"No worries, it's pretty sturdy. Would you like to give it a try?"
Every ti Peter looked up, his eyes were always bright, the delight and anticipation nearly overflowing. Gwen approached him, took his extended hand and stared down at his face—a perspective she seldom had.
Peter smiled, "Do you realize how red your face is?"
As if attempting to divert the conversation, Gwen fanned her face and comnted: "I have a good idea. Imagine walking out from there... I an, from that changing room, wearing a beautiful dress. Can you envision that?"
"Absolutely, I have a vivid imagination." Peter adjusted his sitting position, seemingly unsure about easing into a relaxed state. He reclined onto the chair, lifted his head, and Gwen let go of his hand to stride towards the changing room.
As soon as Peter heard the squeaky noise, he knew the changing room door had been opened. Casting his eyes down from the ceiling, he saw Gwen erging, standing against the light at the window. The afternoon sun lending her a silver shimr, and Peter was truly entranced.
His eyes widened, pupils slightly contracted, as if taken aback. Gwen took two steps forward with her hands behind her, her hair glistening under the light.
Upon seeing Peter's stunned face, Gwen chuckled, extended one hand, and he stood up involuntarily. Taking her hand, he found her voice when looking at him to be feather-light.
"Do you think, like in the movies, there have been people who did such a thing in a dressing room like this?"
"I assu...yes." Peter stuttered, struggling to answer.
"What do you think they would do next?"
"...Do what next?" Peter found himself blanking out, utterly clueless. Gwen turned her head to gaze out of the window, and then remarked: "Well, whatever it is, it certainly doesn't involve standing around stupidly like you."
With those words, she let go of Peter's hand and started walking in the opposite direction, but Peter gasped and held her back. As Gwen turned around and looked back, rays of bright sunshine kicked up countless tiny specks of dust between them.
"Gwen..." Peter could only utter her na, feeling the warmth from her hand, and seeing a complicated expression erging on his face. However, he saw Peter opening his mouth, but no words ca out.
A hint of sadness flickered on Gwen's face, but she promptly tugged it away. "Let's go check out so other exhibits."
By the ti they exited the exhibition hall, dusk was nearing. Gwen and Peter were holding hands on the steps in front of the main hall, moving downwards tier by tier, watching the sunset's glow streaming down the stairs.
"What do you think?" Gwen asked out of the blue, and Peter turned to look at her in confusion: "About what?"
"About the exhibition."
"It's great. I an...it's certainly different from what I'm used to, but it's fascinating indeed. I never knew film history could be so intriguing."
"I thought you wouldn't like it." Gwen, with one hand behind her back, comnted: "After all, you seem to be more interested in industrial products."
"Just don't go saying sothing cheesy like 'whatever you like, I like, too'. I don't want to hear that." Squinting at Peter from beneath her eyebrows, Gwen broke into a soft chuckle: "You're the worst in terms of sweet talk among all the n I've ever t."
Scratching his temple, Peter's mouth curved downwards, "You must think I'm such a bore, right? I'm not very good at paying complints. My aunt often said that finding a girlfriend would be nothing short of a miracle in this world."
Gwen suddenly burst into laughter, "Indeed, you're not the creative talker... but you always manage to amuse ."
"Do you know, Peter..." Gwen suddenly looked at Peter and said seriously: "I always feel there's another you hidden beneath your exterior, a you that I don't know."
"Perhaps, I'm just overthinking. But I just have this gut feeling that it's your soul beneath this exterior that attracts . You're different from them, but I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it is..."
Seeing Peter's face, Gwen asked, "Did I make you uncomfortable?"
She shook her head gently, her hair twirling with the movent.
"Do not be uncomfortable, Peter."
She descended a step and then looked up at him, saying, "Like how you agreed to co to Hollywood with , fulfilling my childish reverie; accepting another , I can also accept another you."
She reached out, lightly touching Peter's face with her fingers, "No worries, no doubts, don't be uncomfortable... Peter, in the past, present, or the future, you don't have to feel uncomfortable for ."
mories of his dreams flashed before Peter's eyes. His eyes reflected the naïvety unique to the young, combined with an unusual determination. As he stared into Gwen's eyes, an ocean of tender and deep affection therein, he heard Gwen say: "... I love every side of you, every different you."
"You're different from everyone else I've t..." Selina descended one step, then stood still, looking up at Bruce, "It's as if there are two totally different souls dwelling within you."
"What makes you say that?" Bruce looked at Selina. The two steps between them amplified their height difference. Selina, straining to look up, looked sowhat comical, but also endearing.
"You can take that as a cat's intuition. I'm not even sure if the you I see is the real you, or perhaps there are many 'you's?"
"Which one do you like the most?" The cold blue of Bruce's eyes suddenly ignited into an orange fla under the dusk light, as Selina felt that her gaze was being lted by this fla until it reached her heart.
"Of course, I love your wealthy alter ego," Selina waved her arm and said: "You took to Los Angeles for a tour, presented with such a beautiful gown, danced with ..."
Selina was certain she saw disappointnt in Bruce's eyes. Then she broke into a mischievous smile. Looking back at Bruce with a touch of pride, she said, "You were hurt just now, weren't you?"
"I rember you saying that a bat doesn't get upset," Selina reached out one hand, trying to touch Bruce's face, but the height difference made the gesture look like a believer reaching out to their God.
"But you can be hurt. You're not just the bat, at least not to ... My Mr. Ball of Wool."
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