(no subject)

[peki]

This was a difficult chapter to write. Tying up subplot is always hard, and when it comes with a really emotional narrative like this it's a lot to handle at once. Also, this part of the fic actually incorporates the very first bits I wrote of this story, not knowing what would become of it. It's weird to watch things wrap up like that :) But nice.

Still guesstimating the chapter count. May be 12, may be 13 (or, technically, 12 + epilogue). Lol, idk.




Title: The Best Laid Plans (10/12)
Genre: Het with a side of twins gen
Pairing: Tom/OFC
Rating: NC17
Summary: Tom has been looking over the fence at the neighbors' daughter for months. Unfortunately, the girl likes Bill. What's a horny guitarist to do?
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to dailanche with many thanks! I couldn't have pulled it together without her advice.



Tom woke to the sound of hammers hitting away at the inside of his skull. The noise reverberated through his entire body, right down into his toes. He was trembling with it, and the surface beneath him, too, shook with the force of the blows.

Groaning, he opened his eyes. It was morning, and he was still on the couch in the living room. Someone had tucked him in under a thin blanket. He must’ve fallen asleep during the godawful movie Gustav and Georg had forced him to watch; even his vodka glass was still half full, sitting on the coffee table before him. Tom grabbed it and downed it in one, grimacing. The liquor was stale and warm, but it burned nicely down his throat. Maybe, if he had enough, the sting would numb the painful black hole inside his chest.

He’d returned to the house yesterday shaken and upset, too devastated to even tell the others what had happened. Of course, Bill had weaseled it out of him before long, and with the words, Tom’s despair had forced its way out, until he was screaming and throwing things and creating a magnificent mess that fit the one he’d made of his life. Eventually, the fury had run its course, and he’d collapsed on the couch, hating himself and all the world and his friends for being sympathetic when he couldn’t stand himself. They’d handed him a glass of vodka and put on a porn movie that didn’t interest Tom in the slightest. Thankfully, he’d passed out at some point, his tiredness claiming him at last. He hadn’t even dreamed much, and nothing he could remember.

Now it was day again, though, and Tom felt drained and tired still even though his watch told him he’d been sleeping for almost twelve hours. His head hurt, his heart hurt, and the hammering wouldn’t stop. It was loud, and it came from somewhere below, not from inside his skull.

Tom sat up and glanced around, squinting in the light of another bright, obnoxiously cheerful summer’s day. The door to the kitchen was open; Bill was standing by the sink, pouring water into the dogs’ drinking bowls. “Hey,” Tom made. His voice was rough like sandpaper. He’d screamed himself hoarse.

Bill turned. “Oh, hey. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think?” Tom said. “Like shit.”

Bill put down the bowls, which the dogs received greedily, and went to sit with his twin. He hugged Tom briefly. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do. Is there?”

“No.” Tom clung for a bit, pressing his pained head against the sharp edge of Bill’s collarbone. “Yes. What is that noise? Make it stop.”

“Gustav’s decided to set up the sound booth himself, since I wasn’t getting it done fast enough for his liking.” Bill pulled away and went into the hall, where he opened the basement door and yelled down, “Gustav! Tom’s awake. Can you make some more coffee?”

The drummer appeared a minute later, sweaty and red-faced, wiping his hands on a towel. “How do you not know how to operate your own coffee machine?”

Bill batted his lashes. “I do. But it tastes better when you make it.”

Gustav grumbled something about spoiled kids under his breath. “Morning, Tom. How are you?”

“I’m awful, thanks for asking,” Tom snapped. He slumped back down on the couch. When would they stop pitying him? He didn’t think he could bear this sort of attention for long, not when he felt so sick and tired of himself inside. He didn’t deserve his friends’ sympathy. “Sorry, Gustav, it’s just…bad.”

“You look bad, so at least it fits,” was the drummer’s opinion. He was about to shuffle off into the kitchen when the front door opened and Georg let himself in, joining them a moment later in the living room. He was wearing workout clothes and his hair was frizzy with sweat; he must’ve gone for a run, but it seemed to have done little to relax him. There was a crease between his brows, and his demeanor was tense. The usually laid-back bassist looked stressed out, and apprehensive.

“Guys,” he said, in a tight tone of voice that had them all turn to him instantly, “Something’s happened.” He held up a rolled-up newspaper. “It’s Bild.”

“What now?” Bill asked. “Am I suffering from anorexia again?”

“I wish,” Georg said. “Ready?” Clumsily, he unrolled the paper and held it up for them to see.

Tom gasped. There, on the front page was a photo of him at Erika’s door. The print was grainy, but it was he, unmistakable in his bearing and height, in his oversized clothes, with the dreadlocks tied up and threaded through his hat. He was standing on the second step of the few stairs that led up to her house, and before him, clearly visible, stood Erika, her sad, tearful face the brilliant focus of the picture. His stomach dropped.

’Not just a neighbor! Secret girlfriend for Tokio-Tom!’ the headlines read in large black and red letters.

“Oh fuck,” Bill gasped. “Oh fuck!”

“They’re going to be all over her,” Georg said. “There were reporters at her door already.”

Gustav sighed. “I’ll go make coffee.”

“Fuck!” Bill lamented. “Why does everything have to happen at once?”

Tom was shocked into stillness. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. This was his fault, his stupid, thoughtless mistake. He’d known he shouldn’t talk to her in front of the fans, but his selfish need to see her had won out over all sense and reason. He knew what sort of things happened if he wasn’t careful. And now Erika would have to bear the storm of outrage and public curiosity, while he sat safely hidden away behind a publicist, management and his bodyguards.

It wasn’t fair. From the beginning, nothing he’d done had been fair to her. He deserved every bit of pain he’d gotten.

His hands shaky, he grabbed the newspaper from Georg and skimmed the article. Apparently, Bild hadn’t only bought the fan pictures, they’d also interviewed the fame-hungry pack of girls. ‘They seemed to know each other well’, one of them was quoted as saying. ‘She looked really upset, and so did he, like they’d been fighting.’ Bild had Erika’s name too, in bold letters under three other, different pictures of them by the door. Tom felt sick. He dropped the paper onto the coffee table, disgusted.

