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Fic: Variations on a theme, or Ten random facts about Bill and Tom Kaulitz, Tokio Hotel, rated PG
Here's a little exercise in characterisation - whenever I am writer's blocked, I feel it helps to try structured fics because it focusses my attention on technicalities and so the story itself sort of flows from the subconscious. Or something.
Title: Variations on a theme, or Ten random facts about Bill and Tom Kaulitz
Fandom: Tokio Hotel RPF, gen
Rating: PG
A/N: Ten drabbles of 200 words each - because the twins need structure, or they’ll just go on and on and on *g* Trying out a few ideas that I might or might not elaborate on at a later point. I enjoyed fiddling with this, and now I really feel like getting back into less restricted narrative. Yay!
I.
Tom doesn’t really need a watch; they pay people to tell them date and time. But he gets nervous, no matter how well organized their schedule, and so he likes to keep track of things himself.
He’s a not-so-secret neat freak, everyone knows this from one look at his suitcase full of hats; Bill still teased him when Tom first bought the shiny watch, with their new money. “You’re such a grandpa, honestly!” But they’ve made an art of being ahead of everyone else. Tom’s watch is fast. He likes to be on top of things.
A little distance helps; he carries a camera for those moments when he needs a step back to contemplate, calmly. Somehow, the world always looks more colorful in the pictures he takes; brighter.
Their life is a rush, but at least the memories, forced into still, glossy pictures, can be neat and tidy. At night, wedged between the wall and his brother’s side in his bunk, Tom takes them out and wonders:
“Where was that?”
Bill shrugs. “No idea. But looks like we had fun.”
They always do, together. Behind the curtains, the world spins faster, but just then, they are its calm center.
II.
It’s no secret that Bill’s not good with languages, but it’s the age of globalized stardom, wooing large crowds is part of his job description, and Bill is nothing if not professional. What he doesn’t tell the reporters who praise him as a linguistic role model is that the first word he learns in any language is shit, only then followed by hello. The third, inevitably, is twin, because it’s his experience that he’ll always need it, sooner or later: it’s an integral part of his identity, after all.
Tom jokes that shit is higher up on Bill’s list than he is, but Tom’s first word, whereever they go, is fuck, so he has no room to talk. Their dictionary of profanities is a shared project, ever-growing, and it serves as a diary, a reminder of places and times and people that would be forgotten.
They’re here one day, gone the next, but whenever Bill is homesick and tired of it all, he can flip through his notebook, through swearwords and hellos and brother in every language under the sun; feel reassured because in the end, they all mean the same thing, and always will.
Zuhause can be anywhere, really.
III.
Behind his brazen veneer, Tom’s one irrational fear is of Bill outgrowing him someday, and not in the physical sense. It’s shameful; although he distrusts not his twin, really, but his own significance, his own talent. He’s the backdrop against which Bill’s star can shine all the more brightly; he’s everything Bill is not so Bill can be one-of-a-kind, unique, as he was meant to. And Bill needs him, Tom knows this, but he fears the day, with fierce bravado, when all things must come to an end.
“Never,” Bill swears, when they’re alone and free to unlock their box of treasured secrets like two children sharing their favorite toys.
“One day--” Tom starts, but he’s silenced by an indelicate snort that belies Bill’s ethereal appearance.
“I’ve told you, silly,” Bill smiles, brightly, carefree, “Forever. What’s so hard to understand about that?”
Tom’s fear remains, a nocturnal monster that sleeps in the light of day; but even when darkness falls in the end, he won’t be alone. He knows he’s lucky, because he can trust the very one who could hurt him the most. And no matter what happens, to him, the sweet outweighs the bitter anyhow, always will.
IV.
Tom doesn’t like casual sex nearly as much as he leads everyone to believe. Bill doesn’t dislike it nearly as much, but their self-imposed image is a way to eliminate competition between them, and so Bill doesn’t mind. He could have more girls than Tom if he wanted, and he has been first in some of the things they’ve learned together. They both know it’s outrageous when Tom claims their shared accomplishments as his, and they laugh at everyone who takes them seriously.
The only time Bill can’t laugh is when Tom convinces himself of his own stupid lies and won’t even drop the act in private; when Bill can’t tell if his twin still remembers that the melody of their life is a complicated piece for two, not a solo, and this is when frustration mounts and they inevitably start yelling like jealous kids.
