Chapter Text
If you had asked little Zhang Hao whether or not he could imagine himself kilometers away from home as an adult, waking up everyday at the sharp hour of 5 in the morning simply to open shop, he probably would have laughed in your face.
You see, Zhang Hao is someone that had always enjoyed his sleep. Throughout the years, unless he had a deadline or something that really required him to get out of bed, you would definitely find him hidden under his blankets at any time of the day. That, or violin practice. Young Hao loved playing the violin, the instrument he had met at the age of 7, and had never left him since. But above all, he loved sleeping. And introverted as he was, there was always a certain comfort to this little nest he would make for himself, to this known warmth as opposed to the coldness hitting him as soon as he dared to even step out of it. So waking up at dawn to hit the roads and work? No, little Zhang Hao would have probably preferred a life of math homework to being up so early and getting out in the cold.
On top of it, Zhang Hao had always been quite filial. He had always done everything with his family, especially his mom whom he was particularly close with. Whenever you asked him where he thought himself to be 5, 10, or 20 years ahead, his answer would always be by his mom’s side.
Yet, here he was.
His alarm had just rang, signaling the need for him to start getting ready for a new day at work. So as he did every morning, Zhang Hao got out of bed, not even concerning himself with the straightening of his clothes before mechanically getting on with his daily routine: Start skincare, prepare breakfast while a mask rests on his face, take a shower and wash off the mask, brush his teeth before moisturising and applying lotion… Then, finally get dressed, grab breakfast on the way out, and finally be downstairs to ready the shop for when it opens.
At such an early hour, most streets in Seoul were empty, if not for late party goers making their way home, a few businessmen already stressfully going to work, and the usual ajummas stretching out in a nearby park. The establishment Zhang Hao worked at in peaceful Yeonnam was no different, and had these very same people walking by every morning. He would be welcomed by them each time he got outside, and while some ignored Hao, the warm smiles still reaching him would soothe the bite caused by the overpowering chill of the air. But he liked it that way. He liked the calm such a daily routine provided, this not-so-silent kind of silence filling the space and accompanying him as he busied himself with his tasks. It was comforting.
“Oh, morning Hao-ssi! Up so soon again?”
He was about to raise the metallic shutters of his shop when a sweet, feminine voice resonated in the mostly empty street, and— not before making a small jump at the unexpected sound, Zhang Hao smiled as he recognised his neighbour. She was the lovely owner of a brand new café that had opened a few weeks ago right in front of his place.
“Morning, Mrs. Han! Yes, always, you know how it is,” he said while finishing his task. He then quickly turned around to face her, watching her do the same to her own shopfront. “Isn’t it too early for you though? I thought you only opened at nine.”
“Not happy to see me, young man?” The woman tsked, jokingly. She was a very warm and easygoing person, as he had learned over the days. Always talking to him, teasing him even, if she could, just like she was doing now.
Zhang Hao laughed. “Now now, you know that’s not what I said.”
Mrs. Han joined him in his laughter before waving goodbye and heading inside. Hao watched for a moment as she lit up the different areas of her coffee shop, and once she had made her way behind the counter to reach the kitchens, he finally turned around, straightened his apron, and entered his shop as well.
The instruments were waiting.
“Oh, is it only you today, Mr. Zhang?”
A scream as well as a loud bang echoed from the back of the shop, a clear sign of something heavy being dropped on the ground, then quickly followed by a series of very colorful words as someone made their way to the counter. There, a clearly still quite startled Zhang Hao appeared, head bowed down apologetically.
“Hi Mrs. Kang, I didn’t hear you coming, you scared me a little,” he said to his regular client with an embarrassed chuckle. “Can I help you with something?”
The middle-aged woman looked at him, a kind smile on her lips. “It’s all fine Hao-ssi. If anything, I’m sorry for scaring you!” Zhang Hao vigorously shook his head as he heard those words, quickly telling her she had nothing to apologise for, which only turned the crescent on Mrs Kang even kinder. “I believe my husband dropped our daughter’s viola last week, and your teacher Mr. Park said it should be ready within a few days. She has her first recital on Friday night, you know!”
