Pro-Epilogue

Bill and Tom were in their hotel suite, having just finished another concert. In Phoenix's absence, Tom had taken to spending the night with his brother. He was still lonely, and he still wished for a do-over every night before he shut his eyes, but having his twin there made things a bit easier. At the very least, he hadn't been crying into a pillow anymore. Frequently, anyway.

They had just watched two hours of Scrubs, and were each about sleep when Tom turned over and whispered to the other side of the room, "Bill?"

There was no response. Tom chucked a pillow from one bed to the other.

"Bill?" he called again, louder.

A muffled groan came from the dark-haired singer. "What?"

"D'you think…I was kinda wondering…should I…I want to come out, Bill. Publicly, I mean. Tell people." He paused for a moment. "What do you think?"

Bill raised his head from the pillow. "Why are you asking me? It's your decision."

"Well, I just…you know, the band…I didn't know whether you all would want me to," he finished.

"Tomi, you know that I want you to do whatever makes you happy. What kind of twin would I be if I didn't?" Bill frowned.

"Well, yeah, but…I mean, what if…I just don't what it would do to the band!" he finally got out, waving his arms for emphasis.

Bill cracked up laughing, burying his face in the pillow. Tom looked downright affronted.

"What's so funny?" he demanded when Bill's laughter had subsided. "What?"

A wry grin was spread across his younger brother's face. "You silly idiot," he said. "Do you honestly think it would make a difference?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it?" he asked, taken aback.

"Everyone already thinks I'm gay, and we've still got fans, haven't we? What difference does it make whether it's you, me, or the king of Norway whose gay?"

"Well, what if it does? No one cares if you're gay because girls and guys of every orientation think you're hot! I'm not exactly androgynous, if you hadn't noticed!"

"Tom. It's not going to change anything. And the band will still be together. If we still have one fan, we'll keep going for them. Besides, if you don't tell them, I will," Bill threatened.

"You wouldn't," Tom gasped, horrified.

"I would," Bill bluffed. "You know I would."

"You promised you wouldn't!"

"When we were twelve! Look, you and Phoenix are perfect together, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to get you two together again. You may not have realized it, but you were just waving your arms around the exact same way he does. So, yes, I would. You tell them, or I will." Bill smiled.

Tom didn't look happy.

"You wanted to tell them before I said I would," Bill reminded him, rolling back over. "I'll give you a week."

There was a loud, resounding sigh from Tom, and nothing more was said.

TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH

The next day, Tom walked over to the room where Georg and Gustav were staying. He had a key, and entered without knocking. They were each sitting on their respective beds, munching away on their room-service breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. They looked up when he entered the room. He took a seat on the edge of the closest bed, Gustav's, and asked, "So…what are you guys doing today?"

"Not much that I know of," Gustav answered. "Why?"

Tom fidgeted with the bedspread. "Um…I'd like to call a press conference," he said, hesitantly looking up.

Georg gazed at him for a minute. "Is this about…?" he started to ask, trailing off as Tom nodded. "Okay, then."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Gustav asked quietly.

"Yeah," Tom said, exhaling a gust of air. "I've waited long enough for someone to find out and plaster it all over the tabloids; I might as well do it myself. If you're sure it won't affect anything with the band, then there's really nothing holding me back."

Georg raised an eyebrow. "Tom, we've been over this. It's fine, okay? Just go for it."

"Okay. Great," the dreadlocked twin said, standing up. "Alright, then." He clasped his hands together. "Thank you," he said, walking to the door.

"Don't mention it," Gustav said lightly.

TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH~TH

"Hey, Jost? Can you call a press conference?" Tom was pacing his hotel room, his phone to his ear. Bill followed him with his eyes, lounging on the bed. His songwriting notebook was lying open in front of him.

"No, it doesn't matter, just get the usual guys. The ones we like." He walked over to the mini-fridge. "No, I can't tell you, you'll find out at the conference, but yes, I cleared it with the guys." Grabbing a water bottle, he shifted the phone to his other ear and held it with his shoulder as he opened the bottle. "Thanks, Jost. You're the best." He closed the phone and threw it on his bed.

"It's go time," he said, turning to Bill and taking a swig of water.