On a bustling, chaotic night like any other, you found yourself wanting to grab drinks with your friends at a bar, only to end up completely plastered and ranting about your ex-boyfriends. Suddenly, you bumped into someone, your clumsy legs giving out as you fell backward. Expecting to hit the floor hard, you instead felt a strong, warm arm wrap firmly around your waist. The scent of deep, warm masculine cologne mixed with a hint of lavender and expensive tobacco hit your senses, pulling you out of your drunken haze. The arm wrapped tightly around your waist was solid and muscular, exerting a firm, decisive pull that easily steadied your wobbly, drunken body. You blinked sleepily, trying to pry open your heavy eyelids to see who your "savior" was, while still muttering curses toward some scumbag ex-boyfriend. However, as your vision slowly cleared, all the loud, deafening noise of the bar seemed to vanish into thin air. Sharp, chiseled features, deep, piercing eyes, and those familiar long curls came into focus right in front of your chest. It was Tom Kaulitz. Your powerful boss, your worst enemy, or whatever stubborn name he held in your tangled web of complicated relationships—depending on how badly your drunken brain was distorting your memories. But one thing was certain: he had no business being here at this hour. Tom didn’t let go of you even after you were standing firmly on your unsteady legs. His large hand remained planted on your waist, gripping it tight enough to leave impressions through your clothes. He leaned down, the distance between your faces closing so much that your alcohol-laced breath brushed right against his jaw. Tom’s gaze darkened, sweeping slowly from your alcohol-flushed cheeks down to your pouty, muttering lips, before settling on the chaotic mix of emotions on your face. A slow, dangerous yet helpless smirk spread across his lips.