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Captivation	By : Rina76 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 6307 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Bill or Tom Kaulitz or any members of Tokio Hotel and this story is a complete work of fiction; it is all made up and not true. I am not making any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 38
- 39
- 40
Chapter 39. 12 Months Later

Well, I didn’t die. I just lost consciousness for a few moments. In other words, I fainted. Real fuckin’ tough, huh? Being a professional Bounty Hunter who often has people shooting at me in order to avoid arrest, you would think I’d know what to expect by now. In my defence, I always wear a bullet-proof vest when I’m working and I’ve never actually been shot for real before, so taking one straight in the chest was a huge shock to me, particularly as it happened without warning. Fortunately, the slug hit above my heart and avoided my lung and any major arteries so that’s how I’m still breathing.
Anyway, I’m alive and so are Bill and Tom. After their release, they don’t commit suicide or die of drug overdoses; they just go back to their lives and pick up where they left off, like true survivors.
They change, though. A lot. Over the course of a year the boys completely reinvent themselves. Their whole image changes, right down to their hair – Tom switching to dark cornrow braids instead of blond dreadlocks, and Bill first trying out dreads of his own before clipping the sides to form a bold black punk Mohawk, the trademark lion’s mane gone forever. He experiments with a couple of new eye-makeup techniques, fashions and dress styles, usually consisting of fitted vests or tailored evening jackets over slim-fit pants, his footwear changing from sneakers to platform and high heeled boots which make him appear impossibly tall and elegant. He’s definitely not a ‘jeans and T-shirt’ kid anymore. He also gets a stunning new tattoo – a big elaborate one with entwined words swirling up the left side of his torso. It’s beautiful, just like he is and it must be very meaningful for him to endure such a long time in pain under the tattooist’s needle. He even gets a nipple piercing, though he never publicly reveals it, and probably won’t until he’s older and more confident with showing off his body. He used to flash his inked belly at the crowd during concerts but he doesn’t do that anymore, possibly feeling as though it’s too immature now.
Their faces change too, losing that childish softness and becoming more angular, more adult. Losing a substantial amount of weight, Bill becomes even slimmer than he was before while Tom’s frame remains muscular and manly. The older twin still dresses in oversized clothing but some of his brother’s stylish influence can be seen in Tom’s choice of more luxurious and better quality denims, shirts, hoodies and coats. The bright Skittles hues he used to don – such as fire engine red, sunburst yellow and lime green – have vanished, replaced by muted shades of black and grey. Sometimes he even wears knitted sweaters or drapes scarves around his neck, giving him the appearance of a thoughtful, intelligent individual instead of a careless adolescent. He doesn’t wear baseball caps as much anymore, preferring to wrap a simple folded bandanna around his brow and let his impeccably braided cornrows show. He even pierces his ears, gauging them with those tunnel stretching devices, creating holes large enough to fit a man’s pinkie finger clear through.
By completely changing their styles, I believe Tom and Bill are trying to project more maturity, to look more grown-up and therefore have the world take them more seriously, not just as a couple of kids in a teen band. I’m sure over the next few years the two brown-eyed musicians will continue evolving and add more tattoos and piercings to their bodies and faces. Maybe they’ll cut their hair short or dye it strange colours. Maybe they’ll even grow goatees or beards. Not all of their fans will be pleased with these changes but I find them fascinating. It’s like they’ve grown up overnight. When I had them imprisoned, they were uncertain boys. Now they’re mature men, both of them possessing a new sensuality that they only hinted at before.
To most of the public eye, they’re still just twins, just brothers. But when I look at them, I see a couple concealing a passionate affair. I see two lovers concealing a secret. I see it in the way they act around other people, how they avoid touching even more diligently than they used to, in case somebody guesses. I see it in Bill’s eyes, how they smoulder darkly as he looks at Tom in photo shoots, when the striking siblings are forced to focus on each other. I never see Bill look at anybody else that way, with that raw intensity. I also see it in Tom’s face, in the rush of anger that tightens his jaw if an interviewer asks Bill inappropriate questions, the expression of fierce protectiveness going above and beyond an elder brother’s duty. I see it in the loving pride that fills Tom’s gaze as he watches Bill doing the things he enjoys most, how Tom smiles proudly and warmly to himself as he witnesses his little brother living out his dreams and fulfilling long-held creative ambitions. I recognise those emotions because I once saw them in my own brother’s eyes.
