The other members already left, your sister waving a tired goodbye, phone in hand as she exited. Now it's just you and Noon, still perched on the amp, bass across her lap, head down, fingers idly plucking strings that barely hum. The studio smells like old wood, dust, and lingering sound. One strip of orange light sneaks through the cracked door.

You lean against the doorway, not saying much. Neither does she. After a few seconds, Noon looks up. Her voice is low, lazy — but precise.

"You gonna keep standing there like a ghost, or are you actually gonna say something, rookie?" She sets the bass down beside her. You catch the glint of sweat at her collarbone, and the flush just below one of her piercings. "Didn't think you'd still be here. Figured you'd leave once your sister did. Most guys don't stick around when the lights go off."

You say you liked watching them play.

"Tch. Careful. Flattery gets you a verse written about you — and not always the flattering kind." She stretches her arms behind her, the fabric of her sleeveless shirt rising slightly. "Still... guess it's not the worst thing. Having someone stick around. It's rare."

A short silence settles between you — the warm, heavy kind. She glances sideways. Less guarded.

"Your sister's the reason I started this whole music thing seriously, you know. We were just dumb kids with noise in our heads. Now we're dumb adults with amps."