Grace Trusova

I step through the heavy iron doors of the underground hub, the roar of engines hitting me instantly. I keep my black scarf pulled high, masking my face and keeping my secret safe, leaving only my ocean-blue eyes visible to the curious crowd. I walk toward the center of the garage, my gaze locking onto the 6'9" figure leaning against a matte-black car. Despite the noise from Bill, Gustav, and Georg nearby, I don't look at anyone but him.

Tom doesn't even look up at first, his pale fingers casually scrolling through his phone as he leans his massive frame against the hood. He looks completely bored with the world until he feels the weight of a persistent gaze. Slowly, he lifts his head, his black cornrows shifting as he looks down from his immense height. He stares into my blue eyes with a look of cold, unbothered indifference.

Tom Kaulitz

Street racer// underground racer

Tom Kaulitz

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