6 STRINGS. [ TOM KAULITZ ]

- 11

✮ ✮ ✮

NOW HIRING?

—

Humming a low tune, she sighed as she scanned the drum kit options. Being in another music shop made her sour, having lost her job only a few days before.

[Y/N] laid her eyes on a particular set, the rims red and base black. She didn't want to say she felt drawn to it, but it was practically calling her name.

Her heart almost dropped at the prices, though she contemplated buying it before coming to the realization she had no room in her apartment.

That and the noise complaints would pile through the roof.

[Y/N] sighed in defeat, smiling at the clerk behind the counter before heading for the exit.
Before she left, a bulletin board off to the side of the door caught her eye.

Curious, she walked over, scanning over the plenty of pages pinned to the board.
Job offers.

Obviously on a job hunt, [Y/N] scanned each one.
Pizza delivery, cashier at a burger place, cook, janitor.. None of them truly caught her eye.

DJ, dishwasher, assistant manager..

She went back to the assistant manager one, the faces on it catching her eye.
When she read it, her eyes widened.

The flier read 'TOKIO HOTEL' at the top in bold, a picture of the band itself below it.

There they were. The twins, Georg, and a blond she didn't recognize. Though the drumsticks he was holding helped her connect the dots.

A bit surprised, [Y/N] kept reading down. She checked off every requirement, over 21, experience in musical equipment..
She took a deep breath, thinking over it.

Never in another life would [Y/N] even contemplate working for them.
Looking at the flier, she bit her lip as she thought about it. She really did give it a good thought, eventually coming to a conclusion.

She took the flier off the board, folding it in half before stuffing it in her bag.

—

Nervous, she sat in the seating area waiting for her name to be called. There were about ten other applicants, all much older than herself.

Though she'd sparked conversation with the few women her age, wishing them luck as they were called off for their interview.
It was in the spare space in a record label studio, the one she'd heard blast music when she worked at Guitar Center.

[Y/N] hadn't actually been inside, apart from the time Bill had invited her in.
It was certainly a big studio, with three floors and too many rooms. — She'd admit she got lost for a bit.

Looking out the window, she furrowed her eyebrows watching the building she used to work at be repainted.
[Y/N] turned back around, taking her mind off of it.

She was a bit surprised at herself, surprised she agreed to the possibility of working alongside Tom.
Though that meant she'd work alongside Georg as well, which wasn't a foreign concept as they'd done it before.

Her name being called eventually snapped her out of her train of thought, nervously making her way to the interview room.
There was something she just hated about interviews, even though she went through many in the past.

It was the dreaded question that made her nervous every time.
She sat down, greeting the interviewer.

To her surprise, Bill and the blond were sitting alongside him. Her first thoughts being the whereabouts of the other two, and why they were there in the first place.

Bill gasped when she entered the room, smiling wide when she sat down.
[Y/N] didn't know whether or not to greet him, sending him a smile.

"Let us cut to the chase," The interviewer smiled, "[Y/N] [L/N], correct?"

[Y/N] nodded, "Yes, that's me."
Bill leaned to the side, whispering lowly to the interviewer. He was a bad whisperer, and [Y/N] would've been able to make out what he said if it weren't in German.

The interviewer nodded understandably, looking at her with a much more genuine smile.
"So tell me about yourself."

—

"So tell me about yourself."

She smiled at him, his arm around her shoulders. The scent of cigars and an expensive cologne filling the air as he inches closer to her.

"Sure," [Y/N] laughed, "Let me run to the restroom quick, though."
She stood up, "Be back soon." She smiled before taking off in a hurry.

[Y/N] gagged at the smell, cleansing her palette as she walked away. With no intention of returning, she check the time on a nearby clock, 4:32 A.M.
Much later than she'd stay, though with no intention of clocking into her ex-job, she switched up her schedule.

Distracted, she was bound to bump into someone. — And that she did.
"Found you." A voice said cheerily.

"Tom?" [Y/N] almost gasped, but again, his appearance was starting to feel regular. "Tom."

"I thought you quit." The guitarist said skeptically.
"Joking." [Y/N] smiled, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the way, "What do you want?"

Tom shrugged, "Nothing, I missed you?"
[Y/N] titled her head, "I saw you last week."

"Okay, way too long."

"I'm not sleeping with you, Tom." She said, crossing her arms.
Tom held his hands up in surrender, "I never said I want you to—"

"That's not what you said earlier." [Y/N] smiled.

"—Unless you want to." He explained, "Do you?"
[Y/N] laughed, Tom batting his eyelashes jokingly. "No." She replied.

Tom pretended to cry for a few seconds before straightening his posture, "Bill told me about today." He said.
[Y/N] shrugged, "So?"

"So.." The guitarist smiled widely, "You want to work for me?"
The dancer rolled her eyes, "You know I need a job, Tom."

"I know," Tom replied, "Which is why I voted for my favorite."
[Y/N] looked at him skeptically, not knowing whether or not he was bluffing. Though she supposed it wasn't irregular he'd vouch for his friend to get the job she needed.
"No reward? I think a kiss." Tom asked, laughing lightly at his own joke.

[Y/N] shook her head, "I'm leaving." She said. It wasn't as if she were uncomfortable with the flirtatious jokes Tom made, in fact she'd be flirting back in her own way if she weren't so tired.
To say the least, she wasn't in the mood to deal with Tom.

"Really? You haven't thought about it?" Tom pursued.
"That's a big sentence, your English is getting better." [Y/N] commented, changing the subject, "Goodbye." She brushed last him.

"What about the night at your apar—"

"Leaving!" [Y/N] repeated, not caring for the fact she interrupted him. It wasn't as if she could hear him well anymore anyway, the music of the club muting his pleas as she walked further away from him.
Whatever he said — it couldn't have been so important.