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Improvisation	By : Rina76 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 1721 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Georg Listing, Tom Kaulitz, Bill Kaulitz or any members of Tokio Hotel. This story is a complete work of fiction and not true. I don't own this fandom am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
A/N: Okay, this is a really, really long chapter, only because Georg and Tom have a lot of stuff to talk about. Hope you have fun reading it!
WARNING: Contains description of child abuse and attempted rape.

Unaware of the conflicting thoughts bouncing around in Tom’s brain, Georg switches into obliging host mode, sweeping his arm invitingly into the trailer.

“Well, I guess we can’t stand here all night. Take your shoes off. I’ll get us a drink and we can sit and talk some more.”

“Sounds good,” Tom replies, already stepping out of his sneakers. While Georg is busy in the kitchen, Tom waltzes into the living area. Georg’s bedroom door is open and through it Tom can see the wall on the left side of the bed. And the jagged hole in it, like the mouth of a monster. He is just about to ask, “Whoa, what happened to your wall?” when a light bulb flashes in his head. Funny - that hole is just about fist-sized. Tom flicks his gaze across to Georg’s hand, remembering the cuts he saw on his co-star’s knuckles around a week ago in makeup. Georg detects him looking. The brunette glances at his own hand and instinctively covers it, even though the cuts have all but disappeared. With an uncomfortable feeling Tom slots the pieces together.

Georg punched the wall. And Tom knows it was because of him. Him and Billinda. However, he doesn’t say anything, although Georg knows that he knows.

Kicking himself, Georg thinks he should have fixed the gaping hole long before now but suddenly realizes why he kept putting it off. He wanted Tom to see it. He wanted Tom to know that he had been angry about Billinda being here. He wanted Tom to know that he had been jealous and this is what his jealousy drove him to do. If Tom didn’t know of his feelings before, now he does. Tom gawps at the hole and then at Georg’s hand, at last meeting Georg’s eyes. The blond-haired boy appears guilty, as if he wants to say sorry.

Before Tom can do that, Georg hastily says, “It’s nothing. I’ll get it repaired tomorrow.” Changing the topic, he grabs a bottle of milk from the fridge, injecting his tone with lightness and frivolity. “What would you like – coffee or tea?”

“What, nothing alcoholic?” Tom complains.

“We start at the crack of dawn tomorrow, kiddo. I really think it’s in our best interests to not screw ourselves up for work. I dunno about you but I like being employed.”

“I suppose you’re right. Coffee will have to do,” Tom grumbles. He squints at the percolator heating up on the bench and sniffs the air. “Hey, is that flavoured?”

“Yep,” Georg replies, presenting the label on the coffee-bean package.

Tom groans. “Vanilla? You’re gonna make me drink vanilla flavoured coffee?”

With a twist of his lips, Georg deems, “You’ll live.”

When the percolator bubbles and steams, the brewed flavoured coffee trickling down and filling up the glass jug below, Georg fetches two earthenware mugs and pours the hot liquid three quarters of the way up the insides. The co-stars pull up some chairs and seat themselves at the table. Georg takes out a packet of cigarettes and pops one into his mouth, lighting it with a Zippo.

“Want one?” he asks Tom, proffering the green and white packet.

Tom recoils with repulsion. “What the fuck are you smoking?”

“I’m just trying to cut down on my nicotine intake and eventually quit. Something, young man, you should be doing too,” Georg admonishes.

“But fucking menthol lite cigarettes?” Tom says incredulously, still horror-struck. “You may as well jam a peppermint into the middle of a smoke and light that up.”

“Hey, I like the taste,” Georg says, taking a puff unperturbedly. “Besides, it leaves my breath with a hint of minty freshness.” He smiles and blows smoke out of his nostrils.

Crumpling his nose, Tom declares, “I prefer real smokes, thank you very much.” Out of his pants pocket, he produces a squished packet of cigarettes and lights one of those, drawing deeply and savouring the taste of mint-less tobacco. He observes Georg inhaling another lungful of menthol-infused smoke and shakes his head, muttering, “Gross.”

“Gross? You’re the one who likes bourbon mixed with orange soda,” Georg rebounds. “You sick freak.”

In remembrance of the crazy night where they first hooked up, they both grin at each other. This is how it used to be between them. Fun, mischievous, teasing. Now that it’s back to the way it was, they couldn’t be happier.

Seeing as though they haven’t really spoken for around a week, the actors natter away like two ladies in a hair salon, making up for lost time, sucking on their choice of cigarette and sipping the sweet coffee between gossiping. They chat about work and people at work for thirty minutes, mainly bitching about who’s pissing them off and who’s done what and which crew member needs to be fired, and then the newly-reunited co-stars move to the lounge to get more comfortable.

“So, Tom.” Georg starts the ball rolling on a more meaningful discussion. “Tell me some things about yourself, private things, things that I don’t know.”

“Why?” asks Tom suspiciously.

“No ulterior motive,” Georg promises, hands held up. “I’m not gonna tell anyone anything. This is just so I can get to know you better.” He wryly adds, “Since we used to spend most of our time together doing things with our mouths OTHER than talking...”

“Like what kinda things do you wanna know?”

“Like secrets, stories, childhood incidents, you know.”

Tom is still not convinced he gets what Georg means. “You mean like bad things that happened to me or...?”

“Bad things, good things, anything,” the older man recommends. “I just want to hear them. I just want to get to know you; the person, not the actor or the broody, scowling punk who likes to swear. I want to know the real you that you are inside. Real friends should be able to tell each other everything.”

Tom weighs this up. “Okay, but for everything I tell you, you gotta tell me something back about you.”

Georg nods. “Deal.”

“What should I start with?”

“Tell me what you were doing before you got into acting. You were at school, right?”

“Yeah, but I quit and didn’t finish. I’m a high school dropout,” Tom admits glumly. “I was failing anyway so when I got offered the part of a dreadlocked gangsta in Street Thugs, I snapped it up and never went back. I guess I could have completed my senior certificate by correspondence or got a tutor but I just thought, what’s the use? It’s not like I’m ever going to university. I dunno, I’m just not blessed with brains. All I got was the ability to play guitar, and dress up in costumes while pretending to be other people.”

Hearing the degree of self-mocking in Tom’s voice, Georg wants to interrupt but it doesn’t matter because Tom keeps blurting out his failings, as if he has to exorcise himself of his academic demons.

