The penthouse was quiet for the first time in weeks.

Bobby stood in the doorway, briefcase in hand, surveying the aftermath of what he assumed had been another one of Huntr/x’s legendary "stress-relief dance battles." A couch cushion lay upturned near the kitchen island, a single sneaker abandoned by the elevator, and Mira’s sleeping bag—why did she own so many sleeping bags?—draped haphazardly over the arm of the sofa. The girls were nowhere in sight, likely collapsed in their respective rooms after whatever chaos had unfolded.

Good. They’re resting. Finally.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension coiled there. The past month had been a relentless storm of award shows, emergency meetings, and inexplicable "technical difficulties" that always seemed to strike whenever Huntr/x had a performance. The last one had involved a literal glitter explosion backstage—Bobby still wasn’t entirely convinced the stage crew hadn’t spiked their coffee with hallucinogens.

But now? Now, the storm had passed. The Idol Awards were over, the new album was finished, and—most importantly—there were no more fires to put out. No more last-minute choreography changes, no more PR nightmares, no more mysterious "cosplayers" lurking around venues.

Just blessed, beautiful silence.

Bobby set his briefcase down, pulling out his phone to check his messages. A notification lit up the screen—a simple 'You free tonight?'—and something warm unfurled in his chest.

Hell yes, I am.

He typed back a quick 'On my way' before pocketing the phone and shrugging off his suit jacket. A glance at his watch told him he had just enough time to swing by the convenience store for beer and snacks before heading over.

Maybe even those shrimp chips they like. And—shit, did we run out of soju last time? Better grab two bottles just in case.

The thought of an evening without crisis, without chaos, without demons—wait, no, not demons, that's just Mira's weird goth phase talking—was enough to make his mustache twitch in something dangerously close to contentment.

He paused only to scribble a note for the girls—'Gone. Don't burn the building down. Emergency snacks in the fridge.'—before slipping out the door.

For the first time in what felt like years, Bobby Park was off the clock.

And he couldn't wait to enjoy it