Soooooooo, I am at home. Home home, in the sense of being at my rent's house - the reason for my almost total non-presence on the internets. 


My government is currently attending their dance classes (sorry but I still giggle out loud every time I actually imagine my mum dance European Tango, she's just so not the type for it LOL) which leaves me with plenty of time to actually catch up on everything that's been happening around here.

The horrible, oh-so-orgasmic Maledives pictures I saw yesterday already and I cried myself to sleep watching the travel channel XD

In other news: 

#1 I'm busy writing three FFs simultaneously (without spell checker, too - thank you, Windows95!) and my muse is kicking me around :D Not that I complain.
I should probably feel a little guilty for not doing anything uni related at the moment, then again I forgot most of my books and notes at the dorm anyways ;)

#2 I got Gaja's birthday fic finished last night (that was before me crying and the travel channel) - oh, you're gonna love it (or so I hope!)

#3 I've been plundering my old computer - voilá LOADS of fics, ficlets and ficlettis I didn't even remember writing... a particularly sweet one under ze cut :)

#4 AND! (OMFG BIG MASSIVE AND!) mnschoen
______________________________________________

And now for something completely different!
Look at what I found on my computer haha
I finished this way before the twins 18th birthday - happy (rather) belated one, I guess XD

The room seemed to be full of strangers. Tom knew maybe one third of them. Bill had been pretty pissed when, along side to all the people they had invited themselves, more and more strangers started to arrive as well. They all looked suspiciously like music industry guys and even more suspicious was the fact that Dave seemed to be best buddies with all of them. Bill had been in a slightly acidic mood ever since, seeing their manager had used what was supposed to be their private birthday party as an opportunity to suck up to some suits. And now Bill was gone. And what was worse, it was not even an hour before midnight. Sooner or later, people would begin to wonder where he went to and would, invariably, come to ask Tom.

 

Gripping his beer bottle tightly, he started to push his way through the scattered groups of party guests; he checked the balcony. Nothing. The restrooms. Zero. The tequila bar, the shady little corners, the lobby of the hotel. No Bill.

Frustration started to grip Tom right down to his toes and he curled his fingers tighter around the bottle neck, silently cursing David for upsetting Bill and ruining his big party for him. He turned in an aimless circle in the deserted lobby, trying to make up his mind where to look next, when suddenly he heard the soft tinkering of a piano playing, almost drowned out by the thumping beats of the party music.

 

Curiosity getting the better of him, Tom made for a set of closed doors, the label Auditorium sticking to one of the massive swing doors. Hesitantly he grabbed the handle, pushing against the door. It swung open noiselessly and Tom stepped in.

It took his eyes a couple of moments to adjust to the darkness. At the end of the auditorium, on a stage elevated only a meter above the pit, stood a grand concert piano, gleaming in the faint rays of a single spotlight from above.

It squatted on the stage, massive and intimidatingly looking and in front of it, hunched over the keys, looking strangely out of place, sat Bill, softly tinkering away, playing an oddly familiar melody.

 

Tom walked slowly towards the stage, carefully threading his way through aisles of stacked chairs. Bill stopped playing mid-melody and Tom heard his brother mumble something under his breath, before he started over again;

By now Tom was maybe ten metres away from the stage and he could hear Bill sing softly to himself, the words nothing more than an indistinct muttering. It was clear Bill was still completely oblivious to the fact that he had recently gained an audience.

 

“You always said you couldn’t remember how to play the piano?” Bill almost jumped out of the seat; his head whipping around, he looked at Tom, blushing a deep crimson.

His fingers slipped from the keys with a dissonant twittering sound. The room was so silent all of a sudden, Tom could hear Bill’s rapid breathing and the squeaking of his own shoes as he sat down on the piano stool next to him.

 

“I...uh...” Bill’s hands were knotting up in his lap before they shot foward, slamming the lid back on the keys so unexpectedly Tom just about had time to pull his hand away from the paino before the wooden lid clattered down.