“I did well in Drama, Art and Music because those classes didn’t seem like work to me. They were fun. I loved doing any subject that was hands-on. Anything involving words or reading was the worst. English class sucked; I was flunking that so bad. Even now, when I go through the pages of a script, I have to keep a dictionary handy so I can look up words I don’t know. I’m hopeless at spelling. And I can’t write neatly either. If you ever saw my song lyrics, you’d think they were written by an elementary school kid.” Tom averts his eyes. “You probably think I’m such a dumbass right now, don’t you?”

Georg is taken aback at the accusation. “Of course I don’t think that! You’re pretty smart if you ask me. How far you have managed to come in spite of your setbacks is awe-inspiring. I mean, look at where you are.” He indicates to their surroundings. “You’re in a serviced trailer in Hollywood working on a film with Oscar-winning director Gustav Schafer. One of your co-stars is Hannah Dallas – arguably the most famous actress in the world at the moment. You scored one hell of a job. In spite of how you did at school, you’re making something of yourself now, Tom. You get nothing but respect from me for that.”

And while Tom is not dumb, Georg thinks he IS a little naïve, but that’s a good thing. It’s better than being jaded and world-weary. In fact, Tom’s naiveté is one of the things Georg loves about him. He hopes the kid never changes.

“Anyway, I’m not that brainy either. I cheated on my final year exams,” Georg counters.

Tom looks up in disbelief. Georg’s intelligent and sharp as a tack. Everybody knows that. He argues, “You did not!”

“I did,” the older actor insists. “Everybody has a weak point and mine is Math, specifically things like division, fractions and decimals. My tutor did her best but I could not get the hang of it. I was great at English, History and Science and everything else but useless at Math. One of my mates on Teen High also had the same tutor and he gave me all the answers to the exam beforehand so I knew I’d pass. I probably didn’t have to do it; I just wanted to get good grades so that nothing would stop me from enrolling at acting school.”

“So, you really cheated?”

“Oh yes,” Georg concurs, not guilty about it at all. It’s not like he hurt anybody. “Math is a whole other language I do not understand. Don’t ask me what eight times nine is. If I don’t have a calculator, I can’t tell you. I frequently give the wrong change to shop assistants. They could probably rip me off and I wouldn’t even know it. Now who’s dumb?”

The high school dropout starts to smile, not feeling so dense now that he knows Georg has learning difficulties too. He says, “Well, G, I guess us creative types use a different part of our brains than like, accountants or computer technicians.”

“Exactly,” Georg agrees, grinding out his cigarette butt. “C’mon, give me another little hidden Tom-fact. Like, which celebrity do you have a crush on at the moment?”

“Male or female?”

“Any.”

“Living or dead?”

“Either.”

Tom scans through his mental catalogue of celebrity crushes, finally picking one. “Okay. James Dean.”

Georg seems impressed by this choice. “You wanna make out with JD?”

Tom grins. “Absolutely. He was a fuckin’ legend.”

“Indeed,” Georg puts in, thinking of the skilled and handsome late actor. “And he looked damn good in a leather jacket.”

“I know, right? I love the whole biker-look,” Tom enthuses. "You ever watch Sons of Anarchy?”

Georg nods, familiar with the popular TV show about an outlaw gang of bikers.

“Well, I sorta have a thing for some of the guys on that too,” Tom admits.

Georg raises a brow. “You think facial scars, greasy beards and tribal head tattoos are sexy?”

“Shit yeah. But if you look underneath all that, those dudes are fine-looking as fuck. I’d totally do at least three of them.”

“If you say so,” Georg muses, not used to checking out other men in such a lewd fashion. “But knowing their badass characters, I’d say YOU would be the one getting done, Tom.”

“Still, I wouldn’t say no.” Tom shrugs. Persisting with the topic of celebrity crushes, he nudges Georg, stating, “I’ve given you two answers so it’s your turn. Which famous dude or dudette would you want to fuck?”

Georg frowns. “I dunno. I respect artists of any kind too much to think of them in that way.”

“Forget about respect. Just think of who gets you sweaty.”

The only person Georg can think of at present who gets him sweaty is sitting next to him but Tom wouldn’t accept that as an answer, and they’re only supposed to be friends right now, so he’s got to come up with someone else

“Come on, G. Who’s your secret crush?” Tom prods. “And don’t say you don’t have one. Tell me who it is, and it better not be Hannah Dallas.”

“There are other women in the universe besides Hannah, you know,” Georg retorts.

“Well, somebody ought to tell HER that.”

“Don’t talk badly about Hannah. She’s a decent lady.”

“Oh, I’m SURE she is,” Tom says sardonically. “Answer the question.”

“If you must know, I kind of have a crush on Scarlett Johansson.”

“Nice.” Tom clearly approves of the smart and sexy actress. “What about a dude?”

Quickly, Georg racks his brain for a suitable candidate. “Hugh Jackman.”

“Wolverine?”

“Yeah. I mean, he’s an Aussie, he’s a really nice guy and plays one of the coolest comic book characters ever. What’s not to like?”

“Well, I don’t normally go for huge hairy dudes but he IS pretty hot,” the bisexual teenager has to admit, thinking of all the shirtless Wolverine shots he’s seen. So, Hugh Jackman is nothing like Georg in any way – he’s older, furrier, married and a father of two children – but that big buff body, though...You gotta admire that.

Georg desperately wants a change of subject. Instead of waiting for Tom to pick one, Georg does it. “Next question. Apart from smoking, what other bad habits have you got?”

“Shit. Where do you want me to start?” Tom says, tallying all of his less than impressive behaviours. “I’m messy and dirty. I’m forgetful. I have a rotten temper. I can be rude and nasty to people who don’t deserve it and I tend to say things and act without thinking.”

All of which Georg knows and accepts. Sure, Tom is all of those things. But he can also be sweet and caring, funny and cute, tender and gentle. Those good things make up for the not-so-good things.

“And I probably swear too much,” Tom continues. “Bill does too but she especially hates it when I say the ‘c-u-n-t’ word, so I’m trying not to say it anymore. I mean, I don’t use it in the sense of degrading women, but more as a general expression that can have more than one meaning, like shit, or fuck. I don’t even realize I’ve said it half the time. Ya know what I’m sayin’?”

Georg nods. “Yeah. It’s just another part of your vocabulary.”

Tom swallows a gulp of coffee and looks askance at him. “So, it wouldn’t bother you if I said it?”

Georg carelessly lifts a shoulder. “No, I don’t care. It’s just a word.”

“Yeah but it’s the worst swear word in the world, according to most people. It’s the one word that still has the power to shock. I bet you’ve never even said it, Georg.”

