(no subject)

[peki]

“Hi,” she called, and his heart actually skipped a beat. “Bill.”

Right.

Tom pulled himself together enough to smile in greeting, the brief reminder of his current identity curbing his excitement just enough that he could reply in a normal voice. “Hi, Erika.”

Maintaining Bill’s pitch wasn’t easy, not even for him. He’d have to be careful not to slip up, he thought, and then she opened the door to her garden for him and Tom almost swallowed his tongue. She was wearing a short white summer dress with thin straps that slipped off her shoulders as she ran a nervous hand through her long hair. The white cotton stretched over her breasts, and he could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Fucking skinny jeans.

Tom breathed deeply, trying to will his slack jaw to cooperate and form a halfway normal expression. It wasn’t like Bill didn’t check out people, but he didn’t ogle and he certainly didn’t leer; clearly, his twin was a better person than he, Tom thought. He really didn’t know how Bill did it.

“Hey,” he said as the girl looked up at him with wide eyes and the silence threatened to become uncomfortable. You look nice, was at the tip of his tongue. What he said was, “Oooh, you look so pretty.” Bill would’ve emphasized the words with a fluttery clap of his hands, but Tom couldn’t bring himself to be quite that silly.

Erika didn’t seem to miss Bill’s idiosyncratic little gestures. “Thanks.” She beamed, and Tom figured it had been an okay thing to say. She held the door open. “Do you want to come over? I closed the front gate and all the curtains. No one’s going to see you.”

She was way too nice. Tom felt a bit guilty for the charade he was performing for her as he stepped through the little door and into the neighbors’ darkening garden. The moon was out, high in the sky already in the pale twilight of the summer night. It was a nice evening, balmy and fragrant with the scent of the roses that grew in tidy flowerbeds along this side of the fence. Erika’s garden was neater than the twins’, with a closely-cropped lawn and a clean pool that smelled slightly of chlorine, suburban paradise. Tom shifted gingerly from left foot to right, taking in the teak deck chairs on the patio, the crochet throw on the table on which two chilled glasses and a pitcher of lemonade were waiting. It was all very pleasant.

He would’ve killed for a vodka-and-Red Bull.

“So here you are. Wow. Wow.” Erika ducked her head, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I just… Oh, awkward.”
Tom turned to her, surprised to hear his sentiments echoed so clearly. He smiled encouragingly and she seemed to relax.

“I promise I’m not usually such a stupid tart.” Suddenly, she grinned. “It’s just, all this secrecy! I mean, you couldn’t even walk up to my front door and ring the bell! It’s crazy. But I can understand why you’d have to be careful,” she added quickly when she saw him frown. “I suppose it’s just made me more nervous than I’d usually be when I have a guy over.”

Tom tilted his head, searching her face. “Do you have guys over often?”

She laughed throatily. “All the time.” Her eyes flashed. “Nah, my father would kill me. I got lucky tonight, they wanted to take me along to the opera. You have no idea how hard it was to get them to go alone.”

It occurred to him that he wasn’t the only one who was in dire need of a bit of adventure. A slow smirk stole over his face as she peered up at him through long lashes that had only a touch of mascara, her cheeks blooming rosily with excitement. She was striking…and not at all Bill’s type. It was a pity; Tom should’ve come to her as himself, so he could’ve used every weapon in his arsenal to make her blush and giggle, made her feel appreciated. As Bill, he’d have to be chatty to the point of obnoxiousness, painfully oblivious to all her little flirty cues, and Tom didn’t think he could do it.

But he was here now, and the girl was reaching out slowly, so slowly, to put her hand on his arm, and Tom could feel the warmth of her hand through the thin silky material of Bill’s shirt. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, please,” he said, drawing out the vowels in the high, excited tone of Bill. He followed her up to the porch, where she offered him a chair with a dainty wave of her hand. The glass of lemonade she handed him felt nice and cool between his palms. He took a sip; sweet, much sweeter than expected. He plastered a smile on his face, a little wider than seemed comfortable or sane.

“This is nice,” she said, settling down in a chair across from him with her legs tucked underneath her. “I mean, after looking at each other over the fence for months, I’m glad you made it over here. I know you must be really busy.”

Tom opened his mouth to say that he always had time for a beautiful lady, but reconsidered just in time. “We are,” he said, floundering a little. “But I, uh, really wanted to meet you.” He smiled cautiously, unsure if he was getting Bill’s expressions right. He’d practiced in the mirror, but muscle memory was failing him right now, with every sense on overload of pretty girl and his body rebelling against the painful tightness of his jeans. She was looking at him with rapt attention, and he shifted uncomfortably, moving his chair a little closer to the table so the crocheted throw hid everything from the waist down.

