Blah, blah, blah, blah.
Once the conversation started, it couldn't be stopped.
Charlie was a little excited—
After being constantly labeled a genius, relying on his brain to get by, the pressure on Charlie must have been imnse.
Indeed.
Everyone has their own struggles, and at the sa ti, everyone desires what they cannot have.
That's why people who are considered "pretty faces" long for talent, while talented people desire good looks. Kids want to grow up, and adults wish to be young again.
No one is an exception.
Because of this, if soone could stop wanting to be like others and focus on themselves, they would find happiness.
Anson glanced at Charlie, who was rambling and complaining, and couldn't help but smile slightly. He could imagine Charlie's recent frustrations and resentnt.
After a mont of thought, Anson said, "The brain is sexy; it's a kind of appeal in itself."
Charlie: "What?"
Anson: "Ahem, like the Doctor." He was really referring to the new trend set by a certain Sherlock Hols actor ten years later.
Sexiness is, after all, a subjective aesthetic. Everyone has their preferences, and it shouldn't be confined by norms.
Normally, Charlie would catch the deeper aning behind Anson's words, but today, with low blood sugar making him resemble a mad scientist, Charlie's thinking was slightly off.
Charlie looked at Anson with a puzzled face.
"You think the Doctor is sexy?"
"Are you sure?"
"Oh my God, you should be glad we're not in high school right now, or those football jocks wouldn't miss the chance to mock you for that."
"Have you ever been hit in the head by a football? I have."
Anson: …
Is being this open really a good idea?
But Charlie didn't mind, imrsed in his own thoughts, showing a bit of glee.
"Maybe these dreams are just telling to stop torturing myself. There's no need to diet—my subconscious is already protesting."
Looking at Charlie, the more nonchalant he seed, the more Anson could sense the hidden pain beneath the surface:
No one deserves to be hit by a football for no reason.
Anson himself had been through similar experiences in a past life, shunned like a pariah. But unlike Charlie, at least Anson had made mistakes. Charlie, though, had done nothing wrong.
However, Anson didn't let any of this show. Instead, he smiled, "You can confirm the truth after tonight's awards ceremony."
Charlie: "Does that an I can eat cake?"
Anson: Uh, what about the Oscars?
But seeing the light in Charlie's eyes, Anson decided to change the subject. The words he had planned took a sudden turn, "If this theory holds, your subconscious will rge with your conscious mind."
Charlie took a deep breath, "Then the dream's purpose will be fulfilled. And I won't have this dream again."
Without paying attention to Anson, Charlie indulged in his own joy and lightheartedness. He seed to finally let go of a heavy burden, visibly relaxing—
It had nothing to do with Anthony.
"Finally!"
"I knew it. Haha, I knew it!"
"I did it, cracked the dream, once again proving I'm a genius. After weeks of these dreams, there will finally be no more tequila, cheap motels, or n in bathrobes..."
His words trailed off as he noticed Anson's hesitant expression. A shiver ran down his spine, and his muscles stiffened.
Wait, no way…
Anson smiled, glancing behind Charlie, masking his awkwardness and pretending nothing was happening, as if they were casually chatting about the weather, flashing a light smile at the figure standing there.
"Hey, Nicole."
Tonight, Nicole Kidman, a favorite to win for The Hours, was elegantly dressed. Showing no signs of wear from her divorce, she looked even more radiant in a lavender off-the-shoulder gown. The top part, fitted like a corset, transitioned into a silk, layered skirt with a hollowed-out design, giving her a regal air.
Nicole stood gracefully, the light breeze unable to stir her silk skirt, though it did tousle her hair slightly. Her eyes widened in surprise—
What made this significant was the endless rumors over the past decade that Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise's marriage had been more of a business arrangent than a genuine relationship. These rumors persisted, largely fueled by the fact that they never had children together, and the long-standing Hollywood speculation about Tom's romantic preferences.
But the truth, only Nicole and Tom really knew.
Now, Nicole stood there in the wind, casting a calm and sowhat mysterious smile toward them.
Charlie's entire back went rigid as he robotically turned around to face her.
Nicole raised her right hand, fingers curling slightly as she greeted them. "Hey, Charlie; hey, Anson."
Charlie blinked, trying to maintain his composure. "…And then the rabbi said..."
Nicole raised her chin slightly, her eyes flashing with deeper aning. She said nothing more, rely nodding toward Anson before gracefully walking away.
Charlie kept smiling, though the muscles around his mouth were slowly stiffening.
Anson didn't rush to break the awkward silence, watching Charlie's rigid expression until he seed on the verge of breaking down. Only then did Anson give him a glance. "She's gone."
Charlie exhaled loudly, his chest rising and falling.
"Oh," Anson remarked.
Charlie held his breath again.
Anson: "Sorry, false alarm. Just a staff mber walking by."
Charlie resud breathing normally, but after a slight delay, he realized, "You're ssing with , aren't you?"
Anson nodded innocently.
Charlie: …
Anson could feel the frustration radiating from the genius screenwriter's eyes, so he quickly shifted his gaze. "I think we should go inside now."
Without waiting for a response, Anson walked toward the banquet hall, bypassing Charlie.
Unexpectedly, Charlie followed right behind him, walking in step with Anson as they entered the hall, trailing after Nicole.
Out of nowhere, Charlie threw out a question, "So, are you just going to walk away like that? Are you sure your agent is okay with this?"
Anson was confused.
"Aren't you going to introduce yourself? Isn't that why you've been so patient with ?"
Anson turned to look at Charlie, who kept his gaze forward, but his expression revealed he already knew the truth.
Ah, so that's how it is.
As expected, Charlie, having spent years in Hollywood, knew how things worked. He had seen through it all.
And now it was clear that Anson's straightforward approach from the start had been the right move, avoiding any pretense or secrecy.
However, Anson didn't exactly follow the usual script either.
"Do I need to introduce myself? If I do, that would be disappointing—I was hoping to enjoy so face-recognition perks tonight."
Confident, but not arrogant, with a hint of playful teasing.
This caught Charlie's attention, making him look up.
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