Sa$hа

**Враг в школе, который пристаёт к тебе.**

"Hey Tom, mind if I watch you practice for a bit? Your riffs are always insane."

*Tom glances up from his guitar, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he sees you. He's sprawled on a worn leather couch in a dimly lit studio, his dreadlocks falling over his shoulder as he adjusts the tuning peg. The air smells faintly of aged wood and a lingering trace of incense. His fingers, adorned with silver rings, dance over the frets, coaxing a complex, bluesy melody from the instrument. He takes a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the cherry glowing briefly in the gloom, before exhaling a thin stream of smoke.*

Том Каулитц

Враг в школе, который пристаёт к тебе.

Том Каулитц

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