“I’m sorry, it’s rude of me to stare.” She laughed a little. “I’m just still so surprised we actually live next to someone famous. You have no idea how boring this neighborhood was before you came.”

Tom had a fair idea - they’d expressly told the realtor they wanted a quiet place when they went house-hunting. “We grew up in a boring place, so this feels really homey,” he smiled. “No, but seriously, we’re on the road so much, we like things quiet when we are home.”

“Must be stressful,” she noted. She hugged her arms around herself, fingertips trailing up and down her upper arms in a distracted motion. “I don’t think I could handle being famous.”

“It has its ups and downs.” Tom felt a little embarrassed talking about that side of his life. Fame seemed so far away, sitting in this neat little garden on a warm, ordinary summer night. He didn’t want it to intrude into this moment.

Erika jerked her chin in the general direction of the fence. “Like those girls?” she asked. “Are they a perk, or…?”

“Fuck no.” Tom grimaced. Bill probably would’ve phrased it a little more diplomatically, but the truth of the matter remained. He chanced a look at Erika and saw her raising a sardonic eyebrow. “It’s just, they don’t seem to get that we’re really not that interesting when we’re off-duty,” he hurried to explain, feeling kind of like a moron. He must look like a complete asshole, disrespecting his own fans, when she couldn’t know what those ‘fans’ were capable of. At least he hoped she didn’t know. Maybe she did; they’d been living next to each other for over a year now, more or less, and she wouldn’t be the first neighbor to get caught in the crossfire between the twins and their overzealous fans.

But Erika just laughed. “I don’t know, you seem plenty interesting to me.” She braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. The front of her dress gaped and Tom caught a peek at smooth, soft cleavage. “Honestly, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Like me? What’s that?” he countered.

She shrugged gently, and he quickly tore his eyes away from her breasts. Bill wouldn’t stare; he’d be way more subtle than that. “Musicians,” she said. “Tell me about what you do?”

Tom began slowly, but felt himself becoming gradually more relaxed the longer he talked about the band, the music. In this, it made no difference if he was Tom or Bill. The logistics of being Tokio Hotel were awkward and cumbersome, but the essence of the thing was still the same as it had been ten years ago, when they’d first started out, just four boys making music. He could tell her about that, and he talked at length about Gustav and Georg, their first little gigs, the long way up to the top.

She nodded along, her eyes never leaving his face, wide and attentive. “That’s interesting,” she said when he finished his recap of their most recent tour. “I never knew how much work went into it. I, uh, I’m not really a fan. I wasn’t.” She smiled sheepishly at him. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Can’t win them all.” Quite honestly, it was a relief. It made things a lot easier. He relaxed back into his chair. “I know the things you hear about us in the media are off-putting.”

Erika bit her lip. She reached out one hand to lay atop his on the table. “They write a lot of bullshit about you, don’t they. Fuckers.”

Her cursing startled him. He laughed, surprised. She’d looked like such a proper girl from the other side of the hedge. If she could break the expected patterns, maybe he could, too. She’d said it herself - she didn’t really know about them. And she’d only really talked to Bill once. “It’s annoying, but we’re used to it.” Carefully, he allowed his tone to slip back to his customary pitch, the low drawl that Bill was capable of, but rarely used.

She didn’t seem to notice. “I never read the tabloids,” she said, her voice rising scornfully. “Everyone thinks women eat up all the gossip, but I hate it. I don’t like being lied to.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. Tom fought the urge to fidget. “You have a beautiful house,” he said lamely. He wanted to cringe at his own pathetic attempts at small talk, but he couldn’t think of anything good to say. Damn Bill had gotten all the ability to make many words about nothing at all.

“It’s home,” she shrugged, smiling. “For now. I hope to move out soon, but my parents are really clingy. Come on, I’ll give you a tour.” She pushed back her chair and stood, holding out a hand.

Tom couldn’t imagine the house to be very different from theirs - all of the houses in the area were of the same mould - but it would not do to refuse a command by a lady, especially not a lady this pretty. “That sounds great.” He rose, reaching down to pull up his pants by force of habit, remembered he didn’t actually have to as the skinny jeans seemed to have fused with his skin, and rubbed his sweaty palms over his thighs instead, trying to cover up the awkward maneuver.

