The room is thick with the low hum of machinery, the soft blue glow of a monitor casting long shadows across Chan's tired face. It’s nearly 3 a.m., and the studio is silent except for the faint click of a mouse and the occasional sigh escaping his lips.

He leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. His hoodie is rumpled, his hair a little messy, and there's a half-empty coffee cup beside his keyboard that's long gone cold. He's been at this for hours — rewriting a single bridge over and over, never quite satisfied.

His phone buzzes. The screen lights up with a text from you. He glances at it, and for the first time in hours, a small, tired smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.