“So tell me, Mister Whishaw-”
“Ben, please,” Ben interrupted with a kind smile, trying not to show just how nervous he was, shifting from one foot to the other as subtly as possible.
The interviewer, a young man with glasses reminding Ben of his own as Q and a hideous jacket, nodded and wrote something down, most likely how uncomfortable Ben seemed; a character trait he would gladly annihilate and wipe out, destroy its existance and remove it from his brain. It wasn’t the behaviour expected from a professional on the red carpet bathing in the spotlight, but Ben didn’t feel like he was one.
He still felt like the young, naive actor standing on London’s stages, slipping into character after character without pictures being taken of him, without people asking questions going further than ‘Do you like your character?’ or 'Was it hard to play someone whose mind set is so different from your own?’
Ben wet his lips, forced himself to smile and waited for the question, silently praying that it would be over soon.
“Ben, do tell, since you are here alone, does this mean your on the market?”
The man raised an eyebrow and looked up from his paper, cold eyes burning holes into Ben’s soul and causing him to blink in distress. “Are you single?”
Ben couldn’