Fic: Ruby Tuesday, Tom/OFC, rated NC17

[peki]

Now that Secret Santa is over, I can post this and shower praise on amythystluna :) Not only did she beta this monster fic in record speed, but she also provided invaluable feedback and enthusiasm when I thought I'd crash under all the real life stress. <333 I'm really proud of this fic - enjoy :)

Title: Ruby Tuesday
Pairing(s): Tom/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: While in London for tour rehearsal, Tom finds something more than what he was looking for at a shoe shop.
Author's notes: A huge thank you to amythystluna! Working on this with her was truly a pleasure. This story would not have happened without her.


“The grey or the black? The grey or the black? The grey or the black, Tooooom!” Bill sang.

Tom glanced up from his cell phone game and saw his twin holding up two almost identical silk shirts. Just like that, the worn thread of his patience snapped. “I’m going for a smoke.”

He pulled the hood of his dark blue sweatshirt over his cornrows and slid off the uncomfortable footstool which he’d occupied for the past two hours, much to the annoyance of the shopgirl who was trailing in Bill’s wake, straightening the clothes he pulled off the hangers. Tom ducked out of the shop and into the rainy street, leaving Bill to lament the loss of his favorite mirror.

Outside, London was wrapped up against the chill of a February evening in a cloak of grey fog. Tom lit his cigarette, then slipped his fists into the front pockets of his hoodie along with his pack of smokes and lighter. He missed the tropical warmth of the Maldives, the eternal sunshine of a never-ending summer in paradise. With rehearsals underway for the European tour, London was all work and little play; the stage still wasn’t ready, the band hadn’t yet managed to get through one song without someone messing up, and slowly but surely, they were all annoying each other after two weeks of being cooped up together. Earlier that day, David had read the quartet the riot act for not being focused enough. Personally, Tom was pretty sure that if he focused any more he’d spontaneously combust. Already, the pressure was on. If he and Bill hadn’t managed to sneak away after band practice, there probably would’ve been bloodshed.

The good thing about London was that they could walk around incognito and without bodyguards for once. People kept their heads down against the rain and hurried along, not paying any attention to the young man huddling under the ledge in the shadows close to the wall. Tom smoked leisurely, watching the ebb and flow of the early evening rush around him. There were businessmen and women in smart suits and trench coats, off to the pub for an after-work drink, fashionable boys in skinny jeans, girls in short dresses and open-toed ankle boots, defiant of the cold that crept into the folds of Tom’s clothes and settled there. It had been a long time since he’d been in the midst of ordinary life. He enjoyed it, even though the weather here was awful at this time of year.

Pulling his shoulders up against the drizzle, he stepped out from under the ledge to flick his cigarette into the gutter, and that’s when he saw her.

In all honesty, it was the sneakers that caught his eye first: hundreds of shoes arranged like a color wheel of bright leather uppers over squeaky-clean white soles, nestled into rainbow tissue paper behind a large shop window. Shoelaces were strung from the ceiling like streamers, fluttering gently in the breeze from a fan. And in the middle of that candy-colored display stood a girl, whose hair burned red under a halo of leftover Christmas lights.

Tom stared at the scene across the street until the colors began to run together before his eyes as if the rain was washing them away. He came alive with a start, blinking rapidly. His vision cleared; the girl was gone. He furrowed his brow, wondering if his mind had conjured her up, a bright flash of lights and colors against the grey backdrop of the rainy evening, but suddenly she was back, walking into the tableau carrying a stepladder.

Tom only realized he had one foot in the gutter when he felt rain sloshing over his shoe, drenching his sock. Swearing, he leaped over the puddle forming at the side of the street where the sewers were filling up too fast. The rain was getting worse; fat drops splashed down on him, soaking through his clothes quickly. He had to get inside. Tom glanced back at the vintage store where Bill was still working his way through every piece of menswear, then at the bright window ahead.

The girl had climbed up on the ladder. She was poking at the tangled string of Christmas lights with a hook fashioned from a clothes hanger. When she tugged them down, bits of plaster came off the ceiling and rained down on her. Her mouth twisted sharply, and even without hearing her voice, Tom knew that she’d cursed.

Curiosity drew him across the street. He stepped out of the shadows into the bright rectangle of light that shone through the shop window, and that was when she glanced around and looked straight at him.

He tongued at his lip ring, thrown off balance by the level gaze that held his, and the girl smiled, a slightly taunting smile that showed off beautiful white teeth. The whole scene behind the window was like performance art, or maybe something out of a comic book: the flashing lights, the garish colors, the girl, whose face was all blue eyes under a fringe of shiny, candy-apple red hair.

Intrigued, he pushed through the door and into the shop, a shrill bell announcing his arrival. A shopgirl with a lot of piercings looked up disinterestedly, then returned her attention to a customer she was helping at the back of the store. Tom stood, dripping, on the doormat, overwhelmed by the choice of sneakers. Usually, he got sent shoes in the mail, straight from the designer. He hadn’t just leisurely browsed any shops for ages.

Apparently, that was what he was supposed to do, though, because no one paid him any attention whatsoever. Tom glanced back towards the front of the shop, but the display window was hidden from view on this side by a large shelf stacked with shoes. He shuffled over, casually scanning the selection of sneakers, feeling a little out of his depth, which was ridiculous, because the shop looked basically like his walk-in closet at home. If there was one thing Tom knew, it was sneakers; at home, however, the only person who saw him matching his shoes to his outfit was his brother. There were actual people around now. A few customers were trying on shoes, the pierced shopgirl was rummaging around in the stockroom, and a guy at the cash register was ringing up an elderly woman who was shopping with her granddaughter. The lack of privacy was a little unnerving. Reaching for an electric blue high-top with a bright red sole, Tom cast a furtive look over his shoulder and jumped.

The girl from the window had suddenly materialized next to him. “Hi!”

“Um,” was all Tom managed. Up close, she wasn’t the delicate sugar fairy from the candyland of the display window. She was just a girl, slender and not particularly tall, dressed in an oversized grey shirt, black skinny jeans, and a pair of very sparkly black sneakers. Tom appreciated the monochromatic palette. “Hey.”

She jiggled the tangled mess of Christmas lights in her arms a little, impatiently. “May I help you?”

Tom tilted his head, considering. “Your shoes? I like them.”

“My shoes?” she repeated, as if to make sure she had understood him right. Her eyebrows arched up high on her freckled forehead, which made her pale eyes seem even larger. She looked him up and down once, and Tom felt like she was sizing him up. “Well. We don’t carry them in men’s sizes, but we have the same model in a matte black finish?”

