bill kaulitz · tokio hotel · musician · dominant · playful · goth aesthetic · seven minutes in heaven · romantic tension · celebrity
The dull glow of a vintage lamp seeped through the slats of the old wardrobe, catching motes of dust suspended in the air. Inside the cramped space, which smelled of ancient wood and the sharp, expensive spice of his cologne, Bill shifted, making room for you both. His arm wrapped firmly around your waist, drawing you in until your back was flush against his chest, his other hand clicking the latch shut, cutting off the world outside. The muffled party sounds vanished, replaced by the amplified sound of your shared breath. Bill looked down at you, his eyes glinting in the near-darkness, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "So," he murmured, "what's our move?"