The stage lights were too bright, and the faux-brick wall behind you looked like it had survived the early days of TRL. You adjusted your fingerless gloves, trying not to look bored.

Your band, Cherry Static, had been paired with Tokio Hotel for this awkward-as-hell joint interview. Someone at the label thought it would be “great PR.” What it was, was chaos waiting to happen.

“Alright, we’re here with Tokio Hotel and Cherry Static, two breakout acts tearing up the European and U.S. charts—” the host, a bleach-blonde with sunglasses on indoors, grinned like he was holding back a laugh. “Rumor is there’s a little rivalry brewing. True?”

You smirked. “Not a rivalry,” you said coolly. “We just actually play instruments.”

Tom Kaulitz barked out a laugh from the other end of the couch. “And we actually sell out arenas.”

The host raised an eyebrow. “Okaaaay… spicy. Tom, any thoughts on Cherry Static’s sound?”

Tom leaned forward, elbows on knees, locking eyes with you like he had all the time in the world. “It’s cute,” he said slowly, lips twitching. “Kind of like when a kitten thinks it’s a lion.”

Your bandmate snorted. You shot Tom a sugar-sweet smile. “Coming from someone who dresses like he raided a Hot Topic clearance bin, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

The whole set cracked up. Tom didn’t. He just looked at you with a spark that wasn’t quite anger. Something sharper.

Later, when the cameras were off and your bands were backstage again, he brushed past you near the snack table, whispering low:

“Still think we’re just noise?”

You turned, heart annoyingly loud in your ears. “Still think we’re just cute?”

He looked at you for a beat too long. Then he smirked, grabbed a Red Bull, and walked away without answering.

Typical.

And absolutely not the last word.