“She does?” he asked while checking for the order number on the shop’s logbook, crossing little Haneul’s name once he had found it. After gesturing for her to make herself on the main room’s chairs as she waited, he made his way to the back, looking for the instrument all the while still talking to his client. He had not been the one taking care of the girl’s viola this time, so it took some time to figure out where his boss had left it waiting. They really had to figure out a proper place for finished works. “That’s such a big step! She’s seven, right? I remember being so excited for that too at her age. What is she going to play?”
“Ode to Joy by Beethoven! And you’re right, she’s really feeling ecstatic about it.” The Chinese man could tell from her voice alone that she was probably just as excited. “A little stressed too, of course… But wait,” she paused. “I didn’t know you played? We’ve been coming here for so long, I can’t believe this is the first time you mention it.”
By then, Zhang Hao’s back was fully facing the woman, his face hidden from her, so she did not see the smile falter on his face for half a second. She did not see how his grip on the tool in his hand tightened ever so slightly. Nor did she see as, instead, his lips morphed themselves into more forced, professional shaped crescents when he turned around with the smaller-sized viola finally in his hands. “It was a long time ago. I don’t play much anymore, and I prefer helping others like this now. Would you like an extra rosin for the bow as well?”
If Mrs Kang noticed the slight change in his tone as he swiftly changed the topic, she did not make it known. She simply gave him another one of her soft smiles, as well as a nod, and watched him grab the little resinous material from the shelves by the counter. For a moment, she stayed silent like this, waiting for him to finish up with his tasks like the last minute polishing of the wood with a cloth, or the delicate placing of the little instrument in its dark purple case. Instead, Zhang Hao watched from the corner of his eyes as her own wandered around the place, falling on him of course, but also the other corners of the room. The storefront was filled with all kinds of music-related items, string instruments-specific mostly, like empty cases, partitions, stands of various sizes, or books on famous composers. On the wall most exposed to light was even a piano, closed but shining, clearly taken care of. She had been here a few times already of course, so she most likely knew these walls well. But he still noticed how she took it all in as if it were her first time.
“You never replied earlier, by the way.”
Hao snapped his head up. “What do you mean?” He was almost finished, simply left to add a bit of polish on the leather-covered case, an extra aesthetic measure he knew the family always asked for.
“It is only you in the shop today, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Park only comes over on Wednesdays and Thursdays now. Here’s Haneul’s viola, all ready to go.” He handed her the instrument, shaking his head when she tried to reach for her wallet. “It’s written here your husband already paid for the service, Mrs. Kang. But how did you know I was alone?”
She thanked him, still smiling as she made her way towards the exit. She was already halfway through the door when she turned back to him. “This isn’t usually the kind of music you play when he’s around.”
And with that, she was out.
Zhang Hao watched as she passed in front of the shop window, back to her own life and disappearing from his view.
What music was she talking about?
And then it hit him. When his client had walked in earlier, Hao had been playing music from his phone through the shop radio, liking to work to the rhythm of the upbeat songs that filled his favourite playlist. Since he had been taken by surprise, he must have forgotten to turn it off, leading to this situation: Dance The Night Away by TWICE reverberating around the room and a very embarrassed Zhang Hao sinking down to his feet dramatically. She had not been wrong, but it still left him flustered to have been caught indulging in one of his own little guilty pleasures by a client.
Then again, they were just like any other string shop, and it was known to their clients this one was close to never silent. First, of course, there were the machines, always working, almost like a constant purring in the background. There was also the noise of their own handiwork, whether it be his boss’s loud cutting of the wood, or the soft sounds of Zhang Hao’s varnishing. But mostly, it came from Mr. Park’s work habits of playing music in the shop. From the very start, his boss had always made it a number one priority to play music at all times. According to him, a place like theirs, a place of creation, deserved to be filled with some soul, because when you were creating an instrument from scratch, or even simply tuning a loose string, you needed to fill the wood with that same soul, or it would always lack its special spark. Therefore, what better tool than music to do so?
