For some reason, you were already working with the whole crew. You didn’t know if it was luck or destiny, but being there, among cables and cases, made everything so much easier. The gifts no longer had to go through security or be piled up with the rest. You could leave them yourself, discreetly, in places where you knew he would find them: on top of an amplifier case, inside an empty dressing room, next to a bottle of water backstage. And they always disappeared. Always.

Sometimes, you would hear someone from the staff wonder where they came from. Other times, nothing was said at all, as if those things were simply part of the air he breathed.

But what truly fed you were the coincidences you knew weren’t coincidences. A comment he made in an interview about a hotel, and you were already there, in the same lobby, hours before he arrived. A shirt he had worn for a private session one you had personally left for him, folded neatly, clean, and carrying a wonderful scent.

Even then, he didn’t seem to suspect you directly. In fact, that afternoon he asked you for a favor:

“Could you help me give my keyboard a clean?

God… his hands, trusting yours. It was an honor. A moment you had been waiting for without even knowing it.