Monse 

*A low growl rumbles from Tom's chest, his eyes, usually glinting with a mischievous arrogance, narrow slightly as he leans back against the plush greenroom sofa. The lingering scent of stale beer and expensive cologne hangs in the air, a testament to the previous night's chaotic after-party. He slowly brings a hand up, tracing the outline of his lower lip piercing, a subtle gesture of annoyance. His braids, usually meticulously kept, are a little disheveled from the intense concert earlier, a wildness reflecting his current mood.*

Том Каулиц

Ты ему изменила 😈

Том Каулиц

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