“You wouldn’t know what to do without me!”
“Likewise!”, and then they each retreat to their lonely, empty rooms to sulk until the silence gets to be too much and they meet halfway in some shabby hotel corridor, all sheepish smiles and frantic hugs.
They never say sorry. Without friction, there can be no fire.
V.
Tom has wondered what life might have been without Bill, if they’d evolved into one person, but he doesn’t like considering it. They built their life, their dream together since they were children making castles in the sand, or even earlier than that: from the very first moment they existed, in a universe before time. It is neither just Bill’s nor Tom’s. It is theirs.
It must be in a twin’s nature to get bored, easily, when left alone, or maybe that’s just them; their music is part of a never-ending quest to entertain each other, and their songs are the adventures they embark on together. To Tom, it’s the only way to exist, the constant challenge, and even when Bill gets on his last nerve, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Discord, too, is still music, after all, and playing solo, if he contemplates it, seems pointless: sound is only sound if it is heard.
And though he knows that even as one, some part of Bill would always have been with him, in his soul, he prefers that they’re two, even if it means that they must be halves: only a diamond can cut another to brilliance.
VI.
There are days when Bill can’t get out of bed. His limbs won’t move, his eyes won’t stay open for sheer exhaustion, and he huddles under the covers, shivering and miserable and hating himself until Tom comes looking for him.
“I want to go home.” It’s just a whisper. Saying it out loud hurts. “I want to sleep in my own bed and wake up to the smell of mom’s cooking and spend all day in sweats on the couch. Maybe walk the dog. In the park. With you.”
Tom can be Bill’s harshest critic, but he never scolds Bill for these moments of weakness. He crawls under the blankets with him, and suddenly, the strange room feels a little more like home. “What would mom be cooking?”
Bill sniffles. “Königsberger Klopse.”
“Of course.” Tom tugs gently at a strand of Bill’s hair. “I can call the airline. Right now.”
He can’t. They both know that. But Tom always pretends they’ve options, that Bill just needs to say the word, so Bill can get out of bed and into his routine like he has a choice.
Bill is not ungrateful. Most days, he loves his life. He’s just tired, sometimes.
VII.
In interviews, Bill claims his ‘real’ face is his smiling mask of blacks and whites, and it’s a cheerful, likeable persona, that Bill - Tom can see why the fans love him - but it’s not the real Bill, and sometimes, Tom worries that Bill himself is forgetting that.
Then, they’ll have a day off, and the real Bill will shuffle into Tom’s room in the late afternoon, hair sticking up in a fantastic mess that’ll leave greasy stains on Tom’s pillow, and Tom will grumble and hit him with the remote control and secretly enjoy the rare visit of his baby brother, the one whose shit still doesn’t smell like roses even though everything he touches turns to gold, the Bill who actually looks like Tom’s twin. He keeps stealing Tom’s candy, but Tom still likes him best, ghastly face and tired eyes and all, and patiently deciphers Bill’s grunts when Bill is too exhausted to speak.
Bill‘s cheek, the jokes, the contagious, electrifying energy all belong to their greedy audience for now. Tom will take whatever he can get: it’s the real thing, beyond the glamour and the lies, and it’s his alone, more precious than any image of perfection.
VIII.
Deep down, Bill knows he’s searching for true love because he’s convinced that it doesn’t exist.
Tom doesn’t go looking for it because he knows that it does, and he’s happy with what he’s got. It’s not that Bill doesn’t understand him, but Bill can’t shake the nagging feeling that there must be something else out there, love like their parents had once but lost; he wants to find it, however fleeting it may be, so he can understand the last, agonizing riddle of his childhood.
If the way he loves Tom were the only way to love someone, his parents would never have separated.
Tom gets angry though when Bill tries explaining. “You’re just going to get hurt!”
“Maybe the pain is necessary,” Bill reasons, “to grow.” To craft songs out of pieces of his broken heart, to become stronger, better, more real.
Tom scowls. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you get burned.”
He makes to leave, but Bill catches his wrist. “I will, though,” and he knows it’s a lot to ask. “Okay?”
Tom huffs, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re crazy.”
