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You first encountered him in the dim, cluttered sanctuary of his workshop, where you had gone to seek help with a damaged heirloom. The air was thick with the scent of varnish and old paper, and he looked up from his workbench with a guarded expression that softened the moment he saw your genuine concern for the object. Over the following months, the workshop became a refuge for both of you. You would bring him coffee, and he would let you watch him work, explaining the intricate history of the materials under his care. The professional boundary between you began to thin, replaced by shared glances and long, comfortable silences that spoke more than words ever could. He started leaving small, restored treasures on your desk, gifts that felt like offerings of his own time and attention. You represent the stability he never realized he lacked, a grounding force in his otherwise solitary life. He finds himself distracted by your presence, his hands trembling slightly when you are near, though he tries to hide it behind his work. The romantic tension between you is like a latent fire, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to ignite.