Work Text:
The hallway outside the studio smells faintly like coffee and cleaning products, the lights too bright for how early it is.
Chan pushes the door open with his shoulder, laptop in one hand, keys jangling softly from his fingers as he balances coffees in his other hand. Changbin follows close behind, already shrugging off his jacket, energy buzzing under his skin. Jisung trails in last, earbuds still in, mouthing lyrics to something only he can hear.
The door clicks shut behind them.
It’s quiet in here. The kind of expectant quiet that makes Chan’s finger itch.
“Okay,” Changbin says, clapping his hands once. “I have some thoughts.”
Jisung drops his bag to the floor and flops into a chair. “Didn’t know you could think.” He teases lightly, earning a low grumble from the older man.
Chan smiles despite himself, setting his laptop down and powering everything on. The familiar glow of screens fills the room, washing it in soft light.
Jisung swivels in his chair, already pulling a notebook from his bag. The cover is bent, pages frayed, margins filled with half-finished ideas. “I wrote something earlier,” he says, flipping through the book. “Not lyrics exactly. Just… vibes.”
Changbin snorts. “You and your vibes.”
“Shut up,” Jisung retorts playfully. “You love my vibes.”
Chan hums as he opens a new file. “Let’s hear them.”
Jisung clears his throat dramatically. “Okay, so… What if the chorus isn’t catchy on purpose?”
Changbin’s eyes light up. “Say more.”
“What if it’s uncomfortable,” Jisung continues, words spilling faster now that he’s started. “Like it sticks in your head, not because it’s pretty, but because it’s honest.”
Chan nods slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “We can build tension instead of release.”
Changbin grabs a marker and turns to the whiteboard, already writing fragmented lines. “Something about pressure. Expectations. Everyone watching.”
Jisung scribbles too, notebook filling with arrows and crossed-out phrases. “No clean edges,” he mutters. “Let it be messy.”
The beat starts as a simple loop. Nothing fancy. Just a pulse.
They fall into it without even noticing.
Changbin paces as he talks, tossing out words and phrases like sparks. Jisung interrupts constantly, finishing thoughts, derailing them, circling back with something sharper. Chan listens, weaving it all together, trimming here, amplifying there.
Markers squeak. Pens scratch. Keys click.
At some point, Changbin pauses mid-sentence, head tilting. “Wait.”
Everyone freezes.
“That,” Changbin says slowly, pointing at the speakers. “That sound. Do that again.”
Chan rewinds the track a few seconds.
Jisung’s eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, that’s… Yeah!”
Something settles into place.
Chan exhales, smiling to himself. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Now we’re in it.”
The red light flicks on.
And just like that, their day begins.
The studio light is red. It has been for so long that it feels permanent.
Chan can’t remember when they last turned it off, only that at some point the air grew stale and the bass rattling something loose in his chest.
Changbin is pacing behind him again, hoodie abandoned on the back of a chair, muttering lyrics under his breath like he’s trying to exorcise something.
Jisung is curled in the chair, knees pulled up, laptop balanced precariously on his thighs, his hair sticking up in three different directions. His eyes are bright and focused in a way Chan knows it means do not interrupt unless you want total chaos.
“This beat slaps,” Jisung says suddenly.
Chan doesn’t look up. “You say that every time.”
“No, I say interesting every time. This one’s…” Jisung paused, fingers hovering over the keys. “This one feels like we’re breaking something open.”
Chan finally swivels in his chair, exhaustion pressing heavy behind his eyes. “Okay. Play it again.”
Jisung hits the spacebar, the track fills the room.
The bass rattles the walls. It’s raw and unpolished. Chan feels it settle under his ribs, familiar and sharp and right. Changbin stops pacing halfway through, listening like the song put him in a trance.
Then he grins. “Get ready to record.”
Changbin doesn’t hesitate. He steps up to the mic, no second-guessing. He doesn’t need warming up, not when it’s like this. The words come fast and brutal, syllables snapping, voice full of grit and convition. Full of bite and hunger and a little bit of rage they never quite talk about.
Chan adjusts levels on instinct, the way he always does, hands moving automatically. Jisung bounces in his chair, already scribbling notes as he can hear what comes next.
