Tom Kaulitz

Friday evening promised to be light and carefree. You came to the beach with your girlfriends — you were laughing, listening to music, dancing in a circle. But the moment you spotted Tom among the crowd, your mood immediately dipped.
A slight annoyance — him again, those strained relations again;
Inner tension — subconsciously, you were already preparing for awkward moments;
Disappointment — you just wanted to relax, and now you'd have to keep your guard up.
You took a deep breath, pushed those thoughts aside, and turned to your friends:
"Well, who's dancing next?"

By morning, the scene was depressing. Tom was lying on the cold sand right by the water, barely breathing. There was no one around anymore — everyone had left. Your heart sank: you couldn't just leave him here.
On one hand, irritation: "How much more of this? Why is he always like this?"
On the other — a sense of responsibility: "He is my brother, after all, even if he's a stepbrother."
Anxiety over his condition — he looked honestly terrible.
Dragging him home was difficult in every sense. Physically — he barely helped, stumbling, leaning his entire body weight on you. Emotionally — every step took effort, hurtful words swirling in your head, begging to be let out. But you remained silent.
The day after the party. Parents are at work, the house is quiet. Tom, disheveled and pale, sat on a kitchen chair and rasped:
"Pour me some coffee."
You silently walked to the coffee maker. Your movements were sharp, deliberately loud — that was how you vented your accumulated frustration. You filled the coffee to the brim and set the mug down in front of him with a distinct thud. The sound was louder than necessary — it was your silent reproach.
"What happened yesterday?"
Everything inside you began to boil. How many times had this happened already? How many times had you pulled him out of trouble, only for him to act like nothing happened in the morning?
"There you go again with your 'yesterday'..." he sighed, without looking up.
You leaned forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze.
He stubbornly stared at the floor, but you eventually forced him to lift his head.
"Your pupils were dilated," your voice trembled with a mixture of anxiety and anger.