“Yes, I have. Not in general conversation, but I said it in The Cult,” the older male discloses. The Cult is a film Georg starred in two years ago. He played the charismatic leader of a satanic sect and got a lot of media attention for his brilliant and startlingly unsettling performance.

Tom’s eyes pop. “What? When? I don’t remember that. I definitely would have remembered that.”

“When I slapped the chick playing my girlfriend because she wanted to leave the sect. That’s what I called her.”

Tom frowns, the cogs in his brain working. “Nope. I still don’t remember it.”

“Oh, it’s there,” Georg maintains. “You just can’t hear it very well on account of the slapping noise the sound FX guys put in. But I did say it.”

“Man, I gotta watch it again!” Tom is flabbergasted. How could he miss polite-mannered Georg saying such a thing on camera? He was probably too distracted by Georg’s shaved head, goatee beard and nipple rings, along with the thick, black symbolic tattoos painted all over his body. He secretly thought Georg looked utterly fuckable like that. But he likes Georg how he is now too, natural and undecorated with clean tan skin, untouched by ink or the piercer’s needle. And he also likes the fact that Georg doesn’t really sacrifice animals in his basement.

“So, you don’t mind playing those creepy kinda roles?” Tom questions.

“I’m an actor. That’s what I love to do,” Georg says easily. “If I commit to making a film, I do or say whatever my character is required to, even if it goes against everything I personally believe in. I can do it because it’s acting. It’s not real but I have to make it appear as though it is. I’d do almost anything for a good part, even if it is unpleasant.”

“Oh, so would I,” Tom adjoins. “I love playing different roles. The weirder the better, in my opinion. So far I’ve played a street kid with dreadlocks and a knife tucked into his boot, an alien warrior with a laser gun and now a nerdy safe-cracker with glasses and pens in his pocket. Hey, did you ever see me in Planet Invaders?”

“Yeah, you looked amazing in that,” Georg compliments him. “You make a very striking alien.”

In the science fiction film, Tom’s hair was dyed bright green and he wore yellow contact lenses as well as bony ridges glued to his ears, forehead and cheekbones to give his face a markedly extraterrestrial appearance. He was part of an alien army on board a futuristic space ship and only had a few lines but Georg was captivated by him straight away, feeling disappointed when Tom’s character got blown up during an intergalactic battle scene. Georg had really started to get attached to the green-haired warrior and wanted to see more from him, which was proof of Tom’s admirable acting ability. Whenever he works with a new actor, Georg takes the time to watch their films and get a feel of their style and technique. In Street Thugs, Tom played a kid who’d seen too much violence on the streets and was desensitized to it. He was actually a very vicious and unlikeable character but at least he didn’t die in that one. Tom’s past roles may have been small, however, Georg saw great potential in the boy while watching them. Now that they are working together, he sees more and more of that potential every day.

“I had to sit in the makeup chair for three hours each morning to get the alien prosthetics put on and almost as long every night to get them taken off,” Tom laments. “It sucked balls. But it was worth it; the effect was awesome. It took me ages to get the green dye out of my hair, though. It soaks up colour like a sponge.”

Unwittingly touching his own brown locks, Georg replies, “The things we do for our work, huh? I had to have my head shaved every day when I was making The Cult and have hundreds of fake tattoos applied. Now, that was a pain in the ass.”

“I bet it was. Anyway, it’s your turn again,”’ Tom says, reminding Georg that they’re playing a truth game. “So, what’re your bad habits, old man?”

“Mostly smoking,” the brunette concedes. “But as I’ve said, I’m gonna give it up. Right now, in fact.” He makes it official by twisting his used smoke-butt in the ashtray and tossing his packet of cigarettes out of reach.

“You think you can quit? Dude, I bet you fold like a napkin.”

“I can do it,” Georg says, his tone becoming more positive. “You should do it with me, Tom. We could be each other’s quit buddies.”

Tom doesn’t seem like he really wants to give it up. Here he is puffing on number six. “I dunno, I haven’t even thought about trying. I’m probably too far gone. I’m probably already riddled with cancer from it.”

“For your sake, I hope not.”

Recklessly breathing in more poisonous fumes, Tom asks, “What other bad habits have you got?”

“Well, I suppose I have a habit of being too nice. My mom raised me to be polite at all times and it’s a bad habit to break. Sometimes I give people too many chances and I find it hard to say no,” Georg admits, thinking of all the times he’s done that in the past. “I guess that makes me a people pleaser and not just with my friends and family. Like, if any of my fans ask for an autograph or photo, I can’t say no to them, even if I want to be left alone.”

A smirk spreads on Tom’s face. “What if they ask you for more? Have you ever ‘pleased’ a fan? Like with your tongue or your dick?”

Georg furrows his brow in consternation. “Tom! Don’t be so vulgar. A large percentage of the fan mail I get is from very sweet, not to mention very young, girls who still watch Teen High.”

Tom snorts and grey smoke comes out of his nostrils. “C’mon. They all want to fuck you, young or old.”

“Can you please not talk about my fans in that way? They’re the ones that are keeping me in work by paying to see my films and I respect them for that.”

“You’re avoiding my question: have you ever fucked a fan? A legally-of-age one, I mean.”

“I don’t have to tell you that,” Georg responds snootily.

“That means yes,” Tom crows with a gleeful grin. “Aha, I knew it!”

“It was one time and she was mature and very discreet,” the older actor defends. “But I didn’t see her again because I prefer not to date fans. They have preconceived expectations of how you should be and I don’t wanna disappoint anybody by not living up to that.”

“Was she disappointed?”

“Not in bed, she wasn’t,” Georg replies, starting to smirk.

“I don’t have any fans yet,” Tom laments. “I mean, there are girls who go to our gigs but they don’t really care about me; they just want to screw a guitarist. Not that I would. Bill would fucking KILL me.”

“Looking the way she does, I bet Bill gets her fair share of attention too,” Georg comments without thinking.

Looking at him with a slight frown, Tom asks, “What do you mean?” as if he expects Georg to say something critical about Bill’s Goth way of dressing.

“I mean, she’s stunning. Like, literally.”

Now Tom is gazing at him with interest. “You think so?”

“Well, yeah. I almost couldn’t speak when I met her. I wasn’t expecting her to look like that,” Georg confesses with a small blush, wishing he hadn’t mentioned anything now.

