Because Dandelions Are Pretty

"Will you relax? You're going to be fine," Tom Kaulitz scoffed at his younger twin brother.

Bill Kaulitz glared up at him from his spot on the hideous blue plastic seat in the hospital waiting room. "That's easy for you to say. You're not waiting to get ripped open."

"They're fixing you, not getting ready to stuff your insides," Tom rolled his eyes. "And stop biting your nails; you're going to look hideous."

Gustav Schäfer chuckled from his standing position next to Tom while Georg Listing stood at the reception desk to help Bill sign in.

All those years of singing his heart out had finally caught up with Bill. Actually, it might not have even been the years of singing. Performing 43 Tokio Hotel concerts straight in Europe was probably what finally killed his voice. Bill recalled how he had to stop several times and let the audience sing in his place, something that he only did during certain parts of their songs.

How was he supposed to know that he had a throat infection for a long time? He sang fine up until their European tour. And how was he supposed to know that if he didn't treat the infection that he'd have to sign himself up for Larynx surgery to remove a cyst on his vocal cords?

Bill groaned and buried his face in his hands. This was not how he wanted to spend his time off from touring.

"Look on the bright side," Tom offered, "after the surgery you can eat as much ice cream as you want. And the fans will bombard you with so many get-well gifts that you'll never have to do your own shopping again."

"But I won't be able to talk or sing for a long time," Bill reminded him sadly.

"That's the bright side for us," Georg teased him from across the room.

Bill glared at him but managed to crack a smile. At least after the surgery, his voice would be back. Albeit it would've changed a bit once the cyst was removed, but he'd be able to sing. That was what mattered to him the most.

"I'll be back. I'm going to take a walk," Bill announced, standing up and stretching his long arms.

"Sick of us already?" Gustav snickered.

"That and I won't be able to leave my bedside for a while. Might as well make these last moments worthwhile," Bill said this last sentence with fake misery as he loped out of the waiting room.

He didn't really know where he was headed. He pressed himself against the white walls of the hallway several times to let nurses and doctors hurry past him. Once or twice he got several odd looks from a few of them (maybe it's my hair, Bill thought to himself) but other than that, his presence went unnoticed.

Bill wasn't used to walking around without having a person or two run up to him and ask him if he really was Bill Kaulitz and could they please, please, please touch his hair and have his babies?

Bill snorted to himself lightly. Yeah. Walking around unnoticed was definitely new to him.

He passed by a series of doors on his left, most likely rooms for the patients. All the doors were shut, except for one that he was slowly approaching.

Bill intended on bypassing the room and continuing on his walk around the ground level of the hospital when he heard someone humming the chorus of "Durch Den Monsun." It was coming from the open doorway.

He smiled to himself. Whoever was in there definitely knew that song. A hardcore fan? He wasn't sure. Maybe the person humming just heard it on the radio a few times. The song was on German radio stations constantly anyway.

Eventually Bill's curiosity got the better of him and he started making a beeline towards the open door. With every step he knew he shouldn't be intruding on someone's hospital room. Wasn't that an invasion of privacy? Plus, what would he do when he entered the room?

Oh, hi, I'm Bill Kaulitz, the guy who wrote and currently sings the song you're humming to. I really don't know why I'm in here; I just wanted to see who's making all the noise.

Good opening statement.

Whatever. If he was lucky, the person would recognize him and he wouldn't have to make the opening introduction.

Bill flashed an innocent smile at a female nurse who passed by and double checked that she wasn't looking before he ducked into the open room.