Chapter Text
Sophie had moved into her new place just three days ago. Her small room was barely furnished. She’d been accepted to University College London’s Slade School of Fine Art graduate program on scholarship. Her dreams were coming true, but she still couldn’t quite grasp them.
Her best friend Alfie had been at UCL a year ahead of her. He had secured the room for her when he found out she’d gotten in too. The flat was shared with 4 other students including Alfie. She was grateful to him in more ways than one. He was the one who encouraged her to apply and gave her the inside scoop on securing scholarships, since he worked in the School of the Arts office.
His connections with the faculty had also gotten them an invite to a start-of-term party at the home of one of the department chairs.
“Alfie, I really don’t think I should be going tonight,” Sophie whined as she sat on her bed, while Alfie rifled through her suitcase.
“Of course you should be going. It’ll give me a chance to give you the gossip and show you who’s who. How do you actually have nothing to wear tonight?” he said, hitting the bottom of her suitcase.
“I wasn’t planning on going out much here. I just want to be in the studio and work,” Sophie said, now lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
“We’re going to need Hazel.” Alfie left the room and headed across the hall. Hazel was one of their other roommates, in Alfie’s cohort. Sophie had only known her a few days, but her warmth made her feel like a close confidante already.
Alfie ran back into Sophie’s room holding a silver corset top. “This!” he exclaimed.
“What the hell is that?” Sophie said, horrified.
“It’s what you’re wearing tonight. Hazel took it from a production of Moulin Rouge last year. She said it was too small for her, so you can have it!”
“I am not wearing that to a faculty event.”
“It’s not a faculty event—it’s a party that happens to have a few faculty members in attendance. Anyway, you want to make a good impression, don’t you?”
“Not like that.”
“Look, you can wear it with your black jeans and this blazer to tone it down a little,” Alfie said, picking up the blazer he had thrown earlier.
Sophie rolled her eyes, realizing her protests had no effect on Alfie.
Benedict was in his studio, mindlessly painting and feeling uninspired, when Simon popped his head in.
“You coming to my place tonight to welcome the incoming faculty, right, Ben?”
Simon was the chair of the art department and one of Benedict’s closest friends—not to mention his brother-in-law, though they had been close even before he married Benedict’s sister, Daphne. They had gone to the Royal Academy of Arts together several years ago.
“I mean, do I have to?” Benedict said, smiling.
“Yes, you have to. I only throw these things to keep everyone friendly and cordial—and the wine helps with that. You’re the golden retriever of the faculty here, so your presence will most certainly be missed if you don’t attend,” Simon said, joking but firm.
“You know I’ve grown tired of these things—and of most of these people. Everyone has been so disingenuous lately.”
Benedict was still recovering from an ill-fated situationship that had somehow turned into a throuple with two faculty members from the English lit department. They’d done a number on him—he’d discovered they were using him to seem more cultured and had no real interest in his work or character.
“Fine. Make an appearance, then run back to your hiding place,” Simon said.
“Thank you,” Benedict replied, clasping his hands together.
Simon’s phone started buzzing.
“Oh, it’s Daph. I’d better take this—you know how she gets when she’s in full party-planning mode.”
“You’d better put on a hard hat,” Benedict joked.
Simon laughed as he walked down the hallway. “Yes, dear?” Benedict heard him say as his voice faded.
Sophie sat in the back of the Uber with Hazel and Alfie, tugging at her corset top, adjusting it uncomfortably.
“Stop that—you look great,” Hazel said, swatting her hand away.
Alfie took a long swig from his flask, then passed it to Hazel. She took an even longer one before handing it to Sophie.
“It’ll help calm your nerves, love,” Hazel said with a gentle nudge.
Sophie took a drink. It burned going down, but she let the warmth settle and took a deep breath.
They pulled up to a large townhouse already filled with people.
You can do this. You can do this, Sophie told herself.
She followed Alfie up the steps into the crowded entryway.
“I think I see John!” Hazel said excitedly. She’d been dating John, another graduate student, for a few months, and they were completely smitten. Sophie and Alfie gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before she disappeared into the crowd.
“Alfie, my favorite TA—how have you been?” a tall man called from the stairs as he sauntered down to greet him.
“Professor Bassett!” Alfie said cheerfully.
“Please—it’s Simon for you, my favorite office informant. You know we never did find out who was stealing my lunches last term,” Simon said playfully.
“I’ll make it my top priority this year, sir.”
“Good—that’s all I ask. And who is this? You’ve brought a friend?”
“This is Sophie Baek—she’s the new MFA candidate I was telling you about.”
“Oh yes, Sophie. I really enjoyed your application work. I’m excited to see what you do here.”
“Simon!” a voice called sharply from the kitchen.
“I must make haste. Lovely to meet you, Miss Baek—I look forward to seeing your work this term.”
He disappeared into the crowd.
Sophie and Alfie moved deeper into the house. The walls were lined with bookshelves and large paintings. People stood in clusters, drinking wine and philosophizing.
Sophie couldn’t help but feel mesmerized by the architecture and the hum of the crowd. Everyone seemed to languish in their intellectualism.
Alfie found some of his friends and after a few introductions, Sophie felt the tequila settle in and found herself wanting to disappear and people-watch.
“I’m going to find the loo,” she whispered.
“It’s upstairs,” Alfie said, already distracted.
Upstairs was quieter. Sophie finally felt like she could breathe—though not entirely, thanks to the corset. She wandered down the hall, admiring the decor, until she found a set of French doors leading to a terrace.
