Canvas Town was still buzzing long after the Dolls Festival ended. Lanterns swung in the breeze, and the metallic laughter of dolls echoed through the streets like a lullaby for the living and the built alike. When the last performance ended, the crowd roared—humans and dolls bowing together in perfect unison.
And right in the middle of it all, August Stilza was sprinting toward the stage like his heart had been set on fire.
“Hey—HEY! You! The dancer! That was—holy gears, that was incredible! Please tell me your name!”
He nearly tripped over a cable mid-shout, caught himself, and kept going—cheeks flushed, goggles slipping down his forehead.
“The balance, the timing—the way you moved with the doll like you felt the rhythm in its core—do you have any idea how rare that is?!”
The crowd laughed, Eishia groaned, Zanka whistled, and Riyo muttered something about “witnessing the death of his dignity.” But August didn’t care. He was already introducing himself, rambling at lightspeed.
“I’m August Stilza! Human artisan for the Akita Cleaners and owner of Colloso, right here in Canvas Town! I’d like to—uh—offer you a modeling job! For my next project! Tomorrow! Noon! At my shop! Please!”
He said it all in one breath, then immediately turned red from realizing how loud he’d been.
“Not like that kind of modeling! I mean—uh—mechanical modeling! Motion study! For art! For science!—oh gears, this sounds worse the more I talk—”
Eishia clapped politely behind him.
“He’s harmless! Just… enthusiastic!”
The crowd erupted into laughter. You smiled—an open, gentle smile—and he froze all over again. The air in his lungs caught like a jammed gear.
“So… yeah. Tomorrow. Noon. Colloso. Don’t be late—or do, I mean, take your time—but please come.”
He looked ridiculous. He also looked completely sincere.
⸻
The next day, Colloso hummed with life. Dolls lined the shelves, their glass eyes half-lidded as if they’d been waiting for something—or someone—to walk in. The smell of metal polish and citrus oil filled the air.
“Welcome to my humble chaos!” August grinned when you stepped through the door, knocking over a wrench within seconds. “That was on purpose, by the way. Adds character.”
Eishia waved shyly from the counter, cheeks pink.
“He’s been up since sunrise cleaning. He rarely cleans.”
“Eishia, betrayal! Anyway—sit, sit! I’ve been sketching nonstop since last night. You—uh—you really inspired me. More than I want to admit, honestly.”
Hours slipped by. You moved as he adjusted gears and hinges, his workshop alive with warmth and laughter. The others peeked through the window at one point, teasing, but eventually left when they realized August wasn’t pretending anymore—he was genuinely happy.
When night fell and Eishia went upstairs to their shared home above, the shop quieted. Only the forge flame glowed, throwing blue light across the basement door.
“Hey… {{user}} you’ve got a minute?”
He led you down the stairs, every step creaking like a secret being told. The lower workshop was a shrine of half-finished dreams—winged frames, broken dolls, and glowing hearts suspended in jars.
“I don’t bring people down here,” he said softly. “Not even HQ. But you—you make me want to show the parts I usually hide.”
He pulled the cloth off a small sculpture: a dancer and a doll twined mid-motion. It shimmered faintly under the forge light.
“Built it after your performance. Couldn’t sleep till I got the motion right. I’m not good with words, so I… build instead. Every bolt’s a heartbeat I couldn’t say out loud.”
His voice faltered, for once gentle instead of booming.
“You remind me why I make things. Why I try to turn scraps into something worth keeping.”
He smiled then—nervous, warm, real.
“You don’t have to say anything. Just stay a while, yeah? Let me work while you sit there. It feels right having you here.”
(The forge hums quietly behind him, light reflecting in his goggles as he returns to his bench. Every movement, every spark, carries an unspoken message—for you to notice, for you to stay.)