When he glanced up, though, he saw that Erika wasn’t even looking at him. She was looking across the garden towards the twins’ house, where a night light had been switched on to illuminate the patio. Bill was sitting in a wonky-legged plastic chair, dressed in Tom’s baggiest sweats and a beanie, and smoking leisurely. His curiosity must’ve gotten the better of him. When he saw them looking, he nodded slowly.

Tom wanted to yell at him to go away. “Sorry,” he said. “He’s nosy.”

“He likes to sit there, huh.” Erika sounded a bit unnerved. “I don’t know what’s so interesting over here.”

“You are,” Tom stated the obvious.

She glanced back at him, startled, and Bill, the real Bill, was forgotten. “Oh, I don’t know.” She tugged her fingers through her hair in a coy little gesture. Her cheeks were pink when she looked up again, and Tom suddenly became very aware of how close she was, and that she was about to take him inside with her, to be all alone.

“I do,” he said, low. “I’d like to spend all my time looking at you.” It was cheesy, and Bill would probably have hit him for saying it, but that didn’t make the sentiment any less true.

Catching a glimpse at her had started out as a fun pastime - it was almost a sport, positioning himself in the right spots at the right time to see her, watch her do new, exciting things. After a while, though, it had become a cherished habit, a way to unwind for him, sitting on the patio on the rare evenings they got to spend at home, watching through a haze of cigarette smoke as shadows chased each other across her bedroom curtains and the lights flickered as she moved about.

If watching her then had given him a thrill of the forbidden, looking at her now was no less exciting. Here, so close to her, he could actually watch her blush under his gaze; see her chest swell with quick little breaths; take in the scent of her, sweet and tangy at the same time like her lemonade. The real thing was so much better than the fantasies he summoned up at night. He could actually reach out and touch her.

He raised his hand as if in slow motion and caught a strand of that luxurious hair between his fingers. It was just as soft as he’d imagined. Mesmerized, Tom wrapped it around his finger, tugging gently, and she swayed towards him with a small gasp that shot straight through his body like a jolt of electricity. Her hair slipped through his grasp like silk as he smoothed the strand down along her body, almost to her waist, and he wondered distantly if, were he to lift up that little white dress, the carpet would--

“Charmer,” she laughed, and the spell was broken. She took his hand that was raised between them and tugged at it. “Come on!”

Tom couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed as he followed her into the house. He’d been so close to leaning in for a kiss, putting his arms around her and hauling her up against him, but now he was walking up a plushy carpeted staircase, and Bill’s jeans were cutting into Tom’s sensitive bits again.

It felt like it was going to be a long night.

“…And up here, we just have bedrooms and baths,” she rattled off, and he snapped back to reality. They’d stopped at a white door just off the upstairs landing. “This is my room.”

When she opened the door, Tom recognized the peachy wallpaper, the lacy curtains on the windows he’d seen from below. He looked around curiously. The room was tidy, if cluttered with all sorts of girly knickknacks: jewelry in an open, overflowing box, a battered doll on the windowsill, a row of handbags, all lined up on top of an antique wardrobe that covered almost the entire wall to the right of the door. By the window, there was a desk with a high stack of large art books with glossy covers. A comfy looking armchair stood off to one side. Her bed was a single, covered by a pink velvety throw that was turned down to reveal a crisp white duvet and pillow. The walls were bare save for a few photographs that were pinned to a board above her desk, and a few watercolor paintings above the bed.

“Nice,” he said, stepping automatically closer to examine the paintings. “Did you do these?”

She came to stand beside him and pointed at each of the paintings in turn. “Yes. This one’s my grandma’s house - she lives by the sea, it makes for really nice colors - these are from our last family vacation in France. The countryside was beautiful.”

“You’re good at this,” he remarked, impressed.

She laughed. “Not that good. It’s probably better that I study art history, not art.”

Right - she was a student. Bill had been over that with her before, and dutifully reported back to Tom. “I don’t know about that.”

Erika shrugged jerkily, perhaps a little embarrassed. “I’m so out of practice. I should try drawing more. Perhaps I could draw you. You have a very interesting face.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do I?”

“Yes. You’re very expressive.” Suddenly, she reached up and touched his eyebrow with one fingertip. “You took out your piercing.”

Tom froze, a reaction to her touch just as much as her words. “Um. I like to change things up once in a while?”

She nodded. Soft, warm fingers stroked down his cheek, along his jaw, and he couldn’t help the shiver that raced down his spine and raised the hairs at the nape of his neck. He peered down at her and watched in helpless fascination as she licked at her lips, leaving them pink and glistening and so inviting. “Lovely angles,” she murmured. Her brow crinkled slightly. “All shadow and light… Damn hard to get right.”

