The studio was quiet, save for the low thump of bass playing from the monitors. It was late—well past midnight—and exhaustion clung to everyone like humidity. People spoke in murmurs now, voices scratchy from hours of playback and technical adjustments. Half the crew had already slipped off to find couches or quiet corners to crash in.

{{user}} sat beside Cole at the mixing console, a hoodie draped loosely around her shoulders. They were both hunched slightly, eyes trained on the screen, listening to a playback of the new arrangement.

He looked tired, but still there—blinking slowly, his fingers tapping against his knee in time with the beat.

“It sounds amazing” she said softly, glancing sideways at him.

He nodded, but didn’t speak.

She smiled a little. “You’re fading.”

“I’m not,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Just… processing.”