“Matte…black?” His mind was a little slow to process all the words. She spoke fast, with an odd accent that was unfamiliar to him.

“Yes. These here have glitter, see?” She lifted one foot to show him the subtle gold glitter particles in the patent leather that made her shoes so shiny. “The men’s aren’t sparkly. They have that stealth paint look?” She smiled up at him. “I’ll go get them so you can take a look. Size elevens?”

“Oh - eleven and a half.” Tom grinned back, impressed. She was good at what she did.

In under a minute, she was back, sitting him down on a chair in the corner to try on sneakers. He watched her pull the packaging material from the shoes and lace them up deftly, all quick, efficient movements. “There you go.”

The shoes fit perfectly when he put them on. He wiggled his toes a little, then got up, walked a few steps, only to stop in front of a low mirror. The matte finish of the shoes was great; Tom had long wanted a car with a stealth paint job, and if he ever bought one, he’d need sneakers to match. He grinned at the girl, pleased. It was love at first sight. “I want them.”

“They’re a special limited edition,” she smiled. “Good choice.”

Her approval warmed him somehow. Tom eyed her speculatively as she crouched on the floor in front of him, wrapping the shoes up in tissue paper like they were rare collectibles. He liked meeting a fellow sneakers lover, and he appreciated it when people handled his things with care. Every pair of shoes he owned was well-loved and looked after. The stealth sneakers would make a great pair for his collection. Maybe, if he tread carefully, he’d even manage to be stealthy enough to get past David, who’d become a veritable hellhound over the weeks of tour preparation. Tom’s annoyance with his job in general and their manager in particular materialized as a tiny, impatient huff.

The girl’s head snapped up. “I’m almost done, just a moment.” She smoothed the tissue paper down over the shoes before putting the lid back on the box. “There.”

“No, no,” Tom protested, “I have time.” As if to prove it, he sprawled in his corner seat like he intended to settle down for a conversation over coffee and cake. They were almost eye to eye when he was sitting down; the color of her eyes was really quite beautiful.

“What’s your name?” he found himself asking.

She just smiled. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“I’ll take the sneakers and your name,” he smirked.

Chuckling, she turned on her heel, the box with his shoes tucked under her arm. “Follow me, please.”

He watched her ring up and bag the shoes before he climbed to his feet and went after her to the cash register. Across the counter, they stared at each other expectantly for a few moments, but when it became clear that she wouldn’t be telling him anything, Tom handed over his credit card.

“I really want to know,” he tried again as she swiped it. She wasn’t wearing a name tag, so there was really no excuse for him to ogle her chest either. Not that he ever needed an excuse, but her clothes didn’t allow much of a glimpse at the shape of her body. Disappointing. “I’m Tom.”

“I know,” she said, and he grinned proudly under her knowing look, until she said, “It says so on your credit card.”

“Oh - right.” He chewed on his lip, unsure what to say. Usually, the girls he talked to knew who he was; there was a script he could follow. With this one, though, it wasn’t so easy. “So, do you--”

“Sign here, please.” She held out the receipt and a pen, but before he could take them from her hands, she put both on the counter before him. Moodily, Tom scribbled his signature, like he’d done a thousand times.

“That’s an interesting, um, squiggle,” she remarked, and he looked up to find her watching him. The corners of her mouth twitched.

“I write a lot of autographs,” he said by way of explanation, and she laughed.

“Right.” She put a shopping bag in his hand, then sent him on his way with a wave of her hand. “Cheers!”

So dismissed, there was nothing Tom could do but retreat. “Cheers?” he muttered to himself as he stood in the darkening street again. It was still raining; water dripped from the roof and down his neck. He shivered, suddenly feeling tired. It had been a long day of work, marathon shopping, and discombobulating Englishness all around him. He could really use a drink.

Across the street, Bill was just coming out of the vintage store, staggering a little under the weight of several shopping bags. If nothing else, at least their timing was still in sync. “Hey!” Somehow, he managed to give Tom a weird sort of full-body wave, arms flapping like the wings of an overburdened carrier pigeon.

Tom quirked a small smile. “Did you leave a few things for other people to buy?”

“Only the rags.” Bill grinned, clearly in high spirits after three undisturbed hours of digging through the treasure trove of other people’s hand-me-downs. In a weird way, Bill felt a connection with people, rifling through their old clothes for things that showed traces of personality. He was nosy that way.

“Drinks?” Tom asked mildly.

“Dinner?” Bill countered. “The shopkeeper gave me directions to some Indian place.”

It had been a long time since Bill had let his guard down enough to chat with random sales assistants while he shopped. “You want to try new food?” Tom gasped. Maybe London was good for them after all.

~*~

“What’d you get up to, anyway?” Bill asked later that night, when they were lying on their beds and facing each other across a large gilded bedside table. After their dinner of Indian takeaway, he’d modeled all his purchases for Tom, no matter if Tom wanted to see them or not. Eventually, they had both fallen into bed, exhausted from a busy day and too much food. Bill was still talking, though, while all Tom wanted to do was grunt.

He threw out an arm to indicate the pile of bags they had dumped by the door. “Sneakers.”

“You bought sneakers?” Bill laughed. “How about that bet with Georg? A month without new shoes? You made it what, ten days?”

“Had to,” Tom muttered. “She was too pretty.”

“Who?” Bill perked up. He tossed a pillow at Tom’s head. “Did you meet someone?”

“Hmm.” Tom’s mind was drifting, slipping down a rainbow slide right back into the blinding, neon setting of the shop where he’d escaped from the grey upon grey of his day for a while. He smiled as the scene played again behind his closed eyelids. Only now that he lay in bed, tired and content, did he feel how badly he’d needed the little break.

“Who was she?” Bill asked, determined to keep Tom awake for his own entertainment.

“Shopgirl,” Tom yawned. He still wished she’d told him her name, so he could address her in his fantasy. Maybe he’d just give her one. A proper comic book character’s name, to fit her odd looks. Red…something. “She got it just right.”

“What?”

Tom rolled to his back and sprawled. He felt like he’d sink through the mattress and wake up in another world that was bright and new and smelled like rubber soles. “Everything.” He scrunched up his nose thoughtfully. “The only thing she didn’t know was who I was.”

“And you didn’t tell her?” Another pillow hit Tom in the chest. He tossed it back in Bill’s general direction, too lazy to make a real fight out of it.

