It used to be his intuition he disbelieved would come granted. Aiden knew a mature opponent wouldn’t do something so childish and rather—undeniably obvious, even to the naked eye. Because judging the chaos found in the portable wardrobe, it seemed as if Westerguaard had no ounce of reluctance to use his handy shears. Liam was speechless, Elsa was, too, with the dainty hand almost clutching her heart—but the designer could only bite his lip in remorse that perhaps it’s all over.
Each breathless stylist probed over every attire in tatters, dumbfounded. The show has begun not so long ago, thankfully they were always the last to catwalk the now ruined works of art. But that advantage alone isn’t enough to buy them time to fix and put everything back together and now Aiden could just scream in frustration–
“So he did fall for it,” Elsa all suddenly mused.
Aiden’s eyes darted from his girlfriend to his superior; left and right, left and right until sparks of mirth appeared in Liam’s crinkling eyes, laughter nearly like melody when the older man folded his arms with a giddy nod, “No doubt, no doubt,” and he was still giggling.
“I don’t...” Aiden scratched his head in deep wonder, “I’m kind of confused.”
“Westerguaard felt like having fun with his scissors, didn’t know we had some duplicates,” Liam cackled with a grin, rubbing his veiny hands in glee. The senior clapped grandly, and with a grunt, Marshmallow wasted no time to place a massive box in front of the old director who threw it open.
Aiden finally received his fair share of relief when perfect copies of the original clothings came to his full view. Walking closer to him, Elsa squeezed his hand with a small smile of assurance that nothing was badly out of place anyway.
“Distribute and prepare as primly yet quickly as you all can,” Liam dictated, “Time is of the essence and the spotlight is ours in thirty minutes.”
Meanwhile, Aiden sucked in a breath nervously, “Damn, it’s really happening.”
“W-well,” Elsa couldn’t deny her own heightening anxiety, “We’ve worked hard. Especially you,” she mumbled, “I almost forgot I was with Mister Walterson when he insisted for the duplicates. I’m an idiot.”
“Hush now, you’re no idiot,” Aiden smiled in comfort, “You were just worried for the runway’s sake and I’m not the only one who worked even in late nights. I have always been your nightly coffee date, if I am not mistaken.”
He had always been so supportive and plain perfect. Her kind of perfect, in her own dictionary—from the gentle gaze of his eyes to the soft expression he gave, Aiden was born with no silver tongue which only ought to flatter. Elsa couldn’t help but stroke his cheek, couldn’t help but love how only the sincerest comes out of his mouth.
“Yes, yes you have always been...”
“Um... I suppose we’ll watch from here?” Aiden questioned sheepishly, gesturing to the closed drapes yards away from them. Elsa shook her head, “There are seats reserved for us. Mister Walterson will take things from here,” she looked over her shoulder to meet the director’s mutually firm stare, “We have more than enough evidence against Westerguaard’s scheme.”
Right there, in Mister Walterson’s laptop.
“You knew he would do this, didn’t you?” Aiden sighed.
“Call it my intuition. Hans is that desperate. This is actually the plot Anna and I guessed he would put into action first. He just danced right in to the trap that attracts the mouse,” Elsa smirked, “If he had no bad intentions then he wouldn’t have done anything to bring down his opponent.”
“Does being genius run in your family?” Aiden teased, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder.
“Maybe,” Elsa chuckled, leaning fondly into his touch. Aiden leaned in closer, and closer in a slow pace—before a finger pressed up against his lips instead of another.
Aiden blinked, clueless. Elsa tapped his nose slyly, “Not until we win, love. You said it yourself.”
“I regret my words.”
“No pain, no gain,” Elsa giggled, linking her arm around his, “Let’s go, pretty eyes. The show’s about to start.”
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
The five-year-old boy’s mouth quivered at the slightest bit in dismay. His teacher could only watch him stand there on stiff knees, as he stared at the occupied bulletin board containing the sloppiest lines making up colorful houses and castles or a vibrant horse with an unnecessary hump. Each illustration only deepened Aiden’s pit of dread.
His hand smelled like crayons, and there were stray remnants of ink from the marker he used at the pad of his thumb and the flat of his palm. The wrinkling paper in his grasp should be up there, pinned amongst the others, not... Just why?
“I-i’m sorry, Aiden. Maybe next time there will be space left for your drawing?”
That certain ‘next time’ never did came, those two words were becoming too threadbare for Aiden to consider that next time, it’d be appreciated by the families coming every Family Day, framed alongside another child’s and not bereft and left out in another board, looking like a lonely island. Next time, smiles would greet it, admiration too—but when was next time?
“It’s okay.”
and Aiden didn’t mean it.
Mrs. Williams knew.
The child left, muttering softly under his breath that big boys don’t cry, big boys can’t cry, someone needs to protect mama from papa and that someone should be someone brave—waiting for a next time should be easy, mama appreciates him everyday and that’s all that matters. Right?
A scribble wasn’t worth his tears.
He just didn’t know that ‘next time’ was only nineteen years away.
•••
In a blink, his dreams came to life.
Reality flashed back to the designer’s emerald irises upon the blond’s squeal; a noise he seldomly hears from her, but it was a sign she was more than excited. “Love, look!” that was what he heard from the happy spectator, an index finger pointing at the limelight.
Which was an exhibit of a rewarding journey of tragedies, chipped pencils, anxiety and crumpled papers.
Tears came to fruition.
His ears were deaf to the mesmerized clamor the other audience made. His eyes were blind to the constant white flashes behind him—even the hearty squeeze Elsa gave his arm, sending him the message that he did it, that he had done a great job, that everything was worth it after all. The world now recognized Aiden Fireheart—something not so important.
Aiden happily cried about how he now recognizes himself, through each step the model made to tell the world how much time has passed by, how much a boy with anxiety has grown.
He heard a sniffle beside him.
Elsa had always been far too busy to attend shows. She usually gives the opportunity to Heine, with him being an official representative anyway. Yet, her absence in those previous shows didn’t cause any regret. She was a witness of his hard work.
She had never seen a fulfilled dream so beautiful. To strive hard for passion, the wonderful feeling of an achievement; Elsa could feel what he could feel right at the moment. Being born in a powerful family, her goals back then were less... Thrilling, when she has everything anybody wished for at the palm of her hands.
Another sniffle.
Because never had she seen a fulfilled dream so, so beautiful.
“Come’ere, you.”
She heard him tearfully chuckle and she felt him pull her close, all their attention focused on the ongoing exhibition. His arm felt so comfortable holding her tight, like she fitted so perfectly.
Walking reflections of colors passed by Aiden’s eyes. And then the world returned to him in a flash, euphoria swelling deeply in his chest.
Standing ovation.
To be continued
on the next chapter...