peki
in
we3sisters
Drabbles: Behind Closed Doors, Tokio Hotel RPF, rated PG13
My latest addiction: German teen band Tokio Hotel. If you don't know them yet, check them out, they're hilarious. If you do...enjoy :)
Title: Behind Closed Doors
Fandom: Tokio Hotel (RPF, omg!)
Rating: nothing the boys' fans couldn't see, so, teen
Summary: Four drabbles. The boys' thoughts on life, love, fame, and each other.
Warnings: Weirdness, wackiness, slight angst (but not really). Not a fan of the twincest, so, firmly gen. Friendship fic.
A/N: There are no words *g* To issuegirls, who understands my crazy brain better than anyone :) Perhaps I'll write a German version of this sometime, for exercise.
I. Sometimes, Tom wishes he and Georg had never started that stupid thing about girls and sex and who gets the most. Not that he suddenly dislikes either, but he hates feeling like a dork for being tired at night, and keeping the connecting door to his brother’s room unlocked so Bill can wander in and play video games with him.
Bill keeps his secret, of course, and readily fans the flames of public speculation so they can laugh later, together; between that and the occasional girl who does find her way to Tom’s room to talk, life is good, really.
II. Sometimes, Bill feels too tired to take off his make-up at night. He always does, fearful of blemishes, but it’s a chore, rediscovering the face beneath the kohl, and he misses the childish notion of putting on war paint, defiant, real, not an actor’s well-loved mask. He misses the days when looking unlike his twin was coincidental, unpolitical, and he could shift, mercurial, back and forth without apology.
But he still can, of course; their moments of unguarded same-ness are few for now, but they’ll still be them when it’s all over, and success (even theirs) is short lived, anyhow.
III. Sometimes, Georg wonders what will become of them all, after.
He knows he wants a family eventually, but there’s probably no such contentment for Bill, whose high expectations of true, abiding love are based on an experience of unparalleled symbiosis, or Tom, who has already given up the search Bill doesn’t yet realize is futile. Gustav, he can picture enjoying a simpler life, but then, Gustav’s always been the sane one.
For now, it doesn’t matter. The world is at their fingertips, and what lies behind the dazzling stage lights is dark and distant; for all they can see, non-existent.
IV. Sometimes, Gustav hates the commotion; he only wants to make music. Interviews, photo sessions, meet-and-greets, screaming girls, perpetual exhaustion wear at them all, and then the twins still muster energy for mischief, icing on the cake of annoyances.
His irritation makes him beat his drums into submission, forces him beyond the scope of his natural talent, and so, ultimately, Gustav is grateful; for all their cocky self-absorption, the twins know, better than most, to regard the world in terms of we, not I, and if it’s the only rule they live by, it’s a damn good one for a band.
Title: Behind Closed Doors
Fandom: Tokio Hotel (RPF, omg!)
Rating: nothing the boys' fans couldn't see, so, teen
Summary: Four drabbles. The boys' thoughts on life, love, fame, and each other.
Warnings: Weirdness, wackiness, slight angst (but not really). Not a fan of the twincest, so, firmly gen. Friendship fic.
A/N: There are no words *g* To issuegirls, who understands my crazy brain better than anyone :) Perhaps I'll write a German version of this sometime, for exercise.
I. Sometimes, Tom wishes he and Georg had never started that stupid thing about girls and sex and who gets the most. Not that he suddenly dislikes either, but he hates feeling like a dork for being tired at night, and keeping the connecting door to his brother’s room unlocked so Bill can wander in and play video games with him.
Bill keeps his secret, of course, and readily fans the flames of public speculation so they can laugh later, together; between that and the occasional girl who does find her way to Tom’s room to talk, life is good, really.
II. Sometimes, Bill feels too tired to take off his make-up at night. He always does, fearful of blemishes, but it’s a chore, rediscovering the face beneath the kohl, and he misses the childish notion of putting on war paint, defiant, real, not an actor’s well-loved mask. He misses the days when looking unlike his twin was coincidental, unpolitical, and he could shift, mercurial, back and forth without apology.
But he still can, of course; their moments of unguarded same-ness are few for now, but they’ll still be them when it’s all over, and success (even theirs) is short lived, anyhow.
III. Sometimes, Georg wonders what will become of them all, after.
He knows he wants a family eventually, but there’s probably no such contentment for Bill, whose high expectations of true, abiding love are based on an experience of unparalleled symbiosis, or Tom, who has already given up the search Bill doesn’t yet realize is futile. Gustav, he can picture enjoying a simpler life, but then, Gustav’s always been the sane one.
For now, it doesn’t matter. The world is at their fingertips, and what lies behind the dazzling stage lights is dark and distant; for all they can see, non-existent.
IV. Sometimes, Gustav hates the commotion; he only wants to make music. Interviews, photo sessions, meet-and-greets, screaming girls, perpetual exhaustion wear at them all, and then the twins still muster energy for mischief, icing on the cake of annoyances.
His irritation makes him beat his drums into submission, forces him beyond the scope of his natural talent, and so, ultimately, Gustav is grateful; for all their cocky self-absorption, the twins know, better than most, to regard the world in terms of we, not I, and if it’s the only rule they live by, it’s a damn good one for a band.