The first one to step through the door was Alison, one of the only two extras in the film, who had definitely spared no effort in her personal presentation.
She wore a one-piece black dress with a plunging neckline at the front and a skirt short enough to draw attention. Her makeup was flawless, and her loose hair, styled in soft waves, looked like it had come straight from a real red carpet.
Alongside Sophie, the two of them were, without a doubt, the most dressed up in the place. They looked like they belonged at a different kind of gala, something more elegant than indie.
Behind Alison came the rest: Tyler, the sound guy, with his signature visor cap and a dress shirt, wrinkled, clearly pulled from the forgotten depths of his closet.
Eric, the lighting assistant, in dark jeans and a simple black T-shirt, practical and no-frills.
Daniel, the supporting actor who had played the psychic, the oldest of the group, showed up in a blazer thrown over a printed T-shirt and sneakers.
Compared to Owen and Matt, who had at least made the effort to look presentable, the rest of the male crew had more of a Friday night hangout vibe than a gala-style wrap party.
"And you criticized my Jordans," Owen murmured close to Sophie's ear, barely hiding a smile.
Sophie turned her head slightly toward him, keeping her expression neutral.
"I didn't criticize them that much… Besides, to be fair, not many people can pull off mixing Nike Jordans with a formal suit," Sophie said.
Owen looked at her curiously, waiting for the punchline.
"But you've got that annoying problem where, with that face, you could wear a potato sack and still look like you belong on a magazine cover," Sophie concluded, as if it were a casual observation.
"Oh… the second compliment on my looks you've given me. Thanks," Owen said with a faint, amused smile.
"I was just making an objective observation, don't get carried away," Sophie muttered, avoiding eye contact with Owen.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Matt exclaimed, raising his arms once everyone was inside.
"I said suits! Gala! Oscars!!" he added, glaring at Tyler, Daniel, and Eric.
Then Matt looked especially at Tyler. "Did you find that shirt behind the couch? Wasn't your mom home to iron it for you?"
Laughter erupted immediately. Tyler, blushing, raised his hands in surrender.
"It's a dress shirt! It just got wrinkled in the Uber!" he tried to justify himself.
"What kind of Uber ride leaves your shirt that wrinkled? You're shooting yourself in the foot," Eric said with a mocking grin.
"I'm the oldest one here, I've got an excuse. I'd look bad dressed too formally among all these young people," Daniel said as he sat down in a chair, while Matt poured him some wine.
"Who knows, maybe after Paranormal Activity you'll end up on the red carpet in the near future," Matt said.
"Yeah, right," Daniel replied, treating it as something impossible.
Everyone spread out between the two single sofas, Matt's and Owen's, and the four dining chairs, hastily arranged to face the television.
But there were seven people and only six seats.
For the first few minutes, no one noticed, but when Tyler returned from the bathroom, he stopped in front of the group and frowned when he saw all the seats taken.
"Hey, where's my chair? Who expropriated my throne?"
"You left, and you lost it, man. That's how it works," Eric said from one of the chairs, not moving an inch.
"I'm not sitting on the floor. It's going to be uncomfortable for hours like that," Tyler complained.
"You sound like an old man with back pain," Matt mocked from his comfy armchair.
The group laughed, but before anyone could offer to get up, Owen spoke with complete ease, hardly even shifting his eyes from the screen, "Sophie, if you want, you can sit with me. That way Tyler will have a free chair."
He said it calmly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. But the silence that followed was brief… and eloquent.
All eyes flicked briefly from Owen to Sophie.
Matt looked at him with a restrained smile and a raised eyebrow, as if he had just witnessed a master move in slow motion.
Even Sophie froze for a second, surprised by how direct he had been. Not rude, but confident. There had been no hesitation in his tone. No doubt.
Just a comfortable, simple invitation… and unexpectedly intimate, at least for everyone else present. Maybe Owen didn't think much of it, it was simply an effective way to solve the seating problem.
Sophie glanced at Owen, who had already made room, leaning slightly to one side of the single sofa. Though not spacious, it allowed for two people to sit very close, yet still comfortable.
"Alright," Sophie said in her usual tone, though her voice carried a softer note than normal.
