Dumbfounded

The hospital corridor exuded an intense tranquility, magnifying the echoes of footsteps that seemed to expand invisibly. Elliot made an effort to lighten his pace, but his speed didn't diminish. His gaze darted busily, scanning the surroundings. Meanwhile, his mind began to race.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and yet he still hadn't gained anything. The hospital building was certainly not small, and continuing to wander aimlessly wasn't a solution. Finding a single person in such a vast space was like searching for a needle in a haystack. He needed to devise a more effective method of filtering. Perhaps seeking out someone for inquiry was a sensible idea. But who should he approach?

A nurse? A patient? A physical therapist? A janitor?

One piece of information after another sifted through his mind. Suddenly, Elliot's steps involuntarily hesitated as his peripheral vision caught something. He retraced his steps two paces, turned his gaze to the right, and there he saw Renly seated on a bench.

The young man leaned against the backrest, his face lifted to the afternoon sun that lazily streamed down. The faint dust danced above his delicate and clear brows, forming a thin golden halo. The contours of his features blurred, only capturing a hint of a barely discernible smile at the corner of his lips. Time seemed to hang from those gentle lips, swaying freely yet never departing.

The bloom of youth.

Elliot was momentarily entranced, almost forgetting that this year, Renly was merely twenty-one. Despite the emphasis on Renly's youth by everyone, his demeanor and bearing consistently made people forget his age. Up until this moment.

After the initial daze, an overwhelming joy surged through Elliot, filling his chest. He had found him, actually found him!

Eagerly, Elliot approached, but before the joy could fully surface, anxiety and fear halted his steps abruptly. The sudden pause caused a sharp friction between his shoe soles and the ground, freezing his blood instantly. He stood rigid, his eyes wide and muscles tense.

This was Renly Hall.

So far, Elliot had only encountered Renly twice. The first was after the Emmy Awards ceremony. He foolishly tried to pay the cab fare and was left abandoned outside the celebration party, running away from security guards. The second time was in Hawaii, where Renly's composed and unflappable demeanor turned him into a clown, fleeing in disarray.

Though it was somewhat embarrassing, honestly, Elliot was a bit afraid of Renly. Because he couldn't predict him.

In fact, he wasn't alone in this sentiment. Even though journalists never considered paparazzi colleagues, they shared a consensus about Renly. In the short year since Renly's emergence, his multiple encounters with reporters left them unable to gain the upper hand; they often found themselves at a disadvantage or even in complete disarray.

Reporters who attempted to wring exclusives from Renly often ended up getting burned and preoccupied with their own troubles. Rumor had it that journalists from Entertainment Weekly had repeatedly been bested by Renly, becoming a laughingstock within the industry. And mind you, the same Entertainment Weekly was currently in turmoil due to their dealings with Natalie Portman.

Vivid memories flooded Elliot's mind, immobilizing him. He earnestly pondered a profoundly serious question: Had he lost his mind? He voluntarily presented himself, traveled all the way to Seattle, and set himself up for hardship? Was he into self-inflicted suffering? If he turned and fled now, would he make it in time?

"Good afternoon. Since you've come all this way, aren't you going to greet me before leaving?"

There was no time left.

The mellifluous voice reached Elliot's ears, causing a slight stiffening in his muscles. He suddenly realized he had been holding an awkward pose, so he awkwardly retracted the motion, feigning casual glances left and right. Deep within, a trace of impulsiveness lingered: Would it be unwise to flee in a panic now?

His gaze returned to Renly, who had closed his eyes once again, basking in the warmth of the sunlight without a hint of anxiety. He sat with refinement and tranquility on the bench, an air of contentment on his face, revealing that he relished this rare tranquility of the lazy afternoon. This prompted Elliot to square his shoulders slightly, summoning his courage once more.

He was the paparazzo, the dominant one in this scenario. He had no reason to fear Renly. With the advantage of age, not to mention wielding both the pen and the camera, the task of crafting an article after the interview was solely his. Why worry? It was Renly who needed to be cautious.

He consoled himself, bolstering his spirits, and then took a step forward.

After glancing around, Elliot hesitated. He wasn't sure how to position himself. While standing would grant him a psychological edge due to the height advantage, for some reason, he always had a sense that he was the subordinate and Renly the superior. But if he were to sit, where should he sit?

