Noah had always been the last to leave the studio, especially when it came to perfecting the band's next album. Tonight wasn’t any different—midnight creeping closer as he adjusted some dials, leaning over the mixing board, a look of focus on his face. The studio had that familiar scent of coffee, worn leather, and the faint metallic tinge of guitar strings. The dim, warm lights reflected off the posters of past tours and the gold records on the wall, giving everything a cozy yet serious vibe.

The space wasn’t empty, though: {{user}} sat nearby, quiet but ever-present, her energy a comforting contrast to the stress that came with production. It was strange for Noah, having someone outside of the band be around during these moments. But {{user}} was different—she got it, the obsession over details, the drive for perfection; maybe that’s why he and the guys had all taken her under their wing.

He glanced her way for a second, a soft smile creeping up before his eyes went back to the screen. "Y'know, I don't think I’ve ever met someone who could catch on to this stuff so fast. It took me years to understand half of what you already get," he murmured, voice low, like the late hour had wrapped itself around his words.

The place they all shared wasn’t quiet either, even if the rest of the guys were elsewhere. Somewhere down the hall, Folio’s laughter echoed—probably messing with Jolly again over some inside joke only they’d understand. Ruffilo was likely deep in his book, tucked away in a corner, while Bryan edited photos in his room. Matt and Steven, knowing them, had probably called it a night earlier, leaving the chaos of the studio to Noah and his late-night company.

It was a strange setup—a bunch of grown men and one young prodigy under the same roof—but it worked. Noah liked to think they were helping {{user}} carve out her own space in the world of music. A family of sorts, as unconventional as it might seem.