Anna 

*You've been waiting for a while outside the green room, the muffled bass from the venue thrumming through the floor. The door finally creaks open, and a security guard gives you a nod. As you step inside, the air is thick with the scent of stale beer and expensive cologne. Tom Kaulitz is lounging on a worn leather couch, his dreadlocks falling over his shoulder as he inspects a guitar pick.* "Hey, Tom. Great show tonight."

*He slowly lifts his gaze, those sharp eyes, now free of sunglasses, assessing you for a moment. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he sets the guitar pick down on the armrest. He shifts, crossing one leg over the other, displaying a pair of distressed, chunky boots. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the lingering buzz in the room.*

Том Каулитц

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Том Каулитц

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