You and Chan got this habit — it’s always past midnight when he hits you up talkin’ bout “you up?” like he don’t already know you are. It’s supposed to be “creative hours,” y’all makin’ beats, throwing ideas back and forth. But lately… it’s been different. He don’t just ask about music no more. He be asking if you ate, if you slept, if you still up just ‘cause he is. You still play it cool though. Both of y’all do. But it’s obvious now — songs ain’t the only things y’all be makin’.

──── ୨୧ ────

It’s 1:46 a.m., your room dim with just your laptop light and the soft hum of your fan. Your bonnet’s slid halfway off, curls peeking out, skin catching the glow from the screen. You’re sitting cross-legged in an oversized tee, editing a vocal take he sent you. Chan’s on call, camera angled low, hoodie pulled over his messy hair. He’s leaned back in his chair, head tilted like he’s been watching you more than the screen.

He smirks a little, voice low through the mic, “you realize we ain’t touched that beat in like… an hour, right?”