“What do we do?” Georg asked.

“We can’t say anything, obviously, but we must get them off her somehow,” Bill said. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, pensive. “And we need to call her, tell her how to deal with them.”

“What if she tells them the whole story?” Gustav wondered from the kitchen.

Tom started. “She won’t,” he muttered. “She promised me.”

Georg looked doubtful. “If they come at her hard… Or she gets pissed off enough…”

Tom’s head snapped up. “She won’t, okay? She’s not that sort of person!”

“Okay, okay.” Georg held up his hands. “Just saying. Yeah, you’d better call her.”

Tom huffed. “I can’t.”

“I can,” Bill said. “Give me your phone, I’ll call her right now.”

But there was no need. A loud knock on the garden door startled them all, and a second later, Erika stormed in, bright-eyed and furious. She was haphazardly dressed in sweatpants and a worn tank top, and her hair was up in a wet, messy bun, like she’d just stepped out of the shower and hurried over here. Tom’s stomach flip flopped. This was only the second time she’d come to see him at their house; but he’d never imagined a visit of hers would be like this.

Erika came right at him and thumped him in the chest with her fist. “Have you seen the paper this morning?” Her cheeks were red with outrage, and all Tom could think, much as he wanted to focus on other things, was that she was beautiful when she was angry, so beautiful. His chest prickled where she’d touched him. “You’ve made a fucking tabloid story out of me! My father is livid!”

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Bill beat him to it. “I’m sorry it came to this,” he said, “but it’s not like we made them print the story.”

“If he hadn’t come to my door,” Erika pointed an accusing finger at Tom, “none of this would’ve happened.”

“If you’d just let me in, like I asked you to--” Tom started hotly, and she whirled around to face him again.

“Don’t you blame this on me! This is your fault!”

“I told you we had to be careful so we wouldn’t end up in Bild with everything we do!” he retorted. “If you’d trusted me--”

“Trusted you!” she exclaimed. “Yeah, maybe you’ll understand why that’s hard for me!”

“Of course it’s not your fault,” Bill interjected smoothly. “Tom, she couldn’t have known what it’s like.” He turned to Erika again. “But it’s not like we made this happen. We’re not happy about it either. Although we’re mostly worried for you.”

His gentle tone seemed to calm her a bit. She folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself. “So what now?”

“Are you on Facebook? Twitter? Myspace?” Gustav asked.

She nodded tentatively. “Some of them, yeah. Why?”

“Delete everything,” was his advice.

She looked dismayed. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Bill said. “I’m sorry, these things usually blow over after a few weeks--”

“Weeks!” she burst out, shocked.

Bill shrugged sheepishly. “We’ll try to get them to drop it, but I can’t promise you they will. It’s probably best to not say anything about it at all, that’d just make them more curious.”

“More curious?” she snapped. “I had RTL on my doorstep this morning! How could this get any worse?”

“It could,” Tom said. “Believe me.”

She glanced at him uncertainly, and he could see how afraid she was now that the anger was giving way to upset. He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, tell her it would be okay, that he’d take care of everything, but it wasn’t his place to do that. If not for him, they wouldn’t find themselves in this situation. Tom bit his lip and dropped his gaze, his hands fisting in the pockets of his pants.

“It’s not the media you need to worry about,” Bill said darkly. “You have to be careful, okay? Best not to go out alone for a few days.”

Erika looked thoroughly freaked out now. “What do you mean? The fans might attack me if I do?”

“Not the fans,” Bill hurried to assure her. “Well, not the real fans. But there are some…special ones out there--”

“Crazy stalkers?” Erika was close to losing it, Tom could see. Her eyes were brimming with tears; again, she was crying because of him. Guilt twisted his insides, made him feel queasy with remorse. If only he hadn’t gone over to her house. If only she hadn’t found out he’d been lying to her. If only he’d never lied in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” he burst out. To his horror, he found that his voice was quavering, but he couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… But I couldn’t… And then you… Argh!” He grimaced. “I wish I could take it all back, okay? I wish I could turn back time and start over at the beginning. I never meant to hurt you, but now all you do is cry when you see me and I can’t fucking stand it!”

There was a brief, astonished silence. None of the other three guys dared utter a word. They all looked at Erika.

She looked at Tom, her cheeks brightening with new, hot anger. “You broke my heart, and you did it in front of the whole world! Am I supposed to say sorry that I cried? Because I’m not! If you have a problem with it, well, you deserve it!”

“I do,” he agreed, desperate to make her understand. “I didn’t mean you should be sorry, I just… I want you to know that I hate it, okay? I hate what happened, I hate what it did to you, and I’m sorry. I care…cared about you. I didn’t mean to hurt you! I wanted to make you happy.”

She stared at him for a few long, pained moments, then, with a start, became aware of the others watching them. She flushed and dropped her gaze, hugging herself more tightly. He’d embarrassed her again, Tom realized unhappily. Could he do nothing right?

“I was happy.” Her voice was so quiet that he barely heard her, close as they stood. “For a little while, before everything blew up.”

“Me too,” Tom said thickly. “I wish I--”

“Yeah, well, it’s too late now,” she cut him off, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were dry again, and she was all business. She turned to Bill. “So what do I do? If I tell them I’m not… We never… Tom and I aren’t…” she gestured awkwardly, “involved. Will they go away?”

“Not likely.” Bill winced sympathetically. “They’ll milk this now for all it’s worth. Unless we throw them a bigger bone than this.” He gave Tom a meaningful look.

“No,” Tom said immediately. “You’re not going to do that.”

“It may be time,” Bill told him gently. “I wouldn’t just do it for you. I’ve been wanting to. I’ve only been waiting for the right moment, when we can make the most of the publicity.”

“No,” Tom stated. No matter what the press did, he wouldn’t have Bill take the bullet for him by letting the worst fucking tabloid in Germany print a horrible, sensationalist report about his homosexuality. It didn’t matter what Bill was; he was Bill, and Tom wouldn’t allow anyone to make a story out of him.

“Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” Georg asked, aghast. “Because if you are, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Bill.”

