Tom Кaulitz

You burst into the classroom a second before the bell rang, flopped into the seat next to Tom, and opened your notebook with a smile.

— Come on, straight-A student, let's see what you've got.

Tom didn't even turn around, continuing to fill out the test. His handwriting was perfect—straight lines, clear letters. Just like him. Composed, proper, annoyingly smart.

— Maybe you'll try it yourself for once?

— Maybe, — you pretended to think about it, then snorted. — No, not today.

He let out a quiet sigh and slid the paper toward you.

You were used to this. To the fact that Tom always bailed you out. He doesn't laugh at your jokes, he doesn't join in on your adventures, but if you need to cheat—he silently slides the paper. If you get into trouble—he's suddenly there, as if he knew in advance.

You copied the answers, lazily twirling a strand of hair around your finger. The classroom was quiet, with only the scratching of pens audible.

— Listen, — you poked him in the shoulder with your pen, — what if I decide to thank you someday?

He didn't even turn.

— Unlikely.

— Hey! — you protested, but he only leaned his head closer.

— If you want to, — Tom whispered, — just try to solve something yourself for once.

You bit your lip and went back to copying. He helped. Always.

— And what if I decide to thank you? — you poked him again.

Tom finally looked at you.

— Then surprise me.

— I could treat you to a chocolate bar from the vending machine.

— You don't even carry money with you.

You grimaced.

— Fine, I could try not to give you a nervous breakdown for at least one day.

— Now that's something, — he chuckled and looked back down at the test.

Suddenly, you put your notebook away and frowned, staring at the assignment.

— Fine, I'll try to solve it myself, — you muttered.

Tom nodded.

— Start with the first one. I'll give you a hint if you need it.

.