“Didn’t want to.” For once, he hadn’t had to wonder what the girl was after. She only wanted to sell him sneakers.

“So modest? Are you ill?” Groaning, Bill rubbed his stomach. “Actually, I feel ill too. I think we need a digestif.” He crawled out of bed, dragging the blankets with him, to dig through the mini bar.

Tom’s stomach swirled warmly. He never had gotten his drink. Blindly, he held out a hand. “Hit me.”

Something landed in his lap. He picked it up, cracking his eyes open to find a chilled bottle of grapefruit-flavored vodka.

“Absolut Ruby Red.” Bill smacked his lips appreciatively.

It did seem fitting.

~*~

“I’m in a band,” Tom tried hopefully, three days later. He’d had no opportunity to give David the slip sooner, but not for lack of wanting to. Rehearsals weren’t going well; the thought of stealing away to sneaker heaven was what kept Tom going at this point.

“That’s nice.” The girl crouched on the floor, packing up the sneakers Tom had reluctantly decided not to buy.

“We’re here to rehearse for our tour.” He was talking on autopilot, distracted by the closeness of her. She was wearing a sweater dress today that clung at least a little bit, allowing him to guess at the shape of her breasts under the thick, woolly material. “It’ll be our biggest show yet.”

“Really?” She seemed preoccupied too, her hands mechanically folding layers of tissue paper into the shoebox.

He watched her for a minute, wondering what she was thinking about. Her forehead creased like something was troubling her. He cleared his throat. “You okay?”

“Oh - yeah.” She came to with a start. Her eyes flew up to meet his. “Sorry, I was…thinking.”

“About what?” he asked curiously.

Her cheeks began to burn pink under his watchful eyes. “Math problem.”

It was Tom’s turn to frown. He’d really lost his touch if a woman would rather solve math problems than pay attention to him. “Really.”

“I like math.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “Hey, I work in sales. I like playing with numbers. Especially if they’re profits.”

“I hated math in school.” He wondered if she’d heard him talking about the band at all.

She gave a defiant little shrug. “A lot of people do.” There was a long, tense moment of silence, until she sighed and said, softly, “So you make music?”

“I’m in a band.” Tom glowered at her. He’d never had to give that particular line twice.

“Yeah, you mentioned that.” She stood, dusting off her knees, and Tom was treated to a view of her backside. “What do you play?” she asked offhandedly, glancing back at him through the crimson curtain of her hair.

“Guitar.” He couldn’t be mad at her, not when she smiled at him.

“That fits.”

“You think?” He wondered if that was a compliment. “How so?”

Her smile became sly, and Tom was sure now that she wasn’t telling him what was really going on in her head. “It just does.” She looked him up and down pointedly. “Can I show you anything else?”

A little cleavage would’ve been nice, but Tom was pretty sure that request wouldn’t be appreciated. “I just want these.” He pointed at the navy blue pair of sneakers that they’d picked out together today. They would go well with jeans. “And your name, please.” If she was making fun of him, which he was pretty certain she was, she could at least give him that.

He thought he saw her smile before she turned away, carrying his sneakers over to the register. Bemused, Tom followed her, watching her hips sway as she walked. He braced his elbow on the counter between them and leaned in conversationally, ignoring the way she ignored him. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“I’m working,” she said, her voice pleasant, but firm. “The boss doesn’t like it when we get chatty with the customers.”

“You don’t have to chat. Just tell me your name.” Tom pulled out his best flirty smile, licking at his lower lip. “Or should I use the one I made up for you?”

“You made up a name for me?” She glanced up from the buttons on the register, surprised. “What is it?”

“Ruby.” Tom was proud; he’d only just learned that word off the vodka bottle.

The girl pursed her lips. “Ruby? Really?”

He shrugged gamely. “I like your hair.”

“Thanks.” She chuckled. “But I still can’t talk to you during work hours.”

Heartened, he grinned at her. “But after work…?”

She ducked her head over the register. “I have a late class.”

“So you’re a student?” he persisted. He hadn’t worked so hard to get to know a girl since…ever. He probably shouldn’t even have bothered - it wasn’t like they were going to be in London for much longer - but he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head since their first meeting. This thing between them was unlikely to go anywhere, but he was curious where it might go, if given half a chance. The deadline of their departure only made pursuing her more of a challenge. She was a hard nut to crack, and Tom couldn’t stand to leave things unfinished. It was like solving half of a puzzle without ever getting to see the full picture.

“Yes, I’m a student,” she said shortly. “Will that be all? I have blue laces to go with your shoes? They’d match your shirt.” She pointed at a rack full of accessories by the wall. “Color number 292c?”

Tom plucked them off the rack; they did match today’s shirt perfectly when he held them up to compare. “You’re good at this, Ruby,” he said, impressed. “Y’know, sneakers. And colors, and stuff…” He trailed off lamely.

“That’ll be 89,99, please.” Her fingers brushed his as she took his credit card. “And it’s Katie.”

“Huh?” Tom’s eyebrows shot up.

“Eighty-nine ninety-nine?” she said, very slowly like she thought he was daft, but she couldn’t stifle her smile now.

“No, the other thing,” he said breathlessly.

“Katie,” she murmured. She glanced left and right as if she was imparting a great secret. “That’s my name.”

Tom wanted to pump his fist and whoop. He had rarely felt so gratified. “Katie,” he said, trying it out. “Nice.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you for shopping with us.”

Tom took his shopping bag, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave yet, not when he’d just found out something interesting. “Can I just--”

“We’re closing soon,” she interjected.

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “Well. Do you have classes tomorrow? After work?”

“Yes.” The look on her face showed him that he wasn’t getting anything else out of her tonight.

Maybe he shouldn’t push his luck. “And the day after tomorrow?”

She smiled politely. “Have a good evening.”

Tom hadn’t thought he could feel more frustrated than he had after that day’s rehearsal, but she seemed intent on proving him wrong.

~*~

“But why the long face?” Bill asked after Tom had related the whole story to his twin over a dinner of vegetable korma and Indian beer at what was becoming their favorite haunt in Covent Garden. “She told you her name. You said that’s what you wanted.”

Tom rolled up half a naan bread and stuffed it in his mouth, observing his surroundings with unseeing eyes. The restaurant was busy and loud with the hum of many voices, a young crowd of diners grabbing a cheap dinner before swarming out into the London nightlife. The twins had been seated at a table for two, by a window that overlooked the rainy street. Outside, people hurried past under their umbrellas. No one spared the pair a second glance; in the crowd, they were invisible.

