know Bill, what do you think?" he answers, and for the first time his voice doesn't break, his eyes don't linger on any random object. He wants answers, and wants them now. He's tired of waiting.
Bill raises his own brows. "You want to tell me something?" he asks, looking strangely at Tom. He crosses his arms and leans his body on the sink, his hips are so tiny that they almost seem plastic and his shirt lifts up just a tiny bit, displaying a small piece of flesh right in front of Tom's eyes. He looks at it and feels the great need to tear all of it and see the rest of the ink on the skin.
"I don't know Bill, do I?" he asks back, and crosses his own arms. Yeah, okay, he knows he's basically been a loser until today, but his words and intentions were perfectly clear in the lines he wrote, and Bill is too cruel if he doesn't recognize that. He could at least recognize it; he doesn't have to respond to it.
Tom watches Bill's face; it's clouded by something he can't make out but it's certainly not positive. His usual smiling lips are pressed into a thin line, his eyes are drier and darker and his forehead looks as if it moved a few inches lower as his furrowed brows pull hard at it.
"Tom, look, stop doing that," he says, and Tom feels his heart break in a thousand pieces before Bill even has the chance to complete his sentence. He read it, he thinks, and he's ready to hit me or laugh at my face for daring to think that a guy like me can ask for something like that. Bill moves towards him and Tom feels his legs walking backwards before he even orders them to do so.
"I don't know what the hell is your problem but I'm done losing my head over it," the boy goes on. "You're looking at me as if I killed your mum or something. At first I thought it was just my idea but then you did it during class and you know what, it's not funny."
Tom blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to understand what's happening. There's no saliva left in his mouth and he can't swallow. "What?"
Bill exhales harshly and brings his hands to his waist. "If you don't want me talking to you then just say it."
"Me?" Tom shouts, he can hear his voice reaching a humiliating tone but he doesn't care. He's angry. "You're the one who doesn't talk."
"For God's sake!" Bill shouts back. "I've been trying to do it for days and you either glare at me or completely ignore me. I don't know what I did to you but whatever it is, I'm sure we can find a way to solve it."
Bill's eyes shine positively again and Tom feels disgusted that his classmate is trying to bribe him with his familiar attitude. "Don't play dumb!" he says, and moves towards Bill this time. He feels his veins tease the skin of his arms and neck, it's like all of his anger comes out in all forms but the one that it should.
His face is close to Bill's, not very close, but definitely closer that it's ever been, and his feelings don't pass from the emotional side of his brain for the first time in his life. He doesn't feel the desire to touch the face or taste the lips, all he's feeling is frustration and rage and disappointment and he did not expect this to happen, and that hurts him.
Bill lowers his gaze slightly and his voice is softer this time. "I really don't know what's going on," he says, and dares to rest his hand on Tom's arm. "Please explain. You're one of the few decent guys in this school and I don't want you to be like everyone else."
"You are like everyone else," Tom glares and shouts, and he knows Bill can see the anger in his face but he doesn't feel guilty. If any of them should feel guilt, that's Bill. "I thought you were different and you'd understand but you know what, you are just like all of them. You've got that... fake style, trying to look all special and you pretend to be polite so that everyone likes you," he continues, touching a wisp of Bill's hair, as if he's trying to prove a point.
Bill looks at him completely shocked. "You don't know what you're talking about," he whispers, taking a few steps back until he finds his body touching the sink again. He looks around, trying to find something to save him from the uncomfortable situation, but Tom will have none of it.
"And it turns out that you're disgusting, you know that?" The words come out from Tom's mouth unprocessed, raw and piercing. Bill blinks, but doesn't take his eyes away from Tom's, as if he's trying to feel all of the other boy's feelings.
Tom frowns harder and tightens his jaw in an attempt to stop talking without thinking, but it seems his mouth works on autopilot. "Because you're fake from head to toe and everyone pretty much knows you suck and that's why no one talks to you. Open your fucking eyes."
Bill swallows loudly and it sounds so clear in Tom's ears that he feels like he's recovering from a stupor. He barely realizes where they are and how risky it is to start a conversation so personal in the school bathroom where everyone could listen. Everything around them is too quiet and he assumes that probably the bell had rung and neither of them heard it.
