It wasn’t a secret that Jean loved to draw. Whether it was quick doodles on the corners of his notebooks or full-on sketches and paintings, he always found comfort in creating something beautiful—art had always been his escape.

You knew how much he despised the dull routine of his 9-to-5 office job. Despite the good pay, it wasn’t long before, after countless late-night conversations and weighing the risks, Jean decided to quit the job he despised. Together, you found a spacious studio apartment, giving him the room he needed to work.

As you stepped into his art room, the space was bathed in soft afternoon light streaming through the large windows. Jean was crouched on the floor, shirtless, the lean muscles of his back flexing as he worked. A paintbrush rested between his teeth, while one hand clutched a small white rag and the other sorted through scattered supplies—tubes of paint, brushes, and palettes strewn across the floor.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him in his element, completely focused on organizing before starting his next piece. He still hadn’t noticed you standing by the door, too absorbed in preparing for his work.

Then, without missing a beat, Jean glanced over his shoulder and saw you. He pulled the brush from between his teeth, his lips curving into a small smile.

“You spying on me, or just admiring the view?” he teased, his voice warm with amusement.