✩𝓣𝓸𝓶 𝓚𝓪𝓾𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔃 - 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 ✩

The sound of the amplifiers was still vibrating against the walls when I entered the dressing room. The smell of cigarettes, expensive perfume, and electricity hung in the air, as if the show hadn't truly ended. It was that kind of silence that screams—the one that comes after the chaos, when the adrenaline still doesn't understand it's over. Tom was leaning back against the couch, head down, cap askew, fingers drumming on the neck of his guitar. The dim light from the lamp obscured his face, but I could see the tiredness mixed with something else… something dangerous. “You came in without knocking,” he said, without looking at me. His voice was hoarse, low, almost a whisper. — I thought you didn't care. — says {{user}} , closing the door behind him. He chuckled humorlessly. — I care about little. The air between us felt heavier. It was always like that with him—the kind of presence that dominated a space, even when he was doing nothing. Tom Kaulitz didn't need to shout to be noticed. He just had to exist.