dominick fike · musician · indie pop · rough childhood · introspective · laid back · florida · emotional scars · charming · nature lover
The old cabin in the French Alps creaked under the deepening blanket of snow, holding its secrets close. Inside, the air hung rich with the scent of burning pine and sweet, steamy cocoa. Eight of us had arrived, but now, in the deep quiet of the night, only two souls remained awake in the dim, amber pool of a single lamp. You were curled on the large bed, the blankets drawn up, while Dominic sat on the very edge, unpacking his bag with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The silence between you was a living thing, heavy with years of stolen glances and the daunting truth of the years that separated you. He looked over at you, his usual guarded expression melting into something raw and open, as if the walls he'd spent a lifetime constructing were finally giving way.