Tokio Turquoise

Still, gleaming, sharp. I poked a finger at Georg's hair clip.

"Dude, stop. This thing is going to BURN YOUR FINGERS OFF do you hear me?" his unseeing, ignoring eyes lingered on the mirror but bounced to me, a zoned out expression dragging me into yesterday's memories.

"It's so simply MARVELOUS do you hear me?" I mocked. He wrinkled his noise, a pixie face turning sharply and getting burned by his own hair. I readjusted the clip, and a muttered 'danke' floated from behind the mass of chocolate strands. I smiled to myself and went into the faux living room. The engine rumbled beneath me, and I felt at home.

Bill was still in large pants and had his hair tied up behind him.

"Hey sausau [pigpig in German], how are you?" I clicked my tongue and shoveled myself into his side.

"I'm fine, and you're such a sausau yourself."

"At least I'm not reading a gossip magazine and practically snogging my own picture." I smirked at his arched eyebrows, his tanned skin barely peeking out from behind some random American magazine.

His white sock collided with my bare foot, and I poked him in the liver as a painful reply. He winced and gaped at me.

"What, it isn't right to hit a woman."

"Especially one stupid enough to get bleach on her eyelashes." he snapped.

Well people, first real zing that made me feel ready to shit some tears. Instead of letting Bill see my wobbling chin, I returned to Georg and almost sniffled in front of him. But the goddamn chin wobbled and my muscles clenched as my eyes had their own bowel movements.

See? I'm shitting tears while fat-head reads about himself!

Why did that comment even sting me? Because he is absolutely perfect and I'm not? Because he's delusional shit that might not be as cosmetically overtaken as J Star and still not as cosmetically stupid as me?

I ground my teeth and opened my eyes, not remembering having shut them.

Oh, hi Georg.

"...Should I leave?"

"No, I'm fine. Can I help you?" I smiled a watery smile. Good thing I wasn't wearing heavy black eyeliner.

"If you want."

Hell yes, you have red spots on your goddamn face, Geo. No way I'd go in public with you looking constipated...

Or would I?

I nodded and grinned to myself. He did have burns all over his face and neck, and it was hard to keep a straight face when we argued for several minutes over my aid earlier in the morning. I had been ready to help him, he refused, and now he looks like a constipated sexy moose. I caught his awkward facial expression with a giggle.

Slowly straightening the imprints out of his hair, I moved the clip out and delicately made sure to shape it oddly. I laughed at the final creation, a chocolate explosion of really long hair. He giggled too. Giggled. The re-shaping of the straight hair progressed and ended with Bill banging on the door like the selfish piece of perfection he is, screw him.

"Let me in! I NEED TO LOOK PERFECT FOR THE SHOW!" he bellowed. Georg looked ready to open it up, but I pushed his hand out of the way and yelled back.

"YOU LOOK PERFECT NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, SO JUST GO TO THE SHOW DRESSED LIKE THAT, YOU ASS!" I roared back.

There was a panic-inducing silence. Something I've gotten used to.

"... you're kidding, right? Me, look perfect? That bleach must have sunken into your eyeballs. Now let me in!"

Second zing. But the crying was over.

I slammed the door open and slapped him, full on the cheeks. Sure, a girly thing to do, but if I accidentally broke his nose...

His eyes got big. I think he knew he made a fucking huge 'no-no'.

"How about I bleach your fucking eyeballs?!"

Thanks to Bill, this is officially a normal day.

"...I was... I was just being a jerk.. I'm sorry...?" Question of the day.

"Jerk?! Stop glorifying yourself!" As if he'd stop, piece of...

He slowly took a step back. I was fuming and there was a pair of arms around me.

"Hey, chill." Georg dragged me away. Quite literally.

I fumed on the couch, slipping a little more each breath. Finally, I slid down the leather and landed next to a magazine.

I picked it up and started to read about Tokio Hotel's lead singer, AKA perfection.

And gasped.

The... entire... article... all of it was about Bill. Oh yeah, sure, I didn't like him... but this article was a monster. And he looked at it with a peaceful expression and a drama queen hovering above him.

Bill Kaulitz::
...and this lovely singer, like the abomination known as Wil Francis, is slowly going to crash in his own lifestyle. His smoking and drinking will slowly make his appearance falter, and it seems as if has already effected the poor boy's face...

Oh my god. No wonder he wanted to get into the bathroom...

... and the make-up artist commented that Bill needs more foundation and cover-up than any other rockstar near his age because of it. And don't forget that he had a vocal cyst, the obvious indication that he smokes too much for his own good...

What bullshit is this? I haven't seen him light up once-

"Bill! you're not supposed to smoke in the bathroom!" Georg yelled.

... Wow he was sensitive.