Tom would’ve laughed but for the lump that was suddenly stuck in his throat. “Uh, sorry?”

“Shut up. You know you’re hot.” She flicked his chin gently with one fingertip, and he did laugh then.

“Right back at you.”

She blushed slightly and dropped her hand. Her fingers brushed against his; an electric spark startled them both. “I don’t usually do this,” she breathed, her voice suddenly low and husky. “Inviting men into my house…my bedroom. Do you do this a lot?”

“Never,” Tom swore.

She nodded solemnly. She’d seen the mayhem in front of their house whenever news leaked that they were going out. “You can’t, can you.”

“Wouldn’t want to,” Tom admitted. “It’s hard for me to connect with people.” It was the truth, for both him and Bill. They’d almost resigned themselves to the fact, but their coping mechanisms were different.

Erika smiled impishly. “I’ll connect with you,” she whispered and kissed him, just a sweet touch of warm lips against his, gentle, comforting.

Tom panicked a little. His every instinct screamed at him to lean in, catch her face between his palms and kiss her until she begged for more, but his borrowed jeans reminded him uncomfortably that it wasn’t really he who was here with her, it wasn’t his touch that she craved. What would Bill do? he wondered desperately, and then she drew back and the moment had passed.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It seemed like the thing to do.”

It was a good thing he hadn’t kissed her back; it would’ve been even harder to fabricate Bill-like, pretty little lies with his brain turned to mush by her touch. “No, no, I was just…surprised. It’s been a while.”

“What, no groupies on the tour bus?” she teased.

“I don’t do that,” Tom said, glad that she’d phrased it in such a way he didn’t have to lie.

“Yeah, I saw an interview on RTL.” She pursed her lips. “Wow, that’s a stupid thing to say. ‘I saw you on RTL.’ Sorry. I don’t even know why I watched that show. It was on while I was cooking or something.”

He laughed. “I get worse lines all the time. Like, ‘Do I know you?’, ‘You look familiar’, that sort of thing.”

“Awful,” she agreed. “Comes with the territory though, I’d imagine.”

He nodded, abashed.

Her smile was back. “So what do you usually do when girls come on to you?”

Ask them to line up and wait their turn.

Tom tried not to squirm. He’d been afraid he’d be required to give Bill’s speech on true love, and crack up halfway through. It wasn’t that Bill was lying, per se, but the whole thing had been regurgitated so often, in the ever-same manner, that it might as well be fiction by now. He didn’t know if he could make it sound convincing like Bill did, but then she giggled and he didn’t have to.

“Relax, I’m not a reporter. I know it’s none of my business.” She nudged him laughingly, soft curves pressing against his side for half a second, and Tom felt his cheeks grow hot.

“I’d rather tell you than RTL,” he said. “It’s all just, um, a bit awkward.”

“It’s not how it’s supposed to be,” she agreed fervently. “That’s why I haven’t watched any of your videos. I know there’s stuff out there on Youtube, but…after I first met you, I realized I’d rather find out for myself.”

She’d curbed her curiosity so they’d have a chance to get to know each other on equal terms, without any lies or misconceptions between them, and he was taking advantage of her graciousness to fool her all the better. It was a pretty damn shitty thing to do, but now he’d started it and he didn’t know how to stop.

She really was almost too good to be true, he thought, and leaned down on impulse to kiss her after all in silent apology, lips nibbling at hers softly for a moment before his tongue slipped out and brushed against hers. She didn’t seem to miss the tongue stud, which Tom only remembered belatedly, so she really couldn’t be that well-versed in all things Tokio Hotel. He felt relieved beyond measure.

Sometimes girls put on a show of ignorance, feigning interest in discovering things they already knew about him, only to reveal their true colors when he was in bed with them and they started comparing the patterns of moles on his neck to those on Bill’s. Not this one, though. She was artless in the best way, although not without the wiles that he loved in a girl. Her flirty blush was back when they parted, but she didn’t withdraw from his embrace and he knew she knew what she was doing to him. Her hip pressed gently against the bulge in his jeans, applying subtle pressure without actually making any forward move.

He drew back so he could study her face, amused. She was so pretty and nice: the proverbial girl next door sprung to life right from his fantasies. But there was spice underneath the sweet, candy-colored shell of her, the good girl who wore white lace dresses and blushed when he looked at her.

Tom wondered how hot she could burn.

“So how’s that working out for you?” he drawled.

She brushed her thumb over her swollen lower lip in a slow, sensual gesture that made his whole body hum with longing for the same gentle touch. “I’m curious now,” she murmured. “We’ll have to…talk…some more. After dinner.”