Stepping outside, she looked down at the party below. Soft jazz drifted through the air. The cool night felt like a splash of water.
For the first time since in a long time, Sophie truly felt present.
“I’m not leaving—not yet. I’m just going upstairs for a smoke, then I will continue this endless debate on the rise of Neural Romanticism my dear Kate,” Benedict said, slightly drunk, disengaging from a debate.
"I am just saying that perhaps AI could drive an art movement beyond what humans are currently capable of. I'm not saying it will be beneficial, I am just saying that its impact is going to be exponential." Kate said sternly.
"Yes of course." Benedict retorted already walking away.
He knew there was a quiet terrace upstairs, so he ascended the stairs hoping for some solitude.
When he approached the windowed doors he noticed someone already there.
Damn, he thought.
But she was alone—and there was something about the way she looked at the night. A kind of quiet delight he rarely saw.
He stepped outside.
“Oh—I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” she said.
“Please don’t.”
She hesitated. “I don’t actually want to go back in there,” she admitted.
“It’s a large terrace. I’m sure it can accommodate both of us,” he said with a smile.
She exhaled in relief.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking—you seem to be enjoying yourself out here. What’s caught your attention?” he asked.
“It’s everything. The house, the night, the way it’s all alive… it’s beautiful,” she said.
“You’re not like anyone else here,” he said, surprised.
“What do you mean?”
"I just mean it is rare, to see someone beaming at one of these things. Most people are here comparing themselves—riddled with jealousy, ambition, or bitterness over their position.” He paused looking at her more closely now. "What is your name? I don't think I have seen you at one of these things before. What department are you in? Poetry perhaps?" Benedict asked.
"Oh I do not teach, I came with a friend."
"Why do I get the sense you are playing some sort of character tonight? Are you in the theatre? An actor perhaps?"
"No, no, not at all but I did come here with someone in the theatre department and the outfit belongs to the theatre.”
"Ahh so it is some sort of silver ingenue costume you are wearing tonight." he said looking her up and down. He couldn’t help but notice how enticing the top made her look although she did seem quite uncomfortable in it.
"I am merely playing the part of a supportive friend tonight."
"Oh so they aren't really your friend?"
"No no its just that I hate the small talking with strangers part of these types of evenings."
"Well you are certainly doing well with it currently."
"And what about you?" She asked.
"What about me? I am just a lowly lecturer in a sea of tenured faculty trying to make my way, crippled by self doubt." he said admittedly. His blatant honesty shocked even him, but there was something about this woman that made him feel like he could tell her anything.
"But you are a part of it and that is much more than most."
"I guess so but I often feel as though I don't fit in, like I am just going through the motions and not really in it with my heart."
"I think that may be that self doubt you spoke of poking in." She said as if she were reading him like a book.
"And what about you? where did you grow up?"
"Here and there." she said coyly.
"Your family?"
"Mother and father."
"I see I am to get no identifiers from you tonight." he said in frustration. But somehow even though he didn't know this woman's name or anything about her, he felt closer to her than he had to anyone else in a very long time.
They stood there, leaning against the stone fence covered in ivy, gazing out at the rest of the party goers. They both felt as if they were protected in this space from the rest of the world and even from themselves. That here they could simply just be and watch the city night. Benedict felt himself lean ever so closer to her, and she to him like there was a magnetic pull between them. He felt his pinky brush along her wrist. His heart was beating faster now and the night no longer felt cold. He looked down at her to see if she too was burning with desire and to his surprise her eyes were close.
She must have felt his perplexing gaze as she opened her eyes and met his questioning stare.
“I’m trying to remember this moment exactly,” she said softly. “So I can return to it.”
“You might be the most intriguing person I’ve ever met,” he admitted.
They stood closer now. Their breathing matched. Something unspoken pulled them together.
She kissed him first.
The moment swept over him—warm, sudden, consuming. He held her gently, then closer. He brought his hand to her face cradling it there as he kissed more deeply. His other arm pulling her waist closer to him and her hands were around his neck.
Suddenly her phone vibrated sharply, breaking the spell.
“My friend must be looking for me,” she said, stepping back.
“Please don’t go.”
She looked at him hesitating but broke their gaze and ran down the hall. She disappeared before he could stop her.
He hesitated for a moment then went after her only to find that the party had grown more ruckus and even more crowded. It had seemed that word must have gotten out to students and this was turning into something resembling an American frat party. He made eye contact with Simon who looked as if he were drowning.
"Benedict!" Simon yelled from across the room.
He pushed his way past several people, still looking around to see if he could spot his mystery woman.
"Colin invited Gregory who seems to have brought his entire freshman class." Simon said with great annoyance. "We need to get them out of here, We have a Jenny Saville in the dining room for heaven sake."
"I'll go out to the patio and start herding them out the back." Benedict said, with an ulterior motive of searching again for his silver ingenue.
By one o'clock they were able to get all the undergraduates and most of the faculty out of the house with only some minor whining from Gregory but there was no trace of the woman he’d kissed.
He sat on the steps outside when Daphne joined him.
“Thank you Benedict, for securing our home from out feral little brother and his pack of degenerates." She said then noticed his face. "Why do you look so disappointed?” she asked.
“I met someone,” he said.
“Really? Who is it?”
“I don’t know her name.”
Daphne smiled faintly. “Well, I’m sure Simon can help you find her.”
Benedict wasn’t so sure.
But he knew one thing—he wouldn’t forget her.