She rose elegantly from her chair and, concealing the faint nervousness stirring in her chest, walked calmly toward the sofa. Owen waited without moving, and when she sat down beside him, their legs and arms brushed almost immediately.
They were pressed together. The space left no other option.
Sophie sat upright, eyes fixed on the screen, as if nothing was happening. But inside, she could feel the warmth of Owen's body right against hers. And something within her, stubborn and proud, commanded her not to shift even a millimeter, to act as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
After all, she had already been physically close to Owen while playing a couple in Paranormal Activity. It's the same thing, Sophie repeated to herself.
From his armchair, Matt observed them with a mix of respect and amusement. He raised his glass without saying a word. Owen caught the gesture and returned it with the faintest smile, like a player who knew exactly what he was doing.
"Thanks. See, Matt? People can actually be nice once in a while," Tyler said, sitting in the chair Sophie had vacated.
Matt just chuckled and didn't comment.
The living room turned into an organized chaos of voices, laughter, toasts, and quick remarks as the TV screen showed the opening speech of the Oscars.
Sophie sat beside Owen, her body inevitably pressed against his due to the lack of space. From the outside, she looked as composed as ever: back straight, serene expression, eyes attentively on the screen. But inside, she was more nervous than she cared to admit.
She was quieter than usual.
She knew it, and so did Owen. He sensed it after just a couple of minutes. Sophie wasn't throwing out biting remarks, or casual critiques of the dresses, or witty observations about the host.
'He can't notice,' Sophie thought. She didn't want Owen to realize and use it against her, teasing her the way he always did, as if he were perpetually in control of the situation.
"Everything okay? You're dangerously quiet," Owen asked in a casual tone, with a faint, teasing smile Sophie caught instantly.
"I'm focused. This is cinema history happening in real time, didn't you know?" Sophie replied, glancing at Owen sideways before turning back to the TV as if nothing fazed her.
Luckily for her, and perhaps to her relief, Tyler unknowingly broke the slight tension by tearing open a bag of chips with a thunderous crack.
"Who wants to bet the first award goes to a movie nobody's seen?" he said, digging his hand into the bag as if he had just announced the lottery.
"Owen would agree with that. He's on a personal crusade against slow, tragic, existential films," Matt said from his armchair.
"I'm with you, Owen," Tyler said, giving him a thumbs-up. "I go to the movies to be entertained, not to spend two hours depressed watching human misery."
A faint scoff came from the other side of the group. Daniel, the oldest actor with years of theater under his belt, crossed his arms.
"What a limited vision of art, honestly. Cinema isn't only about entertainment. It's meant to question, to disturb, to shake people's consciences. Not everything has to be special effects and explosions," Daniel said.
"Nor does everything need to be twenty-minute speeches and blank stares," Tyler replied, chewing lazily. "A film doesn't have to emotionally wreck me to be good. Sometimes I just want to have a good time."
"That's pure capitalist thinking. A soulless film," Daniel criticized with a stern expression.
"Don't underestimate movies just because they have special effects or explosions. Just because it isn't 'realistic' doesn't mean it can't deal with deep themes," Owen said, stepping into the conversation.
"Oh, really? And what great moral lesson is there behind Marvel movies?" Daniel asked skeptically.
"Spider-Man. A kid with real problems: family, money, school, love. And still, he chooses to do the right thing. Not for fame, not for glory. Because with great power comes great responsibility," Owen replied calmly.
The group fell silent for a second. Not in shock, but in recognition of the clarity of the answer.
"That teaches you more about ethics than many dramas with ten-minute monologues about the meaning of life," Owen added.
Tyler raised his bottle in a mock toast. "Amen, bro."
Sitting next to Owen, Sophie briefly shifted her gaze toward him. She said nothing, but the faint smile on her lips said it all.
Daniel opened his mouth to argue, but Matt cut him off. "Shhh, it's starting," Matt said loudly.
Everyone turned toward the screen. Even Daniel reluctantly settled back into his chair.
The debate was suspended, for now. But the air still held a trace of that clash of visions.