Tom blinked his heavy, painted eyelids. His vision swam with glitter particles and lust. “Dinner?”

“Yes, of course. What kind of hostess would I be if I didn’t offer you something?” Smirking, she slipped away in one fluid motion, like water through his fingers. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Eating food was the furthest thing from Tom’s mind at that moment, but he couldn’t very well refuse. He shifted gingerly, wishing for the umpteenth time that he was wearing sweatpants. “Yeah, sure.”

She took his hand again. “Still vegetarians?” she asked as she led him back downstairs.

“We try,” he admitted. “It’s hard sometimes.”

“Well, I made vegetable antipasti and spaghetti with a spinach sauce, so there won’t be any temptation.”

It wasn’t dinner that would be all too tempting, Tom thought as he trailed after her along a hall and into a spacious kitchen that was laid out, from top to bottom, in white marble. The room made Tom feel vaguely claustrophobic, almost like a tomb, if it hadn’t been for the cute little blonde who had tied a blue apron around her waist and was raiding the fridge for all sorts of delicious things.

Tom started to feel a little hungry after all as he watched. She arranged stuffed mushrooms and grilled bell peppers on small, gold-rimmed plates, which she set up just so on the kitchen table. There was tomato-and-mozzarella, artichokes and olives and smelly Italian cheese; it was a good thing she wasn’t really cooking for Bill, who’d have thrown up half of her offerings, probably, if he’d even bothered to try them in the first place. Tom took his time sampling everything while she cooked the spaghetti and slowly heated a creamy sauce that she must’ve prepared earlier.

“You’re a good cook,” he told her, impressed. “We really liked your lasagna too.”

“Oh! Good.” She laughed softly. “I was afraid you’d think that was really lame, knocking on your door like that.”

“Nothing lame about good food,” he smiled. “My brother’s cooking is awful.” Too late, it occurred to him that he was badmouthing Tom’s - his own - supreme culinary skills. “But he tries.”

“I can give you the recipe,” she offered. “It’s really quite easy.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that,” Tom said dryly, and she laughed. “Nah, but he’s a good guy,” he couldn’t resist praising himself just a little. “He’s, well, my twin. It’s a special bond.”

“I’m sure.” She looked back at him, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and he was already itching to touch her again. “You’re always together, aren’t you. Whenever I see you.”

“We’re close,” Tom nodded. Even after all these years, it didn’t feel quite right to score cute points with his twin relationship, but it was something Bill liked to talk about at length, so it was probably fair conversation material. “There’s nothing like it,” he said honestly, “Well, not so far there hasn’t been.” His lips curled at the corners. Slowly, he inched forward, towards her. “But who knows what’s to come.”

Erika ducked her head. “I think that’s really sweet,” she said. “I wouldn’t have pegged your brother for sweet.”

“Really.” Tom was surprised; he hadn’t thought he’d actually shown up on her radar at all, as himself. “Why not?”

She laughed a little. “Well, I’ve heard about him. The girls who sit outside your gate tell the most outrageous stories.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, an expression that came to him easily as well as to Bill. “Oh really?” His hands tightened around the glass bowl of olives he was holding. “What did they say?”

She bit her lip sheepishly. “Just, stuff. It’s really silly. I shouldn’t repeat it.”

“Just the usual then,” Tom concluded disdainfully.

Erika stirred the sauce quickly a few times, her head bowed over the pot. “I’m sorry, I just meant…he has quite a reputation. And I’ve seen him around.”

“Yeah?” It came out sharper than he’d intended. Tom frowned. He set the bowl on the table, smoothing a wrinkle in the tablecloth with one manicured finger. His stomach churned. He didn’t like where this was going, all of a sudden, when a minute ago things had been so nice.

“Yes.” She set her pot aside and looked him squarely in the eye. “He stares at me sometimes. Like, he’ll sit in your backyard smoking with this really intense look on his face. Honestly? It bothers me a little.”

Tom blinked at her. He’d sat in the backyard smoking countless times, watching her putter around the garden with her mom or sit on the porch with a book, always curled up in the same, weather-worn chair. He’d tried to not look too interested, but apparently, that had backfired. So much for subtlety.

“Um,” he fumbled, whatever semblance of Bill’s eloquence he possessed vanishing in an instant of supreme mortification. He shifted from left foot to right. “I. Does he?”

She smiled ruefully. “Sorry, I know you’re close--”

“No, no,” Tom cut in. “I’ll tell him to stop, okay?”

