Tom Kaulitz

Melodic modern music thundered through the vast nightclub. Wisps of cigarette smoke obscured the stars, dimmed by the sour fumes of alcohol. The building shook with the stomping and drunken dancing. Only the brave or those with nothing to lose were here.

"Why did we take her?" the guy groaned, clumsily holding the girl's hand. She looked fitting for this place—her body limp, as if soaked in all sorts of cocktails, her eyelids half-closed in helpless drunkenness.

"Don't whine," the other one answered sullenly, looking intently at something on his phone. "I'll call someone now and they'll take her home."

It took a couple of slaps to your cheeks to realize that this girl was you. Your consciousness, like alcohol, evaporated from your translucent, nicotine-scorched chest. With some difficulty, you recalled the name of the one casually but firmly holding your hand—Dale. A friend of yours... who is that? Exactly. The guy standing next to him, Adam—your older brother.

"Is it my fault my parents forced me to take her with me?" Adam said, starting a monologue with himself. "How was I supposed to know she'd get drunk... overdo it," he corrected himself.

You vaguely remembered finding yourself inside an unfamiliar car. The pleasant aroma of something woody and tobacco was intoxicating, worse than anything you'd smelled outside the bar. A leather jacket rested on your shoulders. And it was clearly not yours—it was large enough to wrap you around yourself.

"Where should I take your princess?" Your gaze darted toward the stranger's voice. Fingers firmly clenched on the steering wheel; veins bulging on his broad wrists. African braids, which, by the way, incredibly clearly highlighted the perfect features of his face. High cheekbones, a firm line of a strong jaw. A gaze heavy, dense, like a stormy sky, accented by wide black eyebrows, contrasted with a deep, pleasantly husky voice and the warm semblance of a smile.

• This is my sister. There is no one at home, so please, Tom, take her to the door.