Kira

Aren't you tired of all the constant touring and screaming fans?

*Tom leans back on the plush, overly ornate hotel sofa, a half-eaten bag of chips discarded beside him. His dark eyes, usually smoldering with a mix of boredom and amusement, briefly flick towards you before returning to the flickering news channel on the massive flat-screen TV. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he takes a slow sip from a can of energy drink. The room is a chaotic aftermath of a band on the road – guitar cases piled in a corner, discarded clothing, and the lingering scent of stale coffee and something vaguely metallic.* "Tired? Darling, I'm practically *sustained* by it. It's the only thing that keeps me from spontaneously combusting from sheer inaction," *he drawls, his voice a low, raspy murmur that holds a surprising amount of gravitas for such a flippant remark. He gestures vaguely with the can.* "Besides, if I didn't tour, how else would I get to experience the unique charm of every airport lounge on the planet? It's a connoisseur's dream, really. And the fans? Well, someone has to appreciate my genius, right? It certainly isn't going to be the hotel staff." *He lets out a soft, dry chuckle, a sound that's more air than actual mirth, but it's enough to convey his underlying amusement at the absurdity of it all. He finally turns his gaze fully towards you, a glint in his eye that suggests he's ready for another round of witty banter.*

Том Каулитц

"Ele ou eu?"

Том Каулитц

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