"Strings Between Us

collision course

The show was over, but the noise still buzzed in Isadora's ears.

The crowd had screamed. The stage had vibrated beneath her boots. Her fingers were still tingling from the final chord. But now the only sound in the hallway was the echo of someone's boots scuffing down the concrete floor - fast and careless.

She didn't realize they were heading straight for her until-

BAM.

A body collided with hers at full force. Her shoulder slammed into something solid. She stumbled back, almost dropping her guitar case.

"Scheiße-" she hissed.

"Whoa-sorry!" a voice said, low and familiar.

Of course.

She looked up into dreadlocks, dark eyes, and a smirk that was already too ready.

Tom Kaulitz.

Of course it was Tom Kaulitz.

"Didn't think anyone would be walking straight down the middle of the hall," he said, not even apologizing properly.

"Maybe because not everyone charges through buildings like a wrecking ball," Isadora snapped, brushing her jacket sleeve where he'd bumped her.

Tom raised his hands, mock-innocent. "Didn't know you were so fragile."

"I'm not." She narrowed her eyes. "But you might be. Watch it next time."

He looked at her for a beat - amused, curious, like she was a riddle he suddenly wanted to solve.

"I remember your set," he said, leaning casually against the wall. "That solo in the last song... intense."

Isadora's pulse ticked up, but she didn't let it show. "Is that your way of saying you liked it?"

"It's my way of saying I wasn't expecting it." His voice dipped lower. "You play like someone who's trying to forget the world."

That stopped her.

For half a second, she didn't have a comeback. Because he was... right.

She hated that he was right.

"And you," she said coolly, regaining control, "play like someone who wants the world to watch. Loud. Flashy. Overcompensating."

That wiped the smirk right off his face - just for a second. Then it twisted into something more dangerous.

"I like eyes on me," he said. "But maybe I just wanted your attention."

She turned before he could see the heat in her cheeks.

"You've got a stage for that," she muttered over her shoulder. "Go use it."

She walked away - cool, even - but her heart was a riot in her chest.

Behind her, she could feel him watching.

And Tom?
He wasn't used to girls walking away from him.
Especially not girls who played like thunder and looked like quiet fire.

Tom POV

He wasn't even looking where he was going.

The hallway reeked of old beer and cigarette smoke, and Tom was riding the high of their set - crowd screaming, girls pressed up against the barricade, lights blinding and beautiful. This was life. The kind of thing he and Bill used to dream about when they were kids stuck in a tiny town.

He turned the corner too fast.

Smack.

Shoulder into someone else's. Hard.

"Scheiße-" she cursed.

He instinctively reached out to steady her, catching the strap of her guitar case before it slid.

"Whoa-sorry!" he said, voice low but casual. Then he saw who it was.

Her.

The Brazilian girl with the quiet storm energy.
Guitarist from the other band - Fever Dream or whatever.
The one who'd looked straight through him earlier like he didn't exist.

Now, up close, she had all sharp edges and warm skin.
Dark eyes. Even darker stare.

Tom grinned. "Didn't think anyone would be walking straight down the middle of the hall."

She shot back without missing a beat. "Maybe because not everyone charges through buildings like a wrecking ball."

He chuckled - couldn't help it. "Didn't know you were so fragile."

"I'm not," she snapped. "But you might be. Watch it next time."

Her voice had that accent again. Smooth, soft at the edges - but sharp where it counted. Like the notes she played. He could still hear her last solo ringing in his head, wild and raw, like it came from somewhere real.

"I remember your set," he said, shifting his weight against the wall, watching her. "That solo in the last song... intense."

She didn't smile. She just blinked. "Is that your way of saying you liked it?"

Tom shrugged, trying not to look like he cared too much. "It's my way of saying I wasn't expecting it." He lowered his voice. "You play like someone who's trying to forget the world."

He meant it. It slipped out before he could stop it.

She froze for half a second. Her mask cracked, barely - just long enough for him to see something vulnerable underneath.

Then it was gone.

"And you," she said, voice cold again, "play like someone who wants the world to watch. Loud. Flashy. Overcompensating."

That hit harder than he expected.

For the first time in a long time, Tom didn't have a comeback lined up.
He swallowed it. Recovered.

"I like eyes on me," he said slowly. "But maybe I just wanted your attention."

That got her. She didn't answer - just turned and walked away like she didn't care.

But she did.

He could tell by the way her fingers twitched on the guitar case.
Like she was still thinking about him.
Just like he was still thinking about her.

He watched her go.

What the hell was that?

Tom Kaulitz didn't get nervous. He didn't get ignored.
He definitely didn't get left behind.

But now? He wasn't thinking about the crowd. Or the cameras. Or the girls screaming his name.

He was thinking about her.