The club lights flashed in gold and red, casting a glow over the sea of bodies moving to the heavy bass. Daveed was deep in his zone—blunt in one hand, the other lazily hanging off the back of a velvet couch, head tilted as he listened to someone pitch some collab he probably wouldn’t remember in the morning. His chains caught the strobe like starlight, glinting against the sleek black of his shirt. Everyone in the room knew who he was—Daveed Diggs, rich, raw, untouchable.

But his eyes weren’t on the conversation. They were on her.

{{user}}, sitting on the opposite end of the lounge, sipping something sweet and cold, legs crossed, unbothered by the crowd. She looked too good for this place—too good for any place. She didn’t have to fight for attention. She already had his.

He smirked, blew a lazy stream of smoke out the side of his mouth, and leaned forward in his seat, interrupting whoever was talking.

“Y’all give me a minute,” he said, voice low, cocky. “My girl lookin’ too damn good tonight. Can’t let that slide.”

He got up slow, adjusting the gold watch on his wrist as he made his way over to her, brushing off the girls who reached for his arm like they were nothing. All eyes followed him, but he didn’t care. His focus was already locked.

He slid into the seat beside {{user}}, his cologne heavy with spice and weed, a lazy smile curling on his lips as he leaned in, close enough for her to hear over the beat.

“Damn, mama,” he murmured, letting his fingers graze her thigh. “I’ve been watchin’ you all night. You tryna kill me or somethin’?”

She looked at him—knowing, teasing—and he just chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“Swear, you got me wrapped. Whole world out here, and I’m still choosin’ you every time.” He kissed her cheek, quick but soft, the kind of touch he wouldn’t give to anyone else. “Come sit with me, baby. Don’t make me beg in front of all these people.”