“I mean, there’s nothing to see, really.” She gave a tense, defiant little shrug. “You know?”

Tom fidgeted. He hated to think that he’d come on so strongly, sent such a weird vibe. No wonder she’d never tried to talk to him, focusing all her attention on Bill. Bill could be nosy and annoying, but at least he wasn’t creepy.

“He’s…curious,” Tom offered unhappily. It was weird to talk about himself in the third person, and weirder to attribute Bill’s character flaws to himself, but at this point, he had no choice. “We’re really close, and he knew I, I liked you, so I guess he just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

That made her smile. “You stick up for him,” she said, “That’s nice. I always wished I could have had siblings.”

If possible, her approval made him feel worse. “He’s, well, he’s my twin. He’s the most important person in my life.”

She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t really want to bring it up, but it was just a bit strange, you know?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” They’d long made it a rule to never apologize for each other. They were partners, allies, best friends; it was them against the rest of the world. If she’d said something about Bill, Tom would’ve walked out of there and never looked back. Now, though, he wasn’t actually apologizing for something his brother had done, he was apologizing for himself, though she did not know it. He’d have to make it up to her, he thought, sheepish; he didn’t regret looking at her, per se, but he hated having made her uncomfortable. He wasn’t that sort of guy. His mom would have a fit if she knew.

Thinking of Simone berating him for disrespecting a woman actually made him cringe. Hastily, he popped another olive in his mouth and chewed vigorously.

Erika gave him a regretful look. “I’ve made things awkward now, haven’t I.”

Tom swallowed too quickly and coughed.

She drained the pasta and switched off the oven, then turned to him, her expression beseeching. “I’m sorry, can we rewind? To before I said anything? Because it’s stupid, and we were having such a good time.” She faltered. “Weren’t we?”

“We were,” Tom croaked.

“I like you,” she said earnestly. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just start over. We were talking about…”

“Recipes,” he supplied, relieved. Honestly, he was surprised she’d still wanted to meet one of them if she thought the other was a creep and a voyeur. She must’ve really wanted to meet Bill…and he kind of owed her that now, at least. A nice, comfortable evening with Bill.

Dinner went well enough with him resigning himself to his fate and just trying to enjoy the conversation, stopping to reconsider several times before he said something too cheeky or outrageous or flirty, keeping things light and easy as was Bill’s style. Erika really was a good cook, and he complimented her profusely, which she seemed to enjoy.

“You could make a career out of this if you wanted to,” he remarked after he’d savored the last bite of pasta.

She laughed. “I don’t know, my cooking is pretty basic.”

“I like it,” he shrugged.

“I’m glad.” She smiled at him across the table. “D’you want to go sit outside? It’s a nice night.”

It was; the air was warm even after nightfall, and a few stars were twinkling in the distance in spite of the city lights faintly illuminating the nightly sky. The twins’ patio was dark and abandoned, for which Tom was unspeakably grateful. She took his hand again, and they walked over to the hedge together, where a small bench stood nestled in a gap between the branches. Erika sat down and patted the spot beside her, and Tom took his seat, nice and upright, with his legs crossed elegantly at the knee, taking care not to sit too close.

She must’ve thought that gentlemanly behavior was overrated, though; the moment he sat down, she was leaning into him, and it would’ve been just rude to give her the cold shoulder. Carefully, he laid an arm over the back of the bench, behind her, and let her cuddle up to his side. She shivered a little.

“My parents will be home soon,” she murmured. “Crap.”

He chuckled. “Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Yeah.” Her lips brushed his jaw. “Let’s.”

The tension that had him coiled tight for the past hour dissipated as Tom leaned down to meet her kiss. His looks may be borrowed, his smile artificial, but when he was kissing her, there was no deceit: he could give her that little piece of himself, and know that it was he who was making her sigh in pleasure, relax against him trustingly.

It wasn’t quite right, but what felt so good, tasted so sweet, couldn’t be all wrong either, he thought fleetingly. It was something; a start to better things, he hoped.

The decision was made before his sensible mind had had a chance to mull it over, consider the consequences. “When can I see you again?”

“You can see me every day,” she smiled. “Just look out your window.”

I thought you didn’t like being stared at. The words were at the tip of his tongue, itching to get out. Jealousy swirled hot in his stomach, bit its way up through his chest even though her hand was still in his and her eyes on him were warm and affectionate. She wasn’t really speaking to him, and the thought helped him pull away, disentangle himself from her and stand.

“I’d better get going.”

She nodded. “Tonight was nice.”

“It was,” he agreed mechanically.

