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It’s 2:17 a.m. and they’ve listened to the same eight seconds of a track so many times it no longer sounds like music.
Chan rubs his eyes and hits replay again.
Changbin is on the floor, back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it personally owes him money. Jisung sits cross-legged nearby, notebook open, tapping his pen against his knee in a rhythm that does not exist in the song.
“This part,” Jisung says, “feels like it wants to go somewhere but doesn’t know where.”
Changbin nods. “Like me in high school.”
Chan exhales a laugh. “Can we focus.”
They try again.
Eight seconds. Stop.
Eight seconds. Stop.
Changbin groans. “If I hear that hi-hat one more time I’m going to start confessing things.”
Jisung perks up instantly. “Like what.”
“No,” Chan says immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Changbin grins anyway. “Like the fact that I once cried in this very room because I couldn’t rhyme anything with ‘eternity.’”
Jisung gasps. “You cried without telling me?”
“It was dark,” Changbin argues. “Emotionally and literally.”
Chan reaches for his water bottle. “This is why we don’t work past two.”
Jisung leans back on his hands, staring at the ceiling. “I kind of like it.”
“Of course you do,” Changbin says. “You thrive in chaos.”
Jisung shrugs. “It’s quiet. No expectations. Just us.”
That lands heavier than expected.
Chan doesn’t look at them when he says, “Yeah. Just us.”
They sit with that for a moment, the track paused, the studio humming softly around them.
“I once ate all of our managers snacks and blamed Hyunjin.” Changbin suddenly says.
Jisung gasps. “You monster.”
“We were all on a diet,” Changbin says. “It was war.”
Chan doesn’t even look up. “I rewrote one of your verses without telling you and you thanked me for it.”
Changbin sits straight up. “That was you?”
Jisung clutches his chest. “I knew it was too emotionally responsible.”
Chan smirks.
Encouraged, Jisung clears his throat. “I told Felix his Korean was perfect once when I absolutely could not understand what he was saying.”
Changbin laughs so hard he has to roll onto his side. “You lied to his face.”
“He looked nervous!” Jisung protests. “What was I supposed to do, traumatize him?”
Chan finally laughs, shoulders shaking. “Okay. My turn. I pretended not to hear Seungmin practicing vocals at night because I didn’t want to cry.”
The room softens, just a little.
“I mean, that’s fair.” Changbin admits with a shrug. “I once Googled ‘how to be charismatic in interviews.’”
Jisung wheezes. “Did it help?”
“Not at all. It told me to be myself.”
The room fills with loud laughter.
The laughter fades slowly, like it doesn’t want to leave but knows it should. The track is still paused. The studio hums quietly around them.
Jisung twirls his pen between his fingers. “Sometimes I miss when it was just us in rooms like this,” he says. “Before everything felt… loud.”
Chan leans back in his chair. “Sometimes I’m scared I’ll mess it up. Not the music. Us.”
“You won’t,” Changbin says immediately.
“I know,” Chan replies. “But I still think it.”
Jisung shifts, pulling his knees closer to his chest. He’s quiet for a moment, long enough that both of them notice.
“…Can I confes something kind of stupid?” he asks.
Chan glances at Changbin. “You’re safe here.”
Jisung huffs a nervous laugh. “I think I’m in love with Minho hyung.”
The words hang there, gentle and terrifying all at once.
Chan doesn’t react right away. Neither does Changbin. It isn’t really a surprise to either of them, they’ve watched Jisung and Minho circle each other for months now, something slow and careful taking shape between them.
Changbin is the first to move, shifting so he’s facing Jisung fully. “Yeah,” he says softly. “That tracks.”
Jisung blinks. “It does?”
“You smile differently when his name comes up,” Changbin adds. “Like you’re trying not to.”
Chan nods, thoughtful. “You’ve been braver lately,” he says. “That usually means you’re anchored to something.”
Jisung exhales, shoulders sagging with relief. “I was worried it would be… too much.”
“It’s not,” Chan says immediately. “Not for us.”
Changbin bumps his knee lightly against Jisung’s. “Minho’s steady. And you need steady.”
Jisung laughs quietly, eyes a little too bright. “I hate that you’re right.”
Chan turns back to the board, erasing a line that no longer matters. “We’ll figure out the rest,” he says. “Like we always do.”
