Dunno why I’m actually writing in this thing, but whatever.

“You need to write out your thoughts and feelings, like I do,” Billa had told me. Like, honestly. I don’t want to sound like a jack about my brother, but he is way girlier than I am.

But anyway, all for Bill. I’d do anything for my bro- after all, I love him.

No, really. Not in any way that is generally acceptable. It’s supposedly an ultimate disgrace, the way I think about my brother, the way I feel about my brother. All because he’s- well, my brother.

But I don’t give half a crap if he’s my little twin or not- he’s still the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. The sexiest guy alive, even. And finally I’m not going to feel ashamed for saying that. Now I know he feels the same way- ever since I had woken up one morning with him sleeping next to me. It might sound revolting to the narrow minded, but really it’s great.

And anyway, I can’t really blame people for not understanding. Very few people have a twin; they have no way of understanding. And even twins usually don’t enjoy making out with each other- hell, most of them haven’t tried it. But I have. I love it.

I do feel guilty sometimes, though. As in, what would my mother say if she ever found out that her sons acted the way they did in regards to each other? Or my father? But I don’t care, and Bill doesn’t care, and Georg and Gustav at least pretend not to care. They try really hard to be as supportive as they can if the subject ever comes up. Bill and I weren’t going to tell them, but they sorta “walked in” on us, so…there went that plan. But honestly, as long as they pretended it was okay, I was satisfied.

I remember one time

Tom stopped writing as he heard rushed footsteps. Then Bill came rushing into his room. “Tommyyy!” he shrieked, then stopped when he saw his brother crouched over the notebook. “You’re using it!” he exclaimed proudly.

“Well you sound surprised,” laughed Tom.

Bill walked over and tried to see what Tom was writing. When Tom covered it, he protested, “Hey! Let me see!”

“Nein!” Tom said, pretending to be stern.

Bill sat down on the bed beside his twin. “Were you writing bad stuff about me?” he asked cautiously.

“No…but didn’t you say these were private thoughts?”
“Only for me,” Bill answered. “And that’s because I am the best.”

“Billa,” Tom scolded. “What makes you the best?”

“Well, I figure we have numbers of importance. I, of course, am number one, because I am lead singer and therefore very important. You, my dear brother, are two, zwei, because you are guitarist and also very important. Plus,” he grinned, “you are directly related to me. Gustav is number three, because who wants a band without a drummer? And then Georg is four, because bassist isn’t exactly necessary, but he is still a part of the band. Not that he isn’t important, he just isn’t as.”

Tom frowned comically. “I want to be ein!”

“Well, you’re not,” Bill laughed.

“And who decides this?”

“I do, because I’m number one. Stupid.”

“Yes, I agree, you are Number One Stupid.”

Bill hit Tom with his own pillow. “That wasn’t funny!”

“Uh, yeah it was.” Tom closed the notebook and stood up. “I am going for a walk,” he said. He wasn’t but he wanted Bill to stay put.

Bill almost frowned, but then vaught himself and replied, “Okay….Hey, wait! Why are you bringing your…NO! NOT MY ROOM! NEIN! NEIN! BAD TOM! TOMMMYYY!” he stood up and started running, trying to beat Tom to his room.

Tom, however, had been alerted by his brother’s screaming, and also ran. He got to Bill’s room and closed and locked the door. Bill stood outside, pounding on it. “NOT FAIR! NOT FAIR!” he chanted.

Tom laughed and started to look around Bill’s room. Loudly, so that the now screaming Bill could hear, he said, “I’m going through your clothes…”

“NOOO!” was the response he got. Tom laughed again and started actually going through the clothes. He tried feeling through the pockets to see if there was any money inside- he would return it afterwards, but it was funny to see Bill’s reactions.

“Tom, you let me in right NOW!” Bill screeched hysterically.

“Not yet. I’m still looking.” Tom smiled to himself as he started looking underneath Bill’s bed. “EW, Bill, how old is this!?” he yelled as he saw- and smelled- a giant pizza box.

“I don’t know, let me in and see!” Bill said. “Wait- are you looking under the- Tom, no!”

“Jackpot!” Tom said with satisfaction. “What is it that you don’t want me to see?”

“Stop looking under my dresser!” Bill pleaded.

Tom sat up straight. “I wasn’t,” he said. Bill groaned. Tom crawled so that he was in front of the large bureau and peered underneath. There was a pile of clothes and an old jar of something- it had been a food once, but all else was unknown. Bill isn’t complaining anymore, he thought to himself. He’s trying to make sure I don’t look under the bed anymore.

Tom moved back to the bed. He resentfully stuck his hand into a giant pile of socks and his hand found something hard. He pulled it out and with it came a book with no title. He opened it to the first page and saw the words “Bill’s Journal”. Now that’s a jackpot, Tom thought with a smile. He stowed it underneath his large shirt and straightened up. He walked to the door and opened it, and Bill fell in with a grunt.

“There was nothing underneath your dresser besides that nasty old jar,” he said, pretending to be angry, and walked out the door.

“You fell for it!” Bill called after him. Tom grinned again and went back into his own room. He closed and locked the door and opened Bill’s journal.

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Bill sat down on his bed, glancing around to see what damage Tom might have done. He didn’t see much difference besides the piles of dirty clothes on the floor that had moved. He grinned for a second. Bill had never been angry; he loved it when Tom teased him.

Bill slid off the bed and crouched, looking underneath. As he had expected, Tom haad stuck hi hand into the pile of socks. “Little does he know,” Bill said quietly with a smirk. Tom had taken the bait, hook line and sinker. Bill pulled the pizza box out from under the bed and opened it Inside was a notebook, his real diary, which had been left untouched. Bill smiled again and stood up with it, putting it on his bed as he left the room to get a pencil.

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As soon as Tom opened the journal he knew it was a fake. He could hear the creak that only came from a new book. Bill had never even opened it. So where was the new one? Tom stood up and went to his door, opening it and looking round both way before sneaking back into Bill’s room. “Aha,” he muttered. He tiptoed over to Bill’s bed and opened the other book, leaving the identical fake in its place. Its pages were covered in entries; Tom knew he had struck gold. He turned and left Bill’s room, the real journal tucked into the front of his jeans.

Unfortunately, Bill saw Tom leaving the room. “Hey! Why were you in there again?” he demanded.

“Took some Euros. They’re on your dresser,” Tom answered.

“Stand there while I check,” Bill commanded. As soon as he had turned his back, however, Tom took off for his room.

“I knew it!” Bill shouted, tearing after his twin. “Tom, you little-” he stopped, catching up with Tom, and punching him in the stomach.

“Ow!” Tom said in protest. He rubbed the area. “What was that for?”

Bill rubbed his fist distractedly. “So you didn’t take-” he suddenly looked at Tom again.

“The fake diary? That was a rotten trick.”

Bill leaned forward and kissed his brother’s cheek. “Yeah, well, I knew you’d try sometime. You’re too- predictable.” Bill walked off.

Tom smiled and went back into his room, closing and locking his door again. He heard Bill say, “Hey- wait a minute!” Bill came running down the hall. “Tom, you jackass! Give it back!”

“Nein, Bill, you’re too predictable.” Tom sat on his bed and opened the real journal.

“Geehrte Tagebuch,”