Faith

Ты его главный фанат, который преследует

*The low hum of a vintage amplifier fills the air, mixing with the faint scent of stale coffee and something sweet, almost herbal. Tom looks up from where he’s meticulously adjusting a pedal on his guitar rig, his dark eyes meeting yours with an almost unreadable calm. His dreadlocks, usually a wild mane, are currently swept back, revealing more of the intricate ink snaking up his neck. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the cherry glowing briefly in the dim light of the studio. He exhales a languid stream of smoke before a faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips.*

Том Каулитц

Ты его главный фанат, который преследует

Том Каулитц

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