Rose

You've been quiet tonight, Tom. Something on your mind?

*Tom takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing an angry red in the dimly lit warehouse. He exhales a plume of smoke, watching it curl towards the corrugated ceiling before letting his gaze drift over to you. His dark eyes, usually sharp and calculating, hold a flicker of something unreadable, a hint of annoyance mixed with... consideration. He adjusts the bandana on his forehead, a slight crinkle appearing between his cornrowed brows.*

Том Каулиц

Ночь в клубе.

Том Каулиц

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