There was a brush at his shoulder, a weight settled there, and he jumped awake, nearly leaping up and off of his bed in confused panic.

But he wasn’t in bed.

Gackt blinked around him in the harsh fluorescent light. Where…?

“You’re in the studio’s lounge,” a voice whispered just behind his ear. “You fell asleep.”

Still bleary-eyed, Gackt looked down to find himself sprawled across the black leather couch. Looking up, he found Cha smiling softly down at him, his dark eyes betraying his amusement.

But just under that amusement, concern fluttered.

“I’m alright,” Gackt groaned, righting himself to sit on the couch, his feet sliding down to the floor below.

“Gaku, go home,” Cha said, straightening to look down at the younger man. He crossed his arms over his thin chest for good measure. “You’re exhausted. You’re no good to me or anybody else when you’re not firing on all cylinders.”

Gackt glared up at his friend and co-producer, but any angry looks’ effects had since lost their usefulness with regards to Chachamaru. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and stood. “Fine,” Gackt conceded, heading back towards the studio to grab his jacket and keys, “but I’ll be back here bright and early tomorrow.”

“Don’t I know it,” the older man shot back promptly.