Tom Kaulitz, guitarist of Tokio Hotel, leaned against a wall backstage, sipping a Red Bull, his eyes scanning the hallway as fans were slowly being ushered out after the show. Word had floated around earlier—some girl who ran one of the biggest Tokio Hotel fansites in the country is showing up for tonight’s concert. Apparently, she was meeting them. He hadn’t paid it much attention. Bill had raised an eyebrow and joked that she’d probably cry or try to give them handmade bracelets.

But now, standing just a few feet from him, you were nothing like they pictured.

“Wait… you’re the one from—what was it, DreamStars or something?” Tom asked, his head cocked slightly, giving you a once-over that wasn’t exactly subtle. “That insane fan page is you?”

Bill appeared from around the corner, a towel still around his shoulders, fresh from the stage. His jaw slackened just slightly when he caught sight of you. “Whoa. That’s her?”

They’d expected a chatroom-obsessed, butt-ugly, glitter-font fangirl with braces. Instead, you were glowing, laughing at something Georg had said, your eyes bright, eyeliner sharp, and outfit very much not 14. The boys exchanged a look.

“Okay… okay, yeah,” Tom muttered, trying not to grin. “We’ll take a picture. Maybe even give you merch or something…”

You’d just completely shifted their perception—and you hadn’t even spoken yet.