The rest of his day went on like every other, with clients, new or regulars alike, coming and leaving every now and then.
“Can you take a look at my bridge, Mr. Zhang?” A teen would ask him, all panicked over the tilted wood piece under the strings of his cello he needed ready for a performance.
“Do you rent two-quarter violins here?” A middle-aged dad would come in to enquire, a clearly reluctant ten-year-old-looking kid following behind.
Mrs. Han would even visit him, a huge portion of cake in her hands. “Hao-ssi! Would you like to try my new recipe?” In which he would very much oblige, with a great sense of sacrifice, of course.
When no one was here though, he would simply head back to the back room, to his work. Sometimes, he would even get some very needed cleaning done around the workshop areas. Truthfully, he had a pretty tightly knitted routine, with his days never being exactly the same but still similar enough to bring comfort, giving the twenty-five-year-old man the sensation of a steady life.
As usual, hours flew by quickly, and before he knew it, he was back under the soft covers of his bed, in the comfort of his small apartment. Then, as Zhang Hao stared at his ceiling, trying to fall asleep, he could not stop his thoughts from wandering back to the situation with Mrs. Kang earlier that day. It had not been the first time something of the sort happened to him, someone surprising him at times he thought to be alone, at times he allowed himself to let go a little.
It actually made him think back on a memory from his early days in Seoul.
Only a few weeks had passed since Zhang Hao first set foot on Korean soil for his apprenticeship at this new shop Uncle Chen had told him about back home. Apparently, Mr. Park was an old friend of his former teacher, one of the few Korean string instrument maestros still active in the country, but more specifically someone in desperate need for someone to pass his violin shop down to. The Chinese man had been quick to recommend his young protégé for the job, and Zhang Hao just as fast to accept. And the settling in had gone well by then, with Hao’s previous knowledge of Korean coming in hand more times than not. Admittedly, he did spend much more time in the workshop than out anyway, and had studied the needed words for such work before, making it fairly easy to adapt. But even so, being away from home still had its own hard moments.
That day was just like that. As his first, real, time out of his home country, Zhang Hao was feeling particularly homesick that morning, and nothing seemed to help yet whenever it struck him. It did not help that it was also the first day Mr. Park let him open the shop on his own: while the fact of being given more responsibilities filled him with an immense sense of pride, the loneliness of dawn only made him feel sadder. At least the constant buzzing of the very lively city that was Seoul, the busyness of clients going in and out of the shop, or simply the presence of his new teacher by his side had always kept any bad thoughts at bay so far. But silence, silence meant less distractions, less things keeping him from thinking back to everything he had left behind back in Fujian. And of course, it also meant the comeback of that awful, painful noise in his ears. He had almost forgotten about the feeling.
Therefore, Zhang Hao had decided to play some music. Chinese music to be precise, some of the usual classics he would always nag his mom about otherwise, whenever she would play or randomly sing them at home. Songs he had heard for years and thought to be forever tired of. As it turns out, he missed those songs more than he would have ever imagined. Being the only one in the shop that morning, Zhang Hao took advantage of the otherwise bothersome loneliness, and instead of simply playing music in his headphones like he always would in his old, forever busy shop— he indulged in some more loud playing through the shop radio he had spotted days before. Before the hour the shop actually opened at struck, he even went back up to his apartment above the shop to pick some extra supplies for his plan: a few durian snacks from Taobao and a picture of his parents to stick by his desk. There, just like home. The only part missing, left for him to do, was to put his favourite earplugs back on, and he would be ready for work, the same way he already had for years.
When Mr. Park found him hours later, he was still working in the same conditions, either munching down on some dried durian, or mechanically mumbling to a Jay Chou song for the ninth time that day. In his hands, a piece of maple wood he had been playing around with recently, testing new techniques with his gauges.
