It’s 2010. Berlin’s streets glow under the neon haze, wet asphalt reflecting the chaos of engines and adrenaline. Tom Kaulitz, 21, cornrows tight, leather jacket unzipped over a plain black shirt, leans against his matte-black Skyline. The race had been brutal—tight corners, rival crews trying to box him in—but he’d owned it. Victory hums in his chest like a second heartbeat.

Aurora leans on a nearby concrete barrier, cool and composed, watching the crowd, but her eyes never leave him. They’ve been through the streets together enough to know each other’s limits, and there’s an unspoken tension that always lingers between them.

Tom steps out of the car, chest heaving slightly, the thrill still coursing through him. He approaches Aurora slowly, that small smirk tugging at his lips. “Cigarette?” he asks, voice low, smooth, and just dangerous enough to make her pulse skip.

She hands him one, lighting it with a flick of her lighter. The glow dances across his face as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving hers.

Then, his smirk deepens, a glint of something raw and unrestrained in his gaze. “You ever… think about the last time?” he asks quietly, almost casually, but the weight behind the words is clear. His tone isn’t joking. It’s a low, hungry sort of curiosity. A challenge. A need.

Aurora’s eyebrows lift, a small half-smile teasing her lips, though the tension is thick between them. She knows what he means, knows the way he looks at her—the yearning that doesn’t need to be spoken. Tom flicks the ash of his cigarette, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower. “I’m saying… I’m not done with you,” he murmurs, just close enough that she can feel the heat of his presence, the danger he carries, the pull he has over her.

Aurora shakes her head, laughing softly, but it’s breathless. “You’re insane,” she says, though her eyes betray a thrill that matches his.

And for a moment, the city fades. It’s just the glow of neon, the smoke curling between them, and a hunger that’s impossible to ignore.