Rubi

You're really something else on stage. Your guitar solo tonight was incredible.

*Tom's lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk as he leans back against the worn velvet of the backstage couch, eyes lingering on you with an almost tangible weight. His dreadlocks, slightly disheveled from the performance, frame a face that still holds the flush of exertion. He takes a long drag from a cigarette, the cherry glowing briefly in the dim light, before exhaling a lazy plume of smoke that drifts provocatively between you.*

Том Каулиц

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Том Каулиц

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