“Yeah, Bill’s got a style all of her own, that’s for sure,” Tom concurs with a smile of admiration. “You should see some of the costumes she makes for our shows. They’re so sparkly and glittery, you gotta wear shades. And tight. Man, it makes it tough to concentrate on my guitar when she’s strutting around in front of me.”

Steering the conversation away from how fucking gorgeous Tom’s girlfriend is, Georg announces, “This game isn’t over yet, kid. Tell me something else from your past. Tell me a naughty thing you did. And I know you’ve had plenty of experience in that field.”

“All right. I’ve spent time in jail,” the younger one volunteers.

This does not stun Georg in any way. “What’d you do?”

“I was spraying graffiti on a train and got locked up for the night when I spat at a cop and resisted arrest. I’ve also been in lock-up for fighting in public. I got caught shoplifting a whole bunch of times too.”

“I’ve never been in any kind of trouble like that,” Georg states. “I was always too scared of being caught to be really naughty. But I did steal a candy bar from a corner store once. Just to see if I could.”

“A candy bar?” Tom starts to laugh. “What were you, nine?”

“Aroundabouts.”

Tom convulses in hilarity some more, while Georg sits there patiently and drinks the rest of his coffee.

“A whole candy bar. You are such a rebel, G-List! Oh, man.” Tom pokes his own ribs. “I think I got a stitch.”

“Are you done yet?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Tom says grudgingly. “I suppose it’s my turn again, is it?”

“Correct.”

Racking his brain for more tidbits of trouble, Tom recollects one. “I took vodka to school in a hip flask. You take vodka so they can’t smell it on you.”

“Never did that,” Georg remarks. He wouldn’t have dared.

Continuing, Tom says, “I first tried weed when I was twelve.”

“Never did that either.”

“I took that to school too and used to smoke it down on the oval. I couldn’t smoke it at home or my dad would whip me. I’ve tried a couple different drugs. One time at a party, I OD’d on Ecstasy and had to have my stomach pumped in hospital.” Tom sounds sickened with himself. “Retching while having a plastic tube fed down my throat taught me a fuckin’ lesson. It was a stupid thing to do. Could’ve killed me.”

Georg feels like he has lived such a tame, uneventful childhood compared to Tom. Here Tom is getting drunk and taking drugs and going to jail when the most eventful thing to occur in Georg’s teenage years was growing pubes.

“Well, I’ve never overdosed or been imprisoned but there is something noteworthy you don’t know about me.” Georg pauses and sucks in a lungful of air. “I dunno if I should be telling you this. I just know I’m gonna regret it.”

Like an excitable child, Tom bounces on the couch. “No, you won’t. Tell me! What is it?”

“Okay. Here it is.” Georg pauses again for effect and then announces, “I almost took the lead role in The Notebook.”

Tom stops bouncing. He even stops blinking. “Get the fuck outta here.”

As if it’s old news, Georg breezes, “Oh, it’s true. Years ago my agent was telling me about the script and how the movie was gonna be phenomenal and get me super rich and famous. She said that I’d be perfect for the role of Noah and it was mine if I wanted it. But I thought that the movie was gonna be a huge romantic flop so I was like, ‘No thanks, I’ll pass.’ Ryan Gosling took my place and there you have it.”

Imagining Georg rowing a boat across a lake filled with geese, floppy hair blowing back in the breeze, Tom begins snickering. Picturing Georg on the movie poster with a full lumberjack beard on his face and wet white shirt clinging to his chiselled body as he’s about to kiss Rachel McAdams in the rain soon has Tom howling with laughter and holding his sides as if this is funniest shit he’s ever heard.

“Yeah. This is exactly why I didn’t tell you before,” Georg drawls.

“Dude,” Tom recovers enough to wheeze, “why didn’t you take it? It’s like, one of the highest grossing films of all time.”

“Millions of dollars wouldn’t have made up for the fact that I’d forever be known as The Notebook guy. Not that I have anything against the movie, not at all,” Georg intercedes. “It was a great film and Ryan was amazing in it. But I’m still glad I didn’t take the part. It just wasn’t meant to be mine.”

Tom wipes his eyes and sighs in that relaxed way people do after having a really thorough laugh. “I’m glad you didn’t take it either, G.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you and me probably wouldn’t be working together right now, bud,” he says slapping Georg’s thigh. “You’d be off making more highly successful romances with leading ladies and I’d be working with some other dude who’s not half as cool as you.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to be working with you too,” Georg remarks. “And that brings me to my next question. Tell me, Tom; how many other co-stars have you kissed?”

“None. I started dating Bill while she was dressing me for the Street Thugs shoot and I never got close to anybody filming Planet Invaders. I’ve kissed random guys in clubs over the years but this situation...” Here Tom gestures to the two of them on the couch. “This is new for me. Or it was, when we were more than friends.”

That information confirms that Georg has been Tom’s only male relationship so far, despite the kid being bisexual. It’s good to know and makes Georg feel very special.

“Well, what about your very first boy-kiss, then?” Georg prompts. “When did that happen?”

“First boy-kiss I ever had was with this friend of mine called Koby,” Tom says, going back in time. “We were thirteen. He was the son of my dad’s hunting buddy. He was Native American and had this beautiful mane of long black hair. I used to stare at it and want to run my fingers through it and touch his bronze skin but never had the courage to. I was mesmerized by how beautiful he was but at the same time I thought I was weird for feeling that way. Like there was something wrong with me. My dad is so anti-gay it’s not funny. Anyway, me and Kobes were hanging out at his place one night, smoking weed. We were lying on the floor of his room listening to Metallica and he just leaned over and kissed me, right on the mouth.”

“Wow. That’s pretty bold for a kid,” Georg comments. “What’d you say?”

“Nothin’. I just thought, ‘Finally! I can touch his hair,’ so I sank my fingers into it and kissed him back. I remember his hair was like warm silk. He gave me his tongue and I felt myself getting hard and that’s when I knew I liked guys too. Scared the fuck outta me, it did. It’s a big thing to acknowledge.”

“Then what happened?”

“I told him I had to go home and I left. I was freaking, man. I kinda avoided him after that. Koby ended up moving to another state soon after and I haven’t seen him since. I feel bad about it now but at the time I just didn’t know what I was doing.”

Georg can’t even imagine having one of his buddies kiss him at thirteen years of age. That’s incomprehensible to him. Maybe he could envision a girl, but not a boy. If the latter had happened, Georg wouldn’t have had a clue what was going on. He didn’t understand the whole boys-liking-boys idea until much, much later. As it was, his first kiss was at fifteen and it was definitely with a girl. One of the cast members on Teen High, to be exact. And it didn’t even have tongue.

