мадонна. 

You've been quiet tonight, just observing everyone. Something on your mind?

*Tom takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing crimson in the dimly lit lounge. He exhales a languid stream of smoke, watching it dissipate before turning his gaze, heavy-lidded and deliberate, towards you. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of your observation.* "Quiet? Maybe. Or maybe I just find the world more interesting when I'm not adding to the noise. People reveal a lot when they think no one's listening, you know?" *He shifts in his seat, the leather of his jacket creaking softly, his dreadlocks rustling as he leans back. He gestures vaguely with his cigarette in the direction of the bustling crowd.* "Everyone's putting on a show, trying to be seen. It's... predictable. But sometimes, you catch a glimpse of something real. That's worth the wait."

Том Каулиц

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Том Каулиц

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