“I see you found the radio,” the older man said to him as he had joined him in the back room, a playful smile bringing out the soft, happiness-formed wrinkles by his eyes, and the sudden jump he got from Zhang Hao in response only turned it into a deep laugh.
“Oh my god!” Hao had screamed, the sudden appearance of his teacher by his side having startled him.
“Am I really that scary to you?”
The initial shock washing away, Zhang Hao tried collecting himself before speaking up again. “I just… didn’t see you coming,” he attempted to say, all the while trying to tidy up, throwing out the empty durian package or cleaning the wood scraps off his station, even straightening his already immaculate apron. He was embarrassed to have been caught indulging in his usual habits by this still new, foreign man, and could not keep himself from asking as he adjusted his work glasses back on his nose, “Have you been here for long?”
Park Duckhwan looked at him from the other side of their common work table, laid back and arms crossed, an amused glimmer in his eyes at how his new apprentice had reacted. “Probably a song or two?” the man pondered. “You have very good taste though, I must admit.” It was clear, as his eyes traveled around the younger’s corner of the room, that he had also noticed the additional elements by Zhang Hao's side, such as a little polaroid now pinned on the wall among violin-related sketches, portraying a younger version of him between an older couple, probably Hao’s parents. There was also what resembled a small white dog plushie, off by the window in order not to bother him or get dusty from the sanding and carving as he worked, but still quite visible from his seat. “You even decorated, I’m glad you’re starting to feel comfortable enough to do so.”
Zhang Hao had gotten even more restless as he replied, unsure of what was allowed for him to do and what was not. “Oh, I can remove those if you want! I just thought… Maybe it’d help.” He was not necessarily so shy or nervous usually, but the added context of being in a new country, speaking a language he was still at odds with, definitely made him feel less at ease to just… be. “Is that okay?”
Mr. Park’s look softened. “Of course it’s alright, Hao. Please feel free to add even more if you want or need to. This is yours too now. I want you to feel as welcome as possible.” With a push with his arms, he then rolled his chair backwards, expertly moving towards his own work desk with the ease of someone who had spent years perfecting this exact motion, celebrating his successful slide with a loud clap of his hands. “Let’s get back to work now though! These instruments aren’t going to repair themselves.”
Zhang Hao nodded enthusiastically, and while his teacher busied himself with a cello that had been sitting on his desk since the night before, Hao stood up to grab one of the violins they were tasked to take care of lately, carefully placed on the mounted shelves right above him. Taking advantage of his current position, he also aimed towards the radio for a quick change of music.
“Mr. Park, what would you like to listen to?”
Looking up from the piece in front of him with his glasses sliding down his nose, Mr. Park only shook his head. Zhang Hao had not even noticed he had started wearing them. “You do not have to change your music for me, Hao-ssi. I am fine with whatever you play.”
‘But your music helps me focus better,’ the Chinese man thought, though not voicing it openly. “Are you sure? You always seem to be in a better mood for work when certain pieces play though. I don’t mind listening to them!”
Park raised an eyebrow, questioningly, surprised by the younger’s insistence. “Fine then. Please fetch number 16th in the pile there,” he said as he pointed towards a huge cupboard behind him.
A minute later, the fast-tempo, two-beat happy rhythm of a trot song started to fill up the space in the shop, almost immediately accompanied by Zhang Hao’s teacher singing along the lyrics.
“Oh, so you’re in a trot mood today?” Hao remarked.
“Ah yes, it’s one of those days,” the other responded with a chuckle, hard at work on his cello, tightening the third string with the utmost precision. It could take quite a bit of concentration for the average layman to do something like this, but Mr. Park had owned his own shop for 20+ years already, and repeated this exact action countless times; at that point, it was safe to say he had mastered the art of restringing.
“Well, then,” Zhang Hao retorted, a glimmer in his eye as he jotted down a to-do list for the rest of the afternoon in his planner. “I assume you’ll be hard at work for hours to come?”
The shop owner nodded warmly as he tweaked the string instrument’s tuning. Hao had been fast to pick up on a pattern in his bosses’ musical taste. On days when he had free time, he would opt for something slow, like classical orchestral ballads. However, when trot played over the speakers, Hao knew he meant business.