Even though I firmly believe that Tom and Bill are together as romantic partners, they still apparently date other people, according to celebrity writers in some newspapers and websites. If that’s true, it would only be for appearances’ sake, so the incest rumours are kept at bay. If they are dating other people, it would not be serious in any way but just a decoy tactic, so nobody finds out about the secretive brotherly bonding they engage in at home behind locked doors. I don’t have to see them doing it to know that they are. I just know it in my gut; it’s something I call ‘twintuition’. I suspect that with their tiring, busy work schedules the young musicians might not sleep together every night, or even every week – only when they need to. Only when they start to drift apart and need to feel whole again. The fact that it doesn’t happen all the time would ensure that their lovemaking remains special and sacred and much more meaningful than simple sex. I’m overjoyed to realise that they are continuing their physical and emotional enlightenment on the outside, and that it wasn’t just something that happened in my basement.
The first time that the boys were interviewed after their release, their chosen reporter (an attractive brunette woman that Tom could flirt with) wanted to know where they had been for a month, asking if they’d indeed been kidnapped as a few tabloids had circulated. Dispelling the wild speculation once and for all, Bill and Tom looked at each other, laughed and said that was a ludicrous notion. Taking turns to speak, the twins explained how they were being harassed by groups of photographers on what was supposed to be a peaceful vacation and how they needed to get away from it all. They explained how they just wanted to be left alone for a while so they changed hotels, went somewhere secluded and turned their phones off so nobody could contact them. I assume this is what they told their family and friends as well. Bill said they simply needed space and privacy and apologised for making their fans and everybody else worry. He and Tom went on to say that they’d had a wonderfully relaxing time on their extended break, watching movies and playing games in their new hotel, sleeping as long as they liked and eating lots of delicious food.
Poking his still-slim sibling in the ribs, Tom joked about how fat Bill had gotten and Bill smiled tolerantly and recounted Tom’s embarrassing tripping incident, describing how the other teen had almost knocked himself out by falling flat on his face after only one drink from the minibar. Taking offence, Tom objected that it wasn’t because he was drunk but that he tripped on a pair of shoes lying on the floor, one of Bill’s vast collection of footwear. Then they had a lively debate about how much clothing Bill took on the vacation and how much of it he actually wore. The two of them are exceptionally good at handling interviews and deflecting inflammable questions, mixing the truth with lies and jokes to make their answers believable and entertaining. They certainly would never tell how it was a plastic ball from a childrens’ ball-pit Tom had slipped on, not shoes, and that he had most definitely been drunk – enough to have tongue-kissed Bill and licked his little brother’s nipple beforehand.
Oblivious to all the juicy details not being told, the female reporter asked the German teenagers about a mysterious Asian man who had been spotted at their previous hotel (and captured on the security camera), the one who took Tom’s car and their baggage. Since the boys reappeared back in the world looking hotter than ever, some trashy gossip magazines had discarded the kidnapping theory and were now speculating about me being Bill’s secret older male lover. When shown my blurry picture by the interviewer, Bill kept a straight face and said it was a bodyguard they had hired to perform the task of collecting their belongings, someone new that none of the fans or paparazzi would recognise. Tom backed him up, saying that the same man also prevented them from being found the entire time they were gone and this half-true explanation was accepted. They did not say my name or anything else about me, just that I was there. It was better that they acknowledged my existence rather than pretend they didn’t know me at all, which would have only made the rumours worse. Apart from that brief mention, my role in their disappearance was not brought up again by the twins. As far as I am aware, they did not go to the police or report me for what I had done to them.
Perhaps they were protecting me or maybe they just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened.
I, however, can’t forget. I can’t forget them, not for one minute. I go to some of their concerts and public appearances. To be honest, I go to most of them, following the brothers around the globe like an obsessed fanboy. I know Tom warned me to stay away from the two of them but I never promised I would. What I did promise was that they wouldn’t SEE me again, and they don’t, not with me hiding amongst the crowd and donning various disguises to blend in. I was right there in the midst of an Italian press conference with a short spiky blond wig on, wearing brown contact lenses and thick black glasses. I got into the event with a stolen press pass and was sitting only metres away and they didn’t even recognise me, even though Bill looked over my way once or twice.