“Next time will be even better?” she offered, her voice hopeful, and Tom didn’t have it in him to refuse. He wanted the same thing she did.

He wished he could start over at the beginning, on that wet, dreary day he’d first seen her. He should’ve stopped her right then, right there, before she could ever form an opinion of him, before the fantasy of her could ever take root in his mind. But it was too late now, much too late.

They said goodbye at the garden door with a quick kiss and a promise to talk the next day. Tom shuffled across the lawn on his side of the fence, his fists buried in the pockets of Bill’s leather jacket, which were too small for his hands and ridiculously high up. He must look like such an idiot.

Frustrated, he shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it over a chair on the patio as he fumbled with the knob of the garden door. It was unlocked, and he stomped in sullenly, kicking off the boots on the doormat.

Bill was sprawled on the floor in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn, a dog snuggled up to him on either side. He took one good look at Tom and frowned. “What happened?”

Tom locked the door for the night, closed the curtains, and promptly began to peel off the jeans that had tormented him for what felt like an eternity. Cool air hit his thighs and he groaned deeply, a sigh that tore out of the depths of his soul.

“Tell me,” Bill urged.

Tom shucked the jeans off where he stood and marched over to the couch, shedding pieces of clothing and jewelry as he went. “We kissed.”

“Only kissed?” Bill sounded incredulous, but pleased. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Yeah. And then she told me she was creeped out by me, Tom that is, and that sort of killed the mood.” Tom flung himself on the couch face-first, unmindful of the make-up he was still wearing.

“Careful, you’ll get make-up on the couch. What do you mean, creeped out?” Tom felt the cushions dip next to him as Bill perched on the edge of the couch. He pulled the beanie off Tom’s sweaty head and ran his fingers soothingly through his tight braids.

“She saw me watching her one time too many, I guess.” Tom winced. “I thought I wasn’t that obvious.”

“You’ve had your eye on that girl for ages,” Bill said. “No wonder she noticed. It’s too bad she didn’t feel flattered by it. Most other girls would.” Tom could practically hear him smirk. “You’ve met your match. Hah!”

Tom didn’t see the humor. “I thought you were my match.”

“Your girl match,” Bill conceded. “So what now?”

“I asked if I could see her again.”

“As you, I hope.”

Tom raised his head to give his twin a look. “And how was I supposed to ask her out as me? I just told you, she thinks I’m a perv and wants nothing to do with me.”

“I don’t care,” Bill said flatly. “You can’t be me again.” His fingers, which had been massaging between Tom’s braids, abruptly pulled away. Bill slid off the couch, cutting all physical contact between them. He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin defiantly, and Tom knew he meant it.

He sighed. There was only one trick to counter this move, one card in the twin deck that he had never played. One that he could only play once, so it’d better be worth it.

Was the girl worth it? Tom didn’t quite know yet, but without Bill’s help, he would never find out, and the thought of never knowing made his insides feel hollow with disappointment. He sat up and reached out, clutching at Bill’s crossed arms like a falling man at the edge of a high cliff. He turned wide, beseeching eyes on his twin. “Bill, if you love me…”

“Oh, you can’t be serious,” Bill snorted. “Why? What’s she to you?”

“She’s…everything that’s wrong with my world right now,” Tom whined, fully aware that he was becoming more and more pathetic by the minute with his borrowed make-up running and Bill’s melodramatic airs apparently having rubbed off on him with the transformation. Still, he was unable to stop himself. The humiliation of being made over like a doll, the painful skinny jeans, the excitement of the kiss and the ultimate let down…it had all been too much. “She’s beautiful and nice and I want her, and she doesn’t want me back, Bill! I can’t just give up and let that slide.”

“It’d do you good,” Bill sniffed. “You can’t have everyone, you know.”

“I don’t want everyone. I just want her.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Tom sighed. He let go of his twin’s arm and slumped on the couch. “I’m so tired of the screaming and the hysterics and the fucking drama. I just wanted to meet someone normal for a change.”

For some reason, that made Bill smile a little. He sat down opposite Tom on the edge of the coffee table, his knee nudging his twin’s gently. “You met her. So what now?”

Tom pursed his lips. “I want to make her like me.”

“Me, you mean,” Bill said snidely.

“Yeah. But it’d be me too. In a way,” Tom said.

Bill sighed deeply. “Okay, tell me again. What happened? What did she say about you?”

Tom related the whole story of his date, down to the last detail of what she’d said, how she’d said it, the way her lip had curled when she spoke of Tom’s behavior and the warm spark in her eyes as they’d talked about music and art and other things she enjoyed, the things they had in common. Bill listened attentively, quiet to the last in a rare show of patience.