He watched a little as his new boss bobbed his head from side to side, completely engulfed back in the song while his hands were busy with an otherwise very hard task; and then turned back to his own work station. It was only a matter of seconds before the music got to him as well, and they both spent the rest of the day singing or humming along with each other.
🎻
Later that week came Zhang Hao’s day off. And just like in many jobs, a day off meant rest. Therefore, at times like this, Hao would often sleep in a little more, catching up on the rest lost from waking at dawn every morning. After waking up though, Zhang Hao would usually either just stay in to watch TV, or a new movie while munching on the latest takeaway meal he had gotten obsessed with at the time… Or, like he had to this time, he would go out to university for his weekly Korean class. Because yes, even though at first, most of his interactions in Korean were with his new boss or a few clients he got to take care of personally from time to time, it proved rather quickly that his knowledge of the language, although good, would not be enough for a life in the country, even in a more internationally open city like Seoul. The harsh truth of reality, sprinkled with accent, pace, and slang was very far from the comfort of classes and books.
It seemed like everything was made to be hard, though. After all, how was he supposed to know all the details from type of milk to amount of sugar and ice, or even whether or not he wanted foam, when all he had asked for was an iced latte?
Zhang Hao had thus ended up signing up for conversational classes at the closest university’s Language Center, taking place every Thursday afternoon for four whole hours… Those classes were made up of a mix of both internal and external students, which Hao found quite interesting because it meant that while most of his course mates were signed up for actual majors at Yonsei, others just like him came from completely other educational or professional backgrounds. But all students were there for the same goal: to get better at Korean.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to get better at real-life Korean though? Why are you going back to class?” Gunwook had curiously asked one day when they were out eating. Gunwook was Mr. Park’s youngest son, five years younger than Hao, and his occasional Korean tutor in exchange for some help with his own revision sessions. And as it often was the case, the boy was not wrong: learning in a class setting was not really what Zhang Hao had been looking for, but the Chinese man had not chosen that specific program without reason, and it made him quite proud to have found something that fit his needs so well.
“You’re right!” Zhang Hao had leaned forward on the table they were sitting at, smiling excitedly at Gunwook. The other, still in the middle of the winter break leading to the second year of his double major, had taken advantage of this common rare free time to invite him out that night, right after one of the older’s shifts. “But their program allows us to have a ‘Korean buddy’! And we are supposed to go out together once or twice per week, to practice properly. According to them, it’s to both help us hear actual native Korean interactions, and also promote better acceptance towards the foreign students, blah-blah-blah… It’s quite nice!”
Gunwook had hummed understandingly, sipping on his drink, and it was only a matter of time before the conversation quickly shifted to other topics.
Months later, Zhang Hao was not exactly sure if his classes still made him feel so excited. If he were truly honest to himself, he did not learn much from them, getting bored quite easily. And despite how interactive! and fun! the teachers had tried to make it be, it did not change the fact that he still knew most of the points getting taught. But at least, it allowed him to keep practicing his language skills and make some friends.
When he got there this time, most students were already sitting inside. The class had already started, and everyone was busy conversing with each other for some exercise their teacher had probably asked for. After a bow to the lagger, and as he adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder—a fluffy greyish tote he took everywhere whenever he went out, Zhang Hao quickly made his way up the stairs to his usual seat, ignoring the few stares he got doing so.
“Ge, you’re late.” A dark haired man right next to him said quietly in Chinese, even raising an eyebrow when Hao laid down on his table, not even taking his stuff out.
“I knoooow… We had a late delivery at the shop, they just simply wouldn’t let me leave.”
“Huh? But aren’t you supposed to be off on Thursdays?”
“Oh, they weren’t there for me.” Zhang Hao started, clearly still annoyed, and straightening back up in his chair abruptly. “I don’t think they even cared that I was there. hey parked right in front of my door! I couldn’t go through!”
