Roman wandered through the MMCA, absorbing each installation with perceptive curiosity. The private viewing was sparsely attended, allowing him to immerse himself in the exhibition without worry of recognition. He stood before a striking installation, a sculpture made of twisted metal and floating fabric that seemed to defy the laws of physics. The artist's statement also referenced quantum mechanics and parallel universes, which Roman disagreed with on several technical points.
"The artist is completely misinterpreting Schrödinger," he muttered to himself.
"I thought the same thing," came a voice beside him. "The quantum metaphor falls apart under any actual scientific scrutiny."
Roman turned to notice a woman with short black hair and perceptive eyes studying the same installation with a critical expression.
"Right," Roman agreed, surprised and thrilled to find someone equally analytical. "It's philosophically interesting but scientifically unsound."
"The visual representation is compelling, though," she offered. "Art doesn't have to be scientifically accurate to evoke the feeling of quantum uncertainty."
Roman weighed her words. "True. I suppose I am being overly literal."
"Not at all," she assured. "I had the same thought. I'm Ellie, by the way, one of the curators."
"Roman," he introduced himself, waiting for the accustomed recognition.
Ellie nodded and returned her gaze to the installation. "What do you think of the use of negative space here?"
Roman blinked, momentarily thrown off by her lack of reaction to his identity. Either she did not recognize him, or she was discreet. They moved through the exhibition together, engaging in a relaxed conversation that ranged from art theory and philosophy to the practical challenges of preserving contemporary installations.
"Most people don't realize how much science is involved in art conservation," Ellie explained as they examined together a light-based piece. "Chemistry, physics, materials science, it's all crucial."
"The intersection of disciplines is where the most interesting formations happen," Roman derived. As they rounded a corner into a new gallery section, Roman realized they had wandered into a completely different exhibition from the one he had come to see.
"I think I am lost," he acknowledged.
Ellie laughed. "You've been following me through my curatorial rounds for the past hour. I was wondering when you would notice."
Roman flushed, embarrassed. "I am so sorry. I got caught up in our conversation."
"Don't apologize. It's refreshing to discuss the artifacts with a unique perspective and an ardent interest. Most people nod and say 'interesting' as if they were commenting on a joke they didn't find funny."
"I wish I did not have opinions about everything," Roman apologized. "It's both a blessing and a curse."
"In my line of work, informed opinions are valuable," Ellie said, checking her watch. I need to finish my rounds, but the café here makes excellent tea. Would you like to continue our discussion afterward?"
Roman staggered by her straightforward invitation and how badly he wanted to accept. "I would enjoy that very much."
"Fantastic. Meet you there in thirty minutes?"
He'd made his first connection with someone outside the idol world in years, and she hadn't once mentioned C7 or asked for a selfie. It was, he decided, an auspicious start to his break.
* * *
The exclusive after-party for Louis Vuitton's latest show buzzed with energy. As a brand ambassador, Vic absorbed each runway's new design, seeking quiet corners afterward. These events always drained him; too many people wore masks of sophistication, and there were too few lasting connections. He sipped his sparkling water and observed, counting the minutes until he could respectfully exit. He spotted a tall, graceful woman in a classic ivory dress slipping out of a side door onto the venue's balcony. Something about her purposeful escape struck a chord with Vic, and before he could think twice, he followed her. The night air brought welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the party. Vic hesitated, not wanting to disturb whoever had also found refuge, when he heard a faint cry.
The woman was at the balcony's edge, her back to him, shoulders trembling slightly with suppressed sobs. Vic hesitated. Social etiquette required him to either step back to give her privacy or try to comfort someone in distress. The first choice felt cold; the second seemed too intrusive.
He cleared his throat softly. "Excuse me. I can leave if you prefer to be alone."
The woman turned around quickly, wiping tears from her face. Vic recognized her immediately, Sera, whose dazzling smile lit up the most famous billboard. Now, that calm composure was gone as she struggled to compose herself.
"I am sorry," she said, voice steady despite her tears. "I didn't realize anyone was here."
"I just arrived," Vic assured her. I would leave if you'd prefer solitude, but I will gladly listen if you want to talk about anything."
"It is not my balcony," she interrupted, straightening her shoulders. "No need to leave on my account."
They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Vic spoke again.
