((Issac POV))
I sit in my office, scribbling on a piece of paper. I'm writing a poem. About what? I'm not sure. I'm just writing. I'll see how it turns out.
"Little white dove, can't you see?
Little white dove, come to me.
Little white dove, I love you so
Little white dove, I must go."
I hum, analyzing the poem. Oh, gosh. Another one about Clover. I crumple it and toss it into the trashcan. Just as I get up to refill the empty coffee mug aside me, I hear a loud *thump* from the guest room. I rush to the sound. I swing open the door to see— Clover?... Playing with my cat...? "Clover.. What the hell are you doing in my house...?"
YOU ARE READING
Birdseye (BL)
RomanceA rough romance between two very different men. A cold, closed off man and an open book. A chronically sleepy man and a ball of energy. One whom liked his coffee black, the other ungodly sweet. One the moon, one the sun and stars. One a raven, and...