“It’s something,” Tom conceded at length.

“But?” his twin prompted.

Tom sighed deeply. “I want… I want...”

“Something more?” Bill made an obscene motion with his fist.

Tom shot him a half-hearted glare. “Well, yeah. But that’s not the point.”

Bill snorted like he found that hard to believe. “What is it then?”

Tom couldn’t even say what bothered him, but somehow, he had a feeling that he wasn’t getting things quite right with Katie. He never could think of what to say to her - he hadn’t had to introduce himself to anyone in ages - and she seemed reticent for some reason; not disinterested, but…distant.

But then, she didn’t know him. Not that any of the fans actually did, but they thought so and that made all the difference. They trusted him with their hearts, and some even with their bodies, without him having to do more than crook a finger at them. With Katie, it was different.

“She doesn’t know me. Us.” Tom frowned. “And I don’t know how to change that.”

Bill stroked his non-existent beard. “Did you tell her you were the guitarist in a famous band?”

“Yeah.” Tom flicked a grain of rice off the table. He chanced a look at his brother, who was watching him patiently, waiting Tom out. “She said it fit.”

Bill laughed. “I suppose it does. All guitarists are posers.”

Wounded, Tom retorted, “And all singers are crazy egomaniacs.” They stared each other down for a few moments, until they both had to laugh.

“At any rate, she wasn’t impressed,” Tom said ruefully.

“Well, the whole thing is a little overrated, don’t you think?” Not only Tom was suffering cabin fever after weeks of rehearsals.

“Maybe.” Tom twirled his fork between his fingers, pensive. “Who do you think we’d be if your master plan for world domination hadn’t worked out?” he asked. “Who does she see when she looks at me?”

“Just a guy,” Bill smirked. “A guy with horrible fashion sense. But great bone structure.”

Tom kicked him under the table. “Can you be serious? It just makes me wonder, being here. What if we weren’t famous?”

“But we are famous,” Bill said matter-of-factly.

“Here we’re not.”

Bill reached over the table and patted his head. “But you’re still the same stupid old Tom.”

Tom huffed. “To you.”

“No. You’re always you. Fame doesn’t make a difference.” Bill said it like he believed it, but Tom wasn’t so sure.

“I think it makes a difference to people.” After all, it was due to this very fact that Bill hadn’t had a meaningful relationship in years. All that people - girls - saw when they met the twins were the faces of Tokio Hotel. It was annoying and bothersome and had caused Bill to rant on-camera about his love life more than once, but now, here, where the trappings of fame were falling away and they were free, Tom was seeing the flip side of the coin.

Courting a girl was hard work.

“You lazy fuck,” Bill grinned. “You can’t expect all women to just fall at your feet the moment they see you.”

“I don’t expect them to fall at my feet,” Tom grumbled. “I don’t even like it when they’re like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Bill said, unconvinced. “Then why the crisis?”

Under his twin’s amused look, Tom began to fidget. “I’m not having a crisis.” He crumbled a piece of bread between his fingers, not hungry anymore. “I just don’t know how to do this.”

“Normal life?” Bill asked. “I think it’s nice. When was the last time we went out to dinner, just you and me?”

That reminded Tom of a whole other can of worms. He groaned. “David is going to kill us for up and leaving. Again.”

Bill grinned. “It’s worth it, don’t you think?”

They clinked their bottles in a silent toast. “So tell me more about that girl.” Bill took a long swig of beer. “Since when do you like redheads, anyway? Only my made-up girlfriends ever have red hair. Jacqueline Chantal, remember?”

“She doesn’t have Jacqueline hair,” Tom protested.

“Obviously, since Jacqueline isn’t real.” Bill braced his elbows on the table and leaned towards Tom, staring at him as if he suspected Tom had finally lost the rest of his marbles. “Is this girl for real, Tom? Or are you just so horny you can’t think straight?”

“She’s real.” Tom could feel her; already, she was in his blood, burning him from the inside out like a fever. “She’s hot.” And she knew a lot about sneakers.

“So you are just horny.”

“Of course I’m horny, I haven’t gotten laid in ages. But it’s not just that.” Tom frowned. “I want her to know me. And I want to get to know her. But she won’t let me closer.”

“And that’s just unacceptable, isn’t it.” Bill smirked knowingly. “Well. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“You think?”

“Sure.” Bill laid a hand over Tom’s, stopping him from making a war zone of his plate with his fork. “We’re rock stars. Who could resist us?”

A lot of people could, from their evil robot of a manager to the anonymous haters on the internet. They had long been used to it; there were other problems to worry about. Bill’s stage costumes were taking too long to be made. That morning, Gustav had gotten stuck in the egg for almost an hour. The thought of playing Zoom Into Me on the piano had Tom waking up in a cold sweat at all hours of the night. He didn’t need more stress.

And yet…

And yet.

“Give it a little time,” Bill suggested. “If she has any sense, she’ll see you. Even under all those horrible clothes.”

But time to get things right was running out. Soon they would be going on tour, no matter what, ready or not.

Tom knew he had to get his act together, and fast.

~*~

“She said she was taking a few days off.”

Whatever obstacle Tom had anticipated to fall in his path when he sneaked out again that morning, he hadn't considered that Katie herself might foil his plans. His first urge was to turn around and walk out, never to return. He wasn't supposed to be here; now that she wasn't here either, he felt distinctly out of place. Put on the spot, he stood in the garishly decorated shop, fidgeting.

The shopgirl with the many piercings cleared her throat. “If you want more trainers, I can show them to you if you’d like?” she continued hopefully.

“That’s okay,” Tom sighed, “Did she say why she’s not coming in?”

The girl was glaring at him now, her polite sales pitch forgotten. “It’s a private matter.”

“Right.” Tom fidgeted, abashed, and didn't dare ask again.

He hated it when strangers stuck their noses in things that were none of their business, so he couldn't very well do it himself. But that didn’t mean he couldn't fret; during rehearsal a couple of hours later, at dinner with his bandmates, or when he lay in bed that night, staring sleeplessly up at the ceiling, while Bill snored in the bed next to his. Tom knew he should let it go - he had his own problems to worry about, what did he care about some stranger's? - but somehow, he felt cheated out of his day's only enjoyment.

Things didn't get better when Katie wasn't at work the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that.