Tom lowers his head and stares at his shoes, not because he's regretting what he said, but he can't look at Bill right now. He knows that if he sees his face he'll feel a million times worse than how rejection makes him feel right now. He turns around, decides to go to class because no, he won't lose more class time because of him. He's had enough of it, enough. From now own he'll live his life without thinking of Bill Kaulitz and either way, it's just this year and then each one follows their own path in life and then he won’t have to see Bill's stupid face anymore.
"I thought we were friends," he hears Bill's defeated voice once he reaches the door, and there are so many things running through his body. It's their last year and he had such different expectations, and now not only he'll never see Bill after school again, but he also destroyed even the slightest possibility of having an average contact with him as friends. He shouldn't have done it, he thinks, some things should never step out of their closets for everyone's well being.
But Tom isn't fake or kind, he's honest and says whatever it is that he's feeling. Something hot and hard is stuck in his throat and he feels more defeated than Bill probably looks, because he really is. "We were never friends Bill, and you know that," he mutters, before opening the door and running so hard that he feels his legs giving up on him.
--
i'm sorry
The lights of the Christmas tree keep flickering in front of Tom's eyes and he can feel his sight getting blurry. His cell phone lays secure in his palms, message sent, and perhaps he's feeling a little relieved - but he's not sure he can sort out if that's the feeling in his stomach.
The living room is warm and welcoming and the smells from the kitchen tickle his nose, but Tom can't put himself in the Christmas spirit. These past weeks he had gone through a major inner battle with himself, trying to understand, justify himself and eventually find a middle ground. The fact that he had the chance to do so without seeing Bill was very helpful.
Maybe it was too late, he had thought, or maybe that was simply Bill's way of denying him - by not even recognizing the fact. Maybe Bill didn't want to say it in his face, maybe something terrible had happened and he suffered a small memory loss and the incident was deleted from his mind before he even had the chance to save it there.
Anything, any kind of excuse was good enough to prevent the situation he had created.
Tom had been pondering about it for days, and he still does. His behavior had been stupid and immature and he doesn't want to lose Bill. He knows they're not the best of friends, he knows they're not hanging out much together, he knows it probably doesn't mean that much to Bill, but Tom never intended to hurt him, he just couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut. All he wanted was an answer, and when he never received that he felt awful, sure he did, but later on when he was calm and saw things with a different light, he realized that it was Bill's right to manage the situation in any way he wanted, and if that's his way, then who the hell is Tom to indicate the correct one?
His thoughts stop when he feels the vibration in his hands. He immediately reads the answer.
fuck you
Tom groans under his breath and glares at his cell phone. He breathes in and tries to make up his mind. Does he even have anything to lose? He gets up on his feet and starts walking nervously around the living room, trying to relax his head before he picking up his phone and dialing Bill's number.
He's calling for a long time, and the beeping is slowly killing him, repetitive and monotonous. Tom though doesn't stop, because he's stubborn and wants Bill to accept his apology; he wants to go back to looking ridiculous in his classmates eyes, and not an asshole. The beeping echoes three more times through his phone before Tom decides that maybe he should end the call and try again in a while, but right before he does that, Bill picks up.
"What the fuck do you want?" he says and his voice is strangely low, it sounds defeated. "You'll ruin my Christmas too?"
"Bill," Tom stutters, throwing a quick glance towards the kitchen. His mother is too busy cooking Christmas meals and singing a familiar tune. "Look, I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have said all these things," he says, trying to sound as honest as he could muster.
"Oh, no, don't be," Bill replies angrily, and Tom grimaces. "You were honest to me for the first time, I guess I should thank you."
"Don't say that, I was angry and couldn't control myself," Tom tries and feels his cheeks burning. He really said awful things to Bill. "You know the reason, don't-"
"No, Tom, I don't," Bill interrupts him, he sounds more frustrated than before. "And I don't care either, seriously, leave me alone."
"You can't not know."
"Well, I don't okay? Nothing to do about that. Look, I've got to go-"
"I opened up to you Bill, and you acted like nothing happened." Tom feels his head buzzing hard and his hand is numb as he holds his cell phone. He said it, really said it.
Bill sighs at the other end of the line, and it's not the good kind of sigh. "What did you want me to say? Thanks for making me feel like shit?"
This can't be happening. Tom frowns hard once more, his stare glued to a spot on the back of the couch in front of him. "You haven't even read it..."
"What?"
Kicking the couch, Tom raises his free hand to his forehead, clenches it hard into a fist and hits his skin. "Just, look at your History book."
