(no subject)
Chapter 2!
Title: Through the looking glass (2/?)
Genre: Twins gen
Rating: PG13
Summary: Tom falls asleep one night and wakes up in a place he never thought he'd see again. Five years ago, Tom falls asleep one night and wakes up in a place he couldn't wait to see. Will they get back where they belong?
Whatever Tom had dreamed his life as a famous guitarist would be like, he hadn’t imagined it quite like this. The future, as it turned out, was very glamorous, shrieked loudly and still answered to the name of Bill even though it came embodied in the form of Glitter Goth Barbie.
Four-and-a-half years removed from Tom’s usual life, things weren’t going so well, although Tom thought that really wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t the one who hadn’t stopped yelling for ten minutes, after all.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Bill lamented, pacing back and forth through the living room where he’d found fifteen-year-old Tom after Tom had tried to make his escape from what he had concluded must be the house of a kidnapper who’d taken him from his bed in the middle of the night, and tripped the back door alarm.
Tom sat on the couch where he’d woken up stiff-necked and utterly confused, scowling at the strange creature before him who was expressing his despair through some strange form of interpretive dance. Even after the wary introductions, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that this…person was Bill.
Heels, glitter eyeshadow, sparkly jewelry, all that was par for the course really, and Tom respected his brother’s style even if he thought the boots were ridiculous and Bill didn’t need to rub it in: the guy was two heads taller than Tom already, the heels just added insult to injury, it was not twinly. What stunned him wasn’t Bill’s appearance, it was his voice, his adult voice. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Tom realized he’d never really believed they’d grow up, grow out of Loitsche.
He’d woken to the sound of Bill singing, some song about worlds behind the wall, and the first thought that’d registered with Tom’s muddled brain had been that that voice, that strangely familiar voice, sounded fucking fantastic.
That had been before Bill found him and started screaming, though.
“Would you shut up?” Tom interrupted his twenty-year-old brother’s ranting about oh god, how the fuck could this happen, and where the hell is Tom? “This isn’t helping, you moron.”
Bill stopped short in front of the couch and glared down at Tom. “Being mean won’t help either. I’m worried, you silly fucking kid!” His chin wobbled unhappily at the last words before his lips clenched in a tight frown, and Tom mellowed. He knew that expression, even under all the war paint.
He nudged Bill’s leg with his toe and Bill gave in, slumping down on the couch beside Tom. “Hey. Sorry. It’s just, it’s obvious what happened, isn’t it? Either we’re dreaming or I travelled in time, and since you pinched me twenty-seven fucking times already, I think we’re probably awake.”
“But where’s Tom? My Tom?” Bill wrung his manicured hands. “I need him! It’s almost Christmas, and at Christmas you’re supposed to be with the people you love!”
Tom winced. “Wow, thanks.”
Bill frowned. “I didn’t mean it like that, obviously! It’s just…you’re…” He broke off, looking Tom up and down. “Damn, I’d forgotten how funky we used to look. I hadn’t realized… It’s weird. We don’t fit together like this.”
Understatement of the century. Tom picked at his threadbare sweatpants. “I didn’t imagine you could look even stupider than you do where I come from, but you do, so there,” he shot back.
Bill pursed his lips. “We have an interview this morning, that’s why I’m dressed up. What are we going to do?” Groaning, he rubbed his hand over his forehead and came away with his fingers smeared with make-up. “Dammit. I need a smoke.” He grabbed a pack off the coffee table and lit up.
Tom eyed him speculatively. “In the house? We’re allowed?”
The question seemed to rouse Bill from some dark thought. He glanced up, surprised. “Sure. It’s our house.”
Tom glanced around carefully, as if the bubble of this dream world would burst if he moved too hastily. The house was a palace with high windows and lots of space. On one wall there was an enormous plasma TV, framed by shelves which held rows upon rows of shiny awards statuettes, MTV moonmen, some weird tongue-like things, even an Echo. Gold records hung on another wall. There was a stereo surround system, a laptop on the coffee table, piles of CDs everywhere, stacked in Bill’s untidy manner. Tom breathed deeply, trying to keep it together. Jumping up and down and whooping would be rather uncool, even if the dork beside him was just Bill.
Especially since the dork beside him was Bill, a weird Bill who seemed utterly unimpressed with his surroundings. Or maybe he was just preoccupied with his fretting about his Tom. Tom rolled his eyes.
“Our house,” he echoed. “Huh. Not bad.”
