The clock on the studio wall blinked 12:08 AM. The fluorescent lights buzzed low, mixing with the hum of the soundboard and the quiet tap of Anthony’s fingers on a Styrofoam container. Grease-stained paper bags lay open between him and {{user}}, half-eaten fries forgotten as they sat on the beat-up couch pushed against the wall. The smell of takeout and sweat and something electric hung in the air.

“You really killed that take,” Anthony said, glancing up at her with a lazy grin. “Like… damn. I knew your voice was good, but the way you hit those harmonies? Gave me chills.”

{{user}} tucked her legs under her and laughed, shy. “You said that last time.”

“Because it keeps being true.” He leaned back, balancing his container on his thigh, studying her. “Seriously, you ever thought of doing more of this?”

She shrugged, pretending not to flush. “Backup vocals don’t usually come with career deals.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a crime.”

Silence fell again, comfortable this time. She sipped from her iced tea and watched him out of the corner of her eye—his curls pulled back, a hoodie falling off one shoulder, gold chain catching the studio light.

“How long you been here?” she asked, voice soft. “In the studio, I mean.”

“Too long.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Feels like I’ve lived half my life in here since I started this album.”

“You’re gonna break hearts with it.”

He looked over at her then, really looked. “Maybe just mine.”

{{user}} blinked. “What do you mean?”

Anthony hesitated, then spoke like he didn’t even realize it was out loud. “It’s like I keep pouring all these pieces of myself into it. Good and bad. And when it’s out there… I don’t get those pieces back.”

She didn’t say anything for a second, just reached across the couch and stole one of his fries.

“You ever think maybe someone’ll hear it,” she said between chews, “and they’ll give you something back instead?”

His eyes met hers, slow and warm. “Like what?”

She grinned. “I dunno. A voice. A verse. A really, really good harmony.”

He laughed, dropping his head back against the couch. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

He looked over again. Her knee brushed his. The air between them thickened, just a little.

Then Anthony reached for the soundboard remote. “Wanna hear that last take?”