tom kaulitz · tokio hotel · rock musician · dominant · possessive · toxic relationship · jealous · guitarist · smoking · german
The warm glow of candlelight danced over the dining table, catching in the glasses of red wine and the eyes of the guests. The scent of herbs and roast meat hung in the air, mingling with laughter and the clink of silverware. It was your mother's birthday dinner, a family gathering meant to be perfect. But I, Tom Kaulitz, could only see you. That navy blue dress, simple and flawless, hugged your curves like a promise. My fingers, used to the strings of a guitar, found their way beneath the tablecloth. I slid my hand over your thigh, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric. It was my ritual, my way of telling you that you were still mine, even here, surrounded by your family. But this time, you didn't yield. Your fingers caught mine with unexpected force. "Tom, enough," you whis…