He turned back to Bill and found him smiling faintly, the first non-panicked expression Tom had seen on his unfamiliar face. Bill’s smile was still the same. “Yeah,” he said. “We like it.”
“Yeah.” Tom cleared his throat. “So. We’re rich and famous? For real?”
“For real,” Bill confirmed.
“And all this stuff is ours?”
“Yeah.”
Tom gulped. “What else do we have? Cars? A pool? A strip club in the basement?”
“No strip club,” Bill said, disappointingly. He made a throwaway gesture with the hand that held the cigarette. “But your car’s in the driveway if you want to look.”
Tom jolted upright. He moved towards the window to peer outside. His face fell. “That’s my car? The mom wagon?”
Behind him, Bill harrumphed. “No. The sports car behind it. I guess you can’t see it from down where you are.”
Tom flushed pink. “Hey. I’m still growing.”
All of a sudden, older Bill grinned; it was like a bright flash of sunlight peeking out from behind dark clouds. “That’s what you keep saying.” The smile disappeared as fast as it had come. “Oh fuck, what are we going to do? I can’t go out with you, how would we explain that you’ve shrunk?” He thought for a moment, then jumped up. “Okay, listen. I’m going to tell them you got sick. You stay here. Do not go out. Don’t. Just, don’t. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Why can’t I go out?” Tom asked indignantly.
Bill frowned. He walked over to stand behind Tom at the window, glancing through the gauzy curtains. Outside, the front yard and driveway lay abandoned. “You don’t know what it’s like. We don’t go out without bodyguards. Please stay inside. Lock the door behind me.”
“You’re not mom!”
“No, but I’m responsible for you now,” Bill told him in an annoying big brother voice, which was entirely unfair, Tom thought, because he was the big brother and he got to boss Bill around, not vice versa. “Stay inside. I have to go now, but I’ll make it quick.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Go upstairs, look around, find Tom’s… your room. There’s got to be something there to amuse you. He keeps his porn in a box under the bed.” Bill rushed into the hall, grabbing an enormous, shiny leather bag off a sideboard. Tom trailed behind him, looking around the spacious entrance hall with curious eyes. Chessboard tiles on the floor, high, white walls. Above the front door, an enormous abstract painting. It was all very grown up.
Bill grabbed a tailored black coat off a hook by the door. Outside, a car honked. “That’s my limo. Stay inside. And whatever you do, don’t google us on the internet!”
Breathing deeply, he opened the door. The moment he stepped outside, there was a high-pitched scream, followed by a few more voices that seemed to come from behind the high bushes lining the property. Tom jumped. He couldn’t see anyone, but someone could see them and it was unnerving. He hid behind the door, holding the handle.
Bill gave him a look in parting. “Do not go out.” And with that, he disappeared.
Tom stood alone in the big unfamiliar house, scratching at his neck uneasily. He wasn’t used to this. Bill didn’t just leave him, and he sure didn’t order Tom around, he just didn’t. He pleaded and cajoled and sometimes nagged until Tom gave in, but he didn’t make rules that he expected Tom to follow. It was not right; everything in Tom rebelled against it.
With crazy people lurking in the bushes, Tom didn’t particularly feel like going out, but he could do other things - Bill had told him to find something to amuse himself, right? Turning on his heel, he marched back into the living room, sat down on the couch and tried to get comfortable, like he belonged there. The leather upholstery was stiff and slippery, like it hadn’t been used enough. He wriggled around a bit until he stopped sliding down like a kid trying to climb their father’s knee, then reached for the laptop.
It had a Gibson guitar sticker on it; Tom rubbed his thumb over it, shivering in pleasure. He wondered if he had a Gibson in the here and now, and if the sticker was meant to distinguish Tom’s laptop from Bill’s, which would mean Bill had the same insanely expensive model. Grinning, Tom started it up. The screen flashed at him, demanding a password. Tom chewed on his lower lip, thinking. He’d had the same password at the school’s computer lab for years, but he didn’t know if future Tom would have kept it; still, didn’t hurt to try. He typed in guitargod1989, whooping when the password was accepted.
“Yes!” he muttered to himself. The desktop wallpaper was of a shiny yellow Lamborghini. Nice. Tom quickly found the internet browser and opened up a window, then sat there, considering. After a moment, he typed Tom Kaulitz.
1.350.000 results.
