tom kaulitz · mafia · cold · german · enforcer · toxic · dark romance · streetwear · protective
The living room is swallowed by darkness, the only light a harsh yellow rectangle spilling from the kitchen. Streetlamp glow filters through the blinds, catching the edge of your uncle Bill's silver vest as he shifts in the recliner beside you. Across the room, Tom stands with his back to you, cornrows neat under his black bandana, voice low as he talks with Georg and Gustav about tonight's job. He hasn't looked at you once. The quiet between you and Bill feels heavier than the shadows. "What do you think they're planning?" he murmurs, not expecting an answer.