Chapter Text
“Dude, you seriously need to calm down,” Gustav said, following it up with a chuckle. Bill has always gotten worked up before their shows, it was just in his nature. These past few weeks, though, his worrying seems to have gotten worse. Shrugging off this detail, Gustav continued, “No one will even notice if you mess up anyways, because they’re fucking French!”
Bill let out a small laugh but didn’t let up with his pacing. “I guess you’re right. I just want this to be a good performance for everyone.”
Jesus, where’s Tom when you need him? Gustav griped to himself. Tom and Georg had gone to one of the vending machines in the hallway to get them all Colas, but they sure were taking their time. Gustav had always considered himself good at comforting people, but for some reason the only person who could really get through to Bill was Tom. It was annoying, but endearing.
“That vending machine is fucking shit,” Tom exclaimed as Georg and him burst through the door, arms full of Sprite. Well, Tom burst through the door and Georg just followed him with an exaggerated frown on his face. “No Cola, and the only actual soda they had was Sprite!”
Bill stopped to look at them. Normally, he would’ve laughed at the misfortune and would’ve gone along with the amplified reactions. For some reason, it bothered him further.
“What if it’s a sign that the performance isn’t going to go well? I mean maybe the venue isn’t the best, considering they don’t even have Cola…” He trailed off as he started pacing again.
Tom raised a brow as he plopped down on the couch next to Gustav, handing him a drink. “What’s up with you? Seriously, sit down and have a drink.” As Bill complied, a smile spread across Tom’s face, “I mean, I would’ve thought that Mom found our playboy stash or something with the way you’re acting.”
Bill scoffed as he sat on a chair next to the three boys, offended. “It wasn’t MY collection, it was yours and you always liked to say it was mine as well!”
As Tom and Bill got into a heated debate about whether or not it was their collection or just Tom’s, Gustav realized that this was Tom’s plan all along: to get Bill’s mind off of the performance.
Gustav drifted off a little bit as the boys started to make fun of Georg. He preferred to keep his thoughts and mind at least a little organized before he went on stage.
He assumes he must’ve slept for longer than a few minutes, because soon enough David was waking him up.
“Boys, you have three minutes before you need to start making your way to the stage. Everything’s looking good.” Gustav rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as David went to grab some papers— probably for some grown-up business shit none of the boys cared enough to think about.
The room’s air immediately changed. Bill frowned slightly and bit his lip as he asked, “Already? Holy crap, I’m so nervous!” He tried to play it off by chuckling while he stood, “I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest.”
Tom rolled his eyes as he copied Bill and stood up as well. “You need to stop being so dramatic, you sing fine every time.”
Bill gave him a slight smile, finally accepting some praise. “I guess you’re right. I am the best, after all.”
Tom’s prediction was correct— as it always is— because the concert went off without a hitch. It was probably one of their best performances to date, if he was being honest with himself.
As they all entered the longue, Bill collapsed dramatically onto the couch, swinging an arm over his eyes. Tom laughed at the sight before going to mess around on his phone, leaning against one of the vanities.
Georg and Gustav were already starting to get their things together, ready to go to whatever afterparty was planned.
“Hurry up, I wanna get to the party before all the ladies leave,” Georg rushed them, swatting the back of their heads as he went to hurry to put something else in his bag.
“Why, are you looking for girlfriend number two?” Tom got up anyway, because truthfully he too was impatient to get to the party.
“Nothing wrong with just looking and drinking,” Georg shrugged, “Besides, Gustav needs to have a little fun too every once in a while.”
Tom laughed as he glanced up from his screen. He was already done packing everything he brought to the stadium because he normally packed light.
He noticed that Bill still hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch, and he practically skipped over to bother his twin. “Billlll, it’s time to go. I’m not getting your stuff for you!”
Bill basically ignored him, just slumping further away from him and mumbling something that almost sounded like, “Go away.”
Tom kept pestering him, though. “Come on, by the time you’re done everyone will already be in bed!”
After he said this, he took notice at how pale Bill looked. Sure, they were twins, but the difference in hair color made them look a little different. This, though, made him look sick. Tom frowned and put a hand out to feel his forehead, moving Bill’s arm away from his eyes in the process.
“You’re not hot, are you feeling good?” Tom was starting to worry. The performance was great and there was nothing else that could have bothered Bill, so it made him wonder why he was acting like that.
Bill finally spoke up, “I’m fine, I just started to feel weird on stage.” He started to push himself off the couch, but his arms were shaking badly.
Georg glanced over at them and raised a brow, asking, “What does ‘weird’ mean? You’re already a fag, so I think that makes you pretty weird…”
Apparently Gustav liked that one, because he high-fived George. What a bunch of jerks. Tom did have to admit it was a good one, despite his desire to defend his little brother.