When Changbin finishes, he exhales hard, the room goes silent.
Jisung breaks it first. “Okay…” He swivels toward Chan. “What if we strip the pre-chorus?”
Chan turns back to the board. “Explain.”
“What if it’s just vocals. No beat. No safety net. Just…” Jisung gestures vaguely. “Just us. Before it hits again.”
Changbin laughs, sharp and delighted. “That’s unhinged.”
Chan considers it. Then he nods. “Do it.”
The bass is still humming when Jisung’s phone buzzes.
He ignores it at first, keeping his eyes locked on the screen, fingers tapping out a rhythm that doesn’t exist yet. The sound blends into the chaos of the studio, another layer of noise in a room full of it.
Then it buzzes again.
Changbin groans. “If that’s the group chat-”
Jisung glances down. Minho. He stills.
Chan notices immediately. “You should probably answer.”
“I know,” Jisung mutters, thumb hovering. “He’s just gonna tell me to take a break.”
Changbin smirks. “As he should.”
Jisung answers the phone. “Hi.”
Minho’s voice crackles through the speaker, calm and unyielding. “how long have you been there?”
“A while…”
“That’s not a number.”
Jisung glances at the clock and winces. “Uh…”
There’s a pause as they can practically hear Minho pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Take a break. Eat something, and drink some water. Okay?”
“Yes, hyung…” Jisung murmurs softly.
When the red light finally goes dark, it’s almost jarring.
No one speaks for a moment.
Chan clears his throat. “We should probably-”
The door opens before he can finish.
Felix sticks his head in first. “You guys still alive?”
Hyunjin follows, eyes already scanning the room. “We heard new stuff was happening.”
Jisung lights up. “Sit. Listen.”
They crowd in, perching on chairs, the floor, anywhere they can fit. Chan cues up the track, fingers hovering just a second longer than usual before hitting play.
The room fills with sound.
Felix’s eyes widen halfway through. Hyunjin’s mouth drops open, then curves into a slow, wicked smile. When the stripped pre-chorus hits, Jeongin, who’s been leaning in the doorway, tilts his head.
Jeongin breaks the silence first, “That’s… awesome.”
Changbin beams. “Right?”
Chan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “We’re not done yet.”
“Of course not.” Felix smiles.
“You guys never are,” Hyunjin chuckles.
Then Jisung’s phone buzzes again.
He groans, rolling his head back. “If that’s Felix telling us to send something new, I swear-”
He checks his screen and his gaze softens immediately. “Oh.”
Chan squints. “Who is it?”
“Minho again.”
Changbin snorts. “Oh no, someone’s in trouble.” He teases.
Jisung answers anyway. “Hi.”
Minho’s voice crackles through the speaker, calm and unyielding. “Why is your location still the studio?”
Jisung winces. “Because… we’re still here?”
There’s a pause. Not angry, never angry. Just a quiet way that makes Jisung feel seen straight through. “Have you at least eaten something yet?”
Jisung leans back in his chair, spinning it slightly. “… Define eaten…”
Chan gives him a look as he reaches over and nudges a half-empty snack back toward him. “He’s right, you need to eat more. You only had some chips this afternoon.”
Minho exhales through his nose. “Jisung.”
It’s not scolding, it’s worse. It’s concerned.
“We’re almost done,” Jisung says quickly. “Like- really almost. The song is just…” He trails off, words tangling, frustration bleeding through. “It finally sounds right, Minho.”
Another pause.
Then softer, “I know.”
Jisung blinks. “You… you do?”
“Yeah. You always sound like that when it’s coming together.” Minho says. “Like you’re chasing something.”
Changbin glances away, suddenly very interested in the mixing board. Chan pretends to adjust a slider.
“But that doesn’t mean you get to disappear.”
Jisung swallows. “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to-“
“I’m not mad,” Minho interrupts gently. “I just need you to come up for air, okay?”
Silence stretches.
Jisung rubs at his face with his free hand. “Just half an hour?”
Minho considers. Jisung can picture it perfectly, arms crossed, weight on one leg, that expression that makes it clear that he has already decided.
“Ten more minutes,” Minho says. “And you will eat something.”
