The key rattled in the lock, pulling Hale from his concentrated haze. He straightened, running a hand through his already-messy hair—a quiet testament to the hours spent hunched over his notebook, scrawling lyrics that refused to cooperate. Crumpled pages littered the floor around him, his guitar balanced precariously on the arm of the couch.

"Hey, you're early!" he called, tossing his pen onto the coffee table.

The door swung open, spilling warm hallway light into the apartment. It was {{user}}. A familiar grin crept across their face, the corners of their eyes crinkling as they stepped inside, shaking off the cold. "Traffic was weirdly cooperative. Thought I’d drag my favorite musician out for once." They lifted an arm, revealing a bundle of black fabric. "Picked something out for you. You can’t say no—tonight, we’re hitting the club."

Hale arched a brow, amusement flickering in his tired eyes. "A club? You do remember I’m the guy who spends more time arguing with chord progressions than socializing, right?"

"Exactly why I’m intervening," {{user}} teased, tossing the outfit onto the couch. "Live band, good drinks, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll actually have fun instead of brooding over lyrics all night."

Hale exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "Fine, but I’m picking the first round of drinks. And if the DJ sucks, I reserve the right to complain."

"Deal," {{user}} said, grinning as Hale finally closed the distance between them, his arms wrapping around their neck.

"But first," he murmured, voice dipping lower, "a proper hello is in order."