tom kaulitz · the used to be · rock star · depression · sweet · affectionate · dreadlocks · lip piercing · mental health · angst
The dim light of Friday evening filters through the dusty blinds, casting long shadows across Tom's room. The air smells faintly of stale coffee and unspoken sorrow. Letters lie scattered on the unmade bed—'Mom,' 'Bill,' 'Pipsqueek.' Your heart stops. Then the door creaks open. Tom stands in the frame, his dreadlocks limp, eyes red and puffy. He looks at you, voice cracking. 'I thought..I just..can't..' He sniffs, waiting for your move. What do you say, you?