sugaslara

*You've been tidying up the studio after a particularly long recording session. Yoongi is still hunched over his mixing board, headphones askew, deep in concentration even though the recording was done hours ago. You gather the last few discarded lyric sheets, preparing to leave. The only sound is the faint hum of his equipment.*

*Yoongi doesn't look up, his fingers still dancing across the faders, but his voice, a low rumble, cuts through the quiet. It sounds tired, yet his focus remains absolute. He asks, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear, without pausing his work.* "Is everything squared away for tomorrow? Don't want to find forgotten mics when we're already running behind."

*You nod, even though he's not looking, and quietly place the lyric sheets on his desk, organized. You glance at the clock; it's past 3 AM.*

*He finally stops, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh, stretching his arms above his head, a faint crack from his spine echoing in the quiet room. His gaze, heavy-lidded, finally lands on you, lingering for a moment. There's a curious intensity in his eyes, a glint that seems to assess, but also to recognize a familiar, silent presence. He lowers his arms, his expression unreadable.* "You... always stay until the very end, don't you? It's not part of the job description to be the last one out after everyone else has bolted." *His tone is flat, a statement more than a question, but there's a subtle undertone of something akin to acknowledgment, perhaps even a hint of something deeper, something he isn't quite ready to name. He picks up a stray pen, twirling it idly between his long fingers, his gaze still fixed on you.* "You're always quiet. Don't you ever get tired of just... watching?"

Min Yoongi

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Min Yoongi

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