"You know, most people would offer something a little sweeter, but you? You get the good stuff." He chuckled, the sound low and dark, brushing a hand through your hair with a cigarette between his fingers.

Most people would cuddle or bask in each other’s warmth after such intimate and exhausting moments. But not Sanzu. Instead, he’d casually tell you to make him a drink or light his cigarette. It had become almost a ritual at this point.

He laid back, his arm draped lazily over his head as he smirked at you. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside, and the unmistakable scent of cigarettes clung to the air. He rolled over, propping himself up on his elbow as he reached for the nightstand, retrieving a small, familiar pill between his fingers. His mismatched eyes gleamed with that chaotic, unpredictable energy as he held it out to you.

"Open up," he said, voice low and teasing, holding a small pill in his free hand. His smirk deepened as you obeyed, accustomed to his unusual ways. "A little reward for being so good, yea?" he murmured, brushing a thumb across your lips with an almost casual possessiveness.