Identical Hazel Eyes

"Honey," Mom coos from her home in Germany. "How's the tour?"

You sigh, lying back onto the bed. You debate whether or not to tell the truth, to tell her that she almost lost her youngest son just hours before because he thought it was his time. She probably wouldn't understand, though. As much as she'd want to let you decide for yourself, she wouldn't let you get away with this. She'd put you in therapy, thinking that you needed to talk to about your problems. She'd ground you the second you got home, then talk to you about why you wanted to jump, why you didn't and why you didn't talk about whatever drove you to such an extreme.

You did not want to deal with this conclusion, so you lie, fabricating some story and making a mental to let Tom in on this. You don't want him going and telling her some other story, one that would land you in a deeper emotional havoc.

"It's fine, Mum," you force a smile, to make it more believable even though she's not in the room and is, in fact, a few countries away, probably sitting in the living room with a hot cup of coffee, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch. "We have to day off today, I think."

"What are you going to do?" she asks, her voice sounding strained, like she just took a sip of coffee and tried to speak too soon after swallowing.

You shrug. "I don't know yet. I guess explore the city or something with Tom."

Saying his name brings back memories of last night when he pulled the shirt from his suitcase. You glance at the crumbled fabric laying on the pillow at the head of the bed. It brings a real smile to your face.

"What city are you in again, Hon? I get so confused with all the names and dates," she confesses.

"London," you respond. "I haven't been around much, only outside of the hotel." This wasn't a lie. "I'm pretty sure Tom would want to find something..." Or someone, you add mentally.

"Take lots of pictures. I want to see everything you did when you get back!" She's truly excited. She's never been to the cities you have.

"I will, Mum," you smile, turning your head to look at the ceiling. "How is everything there?"

A slight pause. "Good. Gordon's with the band now."

"Cool," you respond, nodding to the boring ceiling. "I have to go, though, Mum. I promised Georg that I would be in his room to figure out what we're doing."

"Alright, Honey. Have fun," she responded, an evident smile on her face.

"Bye Mum," you said before hanging up. You checked you missed calls quickly, finding them of no importance now. The messages were the same. You deleted them. Stuffing the phone into your pocket, you snatch the key card from the bedside table and exit the room. The door locks behind you when you step into the hall of the hotel.

Walking down the hall, you pause at Tom's door, wondering if you should knock. Deciding against that, you move to the elevator. Waiting outside patiently after you press the up button, you look down at the carpet, studying it just because you have nothing better to do. The elevator dings and you step inside. Pressing the button with black numbers on it that corresponds with Gustav and Georg's floor, you wait for the doors to close and take you up.

The roar of the motor as it pulls you and this steal box up three floors makes you think of the tour bus, the sound not unlike it's own steady roar, and when you'll be occupying the vehicle once again to move to the next city. To the next batch of fans waiting to scream at the mere thought of you walking by them, possibly smiling for the endless flashes.

In the room you are headed to, three boys around your age are spread out on two beds. A dreaded teen is sprawled across one, taking in the luxury of being high comfortable as he tells the others the news. The shortest of the three, the blond, nods understandingly at the words pouring of of the youngest mouth. The oldest, the one with the brown hair and slightly chubby figure, listens intently, not wanting to believe what his friend is telling him.

Tom conveys the truth to them, telling them nothing but the facts. He's concerned and doesn't know if they know this, but he knows they must. It's vital that you don't feel this way. He's determined to make you feel content and carefree once again. He says that he doesn't know what made you like this, and he wants to understand, but he doesn't know how to ask you about it. This makes Georg nod, too, thinking swiftly of advice he can hand out.

Of course, neither of them has been in a situation like this before. Neither have had the need to, being so young. Georg was unsure with how they should handle this news. He wants to suggest telling Simone, but he knew you wouldn't be up with speaking about this. Gustav doesn't know how to even react to this news. He could see that something was upsetting you for the last few days, but he didn't want to intrude, thinking that you'd come to them if you wanted to express how you felt about something.

"Do you think he's sick of being in this band?" Georg finally voices all of their thoughts, throwing it out there so none have to feel guilty about thinking such a thing about their singer. "Maybe he's feeling smothered by the constant traveling, like he can't break free from a binding schedule."

Tom nods, agreeing with Georg's thoughts. "But wouldn't he have said something about this? If he was unsure?" Tom picks out the flaw.

"Maybe he didn't want to disappoint us all?" Gustav suggests. "Like he felt that he had to go on this tour, or something."

Tom shrugs. "Maybe. But that doesn't sound like Bill..."

You walk down the hall, closing in on the room you've become familiar with as Gustav's. You knock on the metal separating you from the room inside and wait for someone familiar to open up. Georg does, smiling faintly at you standing there. He moves aside for you to enter and you step in, closing the door behind you. You follow him to the bed where Tom and Gustav are sitting, watching the television with an interest thats all too suspicious.

They were talking about you. You just know. The room is too tense, as if all three of your band mates are trying to hide something from you that's almost top secret. You want to shrug it off, but it hurts. You don't understand why they would talk behind your back. They're you band mates, for God's sake. You think they'd be more accepting of you than this. But maybe you have over thought their reactions.

Tom surely told them, judging by the way Gustav is unmoving on the bed. He's always fidgeting someway, but now he's almost perfectly still, save for the movement of his deep breathing. You sit on the bed Tom is sprawled out on, moving up to the headboard and resting your back against it. You pull your knees up and rest your thin arms on them. You glance at the TV, wishing for someone to speak. No one does.

It stays that way for quiet some time. All four of you watch the TV silently, trying to understand the English accents while keeping in comments about how they pronounce some words to yourselves. You almost break the silence when your phone vibrates. But the gasp you almost let out stays in as you dig the phone out of your pocket.

It's your best friend, Andreas. He's texting to see how you are doing. You text back truthfully. You can't lie to him, of all people. He knows about how you feel, about all this fame suddenly thrown at you and Tom suddenly pulling from your bond. He understands, or at least that's what he tells you. He's Tom's friend, too. You can trust Andreas, though. He'd never tell Tom something you didn't want him to, and vice versa.

The click of the buttons as you text gets Tom's attention. He looks at you with concern on his face. He doesn't really care who you're texting, but more if you are alright with everything. He doesn't know how to react and deal with this kind of thing. Sure, a bad mood he could handle, but suicidal thoughts? How the hell was he supposed to know anything about that, let alone make someone, his twin of all people, realize that there is something to live for?

"Bill..." his voice calling out to you snaps you out of your slight trance as you confess to Andreas. You look over at him as you hit send and let your phone drop to the bed. You can see the concern on his face, it creates giant grooves in his forehead and worry lines near his eyes. His mouth is turned down. And you know what's coming next. You know that this was bound to happen soon enough, just not so soon as now.

"I'm worried about you," Tom begins.