𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰

38 - Runways (EP. 03)

Aiden felt like he could puke.

The upbeat music playing through the rendezvous didn’t help. Or the obvious presences of different celebrities shifting into various poses for the paparazzi’s viewing pleasure. If somebody told him back when he was still in university he’d meet Alessandro Michele in a grand Italian venue in a couple of years, he would definitely laugh at them and call them crazy.

He was surprised with himself when he wasn’t even too starstrucked shaking hands with the Anna Wintour—since he just wanted to distract himself with something because he badly needs air to maintain his nerves.

Aiden wasn’t afraid of losing; he simply doesn’t allow himself to lose, without being horribly compulsive about it. Like back in high school he didn’t pressure his team mates to play better in that match they played against another local school, he just had to force himself to make six service aces to make up for the points they’ve lost due to their lack of practice.

A pair of interviewers has approached him at least a few times before proceeding with another soul by the carpet. The pair’s continuous bombardment of questions were almost focused on the same topic about his perspective towards his career—until the duo was also interested in his early university life, if he had been with anyone before.

Aiden was just glad Elsa wasn’t there to notice the blush plastered on the female reporter’s face as she momentously fanned herself throughout the questionnaire.

“Hey.”

His eyes left his feet. Aiden shot the blond in front of him a weak smile tiredly. Even from a short distance, he could inhale her heady scent which smelled like vanilla. “Hi,” he did all he could to subdue his incoming yawn.

“The awarding’s in an hour,” Exactly the reason why bile was threatening to rise from his throat, “Are you okay?”

His smile grew into a full one. He loved it whenever she asks out of concern. Aiden nodded, “I’m a bit nervous, but hey, still breathing,” he joked. Elsa chuckled at his little consolation and linked his arm around hers, “You’re not doubting yourself again, are you?”

Aiden shook his head vigorously, gaze turning firm. “I promised, elskede.”

Elsa’s breath hitched.

The second the nickname dribbled off his mouth, Elsa repeated the oh so sweet sound again and again in her mind. Her grip around his biceped arm tightened, her teeth digging into the soft flesh of her bottom lip. Her heart hammered against her chest wildly.

“W-what did you just c-call me?” she blushed.

“Oh. Am I using it wrong? I’m sure I translated it right, right? Oh, damn it Google, way to go,” Aiden murmured anxiously.

“No! I mean, n-no, you’re perfect–I mean, your pronunciation is great! I didn’t know you’d be interested to learn it,” Elsa giggled softly, “You wanted to learn because of me?”

Aiden shyly nods, “Yes.”

Elsa’s blush grew shades darker. Claiming victory was minutes away and his presence already tempts her to kiss him. They’ve once talked about her Scandinavian roots, while it is no secret she is wholly Norwegian. Jævla det, bare kyss meg, she grunted quietly.

“Please return to your seats as the official announcement of awardees will now commence.”

Thank heavens the Creative Director was swift to lead the couple back into their designated seats. Aiden was shuddering as he was basked in sweat, the layers of clothes he’s wearing were no explanation, but his apprehension is.