"What? What does that have to do with anything? I don't even have a History book."
Tom feels like his eyes will literally fall off his face. "What?"
"I don't have a History book; I lost it some time ago. I borrow Andreas' one lately. What's wrong with it?"
It takes a while for Tom to understand what Bill told him. His face reflects the perfect image of absolute shock and he ends the call, saying "I have to go," to Bill, before running to his room and putting his shoes on.
--
When the door finally opens, Tom faces a puzzled Andreas behind it, dressed in a semi-formal outfit in the living room of his house. Tom wants to explain why he is there but he's breathless - he ran to go there, they're not living that close. Andreas opens the door further and they both enter the house, it's warm and Tom wants to remove all of his clothes, he's burning.
"Tom? What's going on?" Andreas asks, as they walk inside the living room. The sound of people fills the atmosphere and the smell of food reaches Tom's nostrils even more intensely than it had when he was in his small kitchen. Tom remembers his mother at home - he promised he would be back soon and he doesn't want to leave her alone at days like these. He grabs Andreas by his arm and pulls him back, before they moved further into the house.
"I want your History book," he tells him quickly, his cheeks bright red and he looks like he really needs some water.
"Wait a minute," Andreas says and walks to the table, grabbing a glass of water. As Tom swallows it greedily, Andreas goes on. "What on earth is going on with my History book? Come on, let's go to my room, Bill's also here."
Tom feels the water tickling his throat, threatening to come out of his mouth right away when he hears that - but he holds it in once he remembers where he is. Everything is a blurry image until they reach Andreas' room, the table full of food, his family ready to eat, his parents greeting Tom. And all Tom wants is to go in that room and prevent the worst.
When they're in, Bill is already there, searching the books in Andreas' desk until he finds what he's looking for. When he hears the door opening he turns around sharply, his eyes dangerously dark.
"What are you doing here? You came to get it? I'm not letting you," he said to Tom quickly before turning back to the desk and searching even faster than before.
"Bill..." Tom exhales, he wants to tell him to leave it, to not see it, not now, not with Andreas in the room, not here. He will look even more ridiculous than he thought he did weeks ago.
"Can anyone tell me what's going on?" Andreas shouts, but before anyone says a thing, Bill lets out a small shout of victory and turns towards them, holding the big, heavy History book.
"We'll all find out right now," he says, and searches between its pages. It doesn't take a lot to find the white envelope.
"What's that?" Andreas asks and takes a step towards Bill, but Tom grabs his arm for the second time that day, pulling him back. "What the..."
"Bill," he warns him, his heart beats incredibly hard against his chest. "You shouldn't do this right now."
"Why not?" Bill asks, challenging Tom. "Andreas is my friend and I have nothing to hide from him."
Tearing the envelope easily, he unfolds the paper he finds inside of it. "Wow Tom," he says, before he even looks at it for good. "You wrote an entire letter to tell me how much you hate me?" he asks, raising his eyes at Tom, and walks to the end of the bed, standing above it.
Tom's head is completely empty by now. He wants to run to Bill and grab the paper from his hands and tear it in a thousand pieces and ask him to forget about all of this and turn back the time to when he never fucking wrote it. His touch on Andreas' arm softens and he sits in the nearest chair he finds, his elbows rest on his knees, he's not feeling good. "Bill..."
"Alright, here we go," Bill says, and clears his throat. "Bill, this is something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time but I couldn't find the courage to do it. Congratulations, Tom, you wouldn't even say it in my face. That's great. I know that writing it will probably look stupid to you, but try to understand that it's not easy to do this while looking at you. Well, at least you have the guts to admit that," the beautiful boy spats, looking at Tom's lowered head.
"I've been your classmate for years," he goes on, " and we shared many experiences together, and I guess you must think of me as a friend, but I'm not. Yeah, we got that."
"I don't understand. Did you two fight?" Andreas asks, looking at Tom and then at Bill.
"Yes, Tom explained to me in full detail how disgustingly fake I am and he also wrote me a letter so I can get the picture better," Bill answers sarcastically, walking towards Tom. "Truth is, I also thought so until a few years ago, but my feelings turned out to be different, and maybe I realized it too late. I hope I won't scare you away with this and it won't stop you from talking to me. Okay, Tom? For your information, the next time you want to tell someone how you feel and it's something so negative, better not to say it at all."
