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steins_stories
Title: Epiphany
Author:
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steinsgrrl Fandom: Tokio Hotel
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I in no way intend to insinuate that any of the below actually happened. It is simply a piece of written entertainment based on the public personas of real people.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Adult Content
Summary:Georg is terrified when he realizes the extent of his feelings for Bill. He can only run for so long.
He should have been writhing from the pain in his head. He should have been nauseous enough to wish for a bucket. He should have been sweating enough to soak the bed.
When he woke, Georg was none of these. His first thought was of the night before. His first thought was of Bill. A smile played upon his lips and he sighed deeply. A dam had burst somewhere deep inside him, and he relished swimming in the wake it had released.
Georg stretched luxuriously and turned over. He hadn’t really expected that Bill would still be in bed with him, but that didn’t stop the ache that settled in his chest when he wasn’t. Even as Georg’s hand reached out and touched the spot he had last seen his lover, it occurred to him how far gone he was, and how cheesy was his gesture. He shook his head, chuckled, and rolled out of bed..
Georg couldn’t remember a time when he’d grinned so much. The whole time he was getting ready for their interview that day, he replayed every word, every movement, every sound from the night before, and butterflies stirred in his belly. No words of love had been spoken, no talk of feelings, but Bill had touched him. Bill had done so much more than touch him.
Now he had to get to the interview. He wasn’t usually nervous about these; they were pretty routine. He was going to see Bill, though, and he couldn’t wait. Georg quickly finished getting ready, gathered his things, and headed to the lobby.
~~~ooo~~~
The interview team was all set up and the rest of the band were assembled in the conference room of the hotel by the time Georg made his noisy entrance into the room. While the interviewer looked up from her note-cards to watch Georg jog over to join the guys on the couch and plop down next to Tom, none of the band gave him a second glance. He had a well-earned reputation for being late.
Now Georg was here, however, there was nothing to stop him from mentally checking out. The interviewer was a young French woman, and while Tom was staring her down, ogling her legs, his tongue playing with his lip ring, Georg couldn’t have said the color of her hair. She was simply non-existent.
He watched Bill openly. There was no concern of being caught; Bill was the leader and unofficial voice for the band. If anyone was going to have to answer all these questions, it would be Bill, and that’s just how Georg liked it.
He loved to be able to sit back and watch Bill talk animatedly. The expressions on his face, the way he talked compulsively with his hands all endeared him more to Georg every day.
The interview concluded without Georg having said a word. If the interviewer had asked him any questions, he’d have made a complete fool of himself, because he had no idea what she’d said. He wanted this done so he could talk to Bill. It didn’t need to be a serious talk. Georg just wanted to be near him, feel the energy from him that he’d felt the night before.
He looked up in time to see Bill and Tom walking toward the exit. The bassist bolted from the couch, and reached out to touch Bill’s arm.
Bill squeezed Tom’s elbow. “Go ahead, I’ll be right there.” He turned to Georg.
“Bill.” Now with Bill right in front of him, Georg found he didn’t know what to say. He tried to catch Bill’s eyes, tried to see what Bill was thinking. But Bill’s eyes wouldn’t reach his. Bill stared at Georg’s mouth, his face unreadable.
“Bill, I wanted to--”
Bill’s eyes flicked up to his.
“Georg…” The name sounded like a caress. But a moment and a few shaky breaths later, his bottom lip began to tremble until he caught it in his teeth, “I can’t.”
He turned to walk away, and Georg felt him slipping through his fingers. He grabbed out for Bill and grasped the singer’s thin wrist.
“Wait! Please, just let me--” but Bill jerked his arm out of Georg’s hand and ran to catch up with Tom.
He didn’t look back.
~~~ooo~~~
Georg sat in the booth on the bus. He frowned, lit another cigarette, and began to peel the label from the bottle of water in front of him. He shot a glance at Gustav, and found the drummer sitting on the couch, watching him. Without a word, the bassist turned to stare out at the parking lot.
“Hey, you wanna play something on the Playstation? David got a couple new games for us.” Gustav held up the brightly-colored packages.
“No, thanks.”
“How about a movie, then? You pick.”
“No, thanks.” Georg answered with a sigh, and his eyes met Gustav’s. “I just…”
He shook his head and stared back out the window.
What the hell have I done? His stomach clenched until he thought he might throw up. I fucked it all up. He’s gonna hate me, he’s never gonna forgive me. Jesus, he can’t even look at me.
Georg sipped the cold water, the coolness made his stomach hurt even more. He picked more pieces of the label off and made them into a little pile in front of him.