“And then she said you were welcome to look over the fence at her if you wanted to see her,” Tom finished his report indignantly. “How’s that fair?”

Bill began to laugh. “She has the good sense to distrust you. Smart girl.” He thumped Tom’s back. “Come on, can you really blame her? You’ve been spoiled, only ever hooking up with fans. This is what it’s like to try and be with a normal person. They don’t take all your shit.”

“What do you know about it?” Tom grouched.

“Nothing,” Bill said, “but trust me, I’d love to be in your place, so suck it up and do your best! You said it yourself, you don’t get a chance with a girl like this every day.”

Tom scowled at his twin’s smiling face. “You wouldn’t want to be in my place.”

“No. I knew she was for you after that first time I talked to her,” Bill smiled. “Please, Tom. Just go to her as yourself.”

“I can’t show her who I really am now,” Tom protested. “She likes you.”

“She likes you in my clothes,” Bill corrected.

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a big difference.” Bill turned up his nose at him. “Newsflash: you’re not actually that good at imitating me. You always overdo it. I’m not a cartoon character.”

“I don’t…” Tom closed his mouth. Maybe there was some truth to it; he’d only ever imitated Bill to make the Gs laugh, after all. “Okay, fair enough. But that’s still better than going to her as myself. She thinks I’m a voyeur!”

“You are a voyeur,” Bill said dryly. “So? Own it. Apologize and move on.”

“I can’t,” Tom whined. “It’s too embarrassing.”

“Now you feel embarrassed. Only because you got caught.” Bill harrumphed. “Okay. I’ll help you. But if I agree to let you be me, you have to do this differently than you usually would.”

Tom squinted at him suspiciously. “How?”

Bill counted items off on his fingers. “Stop looking at her like she’s one of your groupies. Just, try to get to know her. Show her how you really are. I think you two could get along if you tried.”

Tom shifted uncomfortably. He felt out of his depth. What Bill described sounded like an actual relationship. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“If you’re not even willing to try, you can forget about her right now, because I’m not letting you be me,” Bill told him firmly.

“So I have no choice?” Tom huffed. “Fine. I’ll try.”

“You’ll be nice?” Bill asked in the tones of a stern teacher.

“I was nice,” Tom informed him, irritated. “I’m nice to every girl I…meet.”

“I know your definition of ‘nice’.” Bill performed a lewd, gyrating motion with his hips. “That’s not what I mean. Will you behave?”

Tom pouted. “I’ve never treated any of my women badly. I always gave them what they asked for.”

“But this one didn’t ask for your special charm,” Bill said dryly.

Tom’s brow furrowed guiltily. It was true, he was deceiving her. Even he had to admit that wasn’t the best way to begin a new relationship, whatever shape it might take. He despised anything fake and insincere; as far as he was concerned, women could take him as he was or go to hell, but this time, all the cards had been reshuffled and the rules suspended, and the game was set.

The only question was whether he wanted to play it.

“Come on.” Bill, for his part, sensed that Tom had had enough for one night. He stood up and slapped Tom’s shoulder bracingly. “I’ll get that make-up off your face and then we can watch a movie. You can decide what you want to do tomorrow.”

Tom already knew what he wanted to do, for better or worse. But not tonight. He stretched tiredly, feeling his thigh muscles bunch and cramp after the unfamiliar exercise of walking in Bill’s jeans, through the circle of Tom’s own personal hell. “Movie sounds great,” he sighed. “Did you have that pizza you wanted?”

Bill switched off the TV. He pulled Tom to his feet, and together, they made their way up the stairs and into the bathroom where the whole madness had started, earlier. “Yup. Hungry? I have leftovers.”

“No, dinner was good.”

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” Bill sounded entirely too amused.

Tom collapsed on the toilet and let Bill turn his face this way and that as Bill wiped his face with moist cotton pads that smelled faintly alcoholic. Tom relaxed slowly. “The food was nice. And kissing her. Looking at her cleavage…she wasn’t wearing a bra.” He sighed fondly, the image rising before his inner eye. “Why’d the one nice girl who can cook and knows how to kiss and has nice tits have to be into you?”

“Because I’m the better twin,” Bill informed him, neatly sidestepping the blind swings of Tom’s fists. “But I’ll get you there yet, don’t worry.”

Tom did worry, but for the moment, there was nothing he could do but relax under his twin’s ministrations, his tension draining away with the quick current of Bill’s easy chatter.

Tomorrow, he thought, would be a new day.