Tom’s room smells like cologne and fresh mint. Blankets were everywhere. His walls were covered in posters — Eminem,50 cent, Nirvana — plus a huge messy corkboard covered in song ideas and random Polaroids.
Isadora flopped onto the couch, tugging her boots off. “This place is such a teenage boy lair. It’s kind of iconic.”
Tom smirked. “Thanks, I try.”
He popped a tape into the VCR — The Crow. Classic.
They curled up under the same blanket. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he absentmindedly played with the ends of her hair.
Halfway through the movie, she said, “You ever do something totally impulsive? Like, just because it feels right?”
He turned to look at her. “Every day. Why?”
She grinned. “I want a piercing.”
The next day, they met up in the studio — just the two of them. Isadora brought her guitar. Tom plugged her in.
“Let’s play something stupid and loud,” she said.
They messed around with chords, layering vocals, laughing when she hit a weird high note. They worked on one of his demos together — a slow, grungy ballad that made her stomach twist in the best way.
“You make everything sound better,” he told her.
She rolled her eyes. “Flattery won’t save you when I get a needle shoved in my nose later.”
He blinked. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” she said, grinning. “I want a nose ring. And maybe…” She lifted her shirt slightly. “A bellybutton one too.”
Tom just stared. “You’re literally my teenage dream.”
They found a tiny place off a graffiti-covered alley. Blink-182 was playing on the shop speakers. The piercing girl had green hair and a septum ring and immediately called Isadora “babe.”
She got the nose stud first — a tiny silver gem. Tom held her hand and winced harder than she did.
“You’re braver than half my band,” he said.
She just laughed and laid back for round two.
When the bellybutton piercing was done, she stood up, grinning wildly. “Okay. Now I feel invincible.”
Tom bit his lip. “You’re gonna kill me in that crop top next show.”
“Good,” she said.
Back at his place, they ordered falafel and slushies, sat on the floor with their backs to the couch, and talked about everything — music, being misunderstood, what it felt like to be young and watched and kinda famous and kinda lost.
“I’m scared sometimes,” she admitted. “That I’ll lose myself.”
He reached over, brushing a thumb under her eye. “Then I’ll remind you who you are.”
They kissed — soft, slow, then the kiss turns into a make out isa stop and say I can't not yet. That's okay we'll go slowly tom says they continue kissing.
And this time, it wasn’t for the cameras, or the headlines, or even the band.
It was just them.
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YOU ARE READING
"Strings Between Us
Romance2004. Germany. Tom Kaulitz is used to getting what he wants - the stage, the crowd, the girls. As Tokio Hotel begins to rise, so does his ego... until she shows up. She's the Brazilian guitarist in a rival band - quiet, sharp-tongued, and completely...
