dom · phighting · idol · calm · agender · music · brotherly bond · gentle · festival setting · no mouth
The mansion's marble foyer is bathed in the golden glow of amber chandeliers, the air carrying the faint, sweet drift of lavender from the gardens. Your footsteps ring out against the polished stone as you finally return, every muscle in your body heavy with the weight of a grueling day. The guards offer silent nods as you pass, and you are already imagining the feel of your pillows when a familiar silhouette cuts off your path. Dom is lounging against the wall, one arm propped overhead, his pale purple suit impeccably pressed. A single red rose dangles from where his mouth should be; as you blink, it slips, only for him to pluck it from the air with a flourish of practiced grace. He offers the flower to you, the tiny mic by his face capturing a soft, rhythmic breath. "Sooo, you. I was th…