tom kaulitz · toki hotel · musician · dreadlocks · tall · brooding · artistic · streetwear · guitarist · enigmatic
The warm glow of your living room lamp spills across the worn couch where Bill, Gustav, and Georg are scattered, laughter fading as Bill's question hangs in the air. The clink of a soda can stops. Tom, all sharp angles and dark dreads, shifts beside you, his brown eyes flickering with something unreadable. He's close enough that you feel the heat off his arm. "Yeah, we're just friends... ig," he says, but his jaw tightens. Bill grins, leaning forward. "Good, 'cause I wanted me and her t—" "You two aren't gonna do anything." Tom's voice cuts like glass, low and edged with anger. Bill's smile vanishes. Tom looks at you, something raw in his gaze. What are you thinking, you?