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The Sea Will Guide You Back To Me	By : BurntToasties Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 2178 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: "Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction! I do not know Tokio Hotel, and I do not profit from these writings.

Chapter List
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A/N: I'm almost caught up on posts with what I currently have. I anticipated ending at about 20 chapters, and it looks like the end is almost in sight :(
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“Did you two have fun?” a voice said from behind us. I jumped and turned, seeing Buick laid out on my bed. She wasn’t looking at us, just reading one of the books I had set aside for my impending flight.
   “Jesus Bee, I thought you were my mom!” I said, sitting in the chair across from her. Bill sat between us on the foot of the bed.
   “Lucky for you it’s me. You’re mom wanted to come up and check on you guys five minutes after you came up here. I told her I’d come up instead, make sure you two weren’t doing anything risqué,” she winked, shutting the book and putting it back in my travel bag. “Oh, and she wants Bill gone by five,” she added. I looked at the clock.
   “But I’ve only been here an hour. Why does she hate me all of the sudden?” Bill pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing. I shook my head.
   “I think she was born 40 years too late,” I said.
“Why?” Bill asked, raising an eyebrow and wiggling, making me laugh.
   “Cause she would’ve been Hitler’s soul mate.” Bill laughed, as did Bee, and we headed downstairs. My mom was waiting for us on the couch at the bottom of the stairs, trying not to be too obvious that she was waiting. Bill bowed slightly at her, unsure of how to proceed.
   “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Fischer,” he said. I opened the door, and he hugged me with a kiss on my cheek, and left. I shut the door after watching him pull away, making a face at me as he left. My mom came up behind me, worry written across her face.
   “You weren’t serious about leaving were you?” She said. I grimaced. I shouldn’t have brought this up.
   “Well, mom, I am. Emily and I bought an apartment in the city, close to college and work,” I said. She sighed, stepping back from me. “Mom I’m so-”
   “I guess it’s time to go. Get your bags,” she said, cutting me off and leaving the room. I went upstairs, stuffing the pictures and book from the boys in my travel bag. Buick hugged me, kissing my cheeks.
   “See you at Christmas,” she said with a smile.
“Christmas it is,” I said, and carried my bags down the stairs. The trip to the airport was uneventful, as was the flight. No one tried to pull us aside, no one trying to snap our pictures. Apparently the media had no idea I was leaving. I fell asleep against my brother’s shoulder as the plane took off.
   “Mina you’re drooling,” my brother said, pinching my shoulder to wake me up. I punched him in the arm, sitting up and stretching.
   “Like you’re one to talk. Remember that flight when you had a wet dream half way over the ocean?” I teased, wiping my face just in case. I grabbed my bag and followed him off the plane. We got our suitcases from the baggage carousel and faced the doors towards the parking lot. However, as soon as we stepped out of the terminal there were people snapping pictures and trying to ask us all questions.
   “Good thing I warned you about the drool,” David said. I smiled, elbowing him as we pushed passed the press. I fished my car keys out of my pocket and my brother grabbed the two bags from me. We ran ahead, and I unlocked the car and popped the hatch, jumping in the trunk and sticking the keys in the ignition. I helped position the luggage as my brother tossed it in, sliding into the front seat quickly. We pulled out before any of the press were near us, and we passed them on the way out.
   “Vultures!” My brother shouted from the window as we turned onto the main street, taking us away from the airport. “You know, we’re pretty good at this ‘avoiding the press’ thing,” he added, smiling. We drove home, already living relatively close to the airport.
   “Why aren’t you grabbing your stuff?” David asked once in the driveway.
“Emily and I have an apartment together in the city. She moved in last week. I figure, if I move out now, the press will have a harder time finding me, and will leave you guys alone too,” I said. He stared at me, mouth hanging open.
   “Well then, I’ll get the boxes,” he said simply. I went upstairs and began grabbing stacks of clothes from the closet, rubber banding together the hangers and laying them out. I picked up the phone and dialed Emily.
   “Missy you have been all over the papers!” she said, a smile in her voice. “Thanks for getting my jacket back by the way,” she added.
   “No problem. You already moved in?” I laughed, grabbing another stack.
“Yep, enjoying toast in our kitchen now,” she said. My brother came in and began packing boxes with things off my desk and nightstand.
   “Alright, we’re packing my stuff now and we’ll be over in a few,” I said, hanging up. We moved quickly, easily packing all the boxes and a few bags quickly. We loaded up the car the best we could. Before we left I changed out of my pajamas, putting on a loose fitting, faded pair of jeans and one of Bill’s shirts. I pulled a hat over my hair, leaving it down. David was doubled over in laughter on the edge of my bed after seeing me.
   “What?” I asked, looking in the mirror.
   “All you need now are those huge, bug-eye sunglasses and you’re perfect for paparazzi dodging,” he choked out between giggles. I punched him, picked up the last box, and went to the car. I jumped in the driver’s seat and turned the engine. That’s when more photographers jumped from the bushes, asking who was moving, and where. I avoided them the best I could, narrowly missing one’s foot, and drove up the street. As we got closer to New York City, the streets grew more crowded and more narrow, the noise of yelling and honking filling the air. A siren wailed in the distance as my brother looked out the window.
