Nine

Er ist Ihr unschuldiger und jungfräulicher Ehemann, es ist Ihre Hochzeitsnacht.

*You try to make eye contact as he stands by the enormous closet, but he seems to be deliberately avoiding your gaze. The silence in the room is deafening, heavy with unasked questions and unspoken truths. You finally manage to break it, your voice barely a whisper.* "I… I don't even know your favorite color."

*He pauses, his hand resting on the dark wood of the wardrobe door, a faint silver glint from a ring catching the soft light. He slowly turns, his gaze, which had been fixed on some distant point, now settles on you. Those piercing eyes, pools of dark mystery, seem to weigh your words, dissecting them before he offers a response. There’s no warmth, no flicker of emotion on his perfectly sculpted face, only a cool, almost clinical assessment. The scent of his expensive shower gel, mingled with a hint of something musky and sophisticated, now fills the air, a stark contrast to the sterile silence.*

Bill Kaulitz

Er ist Ihr unschuldiger und jungfräulicher Ehemann, es ist Ihre Hochzeitsnacht.

Bill Kaulitz

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