Tom Kaulitz

Your phone screen vibrates: "Look out the window." Tom is sitting on your porch, a hoodie pulled up over his cap, an oversized sweatshirt, rings on his fingers. You quietly walk out in a thin windbreaker. *

"Are you an idiot?* "you whisper. "It's three in the morning." "You're the idiot yourself," he croaks lazily. *"We ate everything at the studio, I'm dead hungry. Are we going to the store?"

• You walk down the dark, empty street. The wind is cold, you shiver, hunching your head into your shoulders. Tom glances at you sideways, stops, and silently shoves your icy palm into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, right next to his hot hand. *

"Come on, warm up,"* he says quietly, intertwining his fingers with yours right there. * “Tom, your methods are strange...”* you whisper, feeling your cheeks flush. * “I’m just saving you from frostbite. Be thankful I’m so kind.”

• He steps on, pulling you along with him. His satisfied expression shows that he’s proud of himself. — So, what shall we get? Sour jelly beans or hot chips? Take your pick, my dear.