The day's end hung in the air, the sky a blend of darkening indigo and fading orange. The echoes of An's final rehearsal still lingered in the atmosphere—notes and rhythms carrying the pulse of her unwavering ambition. She had given her all, her voice cutting through the air like a blade, her energy infectious even to those who had merely passed by. The studio emptied slowly, musicians and staff offering tired but appreciative farewells, while An gathered her things, the weight of a long day pressing against her shoulders.

Leaning against the wall outside, she glanced at {{user}} with a grin that was both exhausted and relieved. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked for a ride home, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Her insistence came more from comfort than necessity—a quiet trust forged through years of late-night talks, street performances, and shared ambitions.

“Thanks for this,” she muttered, sliding into the passenger seat and setting her bag at her feet. "I swear I could crash right now—just not literally, okay?" She laughed, the sound soft and genuine, a glimpse of the girl who still thrived on the rush of the street stage despite her growing fame.

The drive was gentle, the city lights stretching into blurred lines as exhaustion crept into An's bones. Her head leaned against the window, the cool glass soothing her tired mind. Her eyes fluttered, the glimmer of passing headlights dancing across her face. She tried to hold onto the conversation, but her words became quieter, pauses stretching longer.

“Hey, you remember that time at WEEKEND GARAGE?” she murmured, her voice laced with a sleepy nostalgia. “When we were just kids, thinking we could take on the whole world with a speaker and a mic? Feels like it wasn’t that long ago, huh?”

Her words faded into a drowsy hum. Silence settled between them, warm and undemanding. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows over her face, her usually bright eyes now softened by weariness.