Suddenly, there was nothing to look forward to at the end of the day anymore. Over the past few weeks while they'd been in London, Tom had developed a routine: rehearse, then steal away while David looked the other way. Then he could go out and explore the strange city, unhindered. When their run-throughs with the band had gone well, he could even leave the job behind after he was done for the day, and go to meet a normal girl, like he was a normal guy leading an ordinary life. Katie had believed that was who he was, and for a few days, Tom had lived the pretense so completely that he’d begun to believe in it, too.

The sudden loss made him realize how quickly he'd become addicted to the taste of freedom, going where he wanted, when he wanted, on a whim. How much he'd miss that when it was over.

It couldn't be over yet.

So caught in a seemingly endless cycle of longing and disappointment, he worked himself up to righteous indignation. She was a salesperson; so where was she when he wanted to buy something? It wasn’t fair to leave him hanging when he went in to the shop especially to see her, and the next time he saw her, he’d tell her so.

But Katie wasn’t at work the next day either.

Tom spent the day pacing the vaults under the stage while he half-listened to his guitar tech go through settings with him, his annoyance having given way to worry. He wondered if she was ill, or what could have happened to keep her from work five days in a row. With some effort, he suppressed the thought that she might have stayed away because she didn’t want to see him again. That was just ridiculous.

“Everything isn’t always about you,” Gustav told him bracingly when Tom voiced his thoughts during a much-needed smoke break. “Other people have lives too, you know. Shit happens sometimes. It’s none of your business anyway.”

Georg’s opinion, if a little more sympathetic, went along the same lines. “Maybe you should let it go,” he suggested. “You have more important things to do right now, don’t you think?”

“Says the guy who’s up all night talking to his girlfriend,” Bill scoffed, ever-loyal to his twin. He sidled up and pressed their shoulders together, offering silent support.

“She’s not his girlfriend,” Georg pointed out.

Bill let his hands flutter excitedly. “But maybe she could be.”

Tom groaned. “Stop. All of you.” He put out his cigarette in David’s coffee mug and immediately lit the next. He released a smoky sigh into the harsh wind that blew across the barren yard behind the venue. The four of them were huddled together by the trash cans out back. Their corner was dank and smelly; rain dripped off the roof and stained the suede of Tom’s sneakers. His mood was at an all-time low. “I just want to get out of here once in a while,” he muttered. “Talk to someone normal.”

“You mean to say things aren’t normal around here?” Gustav asked dryly.

“Just slightly more insane than usual,” Bill shrugged.

“We could all use a break.” Georg glanced back at the stage door, behind which their manager was waiting for the fourth run-through of the day. “Okay. He won’t miss us for another ten minutes. Let’s split.”

Bill let out a startled giggle. “We can’t do that. Again.”

Georg, of course, never did have qualms about taking extended breaks. “That last session we did was fine. I think we deserve a little fun.”

“You were going to show us that Indian restaurant you found,” Gustav reminded Bill.

“Do you ever not think about eating?” Bill teased.

“Not since you had our caterer switch to all-vegetarian food,” Gustav retorted. “I know you subsist on cigarettes and Red Bull and the love of Tom, but we mere mortals have to eat. Drumming is hard work. I need a real meal.”

They all looked at each other.

“Remember when we recorded Schrei?” Georg asked at last. “How David had to play hide and seek with Bill for hours, to get him calm enough to record?”

Gustav nodded. “He always knew what he was getting into.”

“True.” Bill grinned, unrepentant. “Tom?”

He didn’t have to ask; Tom was already moving towards the wire fence that lined the property, looking for a weak spot. The wire had been cut off one of the posts; when Tom folded it back, there was enough room to slip through. He waved the others over. “Let’s go.”

“This is mutiny,” Gustav said, but he was grinning as he wrapped his jacket tightly around himself and climbed through the gap in the fence, taking care not to scratch his bare lower legs.

“We’re rebels.” Bill’s laughter spilled out, joyful and triumphant, sweeping Tom away with it on a wave of glee. “I’ll call the driver.”

It was once again dark by the time they made it into the city, and the shop windows shone colorfully in welcome. The Indian restaurant was packed as usual, but when the waiters saw Bill, they moved two smaller tables to accommodate the group of four.

"Ta-da!" Bill proclaimed proudly as they settled down with a starter and some mango yoghurt drinks.

Georg looked at him with something like admiration. "I can't believe they know you even in the British-Indian community."

"They don't," Tom told him dryly. "It's just that we've been here every day for the past week, and Bill hasn't figured out the strange money."

"Tipping well is not a bad thing," Bill said with an air of grandeur. "Have whatever you want, gentlemen, Universal's paying."

Gustav grunted appreciatively and ordered the biggest lamb seekh kebab he could find on the menu. When the meat was served, it came on a large ornamental dagger that dripped with grease and meat juices, and impressed even their stoic drummer.

"Quite good," Gustav pronounced after the first bite, which was high praise for him.

"You are disgusting." Bill eyed the meat dagger with distaste. "That poor little lamb."

"It died serving a noble cause," Gustav grunted, chewing.

Bill shook his head scornfully.

"What's the plan for tonight?" Georg asked through a mouthful of rice.

"I don't know. We could go see a movie. Oh, or a show!" Bill gasped with the delight of a new, exciting thought. "We could even go have ice cream!"

"It's too cold for ice cream." Tom looked outside through the high window. It wasn't raining for once, but the sky was overcast. The people who walked past the restaurant were leaning forward against the wind that blew harshly and whistled around the corners. It was nice to be inside where it was warm, in the company of good friends.

He wondered where Katie was right now.

A loud snap in front of his face made him start. He looked up into the amused face of Georg, who drew back his hand before Tom could bite it off.

"What?"

"You okay?" Georg asked.

"Yeah, sure." Tom felt his face heat up and quickly took a swig of beer.

"Are you sure?" Gustav had stopped torturing the sad remains of his lamb kebab and was now focusing his attention on the guitarist, too.

"Yes," Tom said, irritated. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've been...absent." Georg glanced at Bill as if for confirmation.

Tom huffed. "Look, if this is still about going off that first day, we didn't think David would take it out on you--"

"No, I meant you haven't been all there." Georg tapped his temple. "Mentally."

"I have a lot on my mind," Tom said indignantly.

"Like what?" Gustav asked.

"Ticket sales. Tour promotion. Figuring out how to play three instruments and sing--"

Bill laughed softly. "Nah. It's that girl."

