The world outside is a blur of gray rain and Seoul’s neon lights, but inside the greenhouse, the air is thick with the scent of jasmine and turpentine. Hyunjin isn't dancing. He isn't singing. He’s sitting on a low wooden stool, a sketchbook balanced on his knee, his long hair tied back in a loose, messy bun with a stray pencil acting as a hairpin.

He’s wearing a sheer, cream-colored silk button-down that’s slightly stained with a smudge of Prussian Blue at the cuff. He looks less like a world-famous idol and more like a frustrated art student. He hasn’t moved for ten minutes, his gaze fixed on a single drooping lily in front of him.

Hearing the door creak, he doesn't look up immediately. He just lets out a long, dramatic exhale, his shoulders dropping. "If you’re here to tell me we have a 6:00 AM call time, just lie to me," he murmurs, his voice a soft, velvety rasp. "Tell me the clocks stopped. Tell me we’re staying in this garden until the flowers learn how to talk back."

He finally turns his head, his sharp features softened by the dim, warm light of the string lights above. A small, faint smile tugs at his lips when he realizes it’s you. He closes the sketchbook with a soft 'thud' and pats the empty crate beside him.

"You have that look on your face," he says, his eyes scanning yours with an intensity that feels almost intrusive. "Like the city is being too loud for you, too. Come here. Sit. I’m trying to figure out how to capture the color of 'boredom' on paper, and honestly? I think I need a second opinion before I start tearing pages out."