“It’d work though,” Gustav pointed out. “If you are, indeed, talking about what we think you’re talking about.”

“So the vote’s two against two,” Bill summed up.

“We’re not putting this up for a majority vote,” Tom snapped. “You’re not going to do it, and that’s that!”

Erika looked confused. “I have no idea what’s going on, but I don’t want you to do anything that’s going to hurt you just to draw attention away from me,” she told Bill. Tom’s respect for her skyrocketed. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Bill said. “I do. And I wouldn’t--”

“Bill,” Tom ground out. “No.”

Bill huffed. “Fine. But it’s going to happen sooner or later, you know that.”

“That’s fine,” Tom said. “As long as it’s your choice, and not damage control!”

Bill smiled, his eyes shining with affection. “You’re the best brother ever, you know?”

Tom blushed. “Shut up.”

Erika looked at Bill oddly. She seemed surprised at his estimation of Tom’s qualities, but kept silent, biting at her lip. Her gaze lingered on Tom appraisingly, but then he glanced back at her and she quickly cast her eyes down. “Well. It’s a good thing I don’t have to go to class.”

“Good thing,” Bill echoed. He crossed the distance between them and laid a hand on her shoulder. Erika started, but didn’t shake him off, and Tom had to fight an almost physical urge to push Bill aside and take her in his arms himself. Hot, irrational jealousy flared inside him. So much for ‘best brother ever’.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Bill told her earnestly. “We’ll do what we can to get them to leave you alone, but people have seen your face now, so it might take a while. Be careful, okay?”

She smiled tiredly. “My dad’s already planning to sue Bild and those girls,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’m not alone in this.”

Bill nodded. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

“Stay away from my front door,” she said dryly. “That’s all I can think of?”

“Of course.” Bill saw Tom flinch and gave him a quelling look. “Tell your parents we’re really sorry.”

She nodded. “I should go. Try and calm my father down. Thanks for the tips, guys.” She nodded at Gustav and Georg and smiled slightly at Bill, but she couldn’t meet Tom’s eyes again. She turned and left without another look at him.

Tom couldn’t let her leave like that. He just couldn’t. He started forward and caught up with her on the lawn, halfway through the twins’ garden. “Hey.”

“Tom, please.” She didn’t slow her steps. “Leave me alone.”

He jogged along with her. “I will. Just, promise me you’ll be careful. Please.”

“I’m not stupid!” she said tartly. “You know what I think about the tabloids, I’d never talk to them! Don’t worry.”

He squinted unhappily at her drawn, tense profile. “Tell them what you want, I don’t care what they say about me! I’m not worried about that! Just for you!”

She stopped in her tracks then. Her eyes sparked when she looked at him. “You’re not my boyfriend! You don’t have to worry about me!”

He huffed. “Well, I still do!”

“Don’t do this.” Her mouth wobbled; she clenched her lips tightly. “I’ve had enough of your act, I don’t need more sweet talk! If you have any respect for me, stop. And if it’s because you’re actually feeling guilty, don’t. I don’t need your pity. It’s all my fault I fell for your tricks, okay? You can leave me alone.” She set off towards the door in the hedge again.

“The hell I can!” Two long strides, and he could reach out and grab her wrist. “Not until you get it through your head. It’s not an act. It never was!”

She whirled around, her eyes wide and shocked that he’d actually touch her. He probably shouldn’t have, Tom thought as she tried to pull away wildly and he let her arm slip out of his grasp, but he couldn’t just let her leave like this. He’d already missed two chances to make this right; if she ran away again, there might not be another one.

“Just listen,” he tried, as calmly as he could. Slowly, deliberately, he took her hand again and caressed the wrist he’d bruised with his tight grip. Erika frowned, but she didn’t turn and run, so that was progress. He touched her arm tenderly with his fingertips, thumb rubbing at the sore spot above the frail, protruding wrist bone, and she shivered ever so slightly. “You can believe what you want about me. All the things I’ve said in interviews, everything Bild has ever written about me…fine. Some of it is true, a lot of it isn’t. It doesn’t matter. I just need you to believe me that what happened between us, all of it… That was real. That was me.”

“And the guy who invented a whole fake persona to date me? That was you, too.” Her voice trembled, like the sweetest, most heartbreaking tremolo he had ever coaxed from his guitar. “And I just don’t get why! Why, Tom? Just because you could? To see if I’d be stupid enough to fall for it? Or was it beneath you to date me as yourself?”

“No!” he protested. “I just… I did it for you. Because I thought you wanted B… that guy.”

Her hand, trapped gently between his palms, clenched in a tight fist. Abruptly, she pulled away. “Well I didn’t! Don’t blame this on me!”

“No, no!” Tom cried. “I only meant, well, I thought he was what you liked. And I didn’t think you’d like me, so.” He shrugged awkwardly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Yes, brilliant!” she snapped. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? And I’m a fucking idiot for still liking you anyway!”

Hope flared inside Tom, white hot and blinding. For a moment, he saw stars exploding behind his eyelids; then, her dear, anguished face came back into focus, lovely and twisted with heartbreak, wet with snot and tears. She was crying again, but to Tom, no one had ever looked more beautiful.

He didn’t have to think. He just said the words that had been at the tip of his tongue for a long time. “Okay, maybe I’m an idiot.” He took a deep breath. “But I love you. And that’s the truth.”

Erika sobbed once. Her hands fluttered, as if she didn’t know if she wanted to slap or hug him. “Oh, don’t!” And with that, she hurried off, through the small door in the hedge and back into her house.

Tom’s first impulse was to go after her, her parents be damned, but then he realized he’d finally said his piece. There was nothing to add. He’d laid it all out before her, everything that was in his heart, and there was nothing else he could do. Let her come to terms with it.

He felt lighter as he walked back to the house. The weight of the whole truth had been heavy on his shoulders. Now that it was out in the open, he didn’t have to carry it around anymore like a deep, dirty secret. What he’d done had been wrong, but what he’d felt hadn’t been. It was good and true. At least she’d have that now. Maybe it’d help even out the balance of the injustice he’d done her.