Bill huffed as he leaned back into the couch, giving up on his mission to stand up. His voice had a whining tilt to it, “I need a couple of minutes. The whole room is spinning and I feel like shit.”
His lack of rising to the bait worried Tom further. Normally, Bill would retort with a clever insult back or would defend himself. Now, he just accepted the joke and curled into himself. As Tom sat beside Bill, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him, to show Bill that he was there for him, he noticed that Georg and Gustav had also noticed something was up.
Gustav silently started packing all of Bill’s makeup into his bag. Of course, it wasn’t perfect since he had no idea where to put any of it, but Tom was still grateful for helping them out.
“Did you eat anything weird? Like a certain kind of cat at the party last night?” Georg’s innuendo was not lost on them, and Tom would have snorted if it wasn’t for his worry. Leave it up to Georg to try to crack jokes when someone was about to pass out.
Bill shook his head, but a small smile still made its way onto his face. “No… I just-” He cut himself off, appearing to think for a second. “Oh, I forgot to eat today!” He sighed in relief, as if realizing that solved everything.
Tom’s brows furrowed in confusion— and a growing frustration— as he blurted out, “The fuck? How do you forget to eat?” He laughed at his twin’s stupidity, “You’re such a dumbass!”
Bill was clearly starting to feel better, as he lightly smacked Tom’s arm as he retorted, “I’m not dumb! I just was so nervous today that I thought I was going to puke if I ate anything.”
“Or you could admit that you just didn’t want to eat that shitty meal David tried to make instead of getting us take-out,” Georg interjected, a smirk making its way onto his face.
Gustav was finished packing all of Bill’s stuff, definitely having to have just haphazardly throwing everything in to have finished so quickly. As he slung the bag over his shoulder, a silent good deed, he protested, “Shut up! That was actually fucking divine. I swear, if David wasn’t our manager I’d hire him as my private chef.”
“Of course you are so passionate about food, Gustav,” Tom teased, standing up when Bill did. He clearly trusted himself enough to stand up on his own now, but Tom just wanted to be safe. They couldn’t perform if their singer was in the hospital because he split his brain open.
They made their way to the car, parked in the back and hidden away from the fans. Despite the lack of people around, Tom could still hear some screams occasionally from overzealous fans.
When the driver started the car, Georg decided to ask the big question, “So, we’re still all up for the party, right…?” The cogs in his head were turning, and it was funny for Tom to see him struggle to make Bill feel better. “I mean, I’d love to get some pussy tonight, but if you guys aren’t up for it we don’t have to go. I’m a little fished-out, if you know what I mean.”
Bill chewed on his lip, probably trying to think about whether or not he could make it until sunrise. He didn’t need to think for long, because Tom decided he would speak for the both of them, “I think we’re going to take it easy tonight, man. The princess here clearly needs some beauty sleep— and some rest.”
He felt another smack on his shoulder, but he just smirked and ignored it. He had to do what was best for him and his little brother, even if it frustrated him sometimes.
Tom ignored Bill’s remarks, deciding to end it all with, “Shut up, bitch, I’m tired.” As he laid his head against the window and the conversation slowly drifted into a random topic, his eyes closed and he was whisked off into sleep.
He could worry about what Bill would eat later. When they got to the hotel.
Truth be told, it did not get any better. Georg remembered that night, where after the concert they ordered burgers from a random joint. All of them had scarfed it down, except for Bill.
It was even more puzzling at the time, since he hadn’t eaten anything all day. For some reason, Tom let him go off the hook easily after he claimed he had a stomach ache.
In Georg’s opinion, he just needed to stop worrying. Sure, they all got nerves before a show, and it was definitely more stressful being on tour, but none of them let it bother them as much as Bill did.
It’s been about a week since that happened, and Georg has noticed Bill’s shitty eating habits even more. Each time, he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place, and he was not about to start an argument with Bill of all people because once he started going he wouldn’t stop.
“Oh shit!”
Georg was broken out of his rumination as Bill cursed loudly. His eyes flicked over to his form, but couldn’t find anything wrong. The boy wasn’t dying or anything.
“What happened this time,” He asked teasingly, “Did your nail polish chip?”
Bill turned his gaze away from his belt to glare at him. “No, my belt won’t fit anymore! This is really fucking bad. I mean, what if I-”
“What do you mean your belt doesn’t fit?”
Thank God Tom interrupted for him. He would’ve, but he didn’t want to possibly get his ass chewed out by Bill.
“I mean, the belt is way too loose! Everyone in the crowd will see my ass because my belt can’t do its fucking job!”
Georg thought for a moment while Tom continued interrogating Bill. He would love to know how he managed to get that belt to fit loose too, but he knew he needed to fix the problem at hand first.
