The crowd’s energy was still buzzing in your veins as you stepped outside the concert venue. The night air was cool, scented with rain and smoke, and the afterglow of Tokio Hotel’s performance clung to the city like mist.

You weren’t expecting anyone to follow you. But then came the familiar voice.

“Didn’t think you’d leave without saying hi.”

You turned, startled, to find Tom Kaulitz, dreadlocks loose under his cap, leaning casually against the wall with that mischievous half-smile.

You blinked. “Didn’t think you’d notice I was here.”

He tilted his head, stepping closer. “I always notice you.”

You tried not to overanalyze the flutter in your chest. It wasn’t the first time you'd met — a friend had introduced you months ago at a backstage afterparty. Since then, it had been texts, fleeting moments, inside jokes, and late-night calls. But this… this felt different.

“Great show tonight,” you said, hands stuffed in your pockets.

“Thanks,” Tom said, eyes scanning yours like he was reading lyrics only he understood. “But something was missing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

He shrugged. “You. Backstage. With me.”

You laughed softly, heart tripping over itself. “You’re ridiculous.”

Tom stepped even closer now, voice low. “Maybe. But I was thinking… after the afterparty, we get out of here. Just us. I’ve got my guitar, a bottle of wine, and nowhere to be until soundcheck.”

You didn’t answer immediately — just met his eyes.

And in that moment, under the neon glow of a flickering streetlamp, you knew you were saying yes.