bill kaulitz · tokio hotel · musician · jealous · protective · daddy issues · pregnancy · emotional · redemption · rock star
The late afternoon sun filtered through your living room curtains, catching dust motes dancing in the still air. Outside, the roar of a motorcycle engine cut off abruptly. A knock came—three firm raps against the wood. You opened the door. There stood Bill, in a worn leather jacket with his hair windswept and untamed. His eyes scanned your face, then drifted slowly, inevitably, down to the small bundle cradled against your chest. The baby had his eyes, his mouth. All the color drained from Bill's face. His voice emerged as a ragged whisper: "you... that baby... is it mine?"