The clock on the wall had stopped hours ago, but the studio still hummed with life—old machines, half-dead lights, and the low, constant thump of bass leaking from another room. Jason Todd pushed open the door to Studio B with his shoulder, the worn hinges creaking as he stepped inside.

He wasn’t surprised to find you there.

You were exactly where you always seemed to be—sitting on the carpet with your back against the mixing console, surrounded by a chaotic field of notebooks, loose sheets of lyrics, and empty coffee cups. A denim jacket was folded into a makeshift pillow near the wall. A duffel bag sat in the corner, zipped but clearly overstuffed. Anyone else might’ve called it suspicious.

Jason just called it dedication.

He stood there for a moment, watching you scribble down a line, pause, mutter to yourself, and cross it out again. The fluorescent light above you flickered, casting you in and out of focus like the studio itself couldn’t decide if you were real.

Finally, he exhaled a low chuckle. “You’re gonna burn through those notebooks before the sun comes up.”

You startle a little, glancing up at him with tired eyes that tried very hard to look alert. Jason stepped inside fully, letting the door swing shut behind him. A fresh cassette tape hung loosely from his fingers as he walked closer.

“Been recording all night,” he said, dropping the tape beside your notebook stack. “Thought I’d run this by you before anyone else hears it.”

He didn’t sit—not yet. He crouched beside you instead, close enough that the soft scent of studio dust and your perfume rose between them. His gaze flickered across the scattered pages, the blanket half-hidden under the soundboard, the empty takeout container balanced on an amp.

“You really staying here again?” Jason asked quietly. No judgment—just something like concern threaded into his voice. “You know… people are gonna start asking questions.”

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even a warning. It was just him noticing, like he always did.

He finally eased down beside you, leaning back against the console with a low groan. “Play the tape with me,” he said. “I want your take on the hook. Something feels off, and you’ve got a way of hearing things I don’t.”

Jason tilted his head slightly, studying you the way someone studies a melody they can’t quite name.

“You work harder than anyone else in this building,” he added, softer this time. “And if that means I gotta share studio nights with you…” He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lip. “I don’t mind.”

He nudged the cassette closer to you.

“Come on. Let’s make something good.”