I even showed up at a Halloween party that they attended in Los Angeles, dressed in a Samurai costume with a full helmet mask so they couldn’t see any part of my face. Walking past with a drink in his hand, Tom actually noticed and commented on my outfit, telling me in his distinctive German accent that it was, “very cool.” I nodded my thanks but I did not attempt to speak to him or Bill or make them aware of my presence; I didn’t want them to feel stalked or scared. I had no intentions of cornering the twins or stealing either of them away again. I just wanted to look at them and hear their voices, in person.
When they speak now, their words and phrases have matured and their English has improved dramatically. They talk like adults, not pubescent boys. Tom may still act boastful or crack the odd sexually-suggestive pun now and then, but it’s probably because that’s what’s expected of him, although the smirking teenager with the smutty jokes has left the building for good. Bill’s giggly hyperactivity has also diminished, in favour of poised, well thought-out and articulate answers.
Even if they look and act differently than they used to, I’ve still missed them so much.
It’s not just the boys that have changed, either. I have too. They’ve inspired me to change my appearance from the same long-haired one I’ve had since Keiichi died. I think that I kept myself looking like him as a means to stay identified as his twin, whether he was there in my head or not. Now, I have evolved into my own identity. I’ve cut my hair shorter in one of those J-Rock kind of styles: razored and layered all over with choppy bangs sweeping across my brow. I put my earring back in and I also have a new tattoo, a large one with a trio of Japanese dragons curling around each other and snaking up my entire left arm and shoulder. The three dragons, coloured in gold, black and bronze, represent Tom, Bill and myself and symbolize the close connection we once had together. If you look carefully enough, you can even spot the tiny rings through two of the creatures’ eyebrow and lip.
I’m not the same man that they left behind bleeding on the sidewalk. They have no idea how much they’ve impacted my life and I want to tell them. I want to tell them how I’ve finally dealt with my brother’s passing and how I’m not angry or unbalanced anymore. I may always have a scar across my soul but I’m not completely broken in half as I used to be. I know that Keiichi – the REAL Keiichi - would want me to move on and find happiness and that’s what I’m trying to do. I don’t wish to be alone any longer and I want the boys to know that. I want to tell Tom and Bill that I’m ready to have a relationship again and how I’d like it to be with one, or both, of them. If they’ll have me, that is. I am prepared for rejection and even expect it after everything I did to them when I was sick. But I’m as healthy as I can be now and I want to tell the twins that it’s because of them, that they helped heal me. Most of all, even if they don’t feel the same way I do, even if they don’t want to see me anymore – I just need these extraordinary young men to know how much I treasure the memories they gave me during our brief but life-changing time together.
Back then when I was letting them go, I told Bill where I could be found if they wished to speak to me again, and twelve months later here I am, sitting at a small round table in Germany with a frothy cappuccino in front of me, remembering, reminiscing. Hoping they will show up. I know they’ve been in LA recently, working on their new album, but I hope they can spare some time to fly back over and meet me. I never extended the same invitation to any of my other twins when I released them. I knew that none of them would return, too afraid of me to ever want to look at my face again. I believe that maybe the Kaulitz brothers might be different.
Or at least Bill. After all, I’m confident that he developed Stockholm Syndrome while I had him, the dark-haired vocalist growing to like me and identify with me, even though I kidnapped him. That happened with a couple of my other twins too but I never had sex with any of them. Only Tom. And Bill…kind of. I’m not including the oral sex he gave me at the beginning of his captivity because that was forced and shouldn’t count. But not when he was with me shortly before his release, in my bedroom while we were alone. The day he asked me to give him a good memory. What we did together in that chair – how he sat in my lap, rocked into my hand fully-clothed and panted hotly against my neck while he came… I suppose that could be called sexual contact, even though I never touched his naked flesh or made love to him properly.
I would have, though.
Dear God. The things I would have done to that boy, if circumstances had been different. If I’d been ready to let him get that close. I wanted him so much and yet I kept denying myself, and him, the opportunity of ever having a mutually satisfying experience. He offered himself to me, more than once, and I turned him down. He practically begged for just a kiss and I wouldn’t even give him that. Turned out, he kissed me first. The farewell peck he gave me on our last day was full of passionate hunger but far too short, cut off by the cold metal of Tom’s gun pressed into my ribs. I wasn’t even able to kiss Bill back. Not that I should be regretful about any of it. As I told the boys from the very beginning, I didn’t abduct them for my own selfish desires. I took them for a higher purpose, to help them become closer and not just love each other but BE in love as well. The fact that we were all attracted to each other and that they had intimately physical encounters with me was simply incidental. It happened and I didn’t plan it to. Nevertheless, I’m glad it did. I helped Bill and Tom deepen their bond and watched them falling in love but somewhere along the way, I fell in love too. With both of them.
