Velvet Theory

Sandalwood Interlude

“We’re taking a break,” Yue announced, his voice carrying a casual authority as he stepped out of the studio and moved to sit between Sera and Gene. He reached into his pocket, drew out a sleek metal case, and flipped it open to reveal a single cigar. With a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminated the sharp planes of his face before fading. Smoke unfurled lazily from his lips, softening his features, lending him a kind of untouchable ease.

He offered the lit cigar to Sera, the motion unhurried, almost thoughtless in its familiarity. She hesitated, then shook her head politely, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression. Yue only gave a faint, knowing smile before leaning back, resting his arm along the back of her chair — casual, yet quietly territorial.

“So,” Yue began, exhaling another ribbon of smoke, “what do you think of the songs?”

His tone was light, almost conversational, but the seriousness in his eyes told Sera he wasn’t asking for small talk.

She blinked, uncertain. Offering creative opinions wasn’t part of her role—or so she thought.

“You worked as a concept designer before, didn’t you?” Yue pressed on, his voice smooth. “What kind of concept do you think fits the songs we just played?”

Realization struck. So that’s why she’d been told to observe. But the look in his eyes—expectant, intent—made her pulse quicken. After a brief pause, she answered, “You’re singing about love, but there’s anger beneath it—an exasperation with how unreachable it feels. It’s as if the person you’re addressing doesn’t see the storm you’re caught in. The melody mirrors that frustration—a dark, chaotic pull that turns affection into something volatile.”

She hesitated, then continued, “And the other song—it carries the same darkness. It’s as though the world you’re describing isn’t real, or maybe too real to bear. You admire the intensity of those feelings, but there’s a quiet acceptance, too—a sense that they’ll vanish before you can hold them.”

For a heartbeat, Yue just watched her. Something flickered in his expression—not surprise, but recognition. The faintest curve of his lips, the slight narrowing of his gaze; it felt like he’d just found someone who understood without explanation. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, thoughtful.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Could you sketch a concept?”

Before she could process his words, Gene handed Yue a sketchpad and pen, clearly anticipating this moment. Sera shot Gene a glance, realizing he must have mentioned her previous work. She had listed it on her résumé as freelance—technically true, though it included projects she preferred to leave unspoken—trusting that her skill as a makeup artist would speak for itself, while the freelance experience would serve only as a subtle enhancement. Gene’s expression remained stoic, a silent message clear: humoring him was part of the process.

Yue’s intense gaze held hers as he passed the sketchpad to her. She accepted it without hesitation. Designing a concept from music came naturally—almost instinctive—and as her pencil touched the page, her focus sharpened. Yue watched with keen interest, cigar resting lazily between his fingers, momentarily forgotten.

By the time she finished, Yue had barely taken a single drag. She handed him the sketchpad, and he flipped through the pages, his expression deepening with intrigue.

“Impressive,” he murmured, eyes lingering on the sketches. “Explain it to me.”

Sera met his gaze with calm determination as she took the sketchpad back. “For this concept,” she began, pointing to her work, “I thought it would be good to reflect the complexity of your music. The color scheme uses deep burgundy and midnight blue. Burgundy represents the pain and struggle of love—its conflicts and emotional turbulence. Midnight blue embodies profound darkness and the sense of being trapped in an elusive, unattainable affection.”

She continued, “The design balances opulence and elegance, aligning with the grandeur of your music. Outfits combine dramatic, flowing silhouettes with sharp, tailored pieces, creating a visual narrative of chaos and control. The dark tones are highlighted with metallic accents to enhance the drama and stage impact.”

“High-collared jackets with intricate embellishments overlay sheer, ruffled shirts, symbolizing the tension between vulnerability and strength. Slim-fitting trousers with flared, layered details suggest movement and transformation,” she added. “This contrast mirrors the emotional highs and lows in your lyrics, presenting a persona that is both powerful and enigmatic.”

She concluded confidently, “The opulence and complexity are meant to complement the emotional depth and intensity of the performances, enhancing your stage presence and allowing the music’s full range to be expressed while leaving a memorable visual impression.”

Yue’s eyes widened with genuine admiration as Sera's natural grasp of the concept unfolded before him. The ease with which she translated the essence of his music into a visual design left both him and Gene visibly impressed. Despite only hearing snippets of the songs and enduring Gene's relentless scrutiny, Sera's ability to capture the emotional depth and thematic complexity in her sketches was nothing short of remarkable.

Yue took the sketchpad from Sera and handed it to Gene, who examined it with evident interest, his earlier reservations replaced by a look of genuine respect. “Can you show this to the guys first?” Yue asked Gene, his voice tinged with enthusiasm.

