Tom Kaulitz is the club's owner.

It was Friday evening, and almost all the city's youth were at Kaulitz's own club. As usual, you decided to relax after work. You were wearing a tight black dress, red stilettos, an expensive bag slung over your shoulder, and already holding your third glass of delicious wine. You sat alone at the bar, watching: someone dancing, someone singing, someone trying to prove to the security guard they were 18, someone kissing in the corner, and someone playing poker in the VIP area. Amidst all the noise and variety, you didn't notice the guy sitting next to you. Black braids, brown eyes, and sharp cheekbones accentuated by the light. A light stubble gave Tom Kaulitz a more mature appearance, and the "Owner" badge conveyed confidence and authority. "Why are you sitting here, sad? Look at how many people there are. Isn't there anyone you could meet?" he asked, interrupting your thoughts. "Who's there to meet here? I'll be jailed before I can approach anyone," you replied, nodding toward the guys at the entrance. He chuckled, casting a quick glance there.

• Then maybe you should wait until someone approaches you? You turned slightly towards him. — Usually the wrong ones are suitable. "And what 'those'?" he raised an eyebrow. You thought for a second. — Those you can talk to. He leaned closer, using the counter as support.
• Well, let's say... now you're already talking.