Tom blinked, unsure where to click first. There were pictures, news blurbs, articles, fan websites; in all of them he found his face grinning back at him, cocky and self-assured and utterly unconfused by the whole madness. It felt like looking at a stranger.
Huffing, Tom typed in Bill Kaulitz. 1.920.000 results, but imagining Bill as a rock star had never been much of a stretch, even if some of his hairstyles made Tom giggle. He went through a few of the pictures, seeing them in places he’d never been, do things he’d never done. It was like receiving postcards from the other end of the world: strange and exotic.
None of it was too bad, though; Bill was just being a drama queen, as usual. Scoffing, Tom punched in Tom Bill Kaulitz, clicked a link at random and was promptly blinded by horror. He peeked through his fingers but the page wouldn’t go away. Tom enjoyed a good splatter movie, he did, but he’d never thought he’d find himself the star of a gory story about torture, bloodshed and non-consensual incestuous sex.
There were pictures too. Tom squeezed his eyes shut and counted back from ten, willing himself to wake up.
Someone cleared his throat. “What did I tell you?”
Tom flinched and hastily shoved the computer away as if he’d been caught watching porn by a very stern teacher. In some way, he had. “How are you back already, you only just left!” he squeaked.
“Got a call on the way, the interviewer has the flu.” Bill dropped his bag on the end of the couch and walked over to Tom. He glanced at the computer screen. “Oh, but that’s harmless. Did you see the photo manipulation where we eat each other’s bloody, dripping brains, zombie style?”
Tom shuddered. “You’re making that up.”
Bill laughed evilly. “Believe me, there are worse things out there. These are just stories. Don’t worry about them.” He shut the laptop and sat down next to Tom. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known telling you not to look would make you want to.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s a little different these days. We rely on each other’s judgments. We trust each other.” He bit his lip.
“I trust you,” Tom said, startled. “Just, I didn’t know, I couldn’t imagine…” He gestured helplessly at the laptop.
“Did you read any of the news articles?” Bill asked levelly.
“No,” Tom said. He raised an eyebrow when Bill let out a deep breath. “Should I have?”
“No!” Bill said quickly. “I know you’re not used to all this, but I am, and you need to let me take care of you. While you’re here.”
Tom frowned. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Not in his world and, judging by future Bill’s unhappy expression, not in his either. “I’m sorry,” he burst out, because he didn’t know what else he could say. There were no words. Instead, he reached out carefully and laid one hand on Bill’s shoulder. Bill glanced at him, surprised, and smiled a little.
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault this life is fucking crazy.”
“Our life has always been fucking crazy. We like it that way,” Tom said matter-of-factly, and Bill laughed.
“True. I’d forgotten.” He tapped his lip with one finger, then jumped up, shrugging off the weird leather blazer he was wearing and kicking off the awful boots. Without them, a few centimeters shorter, he suddenly looked much less distant, much more like Bill. “Come on. There’s fun stuff, too. I’ll give you a tour.”
Tom sighed deeply in relief. This Bill may not be his Bill, but Tom was glad to have him back; this was all way too intense to discover alone. He shuffled after his weirdly older twin, who shed his strange accessories as he walked down the hall and up the stairs, leaving a trail of glittering jewelry.
Tom wondered if his future self still picked up after Bill. Just to be safe, he gathered the chains and bracelets and rings, one by one, and stuffed them all in the pockets of his baggy sweats. If Bill was still Bill, he’d have a crisis later over not being able to find his baubles and Tom liked to be prepared.
He grinned at Bill’s narrow back. “Am I going to be as tall as you?”
Bill walked up a flight of stairs, stopping on the landing to wait for Tom to catch up. “Almost,” he smiled. “And I think you’re finally catching up on the last little bit.”
Tom stood next to him, trying to gauge the height difference. Well. Growing tall, if not growing up, was something to look forward to, then. He wondered what else the future had in store. “Do I get to play a Gibson?”
“Yes,” Bill promised.
A strange, joyful noise burst out of Tom, and his older twin laughed. “Can I play it later?”
“Which one?” Bill asked, amused. “The black custom or the white? Or the Flying V? Or one of the others whose names I’ve forgotten?”
Tom stared at him, too stunned for words. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Bill laughed. “They’re in our studio down in the basement. I’ll show you later, okay? Up here’s our bedrooms, back there,” he gestured down the hall, “and here we have the game room.” With a flourish, he opened up the door to their own private fully equipped arcade.
Whooping loudly, Tom threw himself in headfirst.
