“Some do. Most do not. I usually work through intermediaries. Human architects present the projects as collaborations. I receive credit as R. Asterion.”
I turned to him. “Asterion.”
He shrugged. “I prefer Rion.”
“Me too,” I said, and his mouth twitched.
He gestured towards one of the models. “This is the Mueller Civic Center. It is currently under construction.”
I leaned in, then blinked. “Wait.ThatMueller Civic Center? The one from Architectural Digest?”
His expression shifted just enough to confirm it.
I stared at him. “You designed that?”
“Yes.”
I laughed in sheer disbelief. “I am in the house of an architectural celebrity. Great. Excellent. As if you weren’t already intimidating enough.”
He made a dismissive sound, but there was unmistakable pride in his expression now. As he began explaining the civic center’s design—the use of spirals, natural light, the flow of public space—his voice warmed and deepened. He became more animated, more open. The technical terms mostly sailed over my head, but his passion was impossible to miss.
I watched his hands as he spoke. Huge, powerful hands. Yet when he adjusted one tiny piece of the model that had shifted out of place, his touch was feather-light.
“It reminds me of the Dewey Decimal System,” I said, the comparison suddenly striking me.
He looked up, confusion evident. “The library classification system?”
“Yes!” I grinned, excited to make the connection. “It’s a way of creating order from chaos, just like your designs. Everything has its place in a greater pattern. The system itself might seem complex to outsiders, but once you understand the underlying logic, it’s beautiful in its simplicity.”
He considered this, his head tilting slightly. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but the analogy is apt. Both are frameworks for organizing space and knowledge.”
“Exactly!” I felt a little thrill at having made a connection he found meaningful. “I spend my days creating order in the library—shelving books, arranging displays, helping people navigate the system. It’s not architecture, but it’s still about designing spaces that make sense.”
“Organization is a form of creation,” he agreed, his voice taking on that gentle rumble again. “Bringing structure to chaos.”
We shared a look of unexpected understanding, and I felt a warm glow. Despite our obvious differences, we shared this fundamental appreciation for order and design.
“May I?” I asked, gesturing towards a sketchbook lying nearby.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Those are more personal.”
I opened it carefully. Inside were looser designs—less technical, more fluid. Furniture, smaller residences, sculptural pieces. They felt warmer, more intimate, almost hopeful.
“These are gorgeous,” I said softly. “They feel different.”
“They are not for clients,” he said. “They are… explorations.”
“Of what?”
His gaze held mine. “Possibilities.”
Something in the way he said it made my chest tighten.
We moved on, the corridor curving upwards. The acoustics changed again, and I noticed my footsteps sounded different here.
“The acoustics shift in each section,” I said.
“Yes. This corridor amplifies sound slightly. It announces movement towards the private rooms.”