It seemed though, that in his burst of anger, Hao had spoken a bit too loudly. In front of them, dozens of pairs of eyes were directed their way, including Mr. Na’s, their teacher of the day.
“You two in the back, this is a Korean-only class! You are free to talk about anything, as long as it’s in Korean. Otherwise, you can wait to be outside of my class.”
The two men exchanged a look of shame, and did not utter a single word more, only speaking when it was asked of them to.
The other’s name was Shen Quanrui, or Ricky, an American-Chinese student majoring in Fine Arts. They had met at the very beginning of the spring semester, bonding over being among the only few Chinese students in their class. Although he had introduced himself as younger, Ricky seemed a bit unapproachable at first, intimidating even, but as they paired together class after class, Zhang Hao quickly came to realise how warm and bubbly the other’s personality really was. In no time, despite only meeting in class or cafes for study sessions, the two of them got really close. And being friends also proved helpful at times, as Ricky had already been in Korea for a full year by then, already completely used to their different teachers’ antics, and way more knowledgeable than the older on cool spots to visit in the city.
Of course, the classes had led him to meet a lot more people than just Ricky, and most of the coursemates he got to work with were nicer than anything he could have dreamed of. But none of them got close with him the same way he had with Ricky, only meeting with them on these Thursday afternoons and occasional class outings.
After his language class usually came one of his meetings with his ‘Korean Language Buddy’, and the interactions with the latter could not have been more different. Though at this point, he was pretty sure Kim Taerae, the fourth year music blond student he had been assigned to, had become more of a friend than simply someone to practice Korean with. With no longer any regard to the scholarly setting they were advised to keep during their encounters, most of them had turned into gossip sessions and chattering.
At the beginning, they would meet at a bar neighbouring the university, just like nearly every other duo of students their class had paired up. But as time went on and the two got more and more comfortable with each other, they would either often end up simply going to their places and talk as they ordered some takeaway, or meet at their favourite restaurant and do just the same. They would talk for hours about some of Hao’s annoying clients, who was dating who in Taerae’s classes, or sometimes even the latest celebrity gossip that had gotten out in the press. As it turned out, this was exactly the type of casual settings Zhang Hao was looking for to learn. Sometimes, Taerae would correct him if he spoke wrong, or made a typo in their texts. Other times, Hao would directly ask him for help on what a specific word meant, or how to say another. But it did not feel like he was getting taught. And Hao appreciated that.
This time though, Taerae had texted hours before, calling in sick. They were supposed to meet up in a bar, a calm place not far from where the blond worked part-time—a record shop they liked to go to every now and then. And of course, Zhang Hao was not mad at his friend, he could not be. On the contrary, he should probably be happy as it meant more free time and rest!
But going out was not the easiest for him, he often had to prepare himself beforehand. As a homebody, Hao always preferred to stay in the comfort of his house as opposed to being outside. But there was also the fact that at home, he was already used to every sound, even the smallest of noises. At work, even with the loud rumbles of machinery and occasional clients catching him offguard, he had formed habits to protect his hearing, to avoid headaches. Outside though, anything could happen, and Hao often had to focus extremely hard just so he would not get startled by vehicles honking, an alarm going off somewhere, or anything else, really. To help with that, Zhang Hao always checked multiple times in advance if the place he planned to visit would be okay for him, or if there were ways to make the trip there more tolerable. Of course, he also never stepped out of his house without noise cancelling headphones and an extra pair of earplugs anyway, but Hao just really liked to avoid any chance of his hearing being a pain to him again. It was sensitive, he knew it, and had grown learning how to work around it. It was simply… draining. He really found it tiring, always having to remember to do all these things, all the time, just so he could have a life somewhat normal like everyone else.
And so, while of course not mad at his friend—how could he be mad at Taerae for coming down with the flu, the thought of having done so much, having prepared himself in advance for their little outing, for nothing to happen in the end still left him a bit upset at his situation.
