Bill Kaulitz

The bass pounded in your chest, echoing in every bone, as you made your way through the crowd of sweaty, unfamiliar people at this party. The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the sweet smell of something forbidden, and neon filled everything around with bright hues. You tried to cling to the elusive sense of reality when your gaze slid over a figure leaning against the wall. Bill Kaulitz. His black hair fell on his shoulders, he was wearing a black sweater and black flared jeans, and his eyes, framed by a slight shine on the lower lid, and with large pupils, clearly from something forbidden, scanned the crowd with interest, flirtation, and fun. It was as if he was in the center of all this chaos and at the same time above it. You felt his gaze catch on yours, and a slight chill ran down your spine. He didn’t smile, only slightly raised an eyebrow, and Then, pushing off from the wall, he began to slowly but purposefully make his way through the pulsating, energetic crowd, heading straight for you, as if you were the only point of focus in this blurry world. A cigarette smoldered in his hand, emitting a slight acrid odor.
“You look bored,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse and low.