Inside, he found Bill and his friends glued to the living room windows, from where they’d overlooked the whole scene. “What happened?” Bill demanded when Tom opened the door. “That looked…”

“Intense,” Georg supplied. “What did you say to her?”

But Tom shook his head. “Something that needed saying. What’s going on here?”

“The phone’s been ringing off the hook,” Bill said. “I’ve let all the calls go to voicemail. We need to figure out a strategy before we say anything.”

“Do we have to say anything? It’s not our first tabloid cover story. Or the worst,” Gustav said.

“I wouldn’t give a fuck about any of this if not for Erika,” Bill agreed. “But we have to do something to protect her. She never asked for a spot on the front page of Bild. After this, she’ll only be known as one of Tom’s flings.”

“Well,” Gustav ventured, “she kind of is.”

“No, she isn’t,” Tom said testily. “And even if she was my girlfriend - no, especially if she was - we still wouldn’t want Bild to be writing about her.”

They all knew that was true, but try as they might, none of them could come up with a good idea, threat or diversion that could stop the media machine. Maybe they’d just have to ride it out, as usual. Tom didn’t mind, they had time off, they could hole up at home, but he shuddered to think what Erika must be going through.

“Are the reporters still outside her door?” he asked.

“We saw her father chase them off the porch,” Georg said. “But last time I checked the security monitor, they were still in the street.”

“Maybe we should call the police,” Bill suggested.

“As long as they’re not trespassing, there’s not much the police can do,” Gustav said.

“Fuck,” was Bill’s opinion on the matter. The phone rang; he glanced at the display. “It’s Silke.” He picked up and put their assistant on speakerphone. “Hi, Silke!”

“Guys, finally!” The woman sounded stressed. “What a day!. I have David on line one and Benjamin on line two for you. And upper management has been calling all morning. They want to talk to someone.”

Bill made a face. “Let David handle them.”

“You tell him that,” Silke said curtly. “Here he is, and Benjamin.” The line clicked. “David, I’ve put you through.”

“Hi--” Benjamin began.

“What the hell is going on over there?” David’s high pitched voice screeched at once. “Do you know what time it is here? Upper management woke me up at three - three! - because apparently there’s some sort of crisis?”

“It’s not really a crisis, David,” Bill sighed. “Just inconvenient.”

“Tom having a girlfriend? You know full well we won’t have a quiet moment for weeks,” David told him. “A little warning would’ve been nice. I was planning a vacation, you know.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Tom muttered. “That’s the fucked up part about it. It’s a big stir for nothing.”

“Shut up, you,” Bill said. “Okay, so he doesn’t have a girlfriend yet, but I haven’t given up hope--”

“So now we’re rooting for the girl? We’re not trying to shut her up?” David asked, aghast. “I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get? Tom is in love.” Circumstances notwithstanding, Bill couldn’t stifle a big smile at that. Tom gave him the finger. It may be true, but his twin didn’t need to go blabbing about it.

“Tom? Really?” David sounded deeply unconvinced. “I was going to go to Hawaii, you guys! Damn. Tell me the whole story?”

They all gathered around the coffee table while Bill told their managers the basics of what had happened over the past few weeks in surprisingly few words. “We don’t really care what happens, but we need to protect her,” he finally said. “You know how the fans get when there’s potential girlfriends involved.”

“You guys will be the death of me,” David said. “If our bosses don’t rip off my head first.”

“What do they even want?” Tom asked. A minor scandal like this hardly seemed worth the suits’ oh-so-precious time, but then, Universal management had long been looking for an excuse, any excuse, to knock them down a peg or two.

“They want us to keep you line,” Benjamin spoke up carefully.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that your love life is now at the top of the agenda.”

“They can’t make us stay single forever,” Bill anticipated the order from above. “We’re not puppets.”

“No, but you can be expected to keep your fans happy. And as you said, Bill, your fans don’t like the thought of potential girlfriends.” Benjamin sounded sympathetic. “I’m not saying it’s fair, but that’s what they’ll say.”

Tom grit his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. Bill laid a calming hand over his knee. “Well, they can say that, but it’s not going to make a difference.” He glanced at his twin. “If Tom wants to have a girlfriend, I’m all for it.”

“It worked for me,” Georg put in. “Nothing bad happened when we let the fans know about Janina.”

“And what do they want us to do about Bild printing this stuff, anyway?” Gustav asked. “It’s not like we leaked the story ourselves.”

“I know,” David said. “That’s not the point. It’s not even this story. They’re out for blood. They’ve probably been waiting for something like this to happen, just so they could give you another dressing down.”

“Well, we won’t just sit here and take it,” Bill said. “No chance, David.”

In unison, their managers let out long sighs. “And I suppose you’re not going to publicly deny your relationship with the girl either, Tom?” Benjamin asked.

Tom wondered if Erika would want him to, if it’d actually do any good. “No,” he decided. “She can deny it if she wants to, but I won’t.”

“Upper management won’t like that,” David warned them. “They’ll want to see some sort of concession.”

“Or they’ll do what?” Bill asked sharply. “Fire us? Let them. We want out. Right now.”

“I know,” David said. “But whatever you do, when we talk to them, don’t do anything rash. Okay, guys?”

They all grumbled their assent, and their managers ended the conversation soon after to make other calls, but Tom could see, when he looked into his twins’ eyes, that the discussion was far from over. Gustav and Georg exchanged grim looks; they, too, knew that something was going to happen sooner or later. What it was, though, no one knew yet; not even Bill, Tom assumed.

“Well,” the singer said after sitting in contemplative silence for a few minutes, “Nothing we can do right now, is there? I’ll make us frozen daiquiris.”

Cocktails were Bill’s answer to everything. Tom cracked a small smile. “Guys?” They all looked at him. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” Gustav sounded unduly amused. “And if we get out of our contracts over something as silly as this, you deserve a fucking medal.”

Tom wasn’t so sure about that yet, but with the other three smiling at him, he felt tentatively hopeful. He grabbed the remote control and switched on the TV. “Wanna see what Taff is saying?”