   “And where are you guys living?” He asked. I turned left down 42^nd and stopped in front of a tall brick building.
   “Third floor, center,” I said, pointing to the window as I dialed Emily.
   “Hey, we’re here!” I said. She promised to be right down, and I handed my brother two boxes. He went up just as Emily came out and hugged me.
   “Welcome!” she said, grabbing a box and following my brother. The three of us worked quickly, easily unloading the car in twenty minutes. My brother drove back home to pick up my bed so I could begin to unpack. I opened a box, pulling out the clothes and unbanded them, hanging them in the closet. Emily stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.
   “So? How was Germany?” she asked, coming into the room and opening another box. I smiled and told her all about the week and a half we had been there. She smiled, laughing at the water incident after the EMAs and sighed.
   “Wish I could’ve been there,” she said, pulling out the ipod player/alarm clock I had and plugged it in. My brother pulled up outside and the three of us lifted my bed up to the apartment. David hugged me, kissed my cheek, and left. We finished unpacking my stuff just as the sun went down and the club on the other side of the intersection began to open. I searched the kitchen for dinner makings, throwing together some pasta and a salad, finishing just over half an hour later.
   “Em, food!” I shouted, putting the two bowls on the table and pouring drinks.
   “My gods I’ve missed your cooking!” She said, running around the corner and taking a huge serving on her plate.
   It had been six months since I had moved in, and I was starting my last semester of cooking classes for my degree. Bill and I emailed when we could, at least twice a week, and the boys sent a steady stream of magazines, letters, and random presents each month. I woke early in the morning, making a quick breakfast before leaving to walk the few blocks to college, breathing in the crisp air. I walked into the class, looking much like a wide open science class with a sink in the middle of two table stations. However, each station also had a stove and an oven, as well as cupboards with various utensils. I staked out one of the lockers along the back wall, taking out the apron and roll of knives from it. I sat at a station, seeing a few more people walk in. With two minutes before class, a man with dark brown hair and green eyes walked in, immediately catching my eye and smiling. He took the station across from me, tying his apron quickly. The chef came in, dressed with an apron, jacket, and toque, and fixing us with a quick smile.
   “No serious lecture or anything today. I want you all to spend this time preparing me what dish you think represents you,” he said. “I want it plated with ten minutes left. Knives and aprons are in the lockers, and write your name on the board when you’re back there. Pantry to the left, cold storage to the right,” he said, pointing to two doors on either side of the lockers. I wrote my name on my locker and tied my hair back as I made my way to the pantry, grabbing pasta and a few spices. I dropped them off at the station and grabbed scallops, cheese, and the basics for alfredo sauce and returned once more. I filled a pot with water and set it over one of the burners, pulling out a cutting board and pan. I noticed out of the corner of my eye the guy was watching me. I looked up, and he smiled, wiping his hand on his apron.
   “I’m John,” he said, giving my hand a quick shake. “What are you making?”
“Marina,” I said. “Scallops and linguine alfredo. How about yourself?” I asked back, turning back to my scallops. I cut each in half and began to cook them, turning them quickly. I reached in my bag and pulled out a jar labeled ‘pasta’ and seasoned the scallops with it.
   “Beef tenderloin. With whipped potatoes and green beans,” he said, still smiling.
   “Sounds delicious,” I said, turning back my scallops. They were about half way cooked already. I piled flour in the center of my counter, cracking a couple eggs into the center to make my pasta noodles. The time in class flew by, and my pasta was done quickly. With fifteen minutes left exactly, I plated my pasta, an elegant swirl, topped with four halves of the scallops. I grated parmesan cheese over it, and grabbed a fork. I took a couple noodles and a chuck of scallop and turned to John, who was looking at me with a fork of his beef.
   “Taste?” He asked. I nodded, and we traded forks. His beef was amazingly juicy, bursting with flavor. He groaned rather loudly, making me laugh.
   “Holy Italia that’s amazing!” He said, putting the fork in the sink. I kept the one I had, taking a bite from my pasta.
   “Are you kidding? Yours is so delicious!” I said, taking a drink from my water bottle. I waited until he was beginning to taste on the other side of the room to plate, making an exact replica of the dish I was eating from. I waited until he tasted John’s dish, and came to me with a smile. I grated cheese over it, so it would be fresh, and he took a bite.
“Marvelous! This class, I can feel it. Each of you will become a star,” he said, clapping and letting us leave for the day. I quickly put the apron and knives, washed, back into the locker, grabbed my bag, and left the classroom. I had to change and leave the apartment within an hour to make it to work on time. As I was walking down the street, I heard someone calling my name from behind me. I turned to see John jogging to catch up to me.

"Wow, you were out of there fast," he said, stopping on front of me. "I ah, I wanted to know if you were doing anything tomorrow night. If you'd go to dinner. With me," he added, looking at the ground and back to me.

"Oh. I'm with someone. I'm sorry," I said, thinking of Bill. John regained quickly.

"It's ok, I figured you'd be taken, but I wanted to try anyway," he said. He gave me a quick hug and we promised to see each other in two days. I headed back to the apartment, dropping my keys and bag by the door.
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- 16
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The Sea Will Guide You Back To Me