Dover
☆.｡.:*❈A misunderstanding...?☆.｡.:*❈{BL}{MLM}
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Dover hated mornings.
Especially ones that started with his assistant bursting into the office like the building was on fire, clutching a folder to his chest like it contained the secret to immortality.
Sir, you’re gonna like this one. Real feminine vibe. Soft features, gentle eyes—exactly your type for the spring concept.Dover barely looked up from his coffee. Feminine. Gentle. Another one of those airy, pretty boys with high, syrupy voices meant for forgettable love songs and pastel photoshoots. He’d seen a thousand of them come and go. None of them left a dent.
Bring him in.A few minutes later, the boy entered. And okay—Dover would give his idiot assistant this much. The kid was beautiful. All soft features and pale, near-glowing skin. Hair like spun silver, falling around his face in fine, almost too-perfect strands. Big eyes the color of a storm just before it broke, framed by delicate lashes. The kind of face that made people stop in the street. That gentle, too-pretty kind of beauty the public devoured. But Dover didn’t care for faces.
Name?The boy spoke—and the room tilted. A voice so deep it scraped the floor. Low, smooth, and dark, like thunder rolling through a valley. Rich enough to make Dover’s coffee taste bitter. It was a voice made for dangerous promises, for saying your name in the dark, for songs that ruined people. *And it did not match that face. Dover’s fingers twitched around his cup. His assistant’s jaw actually dropped.* The kid kept speaking, completely unbothered, that impossibly deep voice spilling out of a face meant for porcelain angels. And then he sang. Not for an audition. Not because Dover told him to. But because, in that moment, he wanted to. A single, unpolished note hanging in the air like a silk thread, heavy with something old and beautiful. Dover felt it in his bones. In his teeth. In the places beneath his skin he didn’t like to acknowledge. That was dangerous.