His gaze fell upon the bench. It was large enough for four people, and Renly was seated on the left, leaving a substantial space on the right, seemingly inviting him to sit down.

Which celebrity would invite a paparazzo to sit down for an intimate conversation?

Elliot felt a bit perplexed, but he sat down, scooting as far to the right as possible. Clearing his throat, he said, "... What are you doing here?" The question left his lips, and Elliot rolled his eyes at himself, realizing how unprofessional he sounded. Even a rookie fresh in the field wouldn't bring up such a mundane and empty topic. So, he hurriedly tried to recover.

"I mean, why are you here in Seattle? Shouldn't you be in Los Angeles? You've not only missed much of the awards season's excitement, but also the nominees' luncheon. Just a short while ago, you received your first Oscar nomination. You should be under the spotlight, enjoying the focal point of attention, rather than sitting here... sunbathing. If you want to sunbathe, wait until you're Al Pacino's age; then you'll have plenty of time."

"Do you have a problem with Al Pacino?" Renly's counter-question left Elliot speechless, his eyes widened. He had no idea how to respond. He had just delivered a lengthy discourse, and this was Renly's response? This... this...

Renly opened his eyes. He had merely closed them for a moment, basking in the warm sun. The chill in his limbs gradually dissipated, his taut muscles began to relax, and the boiling sensation within his body settled down. Although his head still throbbed, he finally felt better.

Seeing Elliot in his line of sight, a faint smile graced Renly's lips. He instantly recognized him as the paparazzo. Although he had no intention of cooperating for an interview, nor revealing his private life, the events of just now made seeing a familiar face evoke an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

Elliot's presence reminded him – he was Renly. Not Adam, not Chu Jiashu, but Renly.

Renly didn't respond to Elliot's earlier implications, choosing to disregard the lengthy monologue entirely and instead posing a question of his own, "So, do you have any guesses?"

Upon joining the set, he seldom read newspapers. Nathan still kept up with his daily reading and maintained contact with Andy over the phone. But unless it was something significant, Nathan wouldn't relay it. Consequently, there was a considerable gap in Renly's understanding of Hollywood's current situation.

Elliot stared at Renly for a moment, then caught on and swiftly changed the conversation, responding with a question of his own, "So, why were you at the hospital?"

Renly didn't say a word; he merely raised an eyebrow, unprepared for Elliot's focus to land on the "hospital".

However, Elliot thought he had grasped the crux of the matter and continued to press aggressively, "Why did you seem so physically weak? Are you ill?" His gaze dropped to the residual wound on Renly's arm. "Are you undergoing treatment? What exactly happened to you?"

Amusing, indeed.

As someone with a journalism background, Renly couldn't help but find it amusing. If he hadn't become an actor but instead pursued a career as a journalist, how different would Hollywood appear through his eyes?

"Your eyes seem quite excited, so are you hoping I've fallen seriously ill, planning to report an exclusive news story? Is that why you made the special trip to Seattle?" Renly inquired with evident interest, his tone teasing, leaving the verdict of affirmation or denial shrouded in ambiguity.

Elliot stumbled over his words. Renly's question had put him between a rock and a hard place. Although his heart was screaming, "Yes, that's exactly it," Renly's jest made him feel overwhelmingly ashamed. "Uh..."

Renly chuckled lightly, seemingly entertained by Elliot's response. "How about my agent? Haven't you sought official information?" he quipped.

"Andy said you're working on a project," Elliot reflexively answered. As a paparazzo, quick reflexes were his forte. However, each time he faced Renly, it seemed like this strength couldn't come into play. Mostly because Renly's answers were consistently unpredictable.

"So, I am working on a project," Renly responded affirmatively, going with the flow. This made Elliot blink, his skepticism becoming even more pronounced. How did that sound so much like brushing him off? "I know that relatively speaking, falling seriously ill, even contracting a terminal illness, would make for better news. But I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Elliot felt an urge to cry. He felt like Renly was messing with him, blatantly messing with him! At this point, he didn't know what was real and what was fake. What was the actual truth? Renly was practically being a rogue!

"Or did you leave Los Angeles during the crucial award season, making a special trip to Seattle, solely to cover the project I'm working on? Hoping to dig up some exclusive news to promote our project? If that's the case, I'm truly moved."

Gazing at Renly's nonchalant smile, Elliot had the urge to go home.