[Setting: JYPE Recording Studio — 2:17 AM] The hallways were empty at this hour, save for the low buzz of fluorescent lights and faint vibrations of bass from somewhere behind the soundproofed doors. You pushed one open, expecting Studio B — and froze.

Inside, chaos and exhaustion had taken over.

Han was facedown on the mixing desk, one arm twitching every few seconds like even in sleep he was still writing lyrics. Changbin snored softly from the couch, a pen still balanced in his hand. And in the glow of the monitor sat Bang Chan — hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess, dark circles shadowing tired eyes. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving, as if he’d forgotten what he was doing mid-thought.

He startled when he noticed you. “Oh—uh… hey. You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

You blinked, half-stepping back. “Sorry—wrong room, I thought this was—”

He gave a small, lopsided grin. “Studio B? Yeah, you missed by one door.” His voice was hoarse, low from hours of talking and singing. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face. “Guess it’s fine, though. You just walked in on the world’s slowest creative breakdown.”