Tom turned to the traitor sitting next to him who called himself Tom's twin. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is." Smiling, Bill popped a piece of papadum in his mouth and chewed crunchily. "I mean, yeah, there's all those other things too. I know you worry about them. I worry about them too. But that's exactly why I know you're thinking of that girl, too. We're all tired. We need a break. She's the best distraction you've had in a long time."

Tom pulled at his lip ring with his teeth. It was true. Sure, he'd had his fair share of groupie encounters, but those had long since become routine, a part of his job even. They belonged to his image like hairspray belonged to Bill's, but they hadn't been the stuff his fantasies were made of for a long time. His wild, crazy dreams of stardom had all come true, and then some. All Tom craved now was the simplicity of ordinary life.

He released a long breath. "I think--"

"You want to go," Bill nodded. The other two grinned knowingly, but there was no teasing this time. Carefree moments were too rare to spoil them for anyone.

Tom looked around at his friends. "Is it okay if I...?"

"We'll wait here," Bill said. "If she's not there, come back and we'll all hit the clubs together or something."

And so Tom went, his three companions waving him off cheerfully through the restaurant window. The little sneakers store wasn't far; after coming here so often over the past days, the streets were beginning to look familiar. Tom breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air. Already, he felt like the weight on his shoulders had eased. He rounded a corner, walking towards the brightly-lit shop with purpose. She might not be there, but he’d check. At the very least, he’d have had a change of scenery.

The shop window sparkled like a disco ball after it had been given a makeover with lots of tinfoil , garish 70s tour posters and glitter to showcase a new pair of holographic sneakers. Tom slowed down momentarily, mesmerized, contemplating the manifold uses of such shoes and what he’d wear them with - silver? Grey? Maybe one of Bill’s shirts with the tiny mirrors? - before he remembered why he’d come. He pushed through the door, wincing as the bell shrilled in his ears.

A few people were casually browsing the newest collection of sneakers. The sullen shopgirl whose name Tom didn’t care to know took one look at him, turned on her heel and walked off to the stockroom. He looked around, but there was no sign of Katie, no flash of red hair in a corner or blue eyes peeking around a shelf. Disappointed, he turned to leave.

He made it almost to the door before a voice said, “You do love trainers, don’t you?”

Tom’s stomach flip flopped oddly. He turned around, and there she was, smiling at him. “Yeah.“

She had her hands clasped in front of her chest and was keeping a polite distance, but there was no mistaking the amusement in her voice. “How many pairs do you have now?”

“Hundreds.”

“Maybe you should kick that habit.”

A smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth. He had missed her. “But I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

Tom moved to stand before her, close enough that he could’ve reached out and touched a lock of hair that was falling into her face. She wore her hair in a high ponytail today, which showed off her face. A hint of a blush colored her cheeks. She didn’t look ill at all. “You’re back,” he said, unduly delighted. “Where were you?”

She cast her eyes down. “I had to take care of a few things.” She brushed her hair back behind her ear in a self-conscious motion. “What can I do for you today?”

Tom wondered how long they’d have to keep up the pretense. If the last few days had taught him anything, it was that time was running out; who knew how often they’d see each other again. “I…” he began, and decided right then and there that he’d had enough. He took a deep breath. “Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

She looked up at him, startled. “I’m working late.” Her voice wavered, and he could tell he’d caught her off guard, asking outright.

He smiled winningly. “I don’t care. I’ll wait.”

Katie sighed, blowing at her thick red bangs. “Can you just not… Please. My coworker’s looking.”

Tom glanced past her to see the other shopgirl leaning against the counter, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She was glaring fiercely in their direction. He fought the urge to sneer. “She's not very nice.”

“No, she is, really, it’s just, you keep buying all these expensive limited edition shoes and I get to ring you up, so I get commission.” Katie smiled apologetically. “She said you came in here every day while I was away, but you never bought anything from her. And that you were rude.”

“I wasn't rude.” At least he didn't think he had been; but then, he'd been kind of wrapped up in worrying about seeing Katie. “I just don’t want any more shoes!” He puffed his chest out proudly. Georg had it wrong; he wasn’t addicted. Not to sneakers, anyway.

“Well, this is a store, you know,” she shot back. “If you don’t mean to buy anything, there’s really no reason for you to be here.”

“No reason?” he asked, searching her face. When he looked closer, he could see dark lines under her eyes. Aside from the heated blush that made her cheeks burn, she was very pale. He stepped closer, drawn to her as if by an invisible string, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She pushed his hand away. Her fingers were cold against his. “You should leave now.”

Tom felt the loss of contact keenly. He was a tactile person; half of the messages he and Bill ever exchanged between them were unspoken. It was different with people other than his twin, of course, but being denied outright like this still hurt. Tom drew his hands back into the sleeves of his hoodie, retreating. “Okay. Okay. So I buy more shoes, I can stay?”

But she shook her head. “I can’t talk to you, the boss doesn’t like it. And besides, my coworker can’t take care of the other customers and manage the stockroom by herself, it’s not fair.”

He looked around, taking in the boxes of discarded shoes that were stacked high on the counter, waiting for someone to take them back and restock them. On impulse, he made a decision. “Okay. I can help you put these back.”

Katie looked at him oddly. “You’re a customer.”

“If I help you, I’m not a customer.” Tom smirked, picking up a stack of shoeboxes. “So can you talk to me now?”

“No. Put those boxes down,” she said sternly.

He lifted them up over his head where she couldn’t reach them. Tom could feel a grin spreading over his face, laughter bubbling up inside like it hadn’t for a long time at her disgruntled expression. “Think of another reason why I can't be here?”

She folded her arms across her chest defensively. “What if I have?”

“Then I’ll ask why.”

"Well, because..." She glowered at him for a few seconds, but when Tom stared right back at her, she sighed. “Oh well. Come on then.” She picked up the rest of the shoeboxes and walked off towards the stockroom without sparing him another glance.

Triumphant, Tom followed her through the bead curtain at the back of the shop, and unexpectedly found himself in paradise. There were sneakers everywhere, stacked up high on rows of shelves along all four walls. He had seen many amazing things over the course of his career, but this was just cool.

"Wow," he burst out.

Katie shook her head at him, but when she spoke, Tom thought she sounded fond. "Hand me those boxes, please."

She bustled silently around the stockroom for a while, putting things in order before closing. The shop was almost empty now save for her and the other shopgirl, who was helping one last customer. Tom followed her around, helpfully carrying shoe boxes that she took from him one by one to restock. She didn't talk save for the occasional request to hand her stuff or get her some box off the top shelf.

