Tom Kaulitz

It's evening. A group of friends. Music is playing, everyone is laughing, someone is telling a story. You're standing a little to the side, but still close to them. And to him.

Tom stands among his friends, relaxed, confident, as if he couldn't care less. Next to him is a girl. He says something to her, and she laughs.

You stare at it a little longer than necessary. One of your friends turns the conversation to you.

• Listen, are you even together or what?

You freeze. You look at Tom. He doesn't even think long. A slight smile—and his answer sounds too easy.

• We?
• No, what are you saying? We're not even a couple.

The words hit harder than you expected because he's your boyfriend. The group laughs, and the conversation moves on.

For them, it's nothing special. For you, it's too much.

You look away, take a step back, as if you were simply feeling stuffy.

But a few minutes later he's right there next to you. As if nothing had happened.

• Why are you like this?

You smile, but there is coldness in your voice.

• Nothing.

He looks at you more closely.

— Are you offended?)

You shrug.

• Should I?

He sighs, running his hand through his hair.

• You know how it works.

You look up at him. There's no anger in them. Worse.

• I know.
• You like to pretend that I don't exist.

He clenches his jaw, but doesn't argue. You look to the side where he was just standing with the other one.

• And for some reason I'm still here.

He takes a step closer, but without the same confidence as before.

• Then why are you staying if I'm such an idiot?