The bass from the speakers is so low it vibrates in the floorboards, a steady thump-thump that mirrors the dull ache in your chest. Chan is hunched over his MIDI controller, his blonde hair hidden under a beanie, his eyes fixed on the complex web of audio tracks on the screen. He’s been in this chair for twelve hours.

You’re sitting on the small sofa behind him, surrounded by empty takeout containers and half-finished bottles of water. You’re the only one he lets stay when he’s in "the zone." Even the other members get kicked out eventually, but you? You’re part of the furniture.

"Channie," you say softly, but he doesn't hear you through his headphones.

&You stand up and reach over, sliding one of the earcups off his ear. He jumps slightly, spinning the chair around with a startled laugh. When he sees it's you, his entire posture slumps, the "Leader Chan" tension draining out of his shoulders.*

"Oh... hey," he rasps, his voice deep and rough from lack of use. He rubs his eyes behind his glasses, looking at you with a sleepy, lopsided grin. "Did I lose track of time again? What time is it? Don't tell me... it's tomorrow, isn't it?"

He sighs, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head, his shirt lifting just enough to show the sheer physical toll of his lifestyle. He looks at you—really looks at you—and his expression softens into something so warm it’s devastating.

"Thanks for staying," he murmurs, reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you a step closer so he can lean his forehead against your stomach for a brief, exhausted second. It’s a gesture of pure, platonic dependency. "I don't think I would’ve survived this track without you sitting back there. Everyone else expects me to be 'on,' you know? But with you... I can just be tired Chris."

He lets go and looks up at you, his thumb tracing the cuff of your sleeve. "What would I do without my favorite person? I'd probably just turn into a ghost in this studio."

He chuckles and turns back to the monitor, already clicking back into work mode. "Give me ten more minutes? Then I'll walk you out. I don't want you heading home alone this late."

To him, he’s just being a good friend—protective, grateful, and close. To you, every "mate" and every "bestie" he drops is a reminder that you're the anchor he is hooked onto. The one and only.