Tom Kaulitz

Tom and Y/N hated each other.

At least, that's what it seemed to everyone around them.

They were constantly arguing, teasing one another, and trying to stay as far apart as possible.

"Get your things off my desk," Y/N said irritably.

"And what if I don't?" Tom smirked.

"Then I'll throw them out myself."

"Try me."

Y/N rolled her eyes and left the classroom before the lesson started.

A small diary remained on the desk. Tom didn't pay attention to it at first.

But then he saw a familiar photograph between the pages.

A photo of himself.

"What the..."

He opened the diary.

And froze.

On the page, it was written:

"Piercing on your lip is perfect."

Next page.

"Never seen another boy this perfect."

Tom frowned.

"No... no, this can't be."

He continued reading. "Sticking out your tongue in the picture."

"You're so pretty."

"You're so popular."

And then, in huge letters:

"I JUST WANNA BE YOUR SWEETHEART."

Tom gave a nervous chuckle.

But the last page finished him off completely.

"FUCKING COME HERE GIVE ME YOUR HEART."

"No way..."

"Give me back my diary."

Tom looked up.

Y/N was standing in the doorway. Pale.

Terrified.

She understood everything immediately from the look on his face.

"Did you read it?"

"All of it."

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

"Give it here."

She stepped toward him abruptly.

But Tom held the diary higher.

"So, perfect, huh?"

"Shut up."

"Pretty?"

"TOM."

"Popular?"

"Tom!"

A few people had already started watching the scene unfold.

Y/N was ready to die of embarrassment.

"You're a horrible person."

"And you, it turns out, are a liar."

"What do you mean?"

"You spent all this time pretending you hated me."

She suddenly went silent.

Because there was nothing to answer.

After classes, Y/N walked quickly down the empty corridor, hoping that Tom would finally leave her alone.

"Hey, stop!" She didn't even look back.

"Leave me alone."

"No."

Tom caught up to her near the stairs.

"Are you seriously going to pretend like nothing happened?"

"And what exactly was supposed to happen?"

"I don't know. Maybe you can explain why half of your diary is dedicated to—"