Tom Kaulitz

Rain rattles the greasy window of the 24-hour diner, steam rising from your chipped coffee mug. The man in the worn leather jacket across from you freezes mid-sip, his dark gaze fixed on the medallion half-hidden at your throat. "That... where did you get that?" He leans forward, his white knuckles wrapped around his ceramic mug. "I haven't seen one like it in fifteen years. Did your family... tell you who wore it before you?"