***
On to chapter 3
Title: Through the looking glass (2/?)
Genre: Twins gen
Rating: PG13
Summary: Tom falls asleep one night and wakes up in a place he never thought he'd see again. Five years ago, Tom falls asleep one night and wakes up in a place he couldn't wait to see. Will they get back where they belong?
Whatever Tom had dreamed his life as a famous guitarist would be like, he hadn’t imagined it quite like this. The future, as it turned out, was very glamorous, shrieked loudly and still answered to the name of Bill even though it came embodied in the form of Glitter Goth Barbie.
Four-and-a-half years removed from Tom’s usual life, things weren’t going so well, although Tom thought that really wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t the one who hadn’t stopped yelling for ten minutes, after all.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Bill lamented, pacing back and forth through the living room where he’d found fifteen-year-old Tom after Tom had tried to make his escape from what he had concluded must be the house of a kidnapper who’d taken him from his bed in the middle of the night, and tripped the back door alarm.
Tom sat on the couch where he’d woken up stiff-necked and utterly confused, scowling at the strange creature before him who was expressing his despair through some strange form of interpretive dance. Even after the wary introductions, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that this…person was Bill.
Heels, glitter eyeshadow, sparkly jewelry, all that was par for the course really, and Tom respected his brother’s style even if he thought the boots were ridiculous and Bill didn’t need to rub it in: the guy was two heads taller than Tom already, the heels just added insult to injury, it was not twinly. What stunned him wasn’t Bill’s appearance, it was his voice, his adult voice. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Tom realized he’d never really believed they’d grow up, grow out of Loitsche.
He’d woken to the sound of Bill singing, some song about worlds behind the wall, and the first thought that’d registered with Tom’s muddled brain had been that that voice, that strangely familiar voice, sounded fucking fantastic.
That had been before Bill found him and started screaming, though.
“Would you shut up?” Tom interrupted his twenty-year-old brother’s ranting about oh god, how the fuck could this happen, and where the hell is Tom? “This isn’t helping, you moron.”
Bill stopped short in front of the couch and glared down at Tom. “Being mean won’t help either. I’m worried, you silly fucking kid!” His chin wobbled unhappily at the last words before his lips clenched in a tight frown, and Tom mellowed. He knew that expression, even under all the war paint.
He nudged Bill’s leg with his toe and Bill gave in, slumping down on the couch beside Tom. “Hey. Sorry. It’s just, it’s obvious what happened, isn’t it? Either we’re dreaming or I travelled in time, and since you pinched me twenty-seven fucking times already, I think we’re probably awake.”
“But where’s Tom? My Tom?” Bill wrung his manicured hands. “I need him! It’s almost Christmas, and at Christmas you’re supposed to be with the people you love!”
Tom winced. “Wow, thanks.”
Bill frowned. “I didn’t mean it like that, obviously! It’s just…you’re…” He broke off, looking Tom up and down. “Damn, I’d forgotten how funky we used to look. I hadn’t realized… It’s weird. We don’t fit together like this.”
Understatement of the century. Tom picked at his threadbare sweatpants. “I didn’t imagine you could look even stupider than you do where I come from, but you do, so there,” he shot back.
Bill pursed his lips. “We have an interview this morning, that’s why I’m dressed up. What are we going to do?” Groaning, he rubbed his hand over his forehead and came away with his fingers smeared with make-up. “Dammit. I need a smoke.” He grabbed a pack off the coffee table and lit up.
Tom eyed him speculatively. “In the house? We’re allowed?”
The question seemed to rouse Bill from some dark thought. He glanced up, surprised. “Sure. It’s our house.”
Tom glanced around carefully, as if the bubble of this dream world would burst if he moved too hastily. The house was a palace with high windows and lots of space. On one wall there was an enormous plasma TV, framed by shelves which held rows upon rows of shiny awards statuettes, MTV moonmen, some weird tongue-like things, even an Echo. Gold records hung on another wall. There was a stereo surround system, a laptop on the coffee table, piles of CDs everywhere, stacked in Bill’s untidy manner. Tom breathed deeply, trying to keep it together. Jumping up and down and whooping would be rather uncool, even if the dork beside him was just Bill.
Especially since the dork beside him was Bill, a weird Bill who seemed utterly unimpressed with his surroundings. Or maybe he was just preoccupied with his fretting about his Tom. Tom rolled his eyes.
“Our house,” he echoed. “Huh. Not bad.”
