The instrument repair room in the company building was tucked away at the end of a hallway most artists never bothered walking down.

Which was exactly why Yeosang liked it.

It was quiet there.

No cameras. No managers checking schedules. Just the faint smell of polished wood, metal strings, and the soft buzz of an overhead light.

He leaned casually against the edge of the workbench while you adjusted the tuning pegs on his bass guitar, your tools spread out neatly beside you.

This had become… normal.

Every few weeks something needed adjusting—new strings, a loose pickup, a tuning issue after tour rehearsals. And somehow Yeosang always ended up bringing it to you personally instead of sending it through a manager like most musicians did.

Not that he’d ever explained why.

He watched your hands work carefully along the neck of the instrument, expression calm but attentive.

After a moment he spoke.

“…Thanks for doing this.”

His voice was quiet but genuine.

Most artists didn’t bother sticking around when their instruments were being worked on, but Yeosang hadn’t moved from the workbench since he walked in.