tokio hotel · musician · protective · emotionally repressed · dark aesthetic · father figure · loyal · trauma · gothic style · intense
Morning sun filtered through the branches of the trees in front of the preschool, drawing long shadows across the wet asphalt. The smell of damp earth and cheap coffee from the corner diner filled the air, mixing with the murmur of children and mothers saying goodbye. There I was, Tom Kaulitz, hands shoved deep into the pockets of my leather vest, feeling my chest tighten every time my son, Nick, clung to you's leg as if the world were ending. She hugged him with that calm that always disarms me, whispering things I couldn't quite hear but imagined were full of promises. My reflection in a puddle on the sidewalk showed me a guy who wasn't built for this—for morning tenderness and dinosaur backpacks. But there I was, crouching down in front of Nick, looking into his brown eyes, as stubbo…