I'D RATHER DIE THAN BE FAMOUS. [ BILL KAULITZ ]

.10

ZEHN.

✬ ✬ ✬

[Y/N] WAS AT HER vanity, yawning as she was tired from washing the dishes left over from a very messy spaghetti night.
Technically, she wasn't the one to make the pasta machine explode, but she didn't nearly trust Kole enough to do the dishes.

She was getting ready to go out, almost done when the doorbell rang repeatedly, followed by aggressive knocking.
Confused, [Y/N] got up and looked through the peephole.

She was met by an impatient Tom, banging on her door.
[Y/N] sighed and opened the door, "What the hell?" She muttered.

Tom smiled at her, "Hi."
Bill peeked out from behind him, "Hi."

[Y/N] looked at them, almost shocked, moreover shocked at the situation than them.
Her life had come to the point where two of the most popular names in music of the year were at her door, waiting to be let in.

Then again, she had plans to go out with her bandmates, it came to her attention they'd been invited to tag along.

"Hi.." [Y/N] replied, assuming Kole had invited them over and stepping aside to let them in, "Where's Gustav and Georg?" She asked, noticing it was just the twins.

Tom shrugged, "Drunk."
[Y/N] rolled her eyes, "Kole's in the band room." She replied, letting them follow her to where it was.

She pushed open the door, Kole sat at his set, his headphones on as he read over drum notation [Y/N] had written for him.
He began to play, only beginning for a few seconds before she pulled his headphones off.

He turned around, looking puzzled.
"Hi," [Y/N] smiled, "Your boyfriend is here."
Tom brushed past her, throwing Kole into a headlock.
They bickered, [Y/N] giving them a look before humming as she made her way back to the living room, where she was set up.

She bumped into Tracey on the way, who was tying his hair back on the way down the stairs.
"[Y/N]," He called, "You ready?"

[Y/N] made her way to the living room, "Ask Kole, he's not even dressed." She replied, rolling her eyes,
She read the time, almost 12 A.M. exactly.

She'd noticed Bill hadn't followed Tom, bracing herself for the spiky-haired individual she knew was waiting for her.

Low and behold, there he was. [Y/N] looked at him, giving him a small smile as she approached him.
He was certainly dressed for the club, and [Y/N] couldn't deny he looked good.

His hair was up, despite him rocking the hair-down-look when she saw him out, and because his hair was in its spiky form, his sunglasses were hooked on the collar of his shirt rather than resting on his head.
He wore the usual graphic tee with skinny jeans, his leather jacket a bit off his shoulders, his wrists and neck decorated with chains and studs as always.
"Bill." She greeted, taking the time to examine him.
[Y/N] knew she wasn't, but she felt underdressed.

Bill looked at her, looking surprisingly apologetic. [Y/N] immediately felt guilty, knowing she was the one completely at fault.

"[Y/N], I'm sorry—"
[Y/N] interrupted him, "It's my fault, Bill." She said, "Don't even think about apologizing."
She reached for her jacket, holding it in her arms.