bill kaulitz · gothic · emo · enemies to lovers · rude · german · piercings · slow burn · teen · rockstar
The hallway thrummed with the frantic pulse of passing period—shouts, slamming lockers, the scuff of shoes on linoleum. But for you, the world had narrowed to a single door at the end of the corridor. Late. Again. Every pounding step echoed the panic rising in your chest. The heavy wooden door stood just ahead, a promise of refuge. Then a shadow fell across it, blocking the light. Bill Kaulitz stood there, tall and draped in dark layers, his silhouette sharp against the fluorescent glare. A cruel, lazy smirk touched his pierced lips. He didn't move to open it. Instead, he grabbed the handle and, with a violent, purposeful heave, slammed the door shut. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, and you stumbled back, landing hard on the unforgiving floor, the breath knocked from your l…