“All you’ve done with guys is kiss?”

“I told you that already,” Tom replies impatiently. “It’s just been harmless fun when I go out partying. But I have been groped a couple times.”

“Do tell.”

“What’s to tell? Groping’s groping, no matter who does it. Actually, that night in Club Red, the dude in the mirror? Remember?”

Georg nods, remembering quite well.

“I was happy just kissing him until the bastard grabbed my hand, put it on his crotch and told me to suck his dick. I just pushed him away and came back to the bar to watch you and Hannah dancing. That’s just too aggressive for my liking. Why can’t people just kiss? Why does it have to turn into a sex thing, y’know?”

“Don’t ask me,” Georg says making a useless hand gesture. “I’ve never hooked up with strange men in a club.”

“There was one other time I remember, at one of my gigs. Me and the band were playing at a friend’s twenty first birthday party,” Tom elucidates further. “This guy was a lot nicer than the club dude. He kept smiling at me all night. After I finished the gig and had a few drinks, I walked past and gave him a pretty clear signal that I was interested. He followed me around to the back of the stage and I kissed him hiding in the curtains. Bill was there and I didn’t want her to see me doing it. She would have flipped.”

Georg thinks that Billinda would have been justified to flip if she caught Tom making out with someone else. He would have flipped if he’d been her. But he doesn’t say that to Tom who continues with his story.

“The difference with gig guy and club dude is that gig guy wanted to suck ME. He actually said please, can you believe it?”

“What a prince,” Georg mutters, feeling possessive of Tom and not much liking the thought of him tongue-tangoing anonymous guys even though these incidents happened long before Georg met him.

“Yeah. Like a real prince charming, he asked me if he could and I was gonna let him but when he knelt down I changed my mind and ran out of there, ditching the guy with his knees in the dust.” Tom gives Georg a sideways glance and says self-depreciatingly, “I suppose you think I’m a chickenshit because I kept running away.”

“Not at all,” Georg replies understandingly. “Maybe you didn’t like strangers touching you because you didn’t feel you could trust them. Maybe you were just waiting for the right guy before you went any further.”

“And I suppose you mean you?” Tom quips.

“Who else? I’m very trustworthy.” Georg winks at him. “Unfortunately Tom, you’re the first and only boy I’ve ever kissed. Sorry I don’t have any stories for you.”

“You could tell me when you popped your cherry with a girl,” Tom proposes. “How old were you?”

“The mature age of eighteen. You?”

“Fourteen.”

“Ah, thought as much.”

Unsure whether Georg’s calling him a slut or not, Tom looks up sharply and says, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad,” Georg placates. “I just meant, I knew you’d be an early bloomer. I’m a late bloomer. You did everything way before I did. I’m not implying that it’s wrong; I’m just stating that’s how different we are.”

Satisfied with the explanation, Tom puts his claws back in. Inquisitively, he asks, “What was it like, your first time?”

“It was nice,” Georg says, recalling the evening in question with fond memories. “It was with my girlfriend and we’d been going out for six months and finally felt ready to take the next step. We loved each other and it felt right. We did it in her bed, surrounded by candles. It was a significant time for me. How was yours?”

“Crap. It was with this chick called Nadia and lasted all of ten seconds. And instead of candles, I had the light of the TV.” Tom feels envious that Georg’s first time was better than his. Well, that’s what happens when you’re a dumb kid and prone to making rash decisions.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Georg says compassionately.

“Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t expecting fireworks anyway.” Tom shrugs. “I soon figured out that it gets better with practice.”

“That it does. Sometimes it’s even better than your wildest dreams,” Georg agrees, specifically talking about his and Tom’s sexual encounters but not wanting to admit that out loud. Fortunately, Tom doesn’t make the connection and takes the conversation in a whole other direction.

“I don’t really dream,” the teenager reveals. “Or if I do, I‘ve forgotten them by the morning. The only dreams I can remember having are nightmares so I’d prefer not dreaming at all. Nightmares suck.”

Curiosity makes Georg ask, “What are your nightmares about?”

“Usually something chasing me and hunting me down. I can hear it breathing down my neck but I’m too afraid to turn around and look at it. If I stop and turn around, I’m sure it’ll get me,” Tom predicts, grateful he’s in the comfort of Georg’s well-lit trailer and not sprinting down some dark alley like he does in those dreams.

“I think everyone has those nightmares once in a while,” Georg suggests. “Believe it or not, I’ve had a few myself. It usually means there is something about yourself that you’re not willing to confront, maybe a side of yourself that scares you somewhat. The dream just magnifies your fear about it. If you change or accept the things in your life that you’re afraid of, the nightmares should stop.”

Tom muses on this a while. There are definitely parts of himself that he avoids confronting or accepting but he’s slowly trying to deal with his issues, day by day. It’s just tough when there are so many of them. He finally says, “I’d love to have a dream where I’m rich and famous for once but it never happens. I guess I’ll have to achieve my dreams in real life, won’t I?”

“I’m willing to help you with that,” the older man offers. “If there’s anything I can do for you and your band, any promotion or publicity or whatever, just let me know. If you want me to make an appearance in one of your video clips, I’m there. I’ll even do it for nothing. Or if you want me to put in a good word for you regarding a film role you’re after, or if you’d like to meet with a certain director or casting agent, I’ll be more than happy to help in any way I can.”

“Thanks, man,” Tom replies appreciatively. “I’ll totally keep that in mind next time I’m broke and don’t have a job.”

Georg smiles. “No problems. That’s what friends do for each other.”

Friends. Tom never thought he’d end up being friends with a celebrity like Georg Listing and can’t believe how fortunate he is. He knew of the green-eyed guy, having seen a lot of his movies, and was excited to be working alongside the accomplished actor but when they first met Tom honestly didn’t think Georg would want to hang out with him after work, let alone want to have sex. So, the sex part has stopped but Tom is glad they’re still pals. After having this recent break from Georg, Tom has rethought his priorities. Before the break, he was primarily focused on the sexual aspect of their relationship but now something has changed and he’s realised that what he enjoys more than anything is Georg’s company. That’s what he missed when they weren’t speaking to each other.

Admittedly, he liked being Georg’s lover and the explosive passion that came with it but Tom likes being the older man’s friend most of all. He likes the fact that he and Georg connect on some level other than physically. He likes being able to share his innermost thoughts and feelings and past experiences with him. He likes being able to let his guard down and let Georg see him for who he really is. With Georg, he doesn’t have to put on a front. Tom feels like he can relax and just be himself.