“You’re impossible.” Jisung laughs tiredly.
“And yet,” Minho replies, “you love me.”
The line goes quiet for a beat, but neither Changbin, nor Chan seem surprised by the confession. Then Minho clears his throat and speaks up again. “I’ll be there soon.”
Jisung straightens. “You don’t have to-”
“I know.” Minho says. Then the call ends.
Chan speaks up carefully. “You okay?”
Jisung nods, throat tight. “Yeah. He just… You guys aren’t weirded out? By what he said?”
“Jisung. We might be older, and need glasses, but we’re still not stupid. We’ve all seen the way you two look at each other.” Changbin shrugs.
“It’s just… He seems to know me better than I know myself…”
Changbin grunts. “That tends to happen when people care about you.”
Ten minutes later, the door opens.
Minho steps in like he belongs there. Which, honestly, he does. They’ve established that before, when he joined Han for his solo projects.
He takes one look at Jisung in the chair, eyes too bright, hands shaking with leftover adrenaline, and crosses the room without a word.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Jisung tilts his head back to look at him and smiles softly. “Hi.”
Minho presses a cold bottle of water into his hands. “Drink.”
Jisung obeys.
“Did you eat already?”
Jisung nods, “Chan hyung got me a sandwich from the supermarket across the street.”
Minho nods, his hand lingers on the back of his neck, grounding and solid. “You did good tonight.”
Jisung exhales, tension finally loosening. “We did.”
Eventually, they do wrap up. Not all at once, just drifting apart. One by one, until Changbin is walking home alone.
The sky is just starting to lighten when Changbin finally unlocks the door.
He steps inside as quietly as he can, muscle memory guiding his exhausted body, shoes off by the door, keys in the bowl, hoodie shrugged loose. His body hums with leftover adrenaline, the song still looping in his head.
When he walks into the living room, he sees Seungmin.
The younger one is curled up on the couch with a blanket, book slipped form his hands and resting crookedly against his chest. His glasses are slightly askew, hair flattened on one side he’s been sleeping on.
Changbin stops moving. The sight hits him harder than any lyric ever could.
He stands there for a moment, just watching the slow rise and fall of Seungmin’s chest, the soft crease between his brows like he’s still holding onto the effort of staying awake.
“Stubborn idiot,” Changbin murmurs affectionately. “I told you not to wait up.”
Seungmin doesn’t stir.
Changbin crosses the room quietly, crouching beside the couch. He gently nudges the fallen book away, sets it on the coffee table, then reaches up to take his glasses. Seungmin shifts a little, making a soft sound in his sleep, and Changbin freezes, heart in his throat. Seungmin settles again, head tilting toward Changbin like he knows he’s there.
Changbin exhales.
He brushes some hair from his face, the noise in his head finally fading.
Changbin considers waking him, just for a second, just to say I’m home. But the younger one looks so peaceful like this, exhaustion finally winning, that he can’t bring himself to do it.
Instead, he gently slips an arm under Seungmin’s knees and another one behind his back.
Seungmin stirs this time, eyes fluttering open halfway. “Binnie?”
“Yeah,” Changbin murmurs immediately. “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”
Seungmin blinks sleepy, recognition softening his expression. His hand fumbles blindly, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. “You’re home.”
“Yeah.” Changbin answers quietly.
Seungmin hums, slowly drifting again. “How did it go?” Seungmin asks softly.
Changbin smiles tired. “Went well. I think you’ll like it.”
Seungmin nods, nuzzling his face into Changbin’s shoulder. “I always like your work.”
Changbin carries him the rest of the way to the bedroom, every step careful. He settles Seungmin onto the bed, tugs the blanket up around him and brushes hair from his forehead again.
For a moment, he just stands there, looking down at him.
All of the noise of the night, arguments and pressure, fall away.
Changbin leans down and presses a soft kiss to Seungmin’s temple. “Thank you for waiting,”
Seungmin doesn’t wake again, but his fingers tighten around the sheets like he heard it anyway.
Tomorrow, or technically later today, there will be edits, revisions, arguments…
And like most times, their new song will become a masterpiece.
Written and produced by three kids in a room, daring the world to try and stop them.