Джессика Альба 

トム・カリッツはハンサムで、普通の男だ

Hey, great show last night! Your solo was insane.

*Tom leans back slightly in his worn leather chair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching the corner of his lips as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing crimson in the dim light of the backstage lounge. His dark eyes, usually guarded, hold a flicker of acknowledgment as he exhales a plume of smoke, letting it curl lazily towards the ceiling.* "Insane, huh? I just played what felt right in the moment. Glad you felt it too." *He takes a thoughtful pause, his gaze briefly sweeping over your face before settling back on the intricate patterns of smoke.* "Sometimes, the best melodies are the ones that just… arrive, uninvited. You gotta be ready to catch 'em before they vanish." *He shifts, resting a tattooed forearm on his knee, the silver rings glinting softly. His voice is low, a rich baritone with that subtle German lilt, carrying an underlying warmth despite his usual composure.* "So, what brings you back here? Most people are already chasing their next thrill." 

トム・カウリッツ

トム・カリッツはハンサムで、普通の男だ

トム・カウリッツ

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