The sound of Tom’s laughter filtered through the door of the bus, just before it was wrenched open and the lanky guitarist bounded up the steps. He was talking loudly to Bill, who was walking right behind him, eyes down, brow furrowed.
Georg sat up straight in the booth as he watched them enter. No matter that he’d been shot down so finally at the hotel, he still felt hope bloom in his belly. His eyes searched Bill’s face, waiting for Bill to look up, to see him.
Tom continued to talk, walking to the back of the bus toward the bunks, before realizing Bill had stopped by the booth and was not listening to him. He turned to look at his twin.
“Billa?”
All the blood had drained from Bill’s face, and he looked even paler than before. He stood stock still, staring at the floor next to the booth.
“Bill?” Georg held his breath and started to get up. He wanted to get to Bill. Wanted to apologize, wanted to explain, wanted to do whatever it was he had to do to make it right.
Bill’s milk-chocolate eyes traveled slowly upward and locked on the brunette’s sage, pained ones. Neither breathed. Georg saw the glimmer of tears rimming the bottom lids of those beautiful eyes, and the pain of that realization shot through his chest, running down his arms and swirling in his aching stomach.
“Bill, what’s wrong?” Tom took two steps toward his little brother, concern etched in his face.
Bill blinked, and looked away. The connection was lost.
“Nothing, Tomi.” he sighed, “I’m just…hung-over. I think I’m going to my bunk for a while.”
Bill brushed quickly past Tom and disappeared into the bunk area.
Georg fell, defeated, back into the booth, and grabbed his water bottle, wishing it was a beer. He felt eyes on him, and looked up to find Tom staring at him.
“What’s going on, Georg?” Tom looked confused, like he was trying to decide if he needed to be pissed off or not.
Georg looked at Gustav, perhaps looking for help, perhaps looking for answers. But Gustav could only look back; he had no answers for him.
With shaking hands, the bassist lit another cigarette and focused unseeing eyes out the window. His last, unfinished, cigarette burned in the ashtray, and the smoke swirled around his head. That must have been the reason his eyes were watering.
~~~ooo~~~
Georg disappeared inside his music. Those two little buds that streamed music right into his soul also did the wondrous favor of keeping everything else out. He wanted to cut himself off. He wanted to not hear, not see, not breathe Bill.
He wanted to not love Bill.
In this exile, what he didn’t count on was the final realization that he had become so accustomed to loving Bill, he didn’t know how to not love him.
Georg felt the bus slow and begin a series of turns, stops and starts that usually signaled they had arrived at their destination. He hadn’t seen anyone since Bill had disappeared to his bunk, and he wished heartily that he didn’t have to see anyone now. He knew he had no choice.
The bus came to a stop and the rumble beneath him stilled. Georg didn’t move. Finally, when he felt the commotion of the other boys leaving the bus began to fade away, he turned off his ipod. The silence was gorgeous, and he heard his pulse beat in his ears.
The stocky bassist hauled himself up from his bunk, muscles aching from hours of lying down, flopping from one side to the other until there was obviously no possible comfortable position left. His head and his bones ached, and he just wanted to breathe again.
Georg grabbed his bag and exited the bus, to find himself and a couple of the guards at some private door in what must be a garage. He sighed a little with relief at the lack of screaming fangirls. The brunette followed the guard in front of him, snaking their way through the halls, taking the elevator up one floor to meet the rest of the band in the lobby.
The four young men waited, impatient but polite, while David tried to rectify some mix-up with their reservations. Georg put down his bag and gazed at the others in turn.
Tom was talking on his cell phone, voice low, laughing in his throat.
Gustav had his arms crossed and appeared to be staring at the pattern in the carpet.
Bill was looking at Georg.
Georg’s eyes widened and he felt his heart skip. He looked back at Bill, his eyes searching for something, some kind of sign, some glint, some spark that might mean forgiveness.
Before he found it, David turned to them and gave each one a keycard, with the admonishment to remember they had a show the next day. As Georg picked up his bag, he heard Tom’s laugh retreating toward the elevators.
“Yeah, says the producer that let us get blitzed when we were fifteen.”
The twins were gone on the first elevator before Georg even reached them.
He took the next elevator up with Gustav, both of them staring at the line of dark numbers above the door, watching them light up and go out as each floor passed. A familiar soft thud, small sinking feeling and a tinny ding, and they had reached their floor.
They disembarked and Georg began to look for his room. It didn’t take long to find it, and before long, he’d locked himself in. He groaned a little, realizing that he had a whole night ahead of him. A whole night, alone, to spend inside his head.
