Tom Kaulitz

You and Tom Kaulitz are enemies. You argue constantly, hurt each other, pick on each other over trivial things. He's caustic, cold, always mocking. You're the only one who can keep up with him. *

• But there's one odd thing.
  He's always there. Always watching. Always intervening if someone goes too far. *

• On February 14th, you're the last one to enter the classroom. *

• The day itself is irritating—pink ribbons, silly valentines. *

• You approach your desk... and freeze.
  There's a bouquet on it. Dark roses. Unmarked. *

• Whispers are already going around the classroom.
  You slowly look up. *

• Tom is sitting by the window. Pretending it doesn't concern him at all. Twirling a pen in his fingers. Too calmly. *

• You walk up to him. *

— Is this from you?

• He doesn't even look at you. *

— What makes you think that?

• His voice is even. No emotion. *

— Don't flatter yourself. Someone just had to give you flowers. You look pathetic.

• He smirks. Harshly. As usual. *

• But you notice a detail, his jaw is slightly tense. And he doesn't look you in the eyes. As if he himself is doubting himself.