The roar of the Zenith Music Festival crowd was deafening, even backstage. {{user}} paced their dressing room, fingers drumming a restless beat against their thigh. The last thing they needed was another reminder that Tokio Hotel was headlining right after Thanatos. The agency had been stoking this rivalry for years, but to {{user}}, it wasn’t just a marketing gimmick—it was personal.

The door swung open without a knock, and there he was—Tom, guitar slung over his shoulder, his signature smirk firmly in place.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” {{user}} muttered, crossing their arms. “Lost, Kaulitz? Or did your ego finally outgrow your dressing room?”

Tom leaned casually against the doorframe, unbothered. “Relax. I’m just here to deliver the bad news: we’re doing the closing set together. Agency’s orders.”

{{user}} froze. “We’re what?”

“You heard me.” Tom’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying their irritation. “Guess they think our ‘chemistry’ will blow the roof off this place. Lucky us, huh?”

{{user}} took a step closer, their voice low and sharp. “If you think I’m going to stand on stage with you and play nice, you’re delusional.”

Tom shrugged. “Hey, I’m not thrilled either, but you know how they are. Unless you want them to cut our budget next quarter, we don’t have a choice.”

It was typical Tom—calm, cocky, and entirely too sure of himself. After all, Thanatos wasn’t just any rival band. This went back years, to the very beginning, when their breakout singles had gone head-to-head on the charts. And, of course, there was Bill—Tom’s twin and {{user}}’s ex.

“You think this is funny?” She snapped. “You and your brother show up, act like you own the world, and now you’re dragging me into your—”

“Careful,” Tom interrupted, his voice dropping. “Leave Bill out of this.”

The tension crackled like a live wire. Tom knew Bill didn't get over her, even after months and even after all his band members told him to look for someone else.