The venue was already buzzing — stagehands shouting across scaffolding, light rigs clicking into place, and cables snaking everywhere like spaghetti.
Isadora stood center stage, mic in hand, as Phantom Youth ran through zombies” one last time.
“Can you turn my vocals up a bit?” she asked the tech. “Like, more bite but less echo?”
“Got you,” he nodded, fingers flying across the mixer.
Tom was off-stage to the left, leaning on a black speaker case, hands shoved into his camo pants pockets, watching her with a calm intensity.
“Yo, she’s gonna kill it,” Georg whispered beside him.
Tom nodded. “She’s already killing it.”
The lights dropped.
Screams exploded from the crowd — the sound of hundreds of teenagers in black hoodies and studded belts losing their minds.
Jules hit the first beat. Nina's synths glowed neon blue. Isadora stepped forward.
She wore her flannel tied at the waist, a mini cami top underneath, and a black pleated hip-hugger skirt with fishnets. A silver chain swung from her belt loop, and her bellybutton piercing sparkled in the lights.
“L.A., what’s up!!” she yelled.
The crowd roared back.
And then the music hit like thunder.
By the third song, the crowd was a sea of jumping bodies, waving arms, and camera flashes.
Tom watched from backstage with Bill, both nodding along to the beat.
Then a fan up front caught his eye.
A girl, probably fifteen, with pink hair and a laminated backstage pass… holding up a blown-up printout of the tattoo photo. The one of him and Isadora’s matching ink.
Tom’s face dropped.
Security moved toward her.
But the damage was done — flashes went off, people were already snapping pics, and the girl was pointing toward Isadora on stage.
Bill muttered, “Well… crap.”
Backstage was chaos — makeup retouches, water bottles, high-fives — and Isadora’s chest was still heaving from the final song.
She turned the corner toward the dressing room and spotted Tom.
But his face said everything: something happened.
“What is it?” she asked, brushing sweaty bangs from her eyes.
Tom reached into his hoodie pocket and handed her his phone.
It was already on a fan forum post:
“Tattoo Proof 👀 They’re Totally Together!”
And the photo was there — zoomed in, grainy, but unmistakable.
“Oh my god…”
“I’ll handle it,” Tom said quietly. “I promise.”
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...
