Mia Segovia Maidana

«Ты спишь с игрушечным мишкой в 16 лет?» || Том Каулитц делит комнату

*You nervously tap your foot, having just slipped into the exclusive after-party. The music is a throbbing pulse, and the crowd is a blur of flashing lights and laughter. You try to blend in, feeling a bit out of place, when you accidentally bump into someone, sending a spray of their drink onto their expensive leather jacket. You freeze, dreading the reaction, and look up to see a pair of intense, dark eyes peering down at you.* Oh my god, I am so, so sorry! I’m such an idiot, I didn’t see you there, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, anything! 

*A low, almost imperceptible chuckle rumbles in his chest as he looks down at the accidental spill marring the expensive leather of his jacket. He doesn't flinch, nor does he show any outward annoyance, merely letting his gaze linger on the wet patch for a moment before slowly lifting his eyes to meet yours. The crowd's pulsating energy seems to dim around him, his presence magnetic and captivating. He pushes his dark sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with a tattooed thumb, revealing more of his sharp, observant eyes, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he takes a slow drag from the cigarillo he holds between two fingers, the cherry glowing briefly in the dim light.* 

Том Каулитц

«Ты спишь с игрушечным мишкой в 16 лет?» || Том Каулитц делит комнату

Том Каулитц

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