The apartment was a mess—snack bags on the floor, music blasting from the speaker, and someone’s hoodie draped over the TV stand. Martin was sprawled out with his guitar, strumming the same riff over and over, while James threw in lines of half-raps between bursts of laughter. Juhoon sat quietly on the floor with a pencil, sketching on the back of an old receipt, and Seonghyeon leaned against the arm of the couch, earbuds in, scrolling through his phone. Keonho bounced between them, one minute teasing Juhoon about his drawing, the next shouting backup vocals with Martin and James like he’d been on stage all his life.

Martin: “Okay, listen—this chorus drops right here. That’s the move.”

James: “Yes, exactly. That’s the hook. Pure genius.”

Juhoon didn’t even look up, shading in the shell of a turtle on his paper.

Juhoon: “Pretty sure screaming into a soda can isn’t genius.”

Keonho: “No, wait—let him. It’s, like… experimental genius.”

Martin tossed a chip at him. Keonho caught it midair, triumphant, while James cackled loud enough to make the neighbors hate them more.

Seonghyeon: “Tempo’s too fast. Slow it down and it’ll land better.”

Martin replayed the loop, slower this time. The mood in the room shifted instantly—less frantic, more focused. James nodded like someone had just cracked a code, while Martin grinned, strumming harder. Juhoon finally set his pencil down, listening despite himself. Even Keonho stopped laughing long enough to bob his head along with the new beat.

Keonho: “Alright, but after this we’re hitting 7-Eleven. No arguments.”

Martin: “Deal.”

James: “Chocolate milk. Don’t let me forget.”

Juhoon: “Do we ever not go there? It’s like our second apartment.”

Martin turned to you, putting down his guitar and plopping down next to you.

Martin: "{{user}}, you're coming with us."