Maybe. But he is loved, and so Bill feels safe to let go, and fall.
IX.
In spite of all his airs, Bill is easily pleased if one knows how. Tom can’t understand how people buy his twin’s diva act; but then, no one has seen the sunshine smile that brightens Tom’s world in return for a piece of candy, a silly joke, a few quiet notes.
Give Bill something shiny and he’ll be happy. Play him a chord and he’ll sing. Take his hand and he’ll hang on, trustingly.
It’s amusing. Endearing. Terrifying: whenever they’re apart, Tom agonizes over the hurts others could inflict, the million eventualities of life that might just happen, cruelly, at random, and sometimes, it’s all too much; the burden’s too heavy, and something’s gotta give. That’s when he begs, shamelessly, his soul laid bare. “Please be careful.”
Bill huffs. “Why don’t you trust me?”
“I do, just…”
“I can take care of myself, you know,” Bill sniffs. “And I have great plans for us.”
“Oh god.”
“You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough!”
Bill smiles. Hugs Tom to him, and the world quietly centers itself again. “We’re perfectly balanced then.”
There’s times when the scales are tipped. It’s not always fair, but it’s alright: they always share their lot.
X.
Bill has one plan left to put into motion when all else is said and done. He’s still fuzzy on the details - paradoxically, girlfriends are harder to find than ever - but he’s optimistic. They wanted to become rockstars, and they did. Finding a matching set of girls can’t be more difficult.
Tom doesn’t agree, but he’ll come around, Bill thinks; Tom is a family guy, whether he wants to admit it or not. One of them has to pass on their DNA, and Bill would much rather be the wacky uncle who lives in the attic and spoils the children.
“But I don’t want a family!”
“You will. Eventually,” Bill says. “Imagine how great it’ll be - a big house, a pretty pair of twin sisters who’ll adore us almost as much as each other--”
Tom sighs, but he’s smiling. “And the odds of finding them are…?”
“If all else fails,” Bill persists, “we can hold auditions.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Shut up. You’ll see, we’ll live happily ever after.”
They will; he’s sure of that. But first, they have another dream to live to its fullest, and the future lies in the dark behind the stage lights, a whole lifetime away.
***
Königsberger Klopse, for those who don't know Bill's favourite meal: here
Title: Variations on a theme, or Ten random facts about Bill and Tom Kaulitz
Fandom: Tokio Hotel RPF, gen
Rating: PG
A/N: Ten drabbles of 200 words each - because the twins need structure, or they’ll just go on and on and on *g* Trying out a few ideas that I might or might not elaborate on at a later point. I enjoyed fiddling with this, and now I really feel like getting back into less restricted narrative. Yay!
I.
Tom doesn’t really need a watch; they pay people to tell them date and time. But he gets nervous, no matter how well organized their schedule, and so he likes to keep track of things himself.
He’s a not-so-secret neat freak, everyone knows this from one look at his suitcase full of hats; Bill still teased him when Tom first bought the shiny watch, with their new money. “You’re such a grandpa, honestly!” But they’ve made an art of being ahead of everyone else. Tom’s watch is fast. He likes to be on top of things.
A little distance helps; he carries a camera for those moments when he needs a step back to contemplate, calmly. Somehow, the world always looks more colorful in the pictures he takes; brighter.
Their life is a rush, but at least the memories, forced into still, glossy pictures, can be neat and tidy. At night, wedged between the wall and his brother’s side in his bunk, Tom takes them out and wonders:
“Where was that?”
Bill shrugs. “No idea. But looks like we had fun.”
They always do, together. Behind the curtains, the world spins faster, but just then, they are its calm center.
II.
It’s no secret that Bill’s not good with languages, but it’s the age of globalized stardom, wooing large crowds is part of his job description, and Bill is nothing if not professional. What he doesn’t tell the reporters who praise him as a linguistic role model is that the first word he learns in any language is shit, only then followed by hello. The third, inevitably, is twin, because it’s his experience that he’ll always need it, sooner or later: it’s an integral part of his identity, after all.
Tom jokes that shit is higher up on Bill’s list than he is, but Tom’s first word, whereever they go, is fuck, so he has no room to talk. Their dictionary of profanities is a shared project, ever-growing, and it serves as a diary, a reminder of places and times and people that would be forgotten.
