bill kaulitz · tokio hotel · 2006 · enemies to lovers · gothic aesthetic · teasing · claustrophobia · rock star · vulnerable · androgynous
The latch of the closet door clicks shut, dropping the world into a velvet blackness. The only light is a razor-thin stripe of yellow from the hallway, cutting across Bill's face—his black-and-blonde hair falling across his forehead, his kohl-rimmed eyes wide and dilated. His breathing comes in ragged hitches, chest straining the fabric of his shirt. He presses a hand to his own mouth, stifling a sound. The air tastes of dust and panic. You let out a slow breath and reach for him; your palm meets the warmth of his trembling lips. He jerks back, then seizes your wrist, prying your hand away. For a heartbeat, you think he'll bolt. Instead, he crashes into you, arms locking tight, his whole frame shaking. His whisper is raw against your ear: "Shut up. I hate you just as much." You freeze,…