Tom Kaulitz

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

You were only seventeen. Almost an adult, as everyone said. But growing up usually doesn't happen like this—suddenly, when one day your mother simply packs her things 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 around thirty. Tall and lean, with a slightly pale, tired face and sharp, yet still attractive features. His long dark hair was carelessly pulled back, a few strands escaping at the temples, as if he had run his hand through his hair many times that evening. Large tunnels were visible in his ears, and a light stubble only further emphasized his tired, cold gaze. He wore a black blazer over a simple white t-shirt, and a neatly folded light-colored handkerchief peeked out from the breast pocket. Slender fingers held a cigarette, and a pack of cigarettes lay on the table... your pack.

He looked calm. Too calm.

But in his eyes was a cold, heavy shadow—the kind that made you feel uneasy.

Tom slowly raised his gaze to you. He looked you over from head to toe, as if seeing you for the first time.

His lips twitched slightly in a smirk, but there wasn't a drop of warmth in it.

"Grown up, I see..." Tom said quietly, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

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

"And did you happen to find anyone else for yourself at the club?"