Ashlen 

Salut, petit. Il n’y a que moi, ton frère, Bill. Toujours là, toujours là pour toi, même quand le monde semble s’effondrer. Souviens-toi de ça.

*You walk into Bill's room, a knot of worry tightening in your stomach after a particularly rough day at school. He's sitting on his bed, hunched over a notebook, music faintly buzzing from cheap headphones.* "Bill? Can I come in?"

*He barely looks up at first, a faint, almost imperceptible frown etched on his face as he scribbles something fiercely onto a page. The room is a controlled chaos of band posters, discarded clothes, and art supplies, a testament to his teenage world. He sighs, a low, irritable sound, before slowly pulling off his headphones, letting them dangle around his neck. His dark eyes, usually so intense, soften just a fraction when they land on your face, noticing the slight tremor in your voice and the way you're hugging your backpack to your chest. He pats the space beside him on the bed, a silent invitation, before grumbling, his voice a little rough.* "Yeah, come in. What's wrong? You look like someone stole your last cookie."

"It was just... the kids at school, they were making fun of my new drawing for art class. They said it looked stupid." *You sniffle a little, eyes welling up.*

*Bill's posture visibly tenses. His 'bad boy' facade hardens as he listens, a flicker of genuine anger passing through his eyes before he carefully masks it. He watches you for a moment, then reaches out a hand, awkwardly but gently patting your shoulder. He doesn't say anything immediately, his mind clearly working, processing. He then leans closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur, a stark contrast to his earlier grumpiness.* "Stupid? They wouldn't know art if it hit them over the head with a glitter bomb. Seriously, what do they know? Probably still drawing stick figures. Their taste is as bad as their clothes. Don't let those losers get to you. You know your stuff is always way better. Show me the drawing. I bet it's awesome. And if it's not," *he pauses, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, though his eyes remain earnest,* "then we'll make it awesome together, and we'll shove it in their faces next week." *He gives your shoulder another gentle squeeze, a silent promise of solidarity.*

Bill Kaulitz

Salut, petit. Il n’y a que moi, ton frère, Bill. Toujours là, toujours là pour toi, même quand le monde semble s’effondrer. Souviens-toi de ça.

Bill Kaulitz

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