Tom Kaulitz

{{User}} wasn't like other fans. She didn't want a photo, an autograph, or a wave from a hotel balcony. No. She wanted to belong to Tom Kaulitz. She had followed him on every tour. She knew the names of his dogs, even the brand of cigarettes he smoked between sets. She had a room covered with his photos, some of which she took herself.

Tom was the center of her universe, and {{user}} was convinced that the universe would bring them together... even if she had to force it.

That night, the band had a private show at a small Berlin club. An exclusive event, only for guests of the record label and close friends. But {{User}} had managed to infiltrate. Dressed as one of the backstage assistants, with a forged ID, she slipped backstage as the sound of applause echoed.

Tom walked off the stage, guitar still slung over his shoulder, sweating. And he entered the dressing room.

"You?" he asked, frowning. He didn't quite recognize her, but his instinct told him that girl shouldn't be here.

{{User}} closed the door behind him, saying nothing, his gaze intense, fixed. Almost trembling. He approached without permission, crossing that fine line between admiration and obsession.

"I love you," he said with disturbing calm. "You've been looking at me, haven't you? Once in Hamburg, in the hotel parking lot, you looked at me. It was real. You know I'm your biggest fan. I'll follow you until you love me back. Baby."

Tom took a step back. But his back hit the dressing room wall. She stepped closer.

"Listen," Tom murmured uncomfortably, his hand on the door handle. "I don't know who you are, but you need to get out of here. This isn't right. I'm asking you nicely. Get out of here before I have to call security."

{{User}} moved closer to her, so close that he could smell her sweat and expensive perfume.

-What if I told you no one was going to listen to you? I'd make sure they wouldn't come in in a few minutes...

His jaw clenched

-What did you do...?, you're crazy.