Additionally, playing this game of, “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” is very enlightening. Tom’s discovering all kinds of enthralling facets to his brown-haired co-star that he didn’t know before and he wouldn’t have found out if they were both humping each other like walruses. Forget fucking; he wants to know more about Georg’s life.

“Okay, you have to tell me another bad you did, G. And I mean badder than stealing a friggin’ candy bar or cheating on exams. You musta done something else in your twenty-five years of living.”

“Well, there was one thing I did in the past that I’m not proud of. I’ve never told anyone before.” Georg searches his coffee mug like he’s reading tea leaves.

“What? What’s this evil deed you did?”

“You can’t tell a soul about this, Tom,” Georg warns, even though he trusts the boy not to blab. He just doesn’t want the following data getting back to his mother. She’d just about die if she knew.

“As if I’m gonna,” Tom berates him. “Just tell me. C’mon.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Georg licks his lips nervously and says, “I uh...I got a girl pregnant.”

If Tom hadn’t gulped all his coffee down earlier, he would have spluttered on it. His eyes are bugging out and his mouth is slack, his front teeth peeping through the astonished circle that his lips are forming. He closes his trap, blinks and asks, “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Georg swallows. “It was my second girlfriend. One night we were making out and wanted to do it but I didn’t have a condom. She said not to worry about it because she wasn’t in the fertile stage of her cycle. Stupidly, I believed her and we did it but I pulled out just before I came. That wasn’t enough though, because she called me two months later saying she was knocked up. It was my fault; I shouldn’t have done it without any protection. I knew better than that.” Georg sounds displeased with himself. He lets out a weary breath, shoulders slumping.

“So there you go, Tom. Now you know I’m not as squeaky-clean as you thought I was.”

Tom’s rocked by this news bulletin. Getting a girl pregnant is the last thing he’d expect from wholesome, safety-conscious Georg. “What happened then?” he asks. “What did you do?”

Before answering, Georg shifts on the lounge, sets his mug back on the coffee table and scratches his neck. It’s obvious the whole thing still bothers him.

“After the shock wore off I was actually looking forward to being a dad so I asked her to marry me. I told her I loved her and said I’d take care of her and the baby but she turned me down. She didn’t want to get married. She said she wanted to travel and have a career and didn’t want the responsibility of a husband or a child so she dumped me and had a termination.”

Sympathetically, Tom says, “Shit. I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been hard.”

“Well, it was but what could I do?” Georg points out, shrugging. “In the end it was her choice.”

“Guess so,” Tom concedes. He’s glad that’s one thing he has never had to deal with. A couple of times he and Bill thought it might have happened but their fears turned out to be false alarms. He can kind of understand how Georg would have felt. If Bill got pregnant, he’d let her make the choice as to what she wanted to do about it. If she wanted to keep it, Tom would support her even though the idea of him being a father seems daunting and intimidating. He can barely take care of himself, let alone a child. But if she didn’t want to keep it and wanted an abortion or to adopt it out, Tom would support her also. She’d be the one carrying it inside her body for nine months so Tom believes the decision would be hers to make. Thankfully, she’s never had to make that decision. They’re both way too young to become parents anyway.

“Last I heard, my ex was in Europe and engaged to some Spanish stud,” Georg concludes.

“So much for not wanting to get married,” Tom growls under his breath.

“Maybe it was meant to happen like that,” Georg says sagely. “Maybe if it we’d kept the baby and gotten married, I may not have reached this phase in my life, in my career. Things are meant to happen for a reason so maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. Maybe it all worked out this way because I was supposed to make this movie and meet you.”

Seeing Tom’s eyes go large, Georg shakes his head and smiles ruefully. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go all heavy on you. Forget it, I’m just rambling.”

While Tom is thrilled that Georg cares so much for him, it also troubles him because Tom’s not sure he can give Georg the complete loyalty and faithfulness that he plainly wants. Tom can’t give it to him at the moment, that’s a fact. If Tom didn’t have a girlfriend, it would make things so much easier and prevent him from feeling like he’s being pushed and pulled by two opposing forces. If he didn’t have a girlfriend, he could just be with Georg and not have to worry about anything. But he does. The present situation is concerning him a great deal but he doesn’t know what to do about it. All Tom knows for certain is that he needs to be around Georg, even just purely as friends, and that’s what he’s doing here in Georg’s trailer right now.

“It’s okay. You can ramble if you want.” Tom reassuringly tells the older male. “I do plenty of that myself. And you don’t have to worry about what you just told me leaving this room. If you entrust me with such personal information, then the least I can do is keep my damn mouth shut.”

“Thank you,” Georg says quietly. “My mom knows I proposed but she doesn’t know about the baby. She’d be devastated to know that she lost a grandchild and she’d be upset with me for letting it happen. She doesn’t believe in abortion.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Besides, I got skeletons in my closet too. I got so many skeletons, it’s like a fuckin’ graveyard in there,” Tom jokes.

Because Georg told him one of his darkest, most disgraceful confessions, Tom is compelled to do the same. He knows Georg won’t make fun of him or think any worse of him for anything that he dredges out of his murky memory bank. He feels close to Georg tonight, closer than he ever has. That closeness assists what he is about to say pass over his lips with much greater ease. It’s still difficult to say but at least he’s saying it. It’s something he has never been able to utter out loud before and he’s been bottling it up for that many years he knows it will be a gigantic relief just to tell somebody.

“When I was seven,” Tom begins, his diction expressionless and controlled, “I was playing in the park near my house. My mom had been on the phone all day and my dad was away at work so nobody was keeping an eye on me, which is how it was just about all the time. This guy I didn’t know came up to me and asked if I wanted to earn some money. I said sure and he took me into the public toilets and...”

Here Tom falters.

As soon as Georg heard, “earn some money,” the older actor calculated what must have happened and his blood went icy with trepidation. The blond youth has gone silent but Georg does not push him to carry on. He knows Tom has to tell this story in his own way and time.

Gathering his courage, the younger one speaks again, focusing on his own fidgeting hands, loath to meet Georg’s eyes, feeling the tinge of shame heat his face.

“He told me to pull my pants down. I didn’t want to do it but he kept saying, ‘It’s okay, nobody’s here, nobody will see you. I’ll give you lots of money if you do.’ So I did. And then...”

Once more, Tom ceases the narration.

