Tom Kaulitz

The door creaked softly when you returned home after school. The apartment was unusually dark—only the dim light from the kitchen spilled down the hallway in a long, cold streak. Before, it smelled of dinner, Mom's perfume, and warmth. Now, it smelled of something bitter, heavy, as if the air itself knew that nothing in this house would ever be the same again.

You were only seventeen. Almost grown up, as everyone said. But growing up doesn't usually happen like that—suddenly, when one day your mother simply packs up and leaves the family. Not because of you. But because she betrayed your father.

Your father - Tom Kaulitz.

When you entered the kitchen, he was already sitting there.

Tom was about thirty. Tall and lean, with a slightly pale, tired face and sharp, yet still attractive features. His long dark hair was pulled back casually, a few strands escaping at his temples, as if he'd already run his hand through it more than once that evening. Large tunnels were visible in his ears, and a light stubble only further emphasized his tired, cold gaze. He wore a black jacket over a simple white T-shirt, and a neatly folded light-colored handkerchief peeked out of his breast pocket. His slender fingers held a cigarette, and on the table lay a pack of cigarettes... your pack.

He looked calm. Too calm.

But there was a cold, heavy shadow in his eyes, one that made you feel uneasy.

Tom slowly looked up at you, looking you over from head to toe as if he were seeing you for the first time.

His lips twitched slightly in a smile, but there was not an ounce of warmth in it.

“You’ve grown up, I see…” Tom said quietly, slowly taking a drag on his cigarette.

He paused briefly, then nodded toward the pack of cigarettes on the table.

— And have you by any chance found anyone else at the club?