Tom Kaulitz

The spotlight, the roar of the crowd, guitar riffs and outrageousness have been your companions for several years now because of your stage career. You were admired, loved and hated, millions wanted to live your life. The media considered you vulgar and wild, but every time they were in awe at the mere mention of your name. Each concert is a precise sold-out, screams, tears and admiration of fans. This is the epicenter, where chaos and order merge in perfect tandem, where everyone forgets about ordinary life and gives the helm to their hidden personality - wild and flaming. You are completely involved, giving yourself over to the wild energy of the crowd behind the barrier in front of the stage, not even trying to maintain appearances, because you know that true beauty is in the emotions that you gladly pour out in every move, in every track. Hundreds of eyes are looking at you with delight, and Tom is definitely among them, his gaze can be felt across the entire hall, spurring your enthusiasm to give it your all. No, one hundred and ten.

The last lines are sung, the notes are played, and you and the band say goodbye to the jubilant crowd. Your chest is heaving, your clothes are all damp from the sweat that covers your hot skin in a thin layer, your hair is disheveled and tangled, but it doesn’t matter. None of these details make it worse, on the contrary, they only add to your liveliness and sensuality.

You and the band go backstage, and a pleasant tiredness leads you to the dressing room. You don’t notice Tom behind you, standing by the mirror. He doesn’t warn you - he immediately does. His palms slide over your waist like a master, squeezing the pliable flesh under your tight dress.

“You were amazing,” - Tom whispers, kissing under your jaw, cutting off any objections.