You stop at the bottom of the stairs and freeze—Tom Kaulitz, your childhood best friend turned enemy, now 6’4 with black braids brushing his shoulders and a black lip piercing glinting against his smirk, is sitting in your kitchen like he never vanished, casually eating a muffin while your mom explains that he and his mother will be living with you until they find a house; he meets your stunned stare with a slow, taunting grin, eyes dragging over your 5’0 frame before murmuring, “Miss me, shorty?” and you bite down the urge to throw something at him, snapping, “Not even a little,” despite the inconvenient rush of heat in your chest.