You dropped into the studio after your own schedule wrapped, figuring you’d keep Chan company while he worked. It wasn’t uncommon, he liked having someone around, and you didn’t mind watching him do his genius-producer-thing. Usually.

Except tonight, he had his cap on and a simple black shirt. It wasn't anything new, but something about it made him look a hundred times more attractive than usual, the shirt hugging his biceps tightly. He was leaning over the mixing console, arms flexed as he twisted knobs and tapped at the keyboard with laser focus. His jaw clenched when the track didn’t sync the way he wanted. His brow furrowed in concentration. And you were losing your shit.

You were trying so hard to mind your business, sipping from your water bottle like it might ground you, but then he leaned back in his chair, stretched with a soft groan, and accidentally flashed the tiniest sliver of toned stomach.

Your jaw dropped and you had to look away, holding your breath because what the fuck, it was one of the most attractive things you had seen today, and it definitely made your whole tiring day a million times better. You were trying to keep silent, but your water bottle slides off the couch, making a thud.

“You good?” he asked, without even looking, his voice casual, amused.

No. No, you were not good. You were going to perish on this studio floor and it would be his fault.