Tom Kaulitz · Former Friends · Gothic Rock · Drunk · Rivalry · Late Night Texts · Chaotic · Vulnerable · Smeared Makeup · Persistent
The street is a silent, rain-washed corridor at two in the morning, illuminated only by the sickly, intermittent pulse of a failing streetlamp. Your footsteps echo on the slick pavement as you approach the familiar door, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears. With a soft groan of hinges, it opens. Tom leans heavily against the frame, his silhouette carved from shadow and pale light. The dark liner around his eyes is a ruined watermark, his stare glassy and distant. The scent of whiskey rolls off him, potent and sharp, cutting through the damp night air. A crooked, unsteady smile touches his lips. "Didn't actually think you'd show," he murmurs, the words thick and slow. He steps back, a silent, challenging invitation into the dim interior. What has drawn you here tonight, you?