Mischief Managed (Stray Kids Oneshots)

Midnight Melodies | Bang Chan

It was nearing midnight when your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a message from Chan.

"In the studio. Wanna come over?"

You smiled at the simple invitation, knowing it could only mean one thing: he was in his element, working on new music. And when Chan was in the studio late at night, it was hard to resist joining him. There was something magical about the quiet hours, when creativity flowed freely, unbound by time or distractions.

Grabbing your jacket, you headed out into the cool night, the streets mostly deserted, the world peaceful under the glow of streetlights. The studio was just a few blocks away, and when you arrived, you could hear the faint sounds of music drifting through the hallways.

You knocked lightly on the door, and moments later, Chan appeared, a warm smile lighting up his tired but content face.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping aside to let you in. "I didn't think you'd actually come this late."

"Are you kidding? How could I miss out on your late-night jam sessions?" you teased, slipping inside the familiar space.

The studio was cozy, a little messy with scattered notebooks, half-empty coffee cups, and tangled wires everywhere. But it was Chan's sanctuary, the place where he let his mind wander and his heart speak through melodies.

"I've been stuck on this one track," he admitted, running a hand through his hair as he led you to the console. "Thought maybe you could help me figure it out."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Me? Help you?"

Chan chuckled, sitting down at the piano, his fingers gently pressing a few keys. "You never know. Maybe you'll inspire something."

With that, you joined him, perching on the edge of the bench. The atmosphere was warm, comfortable—just the two of you and the soft glow of the studio lights. He played a few chords, humming under his breath, his eyes closing as he let the music guide him.

There was something about watching Chan like this—so absorbed in his craft—that made your heart flutter. The way he poured every bit of himself into each note, how his emotions bled into the melodies, was mesmerizing.

"What do you think?" he asked after a moment, breaking your trance.

You tilted your head, listening to the faint rhythm in the background. "It's good, but... I think it's missing something. Maybe a softer melody layered over it?"

Chan nodded thoughtfully, his fingers moving to follow your suggestion. You reached over, adding your own notes, the sounds blending together in perfect harmony. As you both experimented, something clicked—a sweet, almost nostalgic melody emerged from the keys.

Chan's fingers stilled, and you looked at him in confusion. His expression had softened, a faraway look in his eyes.

"That melody..." he murmured, almost to himself.

"Did I play something wrong?" you asked, worried you had messed up his track.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "No, it's... perfect. It just reminded me of something."

You remained quiet, sensing the change in the atmosphere. Chan turned to you, his voice softer, more vulnerable than usual.

"I used to play something like that when I first started writing music. It was when things were simpler, before all the fame and pressure. I'd just sit at the piano for hours, playing whatever came to mind." He chuckled lightly, though there was a trace of sadness in his voice. "It was my way of escaping, I guess."

Your heart ached at his words. You knew how hard Chan worked, how much he shouldered for the sake of his music and his group. But hearing him talk about the early days, before everything became so intense, gave you a glimpse of the quieter side of his journey.

"I miss those days sometimes," he continued, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the keys. "Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but... it's different now. There's always this pressure to be better, to meet expectations. Sometimes it feels like I'm losing touch with why I started in the first place."

You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You haven't lost it. You just need to reconnect with it. That passion, that love for music—it's still there. It's just... evolved."

Chan smiled, the warmth returning to his eyes as he met your gaze. "You always know what to say."

"I'm just speaking the truth," you replied softly.

For a moment, the studio was silent, save for the quiet hum of equipment in the background. Then, Chan shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours.

"Thank you for being here," he said, his voice sincere. "It's nice to have someone who understands."

Your heart skipped a beat at the intimacy in his words, the way his gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual. You weren't sure when the air between you had changed, but there was a new energy now—something softer, sweeter.

"Always," you whispered, feeling the connection between you both deepen.

Without another word, Chan's fingers returned to the keys, and you joined him, the two of you creating music together, a perfect blend of melody and memory. As the night wore on, the lines between friendship and something more blurred, but neither of you minded.

In the quiet sanctuary of the studio, you found not only the music but each other—two souls sharing a passion, creating something beautiful together.

And in that moment, under the soft glow of the lights and the peaceful hum of music, you realized that this was more than just a jam session.

It was the beginning of something special.