He turned back to Bill and found him smiling faintly, the first non-panicked expression Tom had seen on his unfamiliar face. Bill’s smile was still the same. “Yeah,” he said. “We like it.”
“Yeah.” Tom cleared his throat. “So. We’re rich and famous? For real?”
“For real,” Bill confirmed.
“And all this stuff is ours?”
“Yeah.”
Tom gulped. “What else do we have? Cars? A pool? A strip club in the basement?”
“No strip club,” Bill said, disappointingly. He made a throwaway gesture with the hand that held the cigarette. “But your car’s in the driveway if you want to look.”
Tom jolted upright. He moved towards the window to peer outside. His face fell. “That’s my car? The mom wagon?”
Behind him, Bill harrumphed. “No. The sports car behind it. I guess you can’t see it from down where you are.”
Tom flushed pink. “Hey. I’m still growing.”
All of a sudden, older Bill grinned; it was like a bright flash of sunlight peeking out from behind dark clouds. “That’s what you keep saying.” The smile disappeared as fast as it had come. “Oh fuck, what are we going to do? I can’t go out with you, how would we explain that you’ve shrunk?” He thought for a moment, then jumped up. “Okay, listen. I’m going to tell them you got sick. You stay here. Do not go out. Don’t. Just, don’t. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Why can’t I go out?” Tom asked indignantly.
Bill frowned. He walked over to stand behind Tom at the window, glancing through the gauzy curtains. Outside, the front yard and driveway lay abandoned. “You don’t know what it’s like. We don’t go out without bodyguards. Please stay inside. Lock the door behind me.”
“You’re not mom!”
“No, but I’m responsible for you now,” Bill told him in an annoying big brother voice, which was entirely unfair, Tom thought, because he was the big brother and he got to boss Bill around, not vice versa. “Stay inside. I have to go now, but I’ll make it quick.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Go upstairs, look around, find Tom’s… your room. There’s got to be something there to amuse you. He keeps his porn in a box under the bed.” Bill rushed into the hall, grabbing an enormous, shiny leather bag off a sideboard. Tom trailed behind him, looking around the spacious entrance hall with curious eyes. Chessboard tiles on the floor, high, white walls. Above the front door, an enormous abstract painting. It was all very grown up.
Bill grabbed a tailored black coat off a hook by the door. Outside, a car honked. “That’s my limo. Stay inside. And whatever you do, don’t google us on the internet!”
Breathing deeply, he opened the door. The moment he stepped outside, there was a high-pitched scream, followed by a few more voices that seemed to come from behind the high bushes lining the property. Tom jumped. He couldn’t see anyone, but someone could see them and it was unnerving. He hid behind the door, holding the handle.
Bill gave him a look in parting. “Do not go out.” And with that, he disappeared.
Tom stood alone in the big unfamiliar house, scratching at his neck uneasily. He wasn’t used to this. Bill didn’t just leave him, and he sure didn’t order Tom around, he just didn’t. He pleaded and cajoled and sometimes nagged until Tom gave in, but he didn’t make rules that he expected Tom to follow. It was not right; everything in Tom rebelled against it.
With crazy people lurking in the bushes, Tom didn’t particularly feel like going out, but he could do other things - Bill had told him to find something to amuse himself, right? Turning on his heel, he marched back into the living room, sat down on the couch and tried to get comfortable, like he belonged there. The leather upholstery was stiff and slippery, like it hadn’t been used enough. He wriggled around a bit until he stopped sliding down like a kid trying to climb their father’s knee, then reached for the laptop.
It had a Gibson guitar sticker on it; Tom rubbed his thumb over it, shivering in pleasure. He wondered if he had a Gibson in the here and now, and if the sticker was meant to distinguish Tom’s laptop from Bill’s, which would mean Bill had the same insanely expensive model. Grinning, Tom started it up. The screen flashed at him, demanding a password. Tom chewed on his lower lip, thinking. He’d had the same password at the school’s computer lab for years, but he didn’t know if future Tom would have kept it; still, didn’t hurt to try. He typed in guitargod1989, whooping when the password was accepted.
“Yes!” he muttered to himself. The desktop wallpaper was of a shiny yellow Lamborghini. Nice. Tom quickly found the internet browser and opened up a window, then sat there, considering. After a moment, he typed Tom Kaulitz.
1.350.000 results.
