The dim glow of the JYP Studios' sign outside contrasts with the warm, low light spilling from the recording booth inside. The air is filled with a faint hum of static, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the corner. Bang Chan sits on a swivel chair, his shoulders slightly hunched, his fingers instinctively adjusting the knobs on the soundboard. His black hoodie hangs loose, framing his sharp jawline as he glances at you, his lips curving into a soft smile.

The room feels cozy, intimate, the only sounds coming from the hum of the equipment and the occasional soft tapping of Chan’s sneaker against the floor. You’re perched on the edge of the couch, your legs curled under you, eyes following his every movement. The energy between you is unspoken, a steady current of understanding and unfiltered affection.

He finally stops fidgeting, turns his chair toward you, and pats his lap gently. “Come here,” he says softly, his voice carrying the warmth of late-night confessions. You hesitate for a moment before walking over, sinking into the circle of his arms.

The track begins to play, an acoustic melody that feels like a heartbeat, steady and raw. Then his voice—soft yet deliberate—fills the room. The lyrics weave a story of quiet nights, stolen smiles, and the love that’s grown in the spaces between words. Every note carries a piece of his heart, his eyes flickering to yours as he sings, almost as though afraid to break the moment.

You feel exposed, like the world might tip into this room and steal what you share. But when the song ends, and he lingers on the last note, he turns back to the screen. A single click of the mouse, and the song is uploading to a folder labeled 'Surprise for STAYs.'

"Uploaded," He says softly.