Tom was happy to trail in her wake, letting his mind drift. There was something oddly comfortable about helping out like this, with no responsibility of his own, just being there and enjoying her presence.

"I wasn't sure you'd come back," he said, watching her little floral skirt ride up and show off slim legs as she rose on tiptoes to grab something from a shelf overhead. It was a difficult fabric to match to anything, he thought; a wild pattern of tiny, brightly colored flowers and leaves in reds and blues and greens, arranged in swirls like the wind itself had scattered them across the material. The rest of her clothes were all black, but she wore a pair of hot pink sneakers that picked up on some of the undertones in her skirt. Tom liked the bold choice.

"Of course I came back." Her voice actually startled him. "I work here."

"I'm glad." He caught her arm as she turned around, wanting to look at her face. "I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

She shrugged, but she didn't move away from his touch this time.

"We're leaving soon," Tom tried, watching her face for a reaction.

She glanced up at him, but looked away again immediately when she noticed his eyes on her. She reached for the last box that he carried under his arm and turned away to store the box where it belonged. His hand slipped off her arm.

"Who's 'we'?"

"My band mates and me," he explained. His fingers itched where they'd touched her, like they'd been burned. "It's me and my twin brother, and two friends. We make music now for ten years. But they don't do much, I have the hardest job." Jokes at the others' expense were Tom's fallback strategy whenever he didn't quite know what to say, but they fell flat when his band mates weren't there to hear and the girl didn't know them anyway. "But it's going okay. Rehearsals. It's a complicated show. Things will always go wrong."

Katie began to check things off a long list that was taped to one of the shelves. "Complicated," she said distractedly, "How so?"

"Well, I have to play guitar and piano, and there’s this egg that doesn't move right like it should, and we have a motorbike..." He broke off; the whole thing sounded bizarre outside the setting of their crazy band's bubble. “Tell me about you," he said. “You're a student?"

"Yup."

"What do you study?"

"Stuff." She waved her hand vaguely.

Tom huffed. “I just want to know what you do when you’re not working here?” He was just shooting questions at her at random now, not really expecting an answer, but it was a point of pride: if she wouldn’t acknowledge him soon, and feel suitably flattered by his attentions, he’d just annoy her to death. “Do you have a lot of sneakers?”

Katie shrugged, but she didn't look as serious anymore. The corners of her mouth were ever so gently curving upwards. It was something.

Heartened, Tom plowed on with the first question that popped up in his mind. “Is red your real hair color?”

A startled giggle escaped her. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yes.”

Chortling, she put her pen down, done with her list. “Okay. I study business management. I like football. And cupcakes. And taking photos of my friends in the park on Sundays. I have way too many shoes, considering that I live in a bloody shoebox of a flat, but I can’t resist the employee discount. And yes, I’m naturally ginger. Will you stop asking questions now?”

He guffawed. “Do you say that to all the customers?”

“As long as you’re back here with me, you’re not a customer,” she countered.

"So what am I?"

They looked at each other for a few long moments. "Wish I knew," she said then, so softly he could barely understand it.

He inched closer, intrigued by her wistful expression. She wore a lot of mascara, which set off her pale eyes dramatically as in a comic book close-up. If this scene were in a book, he wondered what the next panel would be like. "I can show you."

Slowly, she began to smirk. "I'm sure you could."

"But?" he challenged.

"It's not a good idea." She trembled ever so slightly when he leaned over her, crowding her against a shelf, but she stood her ground. "This is my workplace."

"Then see me after work." He was so close to her now that he could smell the scent of her hair - fruity in that way actual fruit never was, like fruit candy; a little too sweet, but strangely tasty once one had acquired a taste for it. Smiling, he leaned in even closer, breathing in that scent, and whispered in her ear, "Please?"

She put her hands on his chest and pushed. "You have to go now."

Tom let her walk him backwards until his shoulderblades touched the wall. Her fingertips curled into the fabric of his shirt, sliding over his pecs. She drew a labored breath. He watched her eyes flicker down to roam his clothed body, her brow furrowed and her lower lip sucked in tight against her teeth, and it was then that he knew.

"Damn."

Tom didn't even know if she had breathed the word into the charged silence or if he had. His awareness narrowed down to the touch of her hands on his body, the scent of her, the bright burst of color that swam before his eyes when he stepped forward to close the distance between them, and bowed his head over hers.

She did not know of the great things he'd done like the rest of the world did; she'd only seen him. And yet, she liked him anyway.

It was with that knowledge that he could tip her head back, one large hand cupping her delicate jaw, and kiss her with all the sweet passion of long-denied need. She gasped, surprised; her hands fisted in his shirt as if to push him away, but then she didn't. Just for a moment they stood, motionless save for the press of his lips on hers, the soft, slick sweep of a tongue against another.

Then, the doorbell rang, and they both jumped.

Katie drew back quickly, flustered and blushing. "We're closed, why didn't Rose lock the door?"

There was a loud clomping noise, as of hooves dragging over the linoleum floor of the shop. "Hi!" a very chipper voice that Tom knew all too well said. "I'm looking for my brother?"

Cursing his twin’s timing, Tom pushed through the beaded curtain to see the grumpy-faced, pierced shopgirl - Rose, Katie had said - come alive behind the register where she’d been going through some receipts. Her sullen scowl gave way to a slightly manic, very toothy smile. She scurried around the counter, her long black braid swinging, to greet Bill by the door.

“Hi!” She paused, breathless. “How may I help you?”

“I came to get him.” Bill jerked his chin in Tom’s direction. He smiled at the girl, who was bouncing in place, ready to jump at his every wish. “I like your necklace.”

“Thanks.” She fondled the crystal skull that dangled off a chain around her neck. “That one’s really your brother?” She gave Tom a sidelong glance.

“We’re identical twins, actually,” Bill nodded.

“Really.” Katie’s voice conveyed her surprise. She stepped around Tom to get a better look at Bill.

“You must be Katie,” Bill said wryly, his gaze touching Tom’s for a second before he turned back to the girls. “And you are…?”

“Rose,” the pierced one gasped.

They all shook hands. “I’m Bill. Pleased to meet you,” Bill said. “You have a nice shop here. Tom told me all about it.”

“It’s a pretty good job.” Rose’s face was transformed; she looked much prettier when she wasn’t scowling. “You know, if you like shoes.”

Bill laughed pleasantly. “I do.”

“Runs in the family then,” Katie quipped. She chanced a look at Tom, who still stood by the door to the stockroom, and quickly focused on Bill again. “And you’re identical twins? It’s hard to tell.”