Tom blinked, unsure where to click first. There were pictures, news blurbs, articles, fan websites; in all of them he found his face grinning back at him, cocky and self-assured and utterly unconfused by the whole madness. It felt like looking at a stranger.
Huffing, Tom typed in Bill Kaulitz. 1.920.000 results, but imagining Bill as a rock star had never been much of a stretch, even if some of his hairstyles made Tom giggle. He went through a few of the pictures, seeing them in places he’d never been, do things he’d never done. It was like receiving postcards from the other end of the world: strange and exotic.
None of it was too bad, though; Bill was just being a drama queen, as usual. Scoffing, Tom punched in Tom Bill Kaulitz, clicked a link at random and was promptly blinded by horror. He peeked through his fingers but the page wouldn’t go away. Tom enjoyed a good splatter movie, he did, but he’d never thought he’d find himself the star of a gory story about torture, bloodshed and non-consensual incestuous sex.
There were pictures too. Tom squeezed his eyes shut and counted back from ten, willing himself to wake up.
Someone cleared his throat. “What did I tell you?”
Tom flinched and hastily shoved the computer away as if he’d been caught watching porn by a very stern teacher. In some way, he had. “How are you back already, you only just left!” he squeaked.
“Got a call on the way, the interviewer has the flu.” Bill dropped his bag on the end of the couch and walked over to Tom. He glanced at the computer screen. “Oh, but that’s harmless. Did you see the photo manipulation where we eat each other’s bloody, dripping brains, zombie style?”
Tom shuddered. “You’re making that up.”
Bill laughed evilly. “Believe me, there are worse things out there. These are just stories. Don’t worry about them.” He shut the laptop and sat down next to Tom. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known telling you not to look would make you want to.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s a little different these days. We rely on each other’s judgments. We trust each other.” He bit his lip.
“I trust you,” Tom said, startled. “Just, I didn’t know, I couldn’t imagine…” He gestured helplessly at the laptop.
“Did you read any of the news articles?” Bill asked levelly.
“No,” Tom said. He raised an eyebrow when Bill let out a deep breath. “Should I have?”
“No!” Bill said quickly. “I know you’re not used to all this, but I am, and you need to let me take care of you. While you’re here.”
Tom frowned. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Not in his world and, judging by future Bill’s unhappy expression, not in his either. “I’m sorry,” he burst out, because he didn’t know what else he could say. There were no words. Instead, he reached out carefully and laid one hand on Bill’s shoulder. Bill glanced at him, surprised, and smiled a little.
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault this life is fucking crazy.”
“Our life has always been fucking crazy. We like it that way,” Tom said matter-of-factly, and Bill laughed.
“True. I’d forgotten.” He tapped his lip with one finger, then jumped up, shrugging off the weird leather blazer he was wearing and kicking off the awful boots. Without them, a few centimeters shorter, he suddenly looked much less distant, much more like Bill. “Come on. There’s fun stuff, too. I’ll give you a tour.”
Tom sighed deeply in relief. This Bill may not be his Bill, but Tom was glad to have him back; this was all way too intense to discover alone. He shuffled after his weirdly older twin, who shed his strange accessories as he walked down the hall and up the stairs, leaving a trail of glittering jewelry.
Tom wondered if his future self still picked up after Bill. Just to be safe, he gathered the chains and bracelets and rings, one by one, and stuffed them all in the pockets of his baggy sweats. If Bill was still Bill, he’d have a crisis later over not being able to find his baubles and Tom liked to be prepared.
He grinned at Bill’s narrow back. “Am I going to be as tall as you?”
Bill walked up a flight of stairs, stopping on the landing to wait for Tom to catch up. “Almost,” he smiled. “And I think you’re finally catching up on the last little bit.”
Tom stood next to him, trying to gauge the height difference. Well. Growing tall, if not growing up, was something to look forward to, then. He wondered what else the future had in store. “Do I get to play a Gibson?”
“Yes,” Bill promised.
A strange, joyful noise burst out of Tom, and his older twin laughed. “Can I play it later?”
“Which one?” Bill asked, amused. “The black custom or the white? Or the Flying V? Or one of the others whose names I’ve forgotten?”
Tom stared at him, too stunned for words. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Bill laughed. “They’re in our studio down in the basement. I’ll show you later, okay? Up here’s our bedrooms, back there,” he gestured down the hall, “and here we have the game room.” With a flourish, he opened up the door to their own private fully equipped arcade.
Whooping loudly, Tom threw himself in headfirst.
***
On to chapter 3