He threw his bag on the bed, slipped his shoes and jacket off, and had just grabbed the television remote when he heard the soft knock on his door.
Next
When he woke, Georg was none of these. His first thought was of the night before. His first thought was of Bill. A smile played upon his lips and he sighed deeply. A dam had burst somewhere deep inside him, and he relished swimming in the wake it had released.
Georg stretched luxuriously and turned over. He hadn’t really expected that Bill would still be in bed with him, but that didn’t stop the ache that settled in his chest when he wasn’t. Even as Georg’s hand reached out and touched the spot he had last seen his lover, it occurred to him how far gone he was, and how cheesy was his gesture. He shook his head, chuckled, and rolled out of bed..
Georg couldn’t remember a time when he’d grinned so much. The whole time he was getting ready for their interview that day, he replayed every word, every movement, every sound from the night before, and butterflies stirred in his belly. No words of love had been spoken, no talk of feelings, but Bill had touched him. Bill had done so much more than touch him.
Now he had to get to the interview. He wasn’t usually nervous about these; they were pretty routine. He was going to see Bill, though, and he couldn’t wait. Georg quickly finished getting ready, gathered his things, and headed to the lobby.
~~~ooo~~~
The interview team was all set up and the rest of the band were assembled in the conference room of the hotel by the time Georg made his noisy entrance into the room. While the interviewer looked up from her note-cards to watch Georg jog over to join the guys on the couch and plop down next to Tom, none of the band gave him a second glance. He had a well-earned reputation for being late.
Now Georg was here, however, there was nothing to stop him from mentally checking out. The interviewer was a young French woman, and while Tom was staring her down, ogling her legs, his tongue playing with his lip ring, Georg couldn’t have said the color of her hair. She was simply non-existent.
He watched Bill openly. There was no concern of being caught; Bill was the leader and unofficial voice for the band. If anyone was going to have to answer all these questions, it would be Bill, and that’s just how Georg liked it.
He loved to be able to sit back and watch Bill talk animatedly. The expressions on his face, the way he talked compulsively with his hands all endeared him more to Georg every day.
The interview concluded without Georg having said a word. If the interviewer had asked him any questions, he’d have made a complete fool of himself, because he had no idea what she’d said. He wanted this done so he could talk to Bill. It didn’t need to be a serious talk. Georg just wanted to be near him, feel the energy from him that he’d felt the night before.
He looked up in time to see Bill and Tom walking toward the exit. The bassist bolted from the couch, and reached out to touch Bill’s arm.
Bill squeezed Tom’s elbow. “Go ahead, I’ll be right there.” He turned to Georg.
“Bill.” Now with Bill right in front of him, Georg found he didn’t know what to say. He tried to catch Bill’s eyes, tried to see what Bill was thinking. But Bill’s eyes wouldn’t reach his. Bill stared at Georg’s mouth, his face unreadable.
“Bill, I wanted to--”
Bill’s eyes flicked up to his.
“Georg…” The name sounded like a caress. But a moment and a few shaky breaths later, his bottom lip began to tremble until he caught it in his teeth, “I can’t.”
He turned to walk away, and Georg felt him slipping through his fingers. He grabbed out for Bill and grasped the singer’s thin wrist.
“Wait! Please, just let me--” but Bill jerked his arm out of Georg’s hand and ran to catch up with Tom.
He didn’t look back.
~~~ooo~~~
Georg sat in the booth on the bus. He frowned, lit another cigarette, and began to peel the label from the bottle of water in front of him. He shot a glance at Gustav, and found the drummer sitting on the couch, watching him. Without a word, the bassist turned to stare out at the parking lot.
“Hey, you wanna play something on the Playstation? David got a couple new games for us.” Gustav held up the brightly-colored packages.
“No, thanks.”
“How about a movie, then? You pick.”
“No, thanks.” Georg answered with a sigh, and his eyes met Gustav’s. “I just…”
He shook his head and stared back out the window.
What the hell have I done? His stomach clenched until he thought he might throw up. I fucked it all up. He’s gonna hate me, he’s never gonna forgive me. Jesus, he can’t even look at me.
Georg sipped the cold water, the coolness made his stomach hurt even more. He picked more pieces of the label off and made them into a little pile in front of him.
The sound of Tom’s laughter filtered through the door of the bus, just before it was wrenched open and the lanky guitarist bounded up the steps. He was talking loudly to Bill, who was walking right behind him, eyes down, brow furrowed.