They didn’t have to wait long for the report to come up on the gossipy TV show. The giggling hostess gave a brief recap of that morning’s Bild article, then the program cut to a brief video that showed a nosy reporter on site, in front of Erika’s house. “The young lady was not available for an interview,” the man informed the viewers. “When asked about the affair this morning, she would only say, ‘No comment’.”

“Suspicious!” the hostess chirped. “Coming up next is the full report on manager Rainer Calmund’s phenomenal weight loss--”

Tom switched off the TV. Erika’s whole life and peace of mind were sacrificed in between reports about the best party spot on Majorca and an old man’s diet secret. Tom wanted to call up Bild and yell at the so-called journalists there, then go outside and give the girls who’d sold the pictures in the first place a piece of his mind. But he could do neither. All he could do was wait.

“Here.” Bill put a cold glass full of pink cocktail into his hand. “Drink, it’ll help.”

It did, but not much.

The news dropped like a bomb into the peaceful summer lull of the newspaper landscape. Throughout the day, the phone rang off the hook as more and more inquiries from media outlets poured into Silke’s office, David called back repeatedly for more info about Erika, and their families and friends wanted to know what the hell was going on now.

Tom checked the comments box of his blog once, then shut down the computer, shuddering. The uproar was spreading through the net like wildfire; he didn’t want to venture into the depths of it.

Erika’s curt “No comment!” and her hasty retreat from the cameras that had confronted her in the morning had done what no PR trick could’ve achieved: it had convinced the fans that something was happening, something real, and coupled with the photos that Bild had published, her statement fuelled all sorts of rumors. When Tom peeked out the front door, the ever-present groupies camping out on the curb were loud and restless, and he saw paparazzi sitting out in the street in their cars, but for once, their curiosity wasn’t directed at the twins’. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for another glimpse at Erika.

“I’m scared for her,” Tom told the others. He stood behind the curtain at the front window, staring out into Erika’s empty driveway. “You know how some of the fans are.”

“Maybe we should get Michael to come over,” Bill suggested. “He could sit outside in his car for a while, see that nothing happens? If she stays quiet, she’ll be okay in a few days, I think.”

Tom wasn’t so optimistic. Erika had to leave the house again at some point, and then what? If she didn’t agree to talk to the reporters, they would only try harder to get the story out of her. If she did talk to them, that’d fuel the fire of fannish outrage. There was no easy solution, and Tom felt unsure what advice to give her…if she would ever listen to him again, that was.

The four of them kept close for the rest of the day. After about the fiftieth call, Bill disconnected the house phone, and they all went to sit in the studio together, where Gustav hammered away at the walls of his isolation booth some more and the three others tried to work on one of their many half-finished songs. Bill seemed to have hit a creative brick wall on all of his ideas without Tom’s help, but he was glad to hear Georg’s song for his girlfriend again and suggest lyrics, which Georg wrote down happily on the wet cocktail napkin Bill had placed under his glass.

“She’s going to love it,” he said at last, pleased. “Thanks, Bill.”

Tom thought the song was a little on the sappy side, but for someone who was as unabashedly smitten with his girlfriend as Georg, maybe it was fitting. Tom didn’t have the heart to make fun of his friend; he knew too well by now what it felt like to want someone that much.

“Let me know what she says.” Bill clapped his hands excitedly. “I want to know all the details!”

Georg chortled. “Maybe not all the details.” He smirked his naughty smirk. “I’ll go see what Gustav is doing.”

“Bless,” Bill said, looking after the bassist fondly. “They’re so cute. I hope they’ll stay together forever.”

Tom didn’t think it unlikely. Georg was already talking about proposing. “I hope she won’t break his heart.”

“You’re so distrustful,” Bill scolded him.

Tom ducked his head over his custom, which was tucked safely against his stomach. He brushed his pick over the strings very gently, eliciting a soft, quiet chord, then another, and another. The slow, rich notes of Erika’s song rose around him. “I’m not distrustful,” he said. “I just know what I’m talking about.”

Bill hummed along with the soft melody. “You’re feeling better now,” he noted. “What did you say to her?”

“I told her how I feel about her.” He felt Bill’s eyes on him, burning with curiosity, and bit his lip to stifle a smile that suddenly tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Bill shifted restlessly on the couch, and Tom knew he was barely restraining himself from bouncing up and down. “Meaning?”

“You know what I mean.”

Bill made a noise of dismay. “Why can’t you just admit it?”

“I did,” Tom said. “To her. It’s only for her to hear. You know?”

Bill huffed. “Okay, fine. I just wish I could’ve heard you say that too, just once.”

Tom chuckled. Bill was such a petulant little kid sometimes. It wasn’t that Tom never told his brother how he felt about him, but he didn’t really think it needed saying. But perhaps, sometimes, it did. “I love you,” he told his twin. “There. That was for you to hear, and if you ever tell anyone I said it--”

“I won’t, I won’t!” Bill scampered across the couch and hugged him. “I love you too,” he whispered in Tom’s ear. “And I’m glad you told her. Now at least she’ll know.”

Tom nodded. At least she knew. If she couldn’t find it in herself to forgive him, at least he didn’t have to carry around a heavy heart forever.

Regardless of that improvement, the next days passed at an agonizing, snail’s pace.

Gustav and Georg ventured outside with bodyguard Michael for groceries and more liquor twice, and came back each time with stories of reporters following them around the city and shrieking girls pounding on the car windows when they returned, demanding to know what was going on behind the closed curtains of the twins’ and, even more importantly, their neighbors’.

Erika was seen leaving the house with her father in the mornings and returning with him in the evenings, all of which was duly reported on in Bild. Tom remembered what she’d told him about her father being protective, and it helped ease his mind a bit, knowing that the man was looking out for her. Maybe he wasn’t quite as much of an asshole as Tom had thought…or maybe he was making Erika work at his law firm in punishment for getting herself caught up in a tabloid scandal.

Either way, Tom didn’t have to worry about her safety, which was a good thing seeing as there were other things that demanded his immediate attention. David had been able to smooth things over with the record company at first, promising that the story would soon be out of the news, but as the days wore on and Bild, egged on by the fans’ curiosity, showed no sign of letting things go gracefully, tensions mounted and eventually, it couldn’t be helped: a conference call with upper management was scheduled, and the band gathered once more around the phone at an ungodly hour, waiting for Silke to set up the phone lines.

