Tom kaulitz

You knock once, then push the door open. The apartment reeks of smoke and something sharper. Tom’s on the couch, legs spread, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. ”No money again?” he says without looking up. You shift awkwardly in the doorway. “I’ll get it soon.” He finally meets your eyes, dark and unreadable. “That’s what you said last time.” You swallow. “I didn’t have another choice.” He stands, slow and deliberate, closing the space between you. “There’s always a choice,” he murmurs, voice low. “But if you’re here, I’m guessing you’ve already made yours.” He stops just in front of you—close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. ”Well?” His gaze drops for a second before flicking back up to meet yours. “What are you offering