"The stars are particularly expressive tonight," he broke the silence, gazing dreamily upward.
Sera followed his gaze, confusion evident. "Expressive?"
"They are telling stories," Vic rhymed. "Sometimes they whisper, sometimes they shout. Tonight, they're somewhere in between."
Sera looked at him with renewed interest. "You're Vic. From C7."
He nodded, expecting the usual fashion industry questions about his brand partnerships.
Instead, she asked, "What are the stars saying to you?"
The question caught him off guard, as most people usually dismiss his metaphorical speech instead of engaging with him.
"They're saying that sadness has its beauty," he answered solemnly. "Some things need to break so light can emerge from within."
Fresh tears welled in Sera's eyes, but she didn't look away. "My dog died yesterday. My Pomeranian, Honey."
The simple statement carried such raw grief that Vic felt his eyes sting. "I'm so sorry."
"It's stupid to cry over a dog at a fashion event," Sera said, trying to laugh, but it came out more like a hiccup.
"It's never stupid to mourn love," Vic replied quietly, reaching for his phone. He scanned his photos and found what he was looking for, turning the screen toward her.
"This was Yeontan," he said, showing her a picture of a small black Pomeranian. "He passed last year."
Sera's eyes widened in recognition of his loss, not his pet. "How did you... Move forward?"
"I didn't, for a while," Vic admitted. "Then I realized Tan wouldn't want his memory to cause pain. He lived for joy, chasing butterflies, stealing socks, barking at his reflection, even going on stage with me, pretending he was a pop star. Remembering his happiness eventually helped more than mourning his absence."
Sera nodded slowly, tears streaming down her face. "Honey used to dance when I came home. Every single time, no matter if I'd been gone ten minutes or ten days."
"A soul's greeting," Vic nodded. "The purest form of love."
"Unconditional love," Sera whispered, her gaze filled with benevolence. "Only we would understand it."
They stood in quiet mutual silence, two people united at an event based on shallow impressions.
"Would you like to see more pictures of Honey?" Sera shared, offering her phone. "I have thousands. My friends are tired of seeing them."
As they scrolled through photos and shared stories of their beloved pets, a bond rooted in mutual grief brought them closer. When they eventually returned to the party, they moved as discreet allies through the sea of superficial conversations, occasionally exchanging glances if someone uttered something particularly vapid about "the transformative power of accessorizing."
As the event ended, Sera handed Vic a business card. "I'm working on a project for a charity foundation for rescue animals. If you'd be interested in hearing more..."
Vic accepted the card, recognizing the gesture as an invitation to connect beyond this single evening.
"The stars would approve," he said with a secret smile.
"I'm beginning to understand your language, Vic."
"Few people make the effort," he admitted.
"Their loss," Sera replied, before disappearing into the crowd of departing guests.
Vic carefully tucked her card into his jacket pocket, a small reminder that genuine connections sometimes form in the most unexpected situations.
* * *
Later that night, the members gathered back at the C7 dorm to share their experiences. Jon reported that he partnered with the unsmiling food critic in his cooking class. Silas recounted his grudging equipment-sharing arrangement with the indie producer. Julian enthusiastically described his dance workshop and invitation to an underground club. Roman shared his philosophical conversation from the museum with the curator. Vic quietly mentioned meeting someone who understood his metaphorical speech patterns. Only Jake remained vague about his plans, simply stating he would be "observing dance styles" at a local academy the next day.
James chit-chatted with his twin brother in the kitchen as the members prepared for bed.
"So," James began, "about this twin switch dating strategy..."
Evan sighed deeply. "I'm already regretting this."
"Just hear me out. You're good at first impressions—all that kindergarten teacher patience. You could lay the groundwork, then I take over once you've established a connection."
"That is deceptive and weird," Evan pointed out again.
"Or it's like... having a dating coach who happens to share my DNA," James argued. "You'd just be helping me put my best foot forward."
"Your best foot should be yours, not my foot pretending to be yours."
"That metaphor got away from you," James observed.
Evan ran a hand through his hair, the same as James's, though styled by himself. "Look, I will help you learn how to talk to women. I will give you advice. I will even let you practice conversations with me. But I am not impersonating you on dates."
"Fine," James conceded, then brightened. "But you'll still teach me how people date?"
"People don't need their identical twins to teach them how to date," Evan muttered.