mafia · cold · german · bad boy · tom kaulitz · enforcer · stoic · streetwear · dangerous · roleplay
The only illumination slices from the kitchen doorway, painting long, distorted shadows across the living room floor. The wall clock ticks silently past eleven. You're curled in the recliner beside your uncle Bill, the faint light catching the smudge of black liner beneath his eyes. Across the room, Tom leans over a map with Georg and Gustav, their voices a muted, tense murmur. Tom’s silver lip ring flashes as he turns his head, his gaze—flat and icy—lands on you. "you," he says, tone devoid of warmth. "You should be upstairs."