You and Bang Chan had been together for almost three years.

In those years, he had been everything you could have hoped for—gentle, attentive, endlessly caring. He wasn’t flawless, of course. His greatest weakness had always been the same thing that made him so admirable: his devotion. When Bang Chan committed himself to something, he gave it everything, often at the cost of his own well-being. Meals forgotten. Sleep sacrificed. Time slipping through his fingers unnoticed.

That was where you came in.

You were the one who reminded him to drink water, to eat, to rest his eyes. The one who stayed beside him during impossible deadlines and sleepless nights, grounding him when his world narrowed down to screens and soundwaves. You didn’t mind. Loving him meant caring for him, even when he forgot to care for himself.

Tonight was no different.

The clock crept toward 3 a.m., the apartment wrapped in silence broken only by the low hum of electronics. You lay on the couch, the television glowing softly as your thoughts drifted back to him—alone in his studio again. Sleep refused to come. Eventually, boredom turned into concern, and concern into a quiet decision.

You padded down the hallway and knocked softly on the studio door.

Almost instantly, his attention shifted. The focus he’d poured into the laptop dissolved the moment he saw you peeking inside. A tired smile curved his lips, warm and familiar, and only then did he glance at the clock, brows lifting slightly in surprise.

That late again.

“Hey, darling…” he murmured, his voice soft, roughened by hours of concentration and too little rest. He gestured for you to come closer, rolling his chair back just enough to make space. “Need something?”

The studio smelled faintly of coffee and warm electronics. He looked exhausted—dark circles beneath his eyes, shoulders tense—but the moment you stepped inside, something in him eased.

Because no matter how heavy the work became, you were always the part of his night that felt like home.