Bill Kaulitz

Our friendship often looked anything but friendship to outsiders. Many were convinced we'd been in a relationship for a long time, since we spent so much time together, hugged, laughed at inside jokes, and cared for each other as if we were a real couple. But in reality, we were just friends. For about four years now. During that time, Bill became one of the closest people in my life, and I became one of his.

Today I stayed overnight at his place again. The whole day was fun: we ordered food, laughed loudly, argued over trivial things, and played video games for hours straight. Sometimes one of us would deliberately give in to the other's anger, and then we'd both laugh so loudly that the neighbors probably heard us.

When it became completely dark outside, we decided to go to bed. Bill, with practiced movements, washed off his makeup, pulled his hair back, and turned off the bright lights, leaving only a small lamp by the bed. The room immediately became quiet and cozy.

I settled down next to him, covering myself with a blanket, and Bill turned his back to me, getting comfortable.

I didn't feel like sleeping at all. On the contrary, I wanted to talk some more or think of something funny. For a few minutes, I just stared at the ceiling until the silence became too boring.

"Bill, " I called quietly.

"What? " he muttered sleepily.

• Are you sleeping?

He chuckled quietly, without even turning around.

— I'm sleeping, but some kitten is bothering me.