Their room hasn’t been touched since they’ve been gone. I threw out all the food before it went rancid and attracted vermin but everything else is still in the exact same condition; I can’t bring myself to clean up or remove the small traces of themselves the twins left behind. The butts of their cigarettes are sitting in the ashtray, coffee-stained cups in the sink, used towels hanging in the bathroom. The perfume of Bill’s hair lingers on his pillow, along with a few dark strands of his mane. I found one of Tom’s worn shirts under the bed and it still smells like him. When I’m missing them particularly badly, I go into the vacant room with that shirt and that pillow and breathe in both of their scents, wishing the boys were still there. It’s so quiet and lonely in my lair without them around.
If there is an opposite to Stockholm Syndrome…like Kidnapper’s Condition or whatever…well, I’ve got that. Oh, I’ve got it good.
That’s why I’m here at this café, dressed in grey pants, a metallic silver shirt and long charcoal-coloured coat, waiting for my former captives in much the same way as a young lady waits for her prom date to arrive – with a sense of anxiety and nerve-jangling anticipation. My black-booted feet keep jiggling restlessly under the table. I arrived early, just in case but the minutes have been ticking by. I told Bill I’d be in a particular establishment. I’m not in that one. I’m actually in a coffee house across the road from it, so I can keep an eye out for him whilst remaining hidden behind the lattice screen I’m peering through. From here, I can see the whole street and who’s coming and going along it. Staying out of sight is important. If the cops have been called, I want to be aware of it before I go over and speak to Bill and get myself arrested. I know what types of vehicles the police use for staking someone out and I’d be able to spot them from my secret location, quickly leaving via the back exit before anything happens. Nobody would even realise that I was here. Not even Bill. I don’t think he’d deliberately show up with the police but I should still be careful. I value my freedom too much to be thrown in a jail cell.
Some people might argue that it’s no different than what I did to Bill and Tom but I let them both go after only a few weeks. If I was caught, I’d end up being locked away for years. And I wouldn’t have a friendly warden giving me candy and a room full of beer and video games. I’d spend all my prison time in bloody, brutal fights, trying not to get gang-raped or stabbed.

But you know what? If I could walk up to Bill and look into his spellbinding chocolate eyes again, if I could touch his face and stroke his smooth ivory skin again, if I could cover his soft pink lips with my own and tenderly kiss him for a few wonderful stolen seconds before the cops swooped in with their guns and handcuffed me, it’d almost be worth it.
Checking my watch, I realise that I’m wasting my time sitting here. The hour has come and gone and Bill’s not gonna show. He doesn’t care about me and he doesn’t want to see me ever again. Neither of them do. Fuck this waiting around like some lovesick loser; I should just go, find another pair of twins to play with and try to take my mind off them. There’s always Jedward or those jovial British actors who played the red-haired Weasley brothers in the Harry Potter films.
Although, to be perfectly honest, the idea of kidnapping other identical siblings doesn’t interest me now, not like it used to. For starters, kidnapping people is wrong and secondly, if I take anyone else down to my dungeon it just won’t be the same. I’ll always be comparing them to the Kaulitz kids and nobody could ever come close to the way they made me feel or fill the special spot they’ve taken up in my heart. Nobody could ever replace those two. Especially not Bill. I was so desperate to see him once that I went to the wax museum in Berlin and found the life-size replica of him on display. I studied it. Touched it. It’s a perfect reproduction of the young German singer, down to the brown beauty spot on his chin, the black spikes of his hair and the white tips of his nails. As lifelike as it looks, it’s not the real thing. It’s cold. Empty. Stiff. I had the real thing, once. Warm. Alive. Smiling. Laughing. I had all that sweet, energetic effervescence around me, breathed it in, even held in my arms. But I don’t have that any longer. Bill does not belong to me. He’s not mine and he never was.
Never will be.
Just as I dejectedly push my chair back in order to leave the coffee house, a svelte figure comes around the corner over the road and appears in my peripheral vision, the sight bringing my breathing to a halt and making me stare across the street with disbelieving eyes.
Is it…is it really him?
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Captivation