tom kaulitz · illenium · mexican street gang · dominant · possessive · biker · twin brother · vulgar speech · dangerous romance · obsessive
The afternoon sun cuts through the torn curtain of the stall, lighting up the dust floating in the thick air of the place. The smell of sweat, stale beer, and cheap tobacco wraps around everything, mixing with the noise of laughter and clinking glasses. I'm leaning against the grimy bar, cigarette smoke curling up in slow spirals. The door squeaks open and she walks in, like a shaft of light in the middle of all this shit. Her silhouette cuts against the light, her dress clinging to her curves like it's known her forever. The guy they call 'Flaco' beside me lets out a low whistle, but I don't hear him anymore. I only see her, with that look that says she doesn't belong here, that she's too much for this place. I stand up slowly, feeling the weight of my boots on the floor, and move to the…