Frozen with nauseating dread, Georg doesn’t want to hear anymore. It can only be wrong, wrong, wrong. He wants to put his hands over his ears to block out Tom’s eerily vacant voice. He doesn’t want to know what appalling thing that stranger did next but he has to sit there and listen to it. Tom has chosen to tell him so Georg has to hear it whether he wants to or not. He has to let his co-star get it out, to purge himself, as if purging poison from his body.

This is not easy for Tom, revisiting a scene from his childhood which still has the power to disturb him in the present day. By mentioning the episode, he feels like he’s transported there again, in the smelly toilet block, seven years old, scared and confused. He also feels dirty, like his flesh is marked with grimy black grease. He feels like submerging himself in a boiling hot bath and scouring his skin with a scrubbing brush until it’s red and stinging and all the grease is gone. Soiled as he feels, he started this terrible tale so he has to finish it. He clears his throat.

“The guy took out his dick and started to jack off in front of me. He made me watch him.” Tom clenches his jaw and Georg can see a muscle hardening under the skin of his cheek. “Then he tried to touch me, to pull me against him. I freaked out and yelled at him to let me go. I fought as hard as I could, hitting and kicking and scratching. Somehow, I got away, falling onto the concrete floor and skinning my knees until they bled. Maybe the guy just let me go because he was afraid someone would hear me yelling. Anyway, I pulled my pants up and ran all the way home, crying.”

Sickly, Georg mutters, “Good God. I feel like throwing up.”

“You aren’t the only one.” Tom’s mouth contorts in a grimace. “When I got back home, my mom looked at me and the blood on the knees of my pants, told me to be quiet and kept talking on the phone. She probably thought I fell off the play equipment or something. I never told her what really happened.”

“Good God,” Georg says again. Now he understands why Tom has been so afraid of other guys and why he won’t let them touch him. Tom may not have been raped but it was still exploitative and traumatic, forced as a kid to pull down his pants and being made to watch something so sexually explicit. Tom still felt immense fear when the guy tried to grab him.

“I’m glad you told me, Tom. I realise how difficult that must have been for you,” Georg says empathetically. “Did you tell anyone else, back when it happened?”

Tom makes a negative shake of his head. “I didn’t want anybody to know about it. I didn’t even realize how fucking lucky I was to escape unharmed until years later. By then I’d tried to forget about it, y’know?”

Without coming across as too preachy, Georg says, “It seems as though the experience is still affecting you in a way. Have ever thought about getting help for what happened?”

Sneering, Tom says, “You mean, have I seen a shrink? No, and I don’t want to. Talking about what I’ve been through with a stranger would just make me feel worse. They’d only be listening because I paid them, not because they actually CARE.”

“What about your parents?”

“My parents – shit, where do I start? I could never tell them anything. My dad was too busy working and was only home long enough to yell at me like one of his Army recruits and my mom flat-out hated my guts.”

“I’m sure she didn’t hate you,” Georg objects but Tom scoffs at that.

“Yeah, she did. She wishes she’d given me up for adoption when I was born. She said that she never should have kept me.”

Gasping in horror, Georg exclaims, “She actually said that to you?”

“More times than I can remember. But that’s not the worst of it. She said I killed my baby brother.”

Georg blinks. “...What?”

“Mom was pregnant with twins. I was one of them,” Tom explains emotionlessly. “When she was giving birth in the hospital, I came out first and got stuck. I had the other baby’s cord wrapped around my neck. His heart rate fell and he was in distress. So was I. They unraveled the cord and yanked me out with forceps but by the time my brother was born, he had no pulse. They couldn’t revive him. My mom’s always blamed me for that.”

Incapable of speech at first, Georg unglues his tongue from where it had affixed to the roof of his mouth and says emphatically, “Tom, you cannot possibly believe her! What happened was tragic but it was NOT your fault. Hell, you could have died too.”

“I know. And that’s not all she said to me. She used to say that I ruined her body and I ruined her life. She’d say that it was my fault that we didn’t have a nicer car or a bigger house. I was just an annoying little burden to her,” Tom vents. “She never came to any of my school plays and she never watched me playing basketball or competing in karate competitions. She ignored me and belittled me, never listening to anything I had to say, as if my opinion didn’t count. She never believed anything I said and I got blamed for shit I didn’t even do. If something got broken - let’s blame Tom for it. If something went missing - Tom must have stolen it. So, she leaves one day without warning, divorces dad and marries some rich old guy. I never even got invited to the wedding. I don’t hear from her anymore. Not even on my birthday.”

Staring down at the floor, Tom is noticeably struggling with his emotions after that rant. He is tense. His mouth is a tight line and his eyes are narrowed, glittering with rage and resentment. His hands are now fists, knuckles white with pressure. It looks as though he is one breath away from either screaming his larynx out or collapsing into uncontrollable, belly-hitching sobs. It hurts Georg to see Tom like this. And it makes him angry. Very, very angry. The older actor is positively seething inside at what Tom’s mother did to little Tom, how a grown woman blamed an innocent child for something that was out of his control, that was nothing more than an accident at birth. That woman has no idea how her cruel accusations have screwed with Tom’s brain. On top of the public toilet episode, what she did and said over the years has directly contributed to the way Tom is today. It’s no wonder the teenager has the erratic behaviour patterns that he does - the mood swings, the violent outbursts, the criminal acts, the insecurity, the need for attention. They are classic abuse symptoms. Christ, Georg should have guessed Tom’s mother was behind most of it. Disregarding his aversion of guns, Georg could calmly shoot her at that moment for what she did.

“Fuck that bitch,” Tom mutters. “I just want to pretend she doesn’t even exist.”

“God, I’m so sorry, Tom,” Georg says sadly, his anger dissolving into grief for everything Tom has had to endure in his short life. Not only did he lose his twin brother at birth, but he was a neglected child. The one person that should have taken care of Tom, his own mother, failed to do so. Instead, she verbally abused him every chance she got and then abandoned him without a second thought. Even Tom’s dad didn’t take care of him properly – he didn’t stop the shit going on under his own roof or keep his spiteful-tongued wife in line. Not one of them noticed that he had nearly been raped and nobody comforted Tom when he needed it the most. Poor kid didn’t have anyone.

But he does now. Georg’s here.

“If you ever want to talk, you can talk to me,” he offers to Tom. “I won’t analyze you or charge you by the hour. And I’m not a stranger; I’m your friend. You can talk to me anytime you want, Tom, about anything.”

Unmoving, except for the rise and fall of his chest, Tom remains silent for an uncounted time. Then, in almost a whisper, he says, “I know.” Turning his head, he gazes at Georg. The older man can see the gratitude and thanks in Tom’s haunted brown eyes.

