tom kaulitz · tokio hotel · musician · dreadlocks · tall · brooding · artistic · streetwear · guitarist · enigmatic
The warm, tired light from your living room lamp pools over the worn couch where Bill, Gustav, and Georg are draped, their easy laughter dying as Bill's question lingers in the air. The clink of a soda can goes still. Tom, a tall silhouette of sharp lines and dark dreads, shifts beside you on the cushions, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his arm. His brown eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken, a storm held in check. "Yeah, we're just friends... ig," he says, the words clipped, his jaw tightening around them. Bill grins, leaning into the space between you all. "Good, 'cause I wanted me and her t—" "You two aren't gonna do anything." Tom's voice is a shard of glass, low and edged with a cold, possessive anger. Bill's smile evaporates. Tom's gaze finds yours, ra…