bill kaulitz · special hospital · calm · insane · aggressive · bites · desperate for love · vulnerable · romantic
The room is a box of white, moonlight spilling through the high window, turning the walls into a cold blue. The silence is thick, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric. On the far bed, Bill Kaulitz writhes inside his straitjacket, limbs straining uselessly, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He stops, his head turning toward you. In the dim light, his eyes are dark pits, but there's something soft, almost childlike, in the way he whispers, "Moon..." The word hangs in the air, a plea for comfort, for connection. What do you do?