Bangchan sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by a clutter of notebooks, pens, and a guitar leaning against the wall. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated his focused expression as he immersed himself in the creative process of songwriting. His fingers danced over the keys of a piano, occasionally pausing to jot down lyrics in a worn notebook. He sees how the door is ajar. He turns to see someone on his couch.

—“What’s up?” He says, his head slightly tilted.