It was a grey, humid morning. All night, rain had been drizzling down, soaking the warm, dry earth. Steam was uncurling from the ground, and even though all the windows had been thrown open, there wasn’t even the hint of a breeze. The air tasted wet, as if the whole house had been transformed into a Laundromat. Tom sipped at his coffee without tasting anything. It was only eight o’clock, but he already felt sweaty and gross even though he’d just showered.

Looking across the table at his companions, he saw that they weren’t faring any better. Gustav was furiously polishing his glasses, which fogged up again each time he put them back on. Georg was fiddling tiredly with his phone, typing a text message to Janina, only half awake, while Bill paced back and forth behind the two, working himself up into a righteous anger.

“Be careful,” Tom warned him. “Let them come at us first.”

“We didn’t even do anything,” Bill huffed. “This story is nothing and they know it. They have no reason to have a go at us.”

“But they will,” Gustav said. “You know they will.”

“Yes. And we’ll be prepared.” Bill sat down next to Tom and looked around at them all in turn. “Right, guys? We’re all in this together?”

“Of course,” Georg said. “After all, we are…?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and the other three said, as one, “Tokio Hotel!” They all laughed together until the phone rang.

“Ready?” Bill picked up, and Silke patched them through to their managers and Universal immediately.

There was no idle chatter, no lengthy greetings or niceties. “Let us get straight to it,” the humorless voice of the Universal CEO snapped, “The spectacle that’s been made of the band over the last few days is simply unacceptable.”

“The story has been blown out of proportion through no fault of the band’s,” David said. “Or the young lady’s.”

“That is hardly the point,” the man told him. “You know what rumors such as this do to the fanbase. It is essential that the band members appear unattached and available! To be so careless as to get photographed with a woman, without informing upper management--”

“Upper management!” Bill burst out. “This is our life! The fans can have the music and the shows and the interviews, but they can’t have everything else, too. You can’t have it.”

“We don’t appreciate your tone,” the CEO snapped. “Or your attitude towards this sort of issue.”

“We will be handling this story from now on,” a woman whom Silke had identified as Universal’s PR person piped up. “There’ll be a press release that the girl is a nobody, you’ll give an interview on RTL, and it’ll all go away. Agreed, Mr Jost?”

David hesitated. “Guys?”

“Tom?” Bill looked over at his brother.

“No.” Tom’s fists clenched. There was no way he was stepping in front of a camera and telling anyone Erika was nobody. “No chance.”

“Why’s it even necessary?” Georg spoke up calmly. “When I announced I had a girlfriend--”

“It’s different when it goes against the image of the band,” some other guy argued. “Mr Kaulitz has a key role to play. It’s in your contracts, gentlemen.”

“I have to play guitar,” Tom snapped. “That’s in my contract. Nothing else.”

“It’s been our understanding--”

“Well, maybe you understood wrong.”

“Or maybe you did,” the CEO said shortly. “Mr Jost, we suggest you brief your band better in the future, so this sort of unpleasant misunderstanding doesn’t have to happen again.”

David sighed. “They are adults. I am only working in an advisory capacity.”

“And doing a bad job of it.”

“The press release will go through,” the PR woman said. “It’s already been written and sent out.”

“Retract it,” Bill snapped. “This is our lives you’re messing with. It’s none of your business who we date or don’t date!”

“Managing the band is our business!”

“If you’re so worried about the band, you should’ve put some effort into album promotion last year.” Bill was slowly but surely warming up. His eyes flashed with amber sparks. “Or into picking better partners to book our tour dates with.”

“You’re being paid to deliver music and a good show,” the CEO retorted. “Not to concern yourself with upper level decisions.”

“Well, this here isn’t an upper level decision,” Bill said, but they all knew the discussion had long ceased revolving around the minor matter of Tom’s relationship with Erika. They were fighting about the future direction of the band. “Retract that press release, or we’ll follow it up with a statement of our own.”

“And what sort of statement would that be?” the PR woman sniffed.

“Stay out of our business,” Bill said, his voice dangerously light, “or I’ll drop a real bomb.”

“Meaning?” the CEO shouted, at the end of his patience now.

“Simple.” Suddenly, Bill seemed to be enjoying himself quite a bit. He braced his elbows on the table and leaned over the phone, speaking right into it. “Leave us alone, or I’ll tell Bild I’m gay.” Tom elbowed him hard, but Bill shook his head, a finger pressed to his lips. His expression was impish, like a child’s who had just devised a brilliant prank.

His statement was met with stunned silence on the other end.

“You wouldn’t,” the PR woman said at last. “You’d ruin your image.”

“No. We’d know who the real fans are. And we don’t need the rest!”

“You wouldn’t,” the CEO insisted, still. “You won’t. Not as long as I’m in charge of this company.”

“You’ll have to let us go then,” Bill suggested cheerfully.

Tom could’ve sworn the man growled. “Not before your contract is up.”

“Then you’ll just have to live with what we do. Adapt,” was Bill’s advice. “We’ll try to break the news gently.”

“You won’t!” the man raged.

“Watch me,” Bill said dryly. “David, I think this call is over.”

“Quite,” David agreed.

“Well, gentlemen, if this is your last word, and you go through with this,” the CEO said, “You leave us no choice but to sue you for breach of contract.”

“You do that,” Bill said, pleased. They’d gone through every possible clause of their contract with their lawyer, and this particular scenario had come up more than once. Universal didn’t have a legal leg to stand on and they knew it. They couldn’t very well accuse the band of having personal relationships, or Bill of being gay. “Have a nice day! Bye!”

Silke, bless her, disconnected the call on Bill’s cue. For a moment, there was silence all around as they digested what had just happened.

“Did you really just use your coming out as leverage?” David sounded slightly worse for the wear. “Bill, honestly!”

“I told you not to.” Tom nudged his twin hard. “I told you!”

