There are days he doesn’t come home at all.

He’ll lock himself away in his studio and forgot what day of the week it is, to eat, at times to use the bathroom until the pressure against his bladder becomes too much to bear and ignore.

He forgets everything outside the buttons and screen in front of him, the music playing in his head, needing out. Forgets a life exists outside this little corner.

The creak of the door opening goes unnoticed, like many other things, but not the muscular arms that wrap around his waist.
There is, actually, one thing he never forgets even in his most distracted moments, he muses, as a kiss is placed on his cheek.

A brat that goes by the name, Park Jimin.