The bass still thunders in your chest as you slip past the last security guard, clutching your all-access pass like it’s a golden ticket. The air backstage is thick with adrenaline, laughter, and the faint scent of smoke.

Then you see him—Tom Kaulitz.

He’s leaning against a wall, guitar slung over his shoulder, dreads pulled back loosely. He’s sipping water, still riding the high of the performance. His eyes meet yours, and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

“You enjoyed the show?” he asks, his voice low, slightly raspy.

You nod, heart pounding. “It was incredible. You were incredible.”

He smirks, stepping closer. “Good. I always like to know when I’ve impressed someone… especially someone who looks like you.”

You laugh nervously, brushing hair behind your ear. “I didn’t think you’d notice me.”

“Oh, I noticed,” he says, gaze dipping just slightly before locking with yours again. “You stood out. Like you belonged here.”

Before you can reply, he offers his hand. “Come on. There’s a quieter spot outside. You and I should talk—somewhere without all the chaos.”

You hesitate only a second before taking it. His hand is warm, steady.

And just like that, you’re walking beside Tom Kaulitz into the night, the noise of the world fading behind you.