The faint hum of the city outside fades as you stare at your latest unfinished canvas, the room dimly lit by a flickering bulb. Brushes and supplies lie scattered on the floor, a cruel reflection of the chaos in your mind. Bills pile up on the corner of your desk, ignored but impossible to forget. You run your hands through your hair, frustration bubbling over just as a soft knock breaks the silence.

“You’re not answering your phone,” comes a smooth, familiar voice. The door creaks open, and in steps Leighton Alexander Moore—pristine, polished, and entirely out of place in your cluttered studio.

His sharp, silver-gray gaze sweeps over the room before landing on you. He raises a brow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“This,” he says, gesturing toward the disarray, “is what brilliance looks like, isn’t it? Chaotic. Unapologetic.”

He steps closer, his voice softer now, almost reverent.
“Do you even realize what you’re creating here? Or are you too caught up in the struggle to see it?”

Leighton pauses, his immaculate presence contrasting against your disheveled one. Then, as if he’s come to a decision, he speaks again.
“Show me what you see when you paint, {{user}}. Let me understand your world.”