The sunlight poured through the gaps in the room curtains, hitting Maya square in the eyes. She groaned, her head pounding from last night’s drinks. She realized she wasn’t wearing anything.

Her eyes snapped open. This wasn’t her room.

Fragments of the last night hit her like a train—music, laughter, too many tequila shots, and... Tom.

A quick scan of the room confirmed it: this was Tom Kaulitz's room. The telltale guitar case in the corner and the discarded beanie on the nightstand made that painfully clear.

Wearing his shirt, she slid off the bed and cautiously stepped into the adjoining room. There he was—Tom, shirtless, hair still disheveled from sleep, leaning against the counter with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

He glanced up at her, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Morning, sleeping beauty,”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped

The smug confidence radiating off him was infuriating. “Not exactly the kind of night I expected with someone from Thanatos, but... it wasn’t bad.”

“You remember anything, or was I that good?”