“Relax, I’m not going to. But it sure worked, didn’t it.” Bill rubbed his hands like an evil mastermind. “Now we’ll see what they do. But I don’t think they’ll release that press statement!” He let out a high, joyful laugh, and the others joined in, the tension that had them all wound up dissipating with their tentative triumph.

Honestly, Tom didn’t know what would happen now, but for once, he had a pretty good feeling about it all.

“Gentlemen,” Bill declared like a mighty ruler addressing his loyal disciples, “Breakfast! I’m starving. Michael can drive us to McDonald’s.”

The bodyguard, who was sitting in his car outside their gate, reading the newspaper, grumbled a little as the four of them piled into his SUV and Bill directed him to the next McDrive, but not even he could resist the cheer that had them laughing the whole way. The rain couldn’t ruin the mood. They ordered almost the entire fast food menu and got into a food fight on the way back, which they hadn’t done since the twins had been sixteen, bratty little kids touring through Germany and being scolded by Saki for getting hamburger grease on his car seats.

It wasn’t until they arrived back home that Tom sobered a little. The car crawled up the road towards their house, weaving in and out between a couple of paparazzi, who stood in the middle of the street chatting, and hysterical fans who ran for the car as soon as they realized who was inside. The camera team was still there too, but that wasn’t what gave Tom pause.

A vaguely familiar car was parked in front of Erika’s house. The trunk was open and full of brown cardboard boxes. As he watched, Erika’s witchy girl friend - Nele, he recalled - came out of the house carrying another box, which she put in the back seat. She got in behind the steering wheel and waited, glaring at the camera team.

“What’s going on?” Tom wondered aloud.

“No idea.” Bill unbuckled his seat belt. “I’m going to find out.” And he jumped out of the car, leaving Michael to yelp in shock and step hard on the brakes.

“No!” the burly man cried, but Bill was already moving through the throng of girls with practiced ease, walking up to Erika’s house. He didn’t even have to trespass: as he approached the porch, she came out, closing the door behind her. She, too, was carrying a box, and a white pot with some indefinable little plant.

Tom watched through the tinted windows as Bill went up to her. Erika stopped for a moment, hitching her box up higher on her hip, and they talked for a few minutes. Finally, she hugged Bill tightly, then hurried off to the waiting car, the reporters hot on her heels.

Bill got back into the SUV to the immense relief of their bodyguard. “Boss, you really shouldn’t--”

“Yeah, I know, Michael,” Bill cut in smoothly. He flashed the man a grin. “But I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, so I thought I could risk it.”

The man steered the car through the gate to the safety of their driveway, muttering under his breath.

“So?” Tom prompted when his twin didn’t say anything else. “What’s going on?”

“She’s moving out,” Bill said, pensive. “She said she didn’t want to live here anymore, and that she’d found a very nice place that she’s going to share with her friend.”

Erika had been wanting to move out for a while, but Tom still felt guilty that it was he who had driven her from her home. He knew what it felt like to not move freely, without fear, and he was sad that it had come to this, that she’d feel so uneasy and trapped.

“What else did she say?” he demanded.

Bill hesitated.

“What?” Tom barked.

“She said she wasn’t mad at me,” Bill said sheepishly. “And that she would’ve liked to date me. But I think she’s just really hurt, still,” he hurried to add when Tom’s face fell. “She couldn’t even say your name without tearing up.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing, how?” Tom hung his head. “I hate it when she cries.”

“Aw.” Gustav gave Tom a hard, fortifying smack between the shoulder blades. “There now, don’t get upset. This is a good day!”

It was; but try as Tom might, he couldn’t recover the morning’s thrill of victory, when a bright future had suddenly risen at the horizon like the sun after a long, rainy day. Still, he tried to go along with his friends’ jokes as Gustav and Georg ambled through the door, shoving at each other and laughing, the twins following after them at a more sedate pace for once.

“Take your disgusting eggs-and-bacon outside,” Tom called. “It took me an entire bottle of spray cleaner to get the smell out of the sofa cushions last time!”

“Fucking vegetarians!” Gustav hollered, but he and Georg disappeared obediently through the garden door, arms piled high with paper bags full of food.

Bill stopped his twin with a gentle hand to his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “don’t take it personally. Didn’t you say she wanted to move out? Now she has. It’s a good thing for her!”

Tom shrugged. “But maybe she wouldn’t have left yet, if not for me. Or all the shit that came after.”

“Maybe not,” Bill allowed. “But in the long run, she’ll thank you for it.”

“You think?” Tom snorted. “In the long run? I don’t even know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or next week.”

“But I do. It’s going to be fine.” Bill bounced on the balls of his feet. “Nothing could go wrong today. I can feel it. Come on, breakfast!”

They ate their greasy muffins and French fries on the patio, just the four of them, as it had been in the beginning and would again be in the future. When Tom looked around at his band mates, he knew Bill was right; as long as they were together, a band of brothers, nothing could go wrong. Through highs and lows, they had always supported each other. Now, five years into their career, a new path lay before them, undiscovered. They didn’t yet quite know where it would lead, but somehow, on that grey, rainy morning, as they sat huddled together under the parasol, it felt like the beginning of a new, old, era.

“Okay.” Bill licked salt off his fingers. He ripped a roll into four pieces for the dogs. “Now let’s see. A hundred Euros says Universal did not give that press release to RTL.”

“I’m not taking that bet,” Georg said. “I don’t think they’d cross you.”

“Aw, you’re boring,” Bill complained. “Come on, let’s take a look. It’s almost time for RTL’s gossip at noon!”

They all sat on the couch in front of the TV together like a bunch of old men in a retirement home. RTL’s midday gossip show was already on, and promising an update on ‘the Tom Kaulitz love affair’ every five minutes. And then, there she was: Erika, with a cardboard box on her hip and a wilted, ugly seedling in a ceramic pot in her arm, and Tom’s stomach somersaulted, as always when he saw her.

The program must’ve been recorded after they’d disappeared earlier; the camera showed the back of their bodyguard’s car as it drove up to the twins’ house, then swiveled back around to capture an obnoxious reporter going after Erika, “Miss Becker, how do you know the Kaulitz brothers?”

“We’re neighbors,” she said curtly.