The ceremony moved forward with scripted jokes, emotional speeches, and some entertaining musical numbers.
Dune emerged as the big winner of the night, sweeping a wave of technical awards: sound, editing, cinematography, visual effects, production design… Every time its name was called, Eric murmured with a grin, "Another one,"—he was a huge fan of Dune, both the film and the books.
In the middle of it all, Owen simply watched in silent interest. He knew Dune existed in this world because he had never read the books in full. He had seen the film in his past life, yes, but its origin lay in the novels.
"Timothée Chalamet looks gorgeous in that suit. And without a shirt underneath… uff, that makes him even hotter," Alison commented with a flirty smile, crossing her legs each time the cameras showed Timothée.
"He could use a bit more muscle, if you ask me," Matt said with a faint grin, eyes still fixed on the screen.
"Shut up, you're just jealous. And you don't have muscles either," Alison shot back, casually touching Matt's arm to prove her point, and the others chuckled softly.
CODA: The Sound of Silence won Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Supporting Actor. The reactions were mixed.
Tyler and Owen asked what the hell the film was about; everyone else replied that it was on Apple TV and told them to watch it.
'I should have been there,' Owen thought, feeling strange emotions. He could have won the award for Best Supporting Actor.
Still, he knew the box-office hit he had starred in, as the villain, would never have won that award. It had been too much of an action movie for the Academy to give it such recognition. Or at least, that was his belief. He would never really know.
On the television, Chris Rock walked on stage to present the award for Best Documentary. He cracked a few light jokes that drew some laughs.
"Jada, I love you. I can't wait to see you in G.I. Jane 2, okay?" Chris Rock said, delivering the punchline of another joke.
Laughter erupted instantly among the Oscars audience, people laughed and applauded. Even Will Smith himself was smiling and clapped lightly.
It wasn't the same for Jada Pinkett Smith, Will's wife. She wasn't laughing. Her expression was one of resignation and displeasure.
In the living room, the reactions were mixed.
"That joke was out of line," Alison commented, frowning. She hadn't laughed.
Neither had Sophie. She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head with a nearly disapproving grimace.
Matt and Tyler, who had opened their mouths to burst out laughing, stopped short when they saw the faces of the two girls. They exchanged a glance and swallowed their laughter.
"That wasn't funny. Ridiculing a woman for her physical appearance is not humor," Daniel said seriously. "Especially not at a gala that's supposed to celebrate art."
While everyone else commented, Owen remained silent, his face neutral. Not because he didn't care.
Simply… he didn't get the joke. He assumed G.I. Jane must be a movie, but he hadn't seen it, not even an image came to mind.
On screen, Chris Rock straightened up with a carefree air and said, laughing, "That was a good one, you can't deny it. Alright, moving on…"
Just as he was about to announce the nominees, he suddenly stopped.
"Oh, oh… Will?" Chris said, half laughing, half confused, as he saw Will Smith stand up and walk firmly toward the stage.
The group in the living room stopped talking.
Will walked on stage without saying a word.
And without warning, he slapped Chris Rock across the face with an open hand, the sound echoing through the entire theater.
The impact was sharp, the microphone picked it up with brutal clarity.
"Oh, wow!" Chris Rock blurted, stepping back in shock.
The Oscars audience went dead silent, no laughter like before. The living room did too.
"Wow… Will Smith just smacked the shit out of me," Chris said, forcing a tense smile, trying to maintain composure.
The camera showed Will Smith returning to his seat. He was no longer smiling, he looked furious.
From his seat, he shouted with rage: "Keep my wife's name out your fucking mouth!"
"Whoa… really, dude?" Chris said from the stage, still incredulous.
"Yes," Will answered firmly, his voice controlled but dangerous.
"Keep my wife's name… out your fucking mouth!" he repeated, louder this time.
Chris raised his hands.
"Okay, okay. I will, okay?" he said, lowering his tone.
Owen furrowed his brow slightly, still not understanding the joke that had enraged Will Smith so much. Was the joke really so disrespectful as to trigger that reaction from him?
Sophie had brought a hand to her mouth. Tyler simply muttered, "No way," as he sat upright.
"Was that real?" Alison asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
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