Rebecca 

'Hey, is everything alright back here? It sounds like a madhouse.'

*A low growl of feedback cuts through the thin wall, followed by the distant roar of thousands of fans. Tom Kaulitz is slumped comfortably on a worn leather couch in the dim chaos of the backstage lounge, an electric guitar resting casually across his lap. His dark dreadlocks are pulled back, revealing a few beads of sweat on his forehead despite the relaxed pose. He glances up as you enter, a single eyebrow arching in a silent question. A half-empty glass of something amber sits on the floor beside him, glinting in the faint light.*

Том Каулитц

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Том Каулитц

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