Her response, the first in days, seemed to encourage the reporter. He hurried along as she made her way to her friend’s car, almost falling over his own feet in his excitement. “Miss Becker, our viewers want to know: are you or are you not in a relationship with Tom Kaulitz of Tokio Hotel?”

Erika looked like she wanted to whack the man over the head with her pathetic little plant. She glared at the camera for a second. “No comment.”

“So you deny it?” he persisted.

Erika stopped on the curb. Her eyes were blazing with blue fire, but her voice was steady when she spoke. “I’m not denying anything. It’s none of your business.”

And with that, she dropped her box in the trunk, climbed into the car and the two girls sped off, leaving the reporter on the sidewalk, surrounded by a gaggle of Tokio Hotel fans. “Draw your own conclusions,” the man advised, and the report ended.

Tom stared at the TV, stunned. She could’ve denied even knowing him as more than a neighbor - she’d had every chance - but instead she’d chosen to give the most ambiguous answer possible. His mind was reeling. She was too smart to not to have done that on purpose; too clever to stoke the fire of the media’s curiosity without reason, so either she’d cracked under the pressure and lost her mind, or…

“Well. She kept her options open, didn’t she,” Bill said cheerfully. He thumped Tom’s back. “See, I knew you still had a chance.”

One brief, offhanded comment, nothing more, but it let Tom hope liked he’d scarcely ever allowed himself to hope. He tried to quench the wild, exhilarated emotions that bubbled up inside, but they grew and grew; he couldn’t force them down.

“Either that or she’d just really stupid. To fan the flames like that!” Gustav said. “Are we sure she isn’t just really stupid?”

Bill smacked him. “She’s not dense! She’s in love with Tom!”

Tom blushed hotly. “Shut up.”

“I think she’s probably just stupid,” Gustav said.

“You shut up, too,” Tom told him. “She’s not stupid. Just…just…”

Bill beamed. “Told you so!” he sing-songed.

Georg, too, looked surprised, and delighted. “Maybe it is worth another shot.” He gave Tom a thumbs up. “Go get it, man!”

“Honestly?” Gustav groaned. “Oh, well. Try not to fuck it up this time?”

“Hold on, I haven’t said I’m doing anything!” Tom protested half-heartedly.

“But you will, or I’ll…I’ll…I’ll never talk to you again!” Bill claimed. “Tom, you have to try. She’s practically told you to!”

“She hasn’t told me anything,” Tom said, but the thought was already planted in his mind. He’d never really thought about giving up on her; he couldn’t even fathom it. But only now did he realize how badly he still longed for her. Heartbreak and disappointment had done nothing to curb his desire. If anything, he only wanted her more. He chanced a look at Bill, who was watching him as if he could read Tom’s train of thought in his eyes, bouncing in his seat with excitement. “Do you really think…?”

“Yes!” Bill squeaked.

Tom gestured at his sketch book, which lay on the coffee table. “And should I…?”

“Yes! Definitely!”

Gustav and Georg exchanged weary looks. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on?”

Bill wrung his hands. “Tom has a plan!”

And Tom did. There was only one way to go about this; he had never been more certain of anything. He’d said all the words he could. Now his art would have to do the rest of the talking.

All he had to do was wait; a whole long, agonizing day that seemed at first like it would never pass. But pass it did, and when night finally fell, Tom found himself ready, as ready as he’d ever be.

It was late; yawning, Gustav retreated to his guest bed, leaving a snoring Georg on the couch in the living room. Outside, the night was dark; the sky was still overcast with clouds, but the rain had stopped. Tom stood on the patio, blowing cigarette smoke into the thick, damp night air. It was almost time.

“You have something planned, don’t you. Something big,” Bill said sagely. He blew a perfect smoke ring and smiled. “What’s it going to be?”

“You’ll see,” Tom told him cryptically. He flicked the cigarette at the wet floor. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t get caught,” was Bill’s customary advice, as always when Tom sneaked out at night. “We don’t need the police on our doorstep on top of everything else.”

Tom didn’t intend to get caught, but getting recognized was definitely part of the plan. If Erika decided to call the police on him, at least he knew where they stood. He made his way quietly through the living room, where Georg was drooling into the pillows, and to the front hall, where he opened the storage closet that held racks and racks of Bill’s jackets and, hidden underneath, a suitcase full of Tom’s spray paint cans.

He took his time going through them, selecting the colors he’d need for his last piece, the one that he had to make count. Dark clothes, a hat, gloves, and he was good to go. A look at the security monitor in the kitchen satisfied him: the street was abandoned at last in the middle of the night. Still, he glanced cautiously left and right as he sneaked out the door and along the wall towards the neighbors’, the cans clinking quietly in his bag.

At the gate, he stopped and gathered his bearings. Months ago, he’d drawn the naughty stick figure of her father on a whim, after years of not touching his spray paint cans at all. Over the weeks, it had become a challenge, trying to make the pictures bigger, better, relearn what he’d lost through inactivity. He hadn’t known what impact his art would have then, but he did now. This was his last chance at a masterpiece.

He worked slowly, taking care to get it right: the smooth, flowing lines of the female silhouette, the fall and movement of her hair, the curve of her mouth, smiling. He’d drawn her like this before, but the sketch that she had liked so much had only been practice, compared to this: it was his heart and soul that he laid open, for her and all the world to see.

The likeness of Erika sat in a field of summer flowers, underneath the sun that hung like a shiny, golden coin in the clear blue sky. She was wearing the white dress of their first date, and a small crown askew on her golden head, like the fairytale princess she was. Behind her, there was a hedge of roses, which blossomed pink and red like bleeding hearts, and a small brown door nestled between long, thorny branches, unlocked and slightly ajar. It was the dream of his sleepless nights, the counter image to the last dark, apocalyptic painting that had sprung right from his nightmares. If the fantasy couldn’t come true, at least he wanted her to know what might have been; what he would’ve wanted if he’d been able to tell her the truth all along.

I love you, he sprayed in bold, big letters underneath. On impulse, he added his signature tag too. Let Bild harass him, let her father take him to court for damages. No more hiding.