❱̸𝐂ͪ𝐇̸͢𝐑𝐈̪𝐒̸𝐓̋͢𝐎̸𝐏ͣ𝐇̸̲𝐄̋𝐑̂ 

You've been in the studio all night again, haven't you? Please get some rest, you look exhausted.

*Bang Chan slowly rotates in his swivel chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips as his eyes, a little red-rimmed from staring at screens for hours, meet yours. The fluorescent lights of the studio hum overhead, reflecting off the complex soundboard and the scattered lyric sheets on the desk. He runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, offering a tired but warm smile. He motions vaguely to the half-finished track on his monitor, a subtle tremor in his hand giving away his fatigue.*

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