“Why don’t you just, like, cut another hole in it?”
Bill and Tom both turned to stare at him at the same time. Fucking twin instincts. Their difference in expression, though, was perplexing.
Bill was glaring at him as if he was the stupidest person alive, while Tom looked at him in amazement like he was a genius.
Tom turned to Bill again, asking, “Yeah, why can’t you just do that?”
Bill rolled his eyes before he held the belt up, emphasizing the design. “It’s beadazzled , how the hell am I supposed to cut a hole when the entire thing has those gem things on it?”
In that moment, Georg wondered where Gustav was. Probably off listening to music and preparing for the show that was in less than 30 minutes . He was good at solving issues like this, though.
“Euhmm, excuse me…” a woman spoke up. Georg just assumed she was a random worker for the stadium because he didn’t recognize her from their staff.
Bill turned to her, trying to compose himself in front of her. “Sorry, hello! Are you here to set up our earpieces?”
“Yeah! David sent me because he’s doing something else, but I couldn’t help but overhear you saying that your belt was too big…” She set her bag on the table before getting out their individual containers. “I’m Marlene, by the way.”
Bill insisted that he went first, not to Georg’s annoyance. As he was getting set up he had to hold his pants up, just giving up on the belt.
Marlene continued her previous talk, “You know, back in my day when my belts didn’t fit, I would always just tie some shoe string around to keep my pants on and just use the belt for decoration. You could try that, maybe?”
Bill appeared deep in thought, and eventually he asked, “Are you sure that would work, though? I mean, I jump around a lot on stage…”
“It’s better than nothing, I suppose,” Marlene patted his back to signal that he was done, and Georg took the opportunity to go next. Tom huffed before muttering that he was going off to find Gustav to get his earpiece as well.
“So, like, is any shoe lace fine? Is there a specific type I should try,” Bill asked as he was already taking the lace off of one of his shoes.
Marlene glanced over before stopping with Georg immediately. Confused, he turned around to glare at the two of them.
Marlene was hurriedly making her way over to Bill, “Goodness, don’t use yours!” She bent down to take her own off, “I’d say your shoes are almost as important as your pants. Can’t have you tripping because your shoes don’t fit right, can we? Just use mine.”
“I couldn’t! I swear—”
Marlene put her hand up, “It’s fine, my shift is almost over and I promise you I’ll live without the laces.”
Bill worried his lip before nodding. “Thank you so much, I appreciate it.”
Marlene was already handing him her laces, having done it so quickly Georg could hardly blink. “Don’t sweat it, seriously.”
Georg was a little touched by this random worker’s kindness, but when Gustav and Tom entered the room he realized just how little time they had before the show.
“Okay, glad you figured your shit out, Bill,” Georg crossed his arms, “But can we get back to the matter at hand? The earpieces? We’ll all play like shit if we don’t get them set up.”
Marlene smiled guiltily, hurrying back to her spot near her supplies. “Sorry about that…”
Bill stuck his tongue out at Georg but stayed quiet, focusing on tying the lace around his waist. Georg wondered how he managed to get that to fit around for a while, before just chalking it up to Bill being skinny.
They’re lucky Marlene was quick, because they had 4 minutes before they had to go on stage by the time everyone was done.
Despite her favoritism to Bill (at least that’s what Georg thought it was), he couldn’t help but still be grateful for her. After all, he’d rather deal with someone being too nice to Bill than a bitchy Bill. Just thinking about that caused him to shudder.
In fact, Marlene probably saved the show. Bill didn’t have to worry about his baggy pants and belt anymore, and maybe it would help him stop acting like a total nervous wreck.
Georg was just a little grateful for her. Just a little.
Bill has a little secret of his. Not even a secret— just something he’s noticed that he’s doing unintentionally. And it’s not like he’s trying to hide it, so yeah, it’s definitely not a secret.
He hasn’t been eating.
Well, he has been, but not that much. This tour has been so much more stressful, so much more intense, and it feels like there’s an overwhelming weight for him to bear on his shoulders. It’s not his fault that the feeling nestles deep in his stomach, causing an uneasiness that leaves him questioning if another bite will cause him to vomit everywhere.
Bill doesn’t know why he feels like that every time he wants to eat. Maybe it’s because when he gets the chance to eat, it also means he has time to sit down and get a minute to reflect, which always leads to overthinking. Or maybe it’s because he’s just slowly starting associating eating with a feeling of dread.
Either way, he doesn’t have much time to think about it. They’re on tour, everyone’s having fun, and things are going great. Bill doesn’t have time to think too hard about the fact that he’s losing weight so quickly. And besides, he kind of likes the way his clothes fit looser and the way his jaw is more defined.
I’ll get my appetite back eventually, Bill assures himself, Right?