They’re here one day, gone the next, but whenever Bill is homesick and tired of it all, he can flip through his notebook, through swearwords and hellos and brother in every language under the sun; feel reassured because in the end, they all mean the same thing, and always will.
Zuhause can be anywhere, really.
III.
Behind his brazen veneer, Tom’s one irrational fear is of Bill outgrowing him someday, and not in the physical sense. It’s shameful; although he distrusts not his twin, really, but his own significance, his own talent. He’s the backdrop against which Bill’s star can shine all the more brightly; he’s everything Bill is not so Bill can be one-of-a-kind, unique, as he was meant to. And Bill needs him, Tom knows this, but he fears the day, with fierce bravado, when all things must come to an end.
“Never,” Bill swears, when they’re alone and free to unlock their box of treasured secrets like two children sharing their favorite toys.
“One day--” Tom starts, but he’s silenced by an indelicate snort that belies Bill’s ethereal appearance.
“I’ve told you, silly,” Bill smiles, brightly, carefree, “Forever. What’s so hard to understand about that?”
Tom’s fear remains, a nocturnal monster that sleeps in the light of day; but even when darkness falls in the end, he won’t be alone. He knows he’s lucky, because he can trust the very one who could hurt him the most. And no matter what happens, to him, the sweet outweighs the bitter anyhow, always will.
IV.
Tom doesn’t like casual sex nearly as much as he leads everyone to believe. Bill doesn’t dislike it nearly as much, but their self-imposed image is a way to eliminate competition between them, and so Bill doesn’t mind. He could have more girls than Tom if he wanted, and he has been first in some of the things they’ve learned together. They both know it’s outrageous when Tom claims their shared accomplishments as his, and they laugh at everyone who takes them seriously.
The only time Bill can’t laugh is when Tom convinces himself of his own stupid lies and won’t even drop the act in private; when Bill can’t tell if his twin still remembers that the melody of their life is a complicated piece for two, not a solo, and this is when frustration mounts and they inevitably start yelling like jealous kids.
“You wouldn’t know what to do without me!”
“Likewise!”, and then they each retreat to their lonely, empty rooms to sulk until the silence gets to be too much and they meet halfway in some shabby hotel corridor, all sheepish smiles and frantic hugs.
They never say sorry. Without friction, there can be no fire.
V.
Tom has wondered what life might have been without Bill, if they’d evolved into one person, but he doesn’t like considering it. They built their life, their dream together since they were children making castles in the sand, or even earlier than that: from the very first moment they existed, in a universe before time. It is neither just Bill’s nor Tom’s. It is theirs.
It must be in a twin’s nature to get bored, easily, when left alone, or maybe that’s just them; their music is part of a never-ending quest to entertain each other, and their songs are the adventures they embark on together. To Tom, it’s the only way to exist, the constant challenge, and even when Bill gets on his last nerve, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Discord, too, is still music, after all, and playing solo, if he contemplates it, seems pointless: sound is only sound if it is heard.
And though he knows that even as one, some part of Bill would always have been with him, in his soul, he prefers that they’re two, even if it means that they must be halves: only a diamond can cut another to brilliance.
VI.
There are days when Bill can’t get out of bed. His limbs won’t move, his eyes won’t stay open for sheer exhaustion, and he huddles under the covers, shivering and miserable and hating himself until Tom comes looking for him.
“I want to go home.” It’s just a whisper. Saying it out loud hurts. “I want to sleep in my own bed and wake up to the smell of mom’s cooking and spend all day in sweats on the couch. Maybe walk the dog. In the park. With you.”
Tom can be Bill’s harshest critic, but he never scolds Bill for these moments of weakness. He crawls under the blankets with him, and suddenly, the strange room feels a little more like home. “What would mom be cooking?”
Bill sniffles. “Königsberger Klopse.”
“Of course.” Tom tugs gently at a strand of Bill’s hair. “I can call the airline. Right now.”
He can’t. They both know that. But Tom always pretends they’ve options, that Bill just needs to say the word, so Bill can get out of bed and into his routine like he has a choice.
Bill is not ungrateful. Most days, he loves his life. He’s just tired, sometimes.
