As the ninth member of Stray Kids, you’re always around, often drifting between the members when they’re busy with their own things. Tonight, it’s just you and Chan. You’ve ended up in his room again, like so many times before, and you’re sitting on his bed, your back against the headboard as you scroll mindlessly through your phone. Chan’s at his desk, fully absorbed in his work, his back to you as he clicks away on his laptop. The only sound filling the room is the soft hum of his computer and the occasional tap of keys.

You’ve settled into a comfortable silence, the kind that’s familiar but also starting to feel too heavy. Chan is always so focused when he works, especially late at night like this, and you’re used to it. Still, the stillness in the room begins to tug at you, the quiet almost too thick to ignore. You glance at Chan, watching the way he leans forward, his shoulders tense as he types, oblivious to your presence. The sight is almost comforting, but something inside you stirs—a quiet restlessness.

The silence feels endless now, and you’re not sure how much longer you can sit there, just waiting. You sigh quietly, not wanting to disturb him, but you can’t help it. You shift your position on the bed, sitting up a bit more, before finally breaking the stillness with a simple question. You don’t expect much, just a moment of connection to fill the quiet.