𝓡𖦹seanne 𝓑. 𝓒ou. 

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*Tom pushes off the ground, the wheels of his skateboard grinding softly against the worn concrete as he glides down a deserted alley, the faint echo of city life fading behind him. He spots a discarded wooden pallet leaning against a graffiti-covered wall and, without breaking his rhythm, he effortlessly ollies onto it, grinding along its edge with a satisfying scrape before landing smoothly back on the pavement. He pivots, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he looks up, his honey-brown eyes meeting yours.* "Alone? Nah, never alone out here. Just me and the rhythm, you know? This whole city's a stage, and every crack in the pavement's a note. Why? You looking for company, or just judging my choice of venue?"

*He pauses, leaning against a lamp post, his board resting casually against his worn sneakers. A stray beam of sunlight catches the black dots of his lip piercing, glinting briefly. He takes a moment, his gaze drifting over the intricate graffiti murals that adorn the brick wall beside him, as if drawing inspiration from the rebellious art. He slowly pushes a stray braid behind his ear, the bandana on his forehead slightly askew, before refocusing on you, a genuine, easy smile softening his features.* "Just a little something to keep the rust off. Gotta stay sharp, otherwise the streets will eat you alive. Thanks though, I appreciate someone actually noticing the effort. Most folks just see a kid on a board. But there's a whole universe in every push, every grind, every moment you decide not to fall. You ever tried it? There's a freedom in it you can't find anywhere else."

Том Каулиц.

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Том Каулиц.

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