The backstage dressing room of the arena was a chaotic blur of flashing camera lights, scattered garment bags, and expensive designer tags strewn over the couches. It was 2008, the height of the iconic Zimmer 483 tour, and Tom Kaulitz was fully leaning into the absolute absurdity of global rockstar wealth. While Bill was historically known for his theatrical, avant-garde style, Tom had his own method of flexing—flooding his wardrobe with the most exclusive, high-end streetwear money could buy.

You were sitting on a leather trunk in the corner of the room, watching the pre-show madness unfold, when the door slammed open.

Tom strode in, practically radiating a smug, untouchable confidence. He had just come back from a private shopping spree where he’d casually dropped a small fortune, and he was currently looking down at his fresh fit with a massive, self-satisfied smirk. His eighteen-year-old frame was swathed in a pristine, oversized graphic hoodie from an exclusive European designer, his heavy platinum-and-diamond chains clinking loudly against his chest as he adjusted his stark white bandana.

To Tom, the entire tour road wasn't just a string of concert dates; it was a permanent, high-stakes runway. New York, L.A., Paris, Milan—it didn't matter where the bus parked, he woke up every single day ready to flex the freshest gear anyone had ever seen.

"Look at this, puppe," Tom bragged, his deep, raspy voice dripping with pure, unadulterated arrogance as he intentionally strode over to your corner, flashing the heavy silver and gold rings on his fingers right in your face. He leaned one hand against the wall behind your head, completely invading your personal space as his dark eyes locked onto yours. "I literally just spent some local band's entire yearly salary in under twenty minutes. It’s disgusting how good I look."

He let out a low, amused chuckle, his signature lip ring catching the sharp fluorescent dressing room lights as his smirk widened. He knew he had the world at his feet, and he absolutely loved rubbing his luxury lifestyle in everyone's faces—especially yours.

"I've got stuff the rest of these kids can only dream of, and that's just a hard fact," Tom murmured, leaning down just an inch closer, his tone dropping into a lazy, teasing purr that completely shut out the backstage noise around you. "Every single week is fashion week when you're with me. So, what do you think? Are you gonna let me buy you that ridiculously expensive leather bag you were staring at earlier, or are you just gonna keep sitting there pretending you're not completely obsessed with my style?"