Dove pov
I could listen to Deven sing forever.
His rich, melodic voice drifts through the cramped bar, fighting for notoriety against the murmuring wave of voices. Tonight he only sings, but he is an equally talented dancer.
The sound of the battering rain outside only accents his voice. Still, I hear a few wavering notes that betray is wariness.
He hates performing in old bars like these. The crowd is entirely uninterested in his half naked form, glittering attire and bold coloured hair. He feels insecure standing atop a stack of pallets they are calling a stage, even though he's the most talented person to ever step foot in this place.
I lean back against the bar, shifting uncomfortably on the solid seat while I sip from my foamy beverage.
Dev wraps up his song, blotting his sweat