 

“It was nothing. I was just messing around...I uh, just needed to get away for a bit,” Bill mumbled hectically, brushing some strands of hair out of his face.

“It was a nice tune, you were not just messing around,” Tom swayed gently against his brother, nudging Bill’s shoulder with his.

 

“What did you really play?” He asked quietly, letting his finger run along the smooth polished wood. Tom knew better then to look at Bill right now; Bill had been caught, or at least it felt to him like he had, so he would only get defensive and completely shut down; he had to be gently coaxed.

 

“Some old song mum used to listen to all the time when we were little...” Bill’s perfectly manicured fingertip entered Tom’s field of vision, vaguely following the path of his own across the smooth lid.

“What old song?” He asked, describing a curve with his fingertip and trying to take Bill’s hand in his; Bill pulled away before he had the chance, knotting his fingers into each other in his lap again.

 

“Hallelujah. Remember that one? Mum always used to listen to that whiney Leonard Cohen version of it,” Bill chuckled lightly. It didn’t sound happy at all.

“I like the Rufus Wainwright version better,” he added after a moment.

“And you can play that?” Tom asked, trying to mask the disbelief in his voice; Bill had tried to learn the piano, had actually gotten quite good at it but had given it up again after two years. Tom could still remember the temper tantrums, the arguing and the crying in the beginning when their mum insisted he go to music school and Bill would flat out refuse to ever go back there again.

 

“That’s about the only song I can play,” Bill laughed, a little louder this time and Tom felt relief flood over him, hearing the vague high pitched giggle echo after it.

 

“Play it for me then,” he demanded firmly, opening the lid again and gesturing at the shiny keys.

“No, Tom...” Bill leaned heavily against him, hiding his face away in the billows of Tom’s massive sweater.

“That’s embarrassing, don’t make me do that.” The words were mumbled into the soft cotton and Tom could feel the hotness and moisture grazing his skin underneath.

 

“Come on, you played just fine before!” Tom let his hand slide up his twin’s back, wrapping around the base of his neck and gently forcing Bill out of his hiding spot.

 

“Okay, okay...” Bill positioned his fingers on the key and made a move to hit the first note when he suddenly stilled again.

“If you laugh at me I’m going to kill you, understood?” He said seriously.

“Have I ever laughed at you?”

“Yes, you have!” Bill’s elbow connected lightly with his side and chuckled in mock outrage; the sound faded into the awful stillness of the auditorium around them all too soon and Tom found himself staring at his shoes.

 

“For my birthday, okay?” He said after a moment’s thought, nudging his little brother encouragingly. Bill looked at him doubftul for a short moment, then the hint of a smile flickered over his face.

“Okay, here goes nothing,” Bill mumbled before taking a deep breath and laying his fingers on the keys again.

 

After the first few bars of the song, it all flooded back to Tom so suddenly he felt almost dizzy. The song and how their mum would put on the vinyl, turn the volume up all the way and sing along with Leonard Cohen’s endless whining while she worked in the kitchen or in her studio. They maybe had been six or seven years old. Tom remembered once waking up to the song playing softly downstairs in the living room and finding his mum crying at the kitchen table. A few weeks later their parents had divorced. He had never told Bill about that night, he just couldn’t.

 

The bridge followed the intro and Tom was expectantly looking at Bill, waiting for him to start singing; nothing happened.

“Come on, sing,” he urged quietly. Bill blushed again, pointedly staring at the keys and his fingers flitting over them; the intro repeated itself and he could hear Bill clear his throat, before he started with the first verse, his voice lightly hoarse and awfully quiet. 

 

Tom watched the slim fingers skim over the keys at an unhastened pace, his gaze wandering upwards, following the long limbs of his brother’s arm, over his shoulder up to his face. Bill was staring intently at his hands, his face burning up, ridiculously long lashes fanned out against his cheeks.