Georg sat up straight in the booth as he watched them enter. No matter that he’d been shot down so finally at the hotel, he still felt hope bloom in his belly. His eyes searched Bill’s face, waiting for Bill to look up, to see him.
Tom continued to talk, walking to the back of the bus toward the bunks, before realizing Bill had stopped by the booth and was not listening to him. He turned to look at his twin.
“Billa?”
All the blood had drained from Bill’s face, and he looked even paler than before. He stood stock still, staring at the floor next to the booth.
“Bill?” Georg held his breath and started to get up. He wanted to get to Bill. Wanted to apologize, wanted to explain, wanted to do whatever it was he had to do to make it right.
Bill’s milk-chocolate eyes traveled slowly upward and locked on the brunette’s sage, pained ones. Neither breathed. Georg saw the glimmer of tears rimming the bottom lids of those beautiful eyes, and the pain of that realization shot through his chest, running down his arms and swirling in his aching stomach.
“Bill, what’s wrong?” Tom took two steps toward his little brother, concern etched in his face.
Bill blinked, and looked away. The connection was lost.
“Nothing, Tomi.” he sighed, “I’m just…hung-over. I think I’m going to my bunk for a while.”
Bill brushed quickly past Tom and disappeared into the bunk area.
Georg fell, defeated, back into the booth, and grabbed his water bottle, wishing it was a beer. He felt eyes on him, and looked up to find Tom staring at him.
“What’s going on, Georg?” Tom looked confused, like he was trying to decide if he needed to be pissed off or not.
Georg looked at Gustav, perhaps looking for help, perhaps looking for answers. But Gustav could only look back; he had no answers for him.
With shaking hands, the bassist lit another cigarette and focused unseeing eyes out the window. His last, unfinished, cigarette burned in the ashtray, and the smoke swirled around his head. That must have been the reason his eyes were watering.
~~~ooo~~~
Georg disappeared inside his music. Those two little buds that streamed music right into his soul also did the wondrous favor of keeping everything else out. He wanted to cut himself off. He wanted to not hear, not see, not breathe Bill.
He wanted to not love Bill.
In this exile, what he didn’t count on was the final realization that he had become so accustomed to loving Bill, he didn’t know how to not love him.
Georg felt the bus slow and begin a series of turns, stops and starts that usually signaled they had arrived at their destination. He hadn’t seen anyone since Bill had disappeared to his bunk, and he wished heartily that he didn’t have to see anyone now. He knew he had no choice.
The bus came to a stop and the rumble beneath him stilled. Georg didn’t move. Finally, when he felt the commotion of the other boys leaving the bus began to fade away, he turned off his ipod. The silence was gorgeous, and he heard his pulse beat in his ears.
The stocky bassist hauled himself up from his bunk, muscles aching from hours of lying down, flopping from one side to the other until there was obviously no possible comfortable position left. His head and his bones ached, and he just wanted to breathe again.
Georg grabbed his bag and exited the bus, to find himself and a couple of the guards at some private door in what must be a garage. He sighed a little with relief at the lack of screaming fangirls. The brunette followed the guard in front of him, snaking their way through the halls, taking the elevator up one floor to meet the rest of the band in the lobby.
The four young men waited, impatient but polite, while David tried to rectify some mix-up with their reservations. Georg put down his bag and gazed at the others in turn.
Tom was talking on his cell phone, voice low, laughing in his throat.
Gustav had his arms crossed and appeared to be staring at the pattern in the carpet.
Bill was looking at Georg.
Georg’s eyes widened and he felt his heart skip. He looked back at Bill, his eyes searching for something, some kind of sign, some glint, some spark that might mean forgiveness.
Before he found it, David turned to them and gave each one a keycard, with the admonishment to remember they had a show the next day. As Georg picked up his bag, he heard Tom’s laugh retreating toward the elevators.
“Yeah, says the producer that let us get blitzed when we were fifteen.”
The twins were gone on the first elevator before Georg even reached them.
He took the next elevator up with Gustav, both of them staring at the line of dark numbers above the door, watching them light up and go out as each floor passed. A familiar soft thud, small sinking feeling and a tinny ding, and they had reached their floor.
They disembarked and Georg began to look for his room. It didn’t take long to find it, and before long, he’d locked himself in. He groaned a little, realizing that he had a whole night ahead of him. A whole night, alone, to spend inside his head.
He threw his bag on the bed, slipped his shoes and jacket off, and had just grabbed the television remote when he heard the soft knock on his door.
Next
