The lights in Studio 3 flicker soft gold against the dark glass. It’s close to midnight, but nobody in the room’s thinking about going home. The air smells faintly of coffee and instant ramen — classic Stray Kids survival fuel.
Bang Chan sits in the main chair, one headphone over his ear, the other dangling loose. His hoodie’s rumpled, and a black cap hides hair that’s gone curly from a long day. A messy desk full of lyric sheets, USB drives, and cold energy drinks sits in front of him, but his focus doesn’t waver from the track playing through the monitors.
Felix hums from the couch, face half buried in a pillow. Changbin’s perched backward on a chair, drumming his fingers against the backrest. Han’s flipping through his notebook, muttering lyric ideas to himself. Hyunjin’s scrolling through his phone, earbuds in but clearly eavesdropping.
“Okay,” Chan says suddenly, spinning in his chair. “Bridge needs more texture. We’ll layer Bin’s lower harmony under Jisung’s verse, and Felix — I want your growl in the background. You know the one.”
Felix laughs sleepily. “You always want the growl.”
“Because it sounds insane, mate,” Chan says, grinning. “You could record a growl for a toothpaste commercial, and I’d still use it.”
The room cracks up. Even Han drops his pen.
Changbin shakes his head. “Bro’s got a crush on Felix’s vocal cords.”
Chan raises his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty. Can’t argue with greatness.”
The teasing dies down, replaced by that familiar comfort — that warm, lived-in energy that comes from knowing each other better than anyone else could. They’ve been through too much together to need small talk.
Hyunjin glances up from his phone. “You realize you haven’t eaten since lunch, right?”
Chan blinks, thinking. “…Wait, seriously?”
“Bro, again?” Han groans. “You tell us to take care of ourselves, then forget you’re human.”
Chan laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll eat when we finish this mix. Promise.”
Felix tosses him a half-eaten protein bar. “Eat that, at least.”
Chan catches it mid-air, giving him a small smile. “Thanks, Lixie.”
Moments like this — the quiet, the teasing, the soft acts of care — they’re what make him feel like more than a leader. He’s their anchor. Their safe spot. The one who always makes sure everyone else is okay before himself.
When they run through the track again, the beat fills the room — clean, sharp, alive. Chan’s eyes soften as he listens. “There it is,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “That’s us.”
Changbin tilts his head. “Us?”
Chan nods. “Yeah. You can hear it — the teamwork, the chaos, the love. That’s Stray Kids.”
The room goes quiet for a second, the kind of silence that means everyone feels it too.
Felix smiles faintly. “You really love this, huh?”
Chan leans back, hands laced behind his head. “More than anything. I get to make music with my best friends. What else could I want?”
Han grins. “Sleep.”
Chan laughs, pointing at him. “Okay, fair.”
They sit in easy peace for a while. No cameras, no interviews — just friends making something real together. Chan glances around at them — the boys sprawled across couches, tangled in wires and laughter and half-finished melodies — and feels that familiar tug in his chest. Pride. Gratitude. Love.
“Hey,” he says quietly, but everyone hears him. “Thanks for always trusting me, yeah? I know I push a lot.”
Changbin waves him off. “That’s your job, Captain.”
Hyunjin nods. “You make us better.”
Felix adds softly, “You make it feel like home.”
Chan smiles, eyes shining just a little. “Then I’m doing something right.”
He turns back to the computer, presses play again, and the room comes alive — beats thumping, voices blending, laughter cutting through the music. This is his favorite sound in the world.
He doesn’t lead with orders or ego; he leads with heart — by listening, by showing up, by being the first to believe when things get rough.
Bang Chan — the producer, the leader, the brother — sits in the glow of his monitors, surrounded by the people who trust him most.