 

The chorus slipped by quietly; Bill’s head was bowed down, almost demurely, as he mumbled out the words. Tom thought it comical beyond description that his exhibitionist baby brother, who usually had to be dragged off stage forcefully, could be so shy and bashful all of a sudden.

 

He leaned in, lightly propping his chin on Bill’s shoulder, feeling the arm moving under him.

“This is my birthday present, Bill and not a funeral song,”  Tom whispered, noticing the light shiver running through his twin as his warm breath breezed past his cheek, “I know you can do better that.”

 

The pace of the song slackened for a moment, Bill’s fingertip hovering closely over a polished black key.

“Okay...” The words was only the shadow of a sound, it was so quiet. Tom felt Bill’s thigh moving against his, the pad of his foot poised over the damper pedal before he pressed it down.

The sounds exploded through the stillness around them, reverberating through the empty auditorium; smooth, pearly notes cascaded down on them and Tom thought he could almost feel the floorboards swing ever so lightly in time with the deep notes as Bill’s playing got more energetic.

 

His brother’s voice rose over the piano, ringing out loud and clear over the piano music. Tom had forgotten how powerful Bill’s voice actually was. Only ever hearing his twin’s voice through microphones and speakers, it had somehow taken away the immediacy in his little brother’s voice over time. He stole a furtive glance at Bill, watching his stomach push out as he breathed in fast and deep, before he launched into the second part of the verse, picking up in pace and volume. Bill was still a mere stick figure and Tom found himself wondering yet once again where that big voice came from.

 

Tom sat quietly next to his brother, ignoring the tiniest slip up in the outro, as Bill’s pinkie slid off a black key, squeezing a rather undignified twittering sound into the smooth flow of the melody.

The last notes hung around them, still ringing in Tom’s ears, before Bill’s foot abruptly slid off the damper, muting the afterglow of the notes to a mere  indistinct humming deep within the bowels of the piano.

 

“Sorry, lame birthday present but you have to cut me some slack, seeing as you walked in on me here and I had no time to prepare.” Bill leaned heavily against him, staring at the piano in front of them.

“It was really good,” Tom looped his arm around his brother’s shoulders, squeezing his shoulder affectionately before adding, “besides, mum already gave me the best birthday present ever.”

 

“Really? What did she give you?” Bill’s voice was ripe with incredulity and just the slightest hint of jealousy.

“She gave me you.” Tom grabbed the back of his brother’s head, pushing Bill’s head against his lips to plant a quick kiss on his twin’s forehead. When he let go, Bill didn’t move.

“You’re going to turn me into mush one of these days with one of these rare emotional outbreaks of yours, you know.” Bill mumbled against his neck and Tom thought he could hear his brother sniffle a little. He smoothed a hand down Bill’s long hair, patting his back gently.

“That’s okay. I’m your big brother, I’m allowed to do that...” He replied evenly, knowing full well what kind of reaction this would earn him. Sure enough, Bill’s elbow connected roughly with his side.

“You’re only ten minutes older, jerk!” Bill cried out, pulling back and rolling his eyes at Tom.

“Like I said, big brother,” Tom teased, letting a smug grin spread on his face, securing himself yet another aimless shove from his twin. Bill’s expression got serious all of a sudden again and he leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. Tom let his eyes slip close and breathed in deeply.

“Best brother anyone could wish for,” Bill whispered and then pressed his lips against Tom in a chaste kiss. They stayed like that for long moments, until Tom pulled away, marveling at the tingly excitement creeping up his spine in response to the simple kiss.

“It’s not like you had much choice to begin with,” He joked, trying to cover up his slight discomfort.

“Come on, birthday boy, Dave will go mental if we’re not back at midnight.” Tom heaved himself out of the piano stool, tugging Bill up with him. Silently they trudged towards the lobby again.

“Tomi?”

“Mhmm?”

“I meant what I said...”

“Yeah, me too...”