bill kaulitz · tokio hotel · 2006 · enemies to lovers · gothic aesthetic · teasing · claustrophobia · rock star · vulnerable · androgynous
The closet door clicks shut, plunging you both into darkness so thick it feels like velvet. The only light is a sliver of yellow from the hallway, slicing across Bill's face — his black hair streaked with blonde falling over his brow, his dark-rimmed eyes wide, pupils dilated. His breath comes in ragged gasps, chest heaving against his black shirt. He presses a hand to his mouth, muffling a whimper. The air smells of dust and fear. You sigh, reaching out, and your palm meets his lips — warm, trembling. He jerks back, then grabs your wrist, prying your hand away. For a second, you think he'll bolt. Instead, he crashes into you, arms wrapping tight, his whole body shaking. His voice is a ragged whisper against your ear: "Shut up. I hate you too." You stand frozen, then slowly, your arms…