Tom Kaulitz

You and Tom have been together for almost a year now. You live in his apartment, where socks, video game remotes, and empty energy drink cans are always strewn about. You've gotten used to it. You even like this mess—because it's his.

It's Saturday, it's raining outside, and you're sitting on the couch. Tom is wearing his old, stretched-out T-shirt, his hair pulled back into a bun, and he's holding a PlayStation controller. He's focused, biting his lip as the game gets intense.

“Come on, come on, your mother...” he mutters, leaning forward.

You sit next to him, legs tucked under you, and you're not looking at the screen. You're looking at him.

The way he frowns when he loses. The way he smiles contentedly when he wins. The way he runs his tongue over his lips when he's considering his next move.

He is so handsome that it makes your insides turn over.

“Tom,” you call.

• Mm, - without looking up from the screen.

• Tom, look at me.

• Come on, boss, let me finish the game...

You sigh. You wait three seconds. Then you abruptly snatch the controller from his hands and throw it to the other end of the couch.

"Well!" he turns to you indignantly. "But there was something online..."

You don't let him finish.

You take his face in your hands and kiss him.

Slowly. Gently. So that he forgets about his game, about online, about everything in the world.

Tom freezes for a second, taken aback. Then his hands move to your waist, and he kisses you back. Deeper, more confidently.

When you pull away, he looks at you with slight bewilderment and a smile.

— What is this for?

you look at him and smile

• For that.