🎻
Zhang Hao had been working on this specific half sized double-bass peg box repair for days. One of the pegs had been forced so harshly into its box by the owner — a fifteen year old, whom you would think should know better as a grade 7 music student, but who was he to judge? — it made the wood crack. As a result, Hao now had to reshape the entire thing: carefully take the broken section out, smooth the hole down with sand paper, and fill it up with a new piece of maple wood he had cut beforehand. Wait for the glue to dry, pierce new holes, smooth them down as well. And then paint!
The whole process was truly fastidious. But it was also what made the art of string instrument making so beautiful to him.
This particular work was quite special to him, too. It was not every day that Zhang Hao got to handle a bass. Mr. Park was the one to usually care for the bigger instruments, leaving violins and violas to the young man. But Hao still needed to practice his skills at some point, which had led to this situation. To be trusted, fully on his own, with such a task had felt like an honour.
The day was almost over, sundown rays colouring the walls of the shop early on that late autumn afternoon, and Hao was nearly finished. The only part left actually, was to pick some new pegs and strings from the storefront to attach to the brand new looking double bass. As he did just that though, the little bells at the door rang to indicate someone coming in.
“Excuse me? Is the shop still open?”
As he turned around to greet whoever had just walked through the door, Zhang Hao suddenly stilled. In front of him was a man, most likely around his age, around his height too, brown fluffy hair, casually dressed, and carrying a violin case; clearly a client. But there was something about him that made Zhang Hao stay silent for a moment.
“Are you okay?” the stranger asked, walking towards the Chinese man, head tilted on the side as he looked at him with big questioning eyes.
Zhang Hao snapped back to himself, startled. “Yes,” he started, and he felt his face grow hotter, embarrassed, as he noticed the other’s worried expression shift into a grin. “To both! The shop is open, and I’m also okay.”
The stranger laughed at his words, and it did nothing to help the red painting the luthier’s cheeks go away. Instead, Hao tried clearing his throat to regain a bit of composure before continuing, “How can I help you?”
“Oh, right!” The other seemed to remember why he was here. He swiftly pulled the violin case — gray, with black straps — off his shoulder, and placed it on the counter separating them. As he opened it to reveal the instrument inside, Hao noticed the case had a little charm attached to its handle: a somewhat cute, flat, purple blob he recognised as the Pokémon ’Ditto’. His lips curved upwards slightly.
“I’ve had this violin for some time now, but these days I’ve noticed the bridge looks a little off? I think it moved or something, and I didn’t want to adjust it myself,” the man explained. A soft chuckle seemed to escape his lips as he added, “I’ve been almost scared to practice these days because of it.”
Zhang Hao, having had some time to cool down, just nodded and took the violin in his hands, his eyes expertly scanning over the instrument looking for any other issues. Though clearly old, it seemed very well taken care of. Finally, he carefully placed it back in its box, and looked up to its owner with his usual professional, confident smile.
“This should be an easy fix! I don’t see any other issues, so it’d only take a few minutes. Do you need anything else?”
“Actually, yes!” The brunette said enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking for new strings? My E and A haven’t been changed in a while, and I thought it would be better to ask a professional like yourself for recommendations.”
The excitement in the other man’s voice surprised Hao for a moment. Who gets so excited about strings? He brushed past it though.
“Well, sure,” he started. “I was about to close though. But I can adjust your bridge by tomorrow and look for some fitting strings among what we have, too. Would that work for you?”
“Sure, thank you so much!”
Zhang Hao then opened the shop’s log book, quickly annotating the order’s details, #033 — bridge adjustment, new E&A. He turned it around to his new client. “Please write your name and number, so I can call you if there’s any issue with your violin.”
The man grabbed one of the pens left on the counter for this exact purpose, feeling in his details as asked. Once he was done, he closed his violin case, placed it back on his back just as swiftly as he has taken it off earlier, and was even about to make his way out when Zhang Hao noticed something.
“Wait, sir! You didn’t write your name, just initials,” Hao exclaimed before the other reached the door.
The stranger turned around.
“Oh.”
A pause.
“My name is Sung Hanbin.”