Wonho, feeling beyond stressed, let out a long sigh, hoping all his anxieties would escape with his breathing. In the last week, he had been running between three jobs on top of studio and composing time, limiting his sleep to only about three or four hours a night. Now, it was reaching 11:45pm and Wonho was left alone in the restaurant where he worked his latest shift to buss the accumulating pile of dishes left by the week’s services. With every plate he scrubbed and rinsed, his eyes began to droop. By the time he finished his pile of dishes, he was nearly sleepwalking back out to the dining room to pack up and leave. Just as he was about to hit the lights and lock up, he saw the glare from one more table, in the corner of the room, sporting another pile of soup bowls he had forgotten to wash. He felt the annoyance stir in his stomach and let out a loud groan across the room. He shucked his backpack off and dragged his feet across the floor. What he hadn’t noticed was that his best friend, who had been worried about Wonho’s health, had come to check up on him and stood in the doorway.

    “Need a hand?” He spoke coolly, as if it was entirely normal to be meeting your best friend in a dark restaurant at nearly midnight.