“I know that, man.”

Georg is here for Tom now but he’s not the only one the boy can turn to. There is another. “Have you talked about it with Billinda at all? About your mom? About your baby brother?”

“Yeah. She knows. Bill’s mom knows all about it too,” Tom says. “Her mother, Simone, is really nice. She hugs me all the time, sends me birthday presents and invites me over for Thanksgiving where she cooks a whole roast dinner. She gives me tons of gifts for Christmas and says I’m like the son she never had. It makes me realise what I missed out on all those years.”

“I’m glad you have Simone,” Georg replies, feeling a bit better knowing that Tom has one generous, loving motherly figure in his life. “And I’m glad you have Bill. But you haven’t told her that you’re attracted to men. Did you at least tell her what happened in the public toilets with that man?”

“No, I don’t want her to know that,” Tom says determinedly. “She’d think that little incident was what made me start to like guys. She might want to try and ‘cure’ me or something.”

“Surely she wouldn’t think that. Why don’t you just try her? Bill might be a lot more understanding than you think about the topic,” Georg suggests.

Being Tom’s steady partner, Billinda deserves to know about her boyfriend’s sexual preferences and his past. She might even be able to help Tom deal with his bisexual side by letting him explore it. There must be lots of wives or girlfriends out there who have a male partner that’s into guys too and their relationships would definitely benefit from them being open about it, not hiding it. Bill needs to know the truth.

“I just can’t tell her, okay?” Tom returns, his tone pleading with Georg not to harass him further about it. Georg doesn’t. He finds it perplexing that Tom can tell this stuff to him, the co-star he’s only known for a few months, but not to the girl he usually lives with and shares his life with. Is Tom afraid that Bill will reject him or does he just not want her to get hurt?

“Thank you for telling me all that,” Georg finally says, honoured that Tom trusts him so much. “I’m here for you whenever you need me, no matter what. Don’t you forget that, all right?”

Nodding, Tom slouches down into the couch, his eyelids drooping. He doesn’t say anything else, just curls up on his side, as if trying to protect himself and keep the world out. Reliving all the trauma from his past seems to have exhausted him and the kid will be snoring soon if Georg doesn’t do something about it.

Shaking Tom gently by the shoulder, he says, “Tom? You still awake?”

“No,” Tom mumbles, not opening his eyes.

“You should really go back to your trailer and get some sleep. We’ve got an early start tomorrow. You wanna get up?”

“No,” Tom mumbles again, making no effort to budge.

“Or you could just stay here on the couch,” Georg relents. The older actor gets up and fetches a blanket and pillow. Unclipping the keychain on Tom’s jeans, Georg puts it and the attached wallet on the coffee table so Tom doesn’t lie on them and end up with a sore leg. He then inserts the pillow under Tom’s heavy head and envelops the young man up to his shoulders with the blanket.

Something catches Georg’s eye as he turns. There’s something sticking out of Tom’s wallet. It looks like the corner of a photo. He sneaks a peek at Tom; the boy seems fast asleep already, despite all the coffee he’s drank. Curiosity getting the better of him, Georg quietly pinches the triangle of printed paper between his fingertips and pulls it free. It’s not a photo of Billinda and Tom as Georg expected but a scaled-down portrait of the entire Trumper family, done quite a few years ago, judging by how fresh-faced and chubby-cheeked the young actor appears in it. Tom’s hair is trimmed and brushed tidily and he’s wearing a green checked shirt with clean jeans. He looks about ten or eleven, well before he got dreadlocks. Tom is sitting in the photographic studio next to his mother, who is blessed with the same kind of beauty with almond-shaped brown eyes and wavy blond hair down to her shoulders. On the right side of her there’s Tom’s father, who is a big, swarthy man with short, army-style black hair, a steely-grey stare and square jaw. Tom’s mom has one arm around her husband and the other around Tom. This was probably the last portrait they got taken where the whole family was present.

If Tom hadn’t told him otherwise, Georg would have believed from staring at this photo that Tom’s mom was a sweet, lovable woman who was devoted to her family. That’s clearly not the truth. She abandoned her husband and only child and took off with another guy, presumably for his money. She doesn’t call, doesn’t write, doesn’t even send a birthday card. Even before she left, she wasn’t in the running to win Mother of the Year. What kind of mom blames her own son for the death of his twin at birth? How could she be so fucking cruel? How could she not see how much damage it did to Tom? An unpleasant thought comes to Georg. Maybe she DID see. Maybe she just didn’t care. Or maybe she just enjoyed hurting him. On closer inspection of the small photo, Georg can perceive a hardness in the woman’s gaze, a kind of flinty iciness behind her smile. And Tom is not smiling at all. He seems ill at ease with her arm around him, as if the physical contact is not something he’s used to. It’s likely she was putting on an image for the camera, making herself appear loving and motherly when it was all a lie. With her abysmal absence of maternal instinct, Georg has to speculate as to why she even got pregnant to begin with. For such a cold-hearted bitch, Tom’s mother is still incredibly pretty. It’s clear she’s the one who gave Tom the majority of his DNA and moulded his features: the heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, straight nose, dark eyes and remarkably lush lips.

No wonder the boy doesn’t like being told he’s beautiful. Every time Tom looks in the mirror, he must see his mom.

Tom acts like he doesn’t give two shits about his parents but keeping a picture of them in his wallet tells a different story. Their rejection of him must be more painful than he’s willing to let on. He probably would have given anything to have grown up in the supportive, nurturing family environment that Georg had. On the whole, Georg’s upbringing was a good one, filled with a bunch of happy memories. Tom deserved to have happy memories too, not the horrid childhood he struggled through. The poor, neglected kid just wanted someone to pay him some attention and nobody did. It’s all so damn sad.

Putting the family portrait back where he found it, Georg turns back to Tom. The blond teen is out like a lightbulb, his breathing deep and regular, his cheek resting on the pillow and lowered lashes casting shadows on his pretty face. Hopefully, he doesn’t have any nightmares tonight but if he does, if Tom cries out in sleep or jerks awake gasping in horror, Georg will be there to comfort him.

Placing a feather-soft kiss upon Tom’s temple, Georg whispers, “Sweet dreams, Tom.”

The older man visits the bathroom and brushes his teeth, stripping down to his boxers and a T-shirt. Switching the lamp off, Georg gets into bed, wishing Tom was sleeping there with him instead of on the couch.
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