“It’s just my make-up,” Bill smiled.

Rose nodded, impressed. Both girls looked up at Bill with eyes full of amazement. Taller than usual in his heeled boots, he was all poise and grace, a handsome figure clad in black leather and silk. Next to him, Tom looked short. Next to him, Tom looked plain.

Tom frowned. It wasn’t new, or surprising, for people to think of Bill as the pretty twin, and it never usually bothered Tom because he knew that under all the war paint, he and Bill still shared the same face. Now, though, with Bill so obviously drawing the kind of attention that Tom craved for himself, he suddenly felt supremely, jealously annoyed. Katie’s surprise over Tom being related to oh-so-striking Bill was just the rotten cherry on top of the big pile of his frustrations.

He cleared his throat loudly. “What did you want?”

Bill, to his credit, took one look at Tom’s expression and turned down the rockstar charm immediately. He put his hands in his pockets and slouched, smiling his goofy, slightly crooked smile. “The boys and I are going for a drink. Are you coming?”

Tom looked at Katie, but she was studiously avoiding his eyes. Her cheeks were still bright pink, but other than that, she gave no indication that less than five minutes ago, she’d been in his arms, so close that he could feel every erratic beat of her heart.

He gave his twin a pointed look. “A little help?” he said in German.

Bill smirked. "Tell me about the tour posters in your window?” he said to Rose. "I'd really like a smoke."

"Oh - sure! I'm done for the night, let me get my bag." She gathered her things quickly, then let Bill grasp her elbow and steer her towards the door, giving Tom some space to move in.

Katie stood, unmoving, as Tom circled around her, wondering how to approach her. Back in the dusty stockroom, he hadn't just kissed her; she had kissed him back. But out here, she was cool and aloof again, like she was afraid of giving too much of herself away if she allowed him more than just a stolen kiss in the dark.

"We have a minute," he smiled lopsidedly, coming to stand in front of her. "Wanna go back there again?"

New heat made her face light up. "We were done."

"No, we weren't," he countered. Unable to resist, he reached out and smoothed the strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail back behind her ear. "Not even close."

"Well." She started slightly when his fingers brushed the shell of her ear. "We were done for today."

That was more like it. "Okay. So have dinner with me tomorrow.” Tom licked his lip nervously. She couldn’t shoot him down again. She just couldn’t. He’d… He didn’t know what he’d do. “Please?”

“I have class in the evening.” Katie’s gaze flickered down to his lips momentarily. Her chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. “How about tea and cupcakes?”

He blinked. Had that been a ‘yes’? Or at least half of one? “Okay,” he nodded quickly. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

“I have to work early,” she said softly, looking past him for Bill and her coworker, who had stepped outside and were animatedly discussing the window display. “Meet me here? Around three?”

Getting away in the middle of the day would be next to impossible. David would be livid, even more so than he had been before.

'On tour, there's going to be hundreds of girls lining up to suck your dick, Tom. You don't need to be going after this one.'

Tom shoved aside the memory of David's words from the day before. His life was restricted by enough rules and necessary inconveniences. He wouldn't be told what he needed to be doing, not on one of the few days he felt truly free.

“Okay,” he said. “Three.” Grinning, he shook back his sleeve and pushed a few buttons on his watch, starting a countdown. He didn’t get to use all the settings on his gadgets nearly enough. Looking up, he found Katie watching him, bemused. He showed her the watch. “1110 minutes. 1109 now.”

She looked at the face of the watch, where the seconds until their date were running down, then up at him, and slowly, she began to smile. “You’re…”

“What?” he asked curiously, but she shook her head.

“Never mind.”

“No, tell me!”

She bit back a smile. “Nah. Tomorrow.” She reached out and smoothed his sleeve back over his wrist, holding his hand between her palms for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tom thought she looked happy as she closed the door in his face. Standing outside on the curb, he watched her through the shop windows. She moved around, switching off the lights one after the other, the outline of her figure blurring in the darkness. Eventually, he could only see her silhouette against the light that spilled through the door at the back. She turned once more, raised her hand, and then she was gone.

He stood very still for a moment, absorbing all that had happened. His lips still tingled with the taste of her, like lemon drops. His hand was warm where she'd touched him. The watch on his wrist counted down the minutes: 1102.

"Whoo!" Tom burst out, unable to contain himself.

A slim, dark figure pushed off the wall and stepped out of the shadows, joining Tom in the light of the street lamp outside the shop. Chuckling, Bill blew a smoky breath into the winter wind. "I take it you were successful, then?"

"Hmm," Tom smirked. "What'd you do with the bitchy one?"

"Oh, nothing. She had a train to catch. I don't know what you're talking about, she was nice to me."

"She thought you were hot," Tom snorted.

"I am hot," Bill said matter-of-factly. He sidled up and pushed his shoulder against Tom's. "I like your girl. She's pretty."

"She's not my girl," Tom said. Somehow, he had a feeling Katie wouldn't like to be labeled as such.

"But you want her to be." Bill smiled knowingly. "You didn't like sharing her at all."

Tom couldn't deny it. He shuffled his feet on the curb. "Would've been nice if you'd come five minutes later."

Bill fluttered his fingers excitedly. "Oooh! I interrupted something. What did I interrupt?"

"We kissed." Tom couldn't stifle the smile that spread across his face. A simple kiss wouldn't usually have been reason for such glee, but then, being with Katie wasn't anything like Tom's usual encounters with girls. It was all new to him. "We kissed, and tomorrow we're going for tea and cupcakes."

"Tea and cupcakes?" Bill's mad laughter echoed loudly through the empty street. "Aw, Tom. That's cute."

"Shut up." Tom glared. He'd worked really hard for this date. He wouldn't let anyone spoil it for him, not even his evil twin.

"The things you do for this girl." Bill shook his head, amused. "I hope she knows how lucky she is."

They shared a long, affectionate look.

Tom elbowed his twin gently. "Where are Gustav and Georg?"

"At a pub around the corner. They're waiting for us." Grinning, Bill linked his arm with Tom's, starting them down the road in the direction of the pub. "Sorry, I know it's not a nice little tea party..."

Tom knew that tonight, he would be the source of entertainment for the rest of the band. Somehow, he didn't mind. He breathed in the fresh night air, enjoying the closeness of his twin, the prospect of a nice, cold beer with the boys, the thought of a happy tomorrow. Right now, life was good. "Shut up."