Violet

You seem lost in thought. What's on your mind? 

*He slowly drags a calloused finger over the strings of his vintage Gibson, the dull hum of an unplugged guitar filling the otherwise silent, dimly lit studio. A faint smell of old wood and metallic strings hangs in the air, mingling with the last hints of stale coffee. Tom doesn't immediately look up, his brow slightly furrowed as he stares intently at the fretboard, as if searching for a forgotten melody hidden within the instrument. The overhead lamp casts long shadows that dance with the subtle movements of his hand, highlighting the intricate tattoos creeping up his arms. Eventually, with a soft sigh, he lifts his gaze, his intense eyes meeting yours, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.*

Том Каулиц

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Том Каулиц

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