VII.
In interviews, Bill claims his ‘real’ face is his smiling mask of blacks and whites, and it’s a cheerful, likeable persona, that Bill - Tom can see why the fans love him - but it’s not the real Bill, and sometimes, Tom worries that Bill himself is forgetting that.
Then, they’ll have a day off, and the real Bill will shuffle into Tom’s room in the late afternoon, hair sticking up in a fantastic mess that’ll leave greasy stains on Tom’s pillow, and Tom will grumble and hit him with the remote control and secretly enjoy the rare visit of his baby brother, the one whose shit still doesn’t smell like roses even though everything he touches turns to gold, the Bill who actually looks like Tom’s twin. He keeps stealing Tom’s candy, but Tom still likes him best, ghastly face and tired eyes and all, and patiently deciphers Bill’s grunts when Bill is too exhausted to speak.
Bill‘s cheek, the jokes, the contagious, electrifying energy all belong to their greedy audience for now. Tom will take whatever he can get: it’s the real thing, beyond the glamour and the lies, and it’s his alone, more precious than any image of perfection.
VIII.
Deep down, Bill knows he’s searching for true love because he’s convinced that it doesn’t exist.
Tom doesn’t go looking for it because he knows that it does, and he’s happy with what he’s got. It’s not that Bill doesn’t understand him, but Bill can’t shake the nagging feeling that there must be something else out there, love like their parents had once but lost; he wants to find it, however fleeting it may be, so he can understand the last, agonizing riddle of his childhood.
If the way he loves Tom were the only way to love someone, his parents would never have separated.
Tom gets angry though when Bill tries explaining. “You’re just going to get hurt!”
“Maybe the pain is necessary,” Bill reasons, “to grow.” To craft songs out of pieces of his broken heart, to become stronger, better, more real.
Tom scowls. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you get burned.”
He makes to leave, but Bill catches his wrist. “I will, though,” and he knows it’s a lot to ask. “Okay?”
Tom huffs, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re crazy.”
Maybe. But he is loved, and so Bill feels safe to let go, and fall.
IX.
In spite of all his airs, Bill is easily pleased if one knows how. Tom can’t understand how people buy his twin’s diva act; but then, no one has seen the sunshine smile that brightens Tom’s world in return for a piece of candy, a silly joke, a few quiet notes.
Give Bill something shiny and he’ll be happy. Play him a chord and he’ll sing. Take his hand and he’ll hang on, trustingly.
It’s amusing. Endearing. Terrifying: whenever they’re apart, Tom agonizes over the hurts others could inflict, the million eventualities of life that might just happen, cruelly, at random, and sometimes, it’s all too much; the burden’s too heavy, and something’s gotta give. That’s when he begs, shamelessly, his soul laid bare. “Please be careful.”
Bill huffs. “Why don’t you trust me?”
“I do, just…”
“I can take care of myself, you know,” Bill sniffs. “And I have great plans for us.”
“Oh god.”
“You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough!”
Bill smiles. Hugs Tom to him, and the world quietly centers itself again. “We’re perfectly balanced then.”
There’s times when the scales are tipped. It’s not always fair, but it’s alright: they always share their lot.
X.
Bill has one plan left to put into motion when all else is said and done. He’s still fuzzy on the details - paradoxically, girlfriends are harder to find than ever - but he’s optimistic. They wanted to become rockstars, and they did. Finding a matching set of girls can’t be more difficult.
Tom doesn’t agree, but he’ll come around, Bill thinks; Tom is a family guy, whether he wants to admit it or not. One of them has to pass on their DNA, and Bill would much rather be the wacky uncle who lives in the attic and spoils the children.
“But I don’t want a family!”
“You will. Eventually,” Bill says. “Imagine how great it’ll be - a big house, a pretty pair of twin sisters who’ll adore us almost as much as each other--”
Tom sighs, but he’s smiling. “And the odds of finding them are…?”
“If all else fails,” Bill persists, “we can hold auditions.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Shut up. You’ll see, we’ll live happily ever after.”
They will; he’s sure of that. But first, they have another dream to live to its fullest, and the future lies in the dark behind the stage lights, a whole lifetime away.
***
Königsberger Klopse, for those who don't know Bill's favourite meal: here