Tom is back on his feet and walks towards Bill dangerously quickly. Andreas lets out a small cry when Tom grabs Bill's hand and tries to take back what belongs to him. "Enough," he says, his voice is hoarse and he's feeling more ashamed than he could ever feel if he was completely naked in the middle of their schoolyard. He feels completely humiliated, and he wants to disappear.
Bill manages to escape his grip and takes a few steps backwards, reaching the wall. "Why Tom, didn't you want me to read it? That's what I'm doing."
"Not like that," Tom whispers, trying to beg Bill with his eyes, but failing miserably. "Not like that, please."
"Too late," Bill smiles sarcastically, and picks up the paper in front of his face again. "To be honest, I admired you for years because I thought you were very different from the rest of the school," he stops, laughing bitterly and throws a glance at Tom. "Later on though, I realized it wasn't admiration. It took me a while to comprehend it but I think I can finally admit that I am definitely in love with you."
The world stops right then for Tom. Finding himself in this position, in Andreas' room with Bill reading his confession out loud... That must be what people mean when they say they "died of embarrassment". Bill is at a loss for words standing in front of him, his mouth slightly open in shock and Andreas looks incredibly uncomfortable, as if someone put him in a situation that he didn't want to be.
"God," Bill whispers, raises his hand to his mouth and looks hard at the paper in front of him. "I know it will probably mean nothing to you but I had to get it out of me, since this is our last year in the same school, and I was just wondering if maybe we could spend Christmas together, that is, of course, if you want to. Oh God, Tom," Bill mutters and raises his eyes again. His face holds so many emotions that Tom can't even sort them out, and he doesn't think he wants to anyway.
Everything around him spins in uncontrollable speed and all he wants is to go back home and share a Christmas evening with his mother and her warmth and the warmth of their house and run away from this humiliation. He wants nothing more than to disappear from this house.
"Well," he says, swallows, licks his lips and slightly lowers the front of his hat in an attempt to hide is face, to regain a little part of his composure. "I think you got your answer," he whispers, and almost runs away from Andreas' room.
--
New Year's night is colder than he expected, and Tom finds himself slightly trembling as he stands in the backyard of his house. He slowly inhales his cigarette, trying to warm his lungs a little, but doesn't succeed.
Noise and music can be heard from far away, traveling with the air and sending chills down Tom's skin as they pass him. His mother is asleep in her warm bed inside, and it's only natural; it's been hours since the year changed and they both spent their night playing cards and drinking beer. Tom can't remember another time that he felt more grateful to have his mother by his side, he sincerely had spent a wonderful evening.
He feels sleepy and tired; the rest of the day weighs hard on him. He takes a last drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke slowly out between his separated lips, and looks at the city lights for one last time. Turning around, he almost lets out a frightened cry when he sees Bill standing right in front of him.
"What the hell," he mutters out of breath, opening his palm on his chest as if trying to calm his heart from the surprise and shock.
Neither of them speaks. Tom stays frozen while Bill looks tiny and lonely and magical under the dark light of the night. Removing his hands from the pockets of his tiny jacket, he leans towards him and Tom automatically opens up his arms, and when Bill falls between them Tom thinks that, quite frankly, this is it. This is the feeling of perfection, of right, of getting what you deserve. And when Bill locks his arms around his neck and leans his head on his shoulder, there's nothing else for Tom. The city lights, the music, his mother, the warmth of his home, none of them exist. The only thing that matters is the feeling of Bill all around him.
Bill travels his finger gently on Tom's skin, behind his dreadlocks and low on the back of his neck; he scratches him in a relaxing and apologizing pace and Tom doesn't want to move, but he feels his eyes drop shut before he has the time to prevent them. He feels as if this is a dream and somehow the real world collided with his dream-world and confused him; he wants to open his eyes now, afraid of the disappointment he'll have to face if he wakes up later.
But his senses never felt that real in his dreams, Tom can recognize the difference when Bill tilts his head slightly upwards, leaving a tiny kiss on his lips. It's not enough, and Tom pulls him back towards him, grabbing the back of his neck and yes, it's not a dream. In fact, nothing had ever felt so real in his life.
When they pull apart and exhale, their breaths warm each other's faces and Tom feels his mouth turning upwards in a spontaneous smile after so long. Bill follows the same pattern and before their lips touch again, he moves Tom's face towards his, leaves a gentle kiss on his cheek and whispers, "Happy New Year."