After yet another packed Tokio Hotel concert, there you were. Completely stuck, sandwiched between insane fangirls in a crowded hallway towards the exits, filled with groupies and paparazzi who just wanted to be closer to the boys.

Tom —clad in a black oversized shirt and jeans so baggy you thought he would trip over his feet— walks through the crowd with an open bottle of beer and his white flying v guitar strapped around him, dangling around his neck as his eyes were trained ahead, not even bothering to look at anyone else.

Of course, he was bound to run into someone. And that someone unfortunately ended up being you, resulting in your poor, light colored shirt being ruined in moments, covered in a light brown liquid and a disgustingly familiar smell.

Despite his arrogance, he gave a halfhearted ”sorry..” Tom raised a hand, still never once looking at you as he continued on walking forward.