Without a word or a backward glance, Gene stood up and left the room, clearly eager to present Sera's work to the rest of the band.

Once they were alone, Yue regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “That was quite impressive,” he said, his tone reflecting genuine admiration.

Sera met his gaze steadily, her composure unwavering. “If there’s nothing more, I’ll take my leave,” she said, her tone professional but edged with quiet confidence, signaling that she understood her role—and the boundaries of it—without overstepping.

“Leaving already?” Yue asked with a hint of playful curiosity. “For someone who was supposed to be bent on distracting me, you’re quick to rid yourself of me. Besides, I’m still intrigued by your soap. Will you show me how you make it?”

“Cold process soaps are a bit tedious to make,” Sera said, the words spilling out almost automatically, a reflex to create distance rather than a carefully considered response. “But I made a few. I’ll send you some, if you like.”

Yue raised an eyebrow. “You’re eager to give me some now, huh? Is that sandalwood on you?”

Sera blinked, caught off guard. She had rinsed thoroughly, knowing he didn’t like overpowering scents, yet somehow a faint trace remained. “I—just a little,” she admitted, uncertain.

“I like sandalwood,” Yue said, his tone carrying a subtle nostalgia. “It’s not overpowering.”

His gaze drifted momentarily, distant and otherworldly. Sera, without thinking, presumed he might be recalling someone. She made a mental note to reserve that soap for him, rather than use it herself.

“I’ll send you the sandalwood soap,” she said.

Yue seemed poised to argue, but the moment was interrupted as Gene and the band entered the room. They gathered around the sketch, their expressions reflecting genuine admiration. Words of thanks spilled from them, their gratitude evident and unforced.

Sera, taken aback by their appreciation, simply smiled in response, accepting it with quiet, graceful acknowledgment. As the band turned their attention to the sketch, eagerly discussing ideas and adding their input, Yue leaned back in his seat. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, and rested his head against the chair.

Sera noticed, her gaze softening with concern. The band, absorbed in their own discussions, didn’t seem to notice—but something about his posture struck her as off.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Yue, without opening his eyes, replied, “I’m fine.”

Without thinking, Sera reached out, placing her hand gently on his forehead. Yue’s eyes opened at the touch, his hand instinctively resting over hers. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he kept her hand there as he straightened his head, his expression unreadable.

“You look tired,” she observed, her hand still resting under his, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Do you need water?” She asked, her voice quiet, unsure what else to offer.

Yue released her hand, his expression softening. “I’ll be fine,” he said, then after stubbing his cigar on the tray in front of them, added with a hint of teasing, “But… could you massage my scalp a bit?”

To Sera, it sounded sincere—like something he might actually need to unwind. She rose to meet his height, and even with him seated, he still loomed slightly above her. As she stepped closer, Yue instinctively shifted his chair, turning to face her more directly.

Her fingers threaded gently through his hair, massaging his scalp in slow, deliberate circles. His long, silken strands slipped through her hands, and Yue’s eyes fluttered closed. He leaned into her touch without hesitation, a quiet surrender that surprised even him.

The band had gone quiet, their chatter fading. It wasn’t Sera’s composure that surprised them, but Yue’s unusually meek demeanor as he leaned into her touch.

Sera, on the other hand, remained expressionless, her movements calm and deliberate, as though massaging someone to help them relax was the most natural thing to do. She seemed unaware of the shift in the room’s energy, fully absorbed in her task.

Only when the quiet pressed in did she glance up and catch the band’s eyes on them. A flicker of concern crossed her face. “Do you have a bottle of water?” she asked softly, directing the question toward Gene.

Without a word, Gene slipped out and returned moments later, the sound of the bottle cap breaking the spell that had settled over the room.

Sera took the bottle and handed it to Yue. His brow furrowed slightly at the absence of her hands on his scalp, eyes flicking between the bottle in her hand and Gene. “I’m better now,” he said, his tone edged with faint irritation. His gaze lingered on Gene — not confrontational, but enough to make Gene’s posture straighten, a wordless understanding passing between them.

Sera, too concerned about Yue to notice the shift, held the bottle out, still focused on easing his discomfort. The tension in the air pressed faintly at the edge of her awareness, though she couldn’t quite name it.

Yue accepted the bottle, drank half of its contents, then turned to the band. “Shall we continue?” he asked, his tone steady again. The others, eager to return to rhythm, headed back into the studio.

As Sera prepared to leave, Yue called out softly, “You still haven’t heard all the songs.” It wasn’t a command, but an invitation — one she felt before she understood.

Passing by Gene, who was holding the sketchpad, Yue glanced at it. “Can we use this concept for the tour?” he asked.

Gene nodded, his earlier stiffness fading into quiet approval.