Jisung curls in on himself again, calmer now, like saying it out loud took the sharp edge off the fear.
“Okay last one.” Changbin says laughing at what he’s about to confess, “So remember that one demo you lost? The one just before our Maniac album?”
“Yeahhh.” Chan tilts his head.
Changbin laughs nervously. “I accidentally deleted it one night when we were messing around.”
Silence.
“…What?” Changbin says slowly. “Why did it get quiet? I thought we were airing it all out?”
“What the fuck, man?”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m so killing you!”
“What? No! No!” Changbin lunges for Chan’s sleeve. “Dude, seriously, no!”
“I looked for that demo for weeks,” Chan says. “I didn’t sleep for days.”
“Heh,” Changbin winces. “I know.”
“You helped me search for it!” Chan points at him.
“Right?” Changbin laughs cautiously. “Crazy, huh?”
“You are so dead, Binnie,” Jisung chuckles.
Changbin looks from him to Chan and back again. “What? No. No. This is a safe space, right? Right, hyung?”
Chan turns his head slowly. “Oh, don’t you hyung me.”
Changbin pushes out his bottom lip. Jisung doubles over in laughter.
“I blamed Jisung for that.” Chan growls.
Jisung straightens in remembrance. “That’s right, he did.” His face transforms instantly, laughter snapping into betrayal. “Channie hyung told everyone I panic-delete files.”
Changbin spreads his hands. “In his defense, you have panic-deleted files.”
“I was under PRESSURE,” Jisung snaps.
Chan rubs his temples. “I apologized to Jisung.”
Changbin blinks. “…You apologized?”
“I questioned my leadership,” Chan continues flatly. “I made a backup system.”
Jisung points accusingly. “You ate snacks while we searched.”
“That was stress-eating.”
“You offered to ‘rebuild my confidence.’”
“That part was genuine!”
Chan exhales sharply. “I made spreadsheets.”
Changbin freezes. “You made spreadsheets?”
“I color-coded my despair,” Chan says. “Do you know how humiliating that is?”
Changbin deflates. “…Oh.”
The room goes quiet,heavy, but not angry.
Then Jisung snorts. “Okay but objectively? It wasn’t even my fault.”
Chan lets out a tired laugh. “No. It wasn’t.”
Changbin perks up. “So we’re good?”
Jisung and Chan exchange a look.
Chan smiles slowly. “You’re telling Minho.”
“No,” Changbin says immediately.
“Yes,” Jisung replies, delighted. “You get to tell him you let me be blamed.”
Changbin’s soul leaves his body. “That’s not proportional punishment!”
“You lied for weeks,” Chan says evenly. “This is growth.”
Changbin sinks to the floor, defeated. “He’ll kill me. Do you really want to be a seven member band?”
Jisung bursts out laughing, clutching his knees. “Oh my god, you’re actually scared.”
Chan shakes his head, trying not to grin. “It’s too late, Bin. You did this.”
Changbin groans dramatically, one hand over his face. “I’m never confessing anything again. Never. Not a single thing. Ever.”
Jisung smirks. “Yeah, sure… until next After Dark.”
Chanbin sits up straighter, voice firm. “Nope. New rule. No sessions after…” he glances at his phone. “…2:43 a.m.”
Jisung chokes on a laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”
Chan nods solemnly. “Precise. Absolute. Non-negotiable.” He makes his way to the board and uncaps a marker. He writes under Rules 1 and 2
3 - NO CONFESSIONS AFTER 2:43a.m.
Changbin groans again. “I don’t even know how we got here.”
Jisung grins. “Welcome to After Dark.”
Chan moves back to the computer and hits play. The track fills the studio.
“Okay but if we scrap the hi-hat and layer that low bass from the other demo…” Changbin says leaning forward, his tone full of dread.
Chan’s already moving. Jisung’s pen is flying.
The sound shifts. Opens up.
“Oh,” Jisung breathes. “There it is.”
Changbin grins. “Told you I just needed to threaten emotional vulnerability.”
They listen again. This time, all the way through.
When it ends, no one rushes to speak.
Chan finally nods. “Let’s save it.”
Jisung closes his notebook. Changbin stretches, bones popping.
2:44 a.m.
They don’t leave right away.
They never do.