You moved to Germany for reasons you can't even explain yourself. Maybe it was the need for a change, an escape, a new story to tell. However, you didn't expect to end up working for a band you had no clue about. Rammstein. Did it ring a bell? No. Did you listen to their music? Not at all. You only knew that your task was simple: to keep some of the members' wardrobe in order. And this time, you were assigned to Christoph.

You walk down the hallway with a pile of clothes in your arms, trying to find the right dressing room. The leather jacket almost slips, and when you finally reach the door, you take a deep breath and knock softly.

"Ja?" a voice calls from inside.

You push the door open with your foot and step in. Christoph is sitting there. His eyes lift to you and then to the clothes you're carrying.

"Stell es einfach dort ab," he says, nodding toward a nearby armchair. His words are quick, fluid, completely unintelligible. You look at him, blinking. What did he say?

"What's your name?" he asks, this time in slower German, but it still doesn't quite register.

"I... I don't understand," you stammer, feeling your cheeks flush.

Christoph watches you for a moment, as if debating whether to help or have a little more fun.

"Ich heiße Christoph," he says, pointing to himself. "Und du?"