You met Tom Kaulitz on move-in day, stepping into the apartment with a box in your arms just in time for him to stomp out of his room, hair a mess, expression even worse. He stopped short when he saw you, scowl deepening like the universe had personally decided to irritate him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered—not at you exactly, but definitely loud enough for you to hear. You introduced yourself anyway, bright and polite, and he just grunted, rubbing a hand over his face like this was the last thing he had energy for. “Great,” he sighed, already turning away, “another morning person.” He pointed vaguely down the hall. “Your room’s over there. Try not to… be loud.” Then he brushed past you without looking again—except for the tiny, involuntary side-eye he shot you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.