David noticed Anson's brief pause; as a veteran who had been in Hollywood for twenty years, an eighteen-year-old child was as transparent as crystal, easily seen through; but his emotions remained undisturbed—
A vase, there's nothing wrong with that.
Although Hollywood never lacks for vases, the key is that audiences are fickle; they are always looking forward to more fresh vases, look at Leonardo DiCaprio and Julia Roberts.
Then, Anson spoke.
"My theory is…"
Calm, composed, smiling, nothing special, no change in his gaze, no exaggerated facial expressions, everything was the same as before, as if it were just a normal conversation.
David smiled without speaking.
He guessed that Anson would probably find excuses or theories to defend himself, explaining a lot but ultimately still not delivering a reliable performance, all talk and no substance; there were many types like this in Hollywood; and never underestimate them, they often succeed.
"When parents divorce, they issue a statement."
David: ???
Something was not quite right.
But David looked at Anson, who was still smiling, still composed, as if he were just sharing his own story.
For a moment, David didn't know whether he should interrupt, and then Anson had already continued.
"When my parents told me they were separating, they told me three things."
"First, it's not your fault."
"Second, it's not your fault."
"Third…"
His eyes were bright, his expression calm, there was no particular change in his words, and even during the pause, the smile at the corner of his mouth gently curved upwards.
However, behind that calm, light smile, David could taste a hint of loss and bitterness, easily awakening his own memories.
He was just like that—
When his father and mother divorced, they called him in front of them, told him their decision to divorce, and repeated it over and over again.
"…It's not your fault."
David watched the words come out of Anson's mouth, slightly opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, he just stood there stunned.
Anson was not in a hurry, but exchanged a glance with David, letting thoughts and emotions surge and burn in the quiet air.
"The problem is, I don't believe it."
Anson gently shook his head, sat up straight, and let out a long breath.
"No child would believe it."
"I've seen photos of your wedding ceremony, in the photos you were so young and beautiful, smiling at each other, your eyes full of happiness."
"But now you don't even want to look at each other."
Ha.
Anson let out a light laugh, his focused gaze slowly diffused into the air, without emotional turmoil, seeming only to be lost in his own memories.
Then, he whispered, as if asking himself, or perhaps asking David.
"So, what exactly happened all these years?"
"I tried to think, I tried to search, you weren't willing to give me answers, so I could only grope my way, and finally, I found the answer."
His scattered gaze refocused, and then Anson and David's eyes met, David could see a hint of a smile in those clear blue eyes, a shimmering light that trembled slightly.
"Me."
Anson said.
David was stunned.
"I appeared."
"From the photos to now, the only difference is me. I made a grand entrance, I made you tired, strange, irritable, anxious."
A pause.
Anson tugged at the corner of his mouth, trying to hide the unintentional tremor in the end of his words, but failed, so he quickly lowered his gaze and took a deep breath, beginning to trace the patterns on the desk with his eyes.
"I made you lose your hair, I made you gain thirty pounds, I made you exhausted from being busy, and then, you lost the ability to continue loving each other."
David was silent—
His gaze could not leave Anson.
Suddenly, Anson raised his eyes and looked over, their gazes met again, but David had no time to think, only a sudden feeling of guilt.
But why?
Why was he guilty, why was he flustered, why did he avert his gaze?
David had no answer, because the memories and emotions in his mind stirred up a storm, the time he thought he had long forgotten was still so clear, he could even see his parents' expressions.
Anson's words seemed to be a conversation with his father, cautiously opening his heart; yet they also seemed to be a conversation with his once young, once scarred self, trying to reconcile with himself.
David was somewhat in a daze.
In his ears, Anson's voice, having recovered from fragility, became strong again.
"So, regarding this statement, I have my own opinion."
"Why don't you tell me."
"First, happiness is difficult."
"Second, don't repeat our mistakes."
"Third…"
The voice stopped.
David instinctively looked up and immediately saw Anson's deep blue eyes, as if he could hear the sounds on the ocean's surface, the sound of waves intertwined with the sound of the wind, pulling at his body forcefully, trembling slightly, as if he could disappear into the raging wind at any moment.
"…Okay, maybe there really is a little bit of your fault."
Calm, light, but fragile.
David opened his mouth, he didn't know what was happening, he just wanted to speak, but the sound stopped abruptly at his lips, because he saw the strength and resilience deep in those eyes.
He said.
"If you want me to be honest?"
"Fine, you do it first, don't treat me like a child, keep deceiving me with lies."
Composed, sincere, and naked.
At that moment, it was as if all defenses and armor were shed, cautiously revealing the truth of his inner self, and in the collision of gazes, that pure and simple quality silently blended into his words.
The world was silent.
David still quietly watched Anson, feeling his breath and his heartbeat, the sunlight streaming through the window fell lightly like a butterfly on Anson's shoulder, warm, a golden halo slowly outlining the strong and clear lines of his face, his heart couldn't help but tremble slightly.
Time paused briefly, seemingly forgetting to continue its steps.
Then, Anson lowered his gaze, his previously tense shoulders relaxed, subtly revealing a hint of fatigue, but the curve of his mouth gently lifted, as if he could feel sadness slowly flowing away from his fingertips, and he chuckled self-deprecatingly.
"Sorry. I guess my rambling about myself must have annoyed you."
Illusory and real, true and false, from reality to performance and back to reality.
A simple sentence, yet it instantly pulled David from his thoughts back to reality, he sharply raised his eyes, and couldn't help but scrutinize Anson again.
Everything seemed unchanged—
Still composed, still calm, still smiling.
However, the quicksand of memory had completely slipped from his grasp, like a free fall, David once again felt the weight of gravity, his thoughts vaguely swaying between the boundaries of illusion and reality.
So, what is real, what is performance?
But David was ultimately seasoned, and gradually sobered up.
Rather than saying Anson's performance was outstanding, it was more that Anson cleverly grasped his psychology and used his empathy to create such an atmosphere, just like magic, performance accounted for half, and psychology accounted for the other half.
If there were other people present, the effect would probably be greatly diminished; but Anson cleverly seized the opportunity, and from the very first sentence, he led David into the trap.
This is also a kind of ability.
His gaze remained on Anson, but this time with a hint of amusement—
"Is this your audition performance?"