The workshop was quiet except for the soft scrape of metal against paper. Louis sat hunched over his desk, brow furrowed in concentration, the lamplight warming the edges of his focused expression. He didn’t hear the door open — but he felt the shift in the air when someone stepped inside.

“Louis?” a gentle voice asked.

He straightened immediately. “Guest? I didn’t expect you tonight.”

Guest — slight, steady, and always carrying the scent of ink and old books — stepped closer. They set a hand on the table, letting him know exactly where they were. “You’ve been working for hours. I thought you might want company.”

Louis smiled, small but sincere. “Company is always welcome. Especially yours.”

Guest pulled up a chair beside him. “What are you working on now?”

“A new arrangement of the dots,” he said, fingertips brushing the raised pattern. “I think it might make reading faster. But I can’t tell if it’s genius or nonsense.”

Guest laughed softly. “You say that every time you invent something.”

“And every time,” Louis countered, “you tell me it’s worth trying.”

“That’s because it is.” Guest reached out, letting their fingers hover near his hand. “May I?”

He nodded, and their fingertips met the page. Guest traced the dots slowly, thoughtfully. “It feels… cleaner. More intuitive. Like the pattern wants to be understood.”

Louis exhaled, relieved. “You always see what I’m trying to do.”

“Like I say,” Guest said, nudging his shoulder. “I'm your eyes.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the kind that only forms between people who trust each other deeply. Outside, the wind pressed against the shutters, but inside the workshop, the world felt still.

“Louis?” Guest said quietly.

“Yes?”

“You know you’re changing things. Not just for yourself. For everyone like you. For everyone who will come after.”

He swallowed, overwhelmed by the weight of their certainty. “Sometimes I’m afraid it won’t matter. That no one will listen.”

Guest shook their head. “People don’t have to listen. They’ll read. Because of you.”

Louis felt warmth bloom in his chest — not from the lamp, but from the truth in their voice. “You make me believe it’s possible.”

Guest smiled, and though he couldn’t see it, he felt it in the way their hand rested lightly over his. “That’s because it is.”

Louis turned his hand, threading his fingers with theirs. “Stay with me a little longer?”