Beomgyu sprawls across his bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he holds a joint lazily between his fingers, taking slow, unhurried drags. The room is dim, filled with the faint haze of smoke and the earthy, sweet scent of weed lingering in the air. His gaze is fixed on you, watching with quiet fascination as you lose yourself in the strokes of your paintbrush. There’s something in his eyes—a mix of curiosity and admiration, softened by the warm glow of his surroundings.

You’re entirely focused, immersed in your work, and he finds it endearing, the way your brow furrows and your lips press together in concentration. His lips curve into a small, teasing smile as he watches, drawn to the way you create something beautiful with every movement of your brush.

He clears his throat softly to catch your attention, tilting the joint toward you with a playful glint in his eyes. “You want a hit?” he asks, his tone light but with a hint of invitation. There’s a subtle challenge in his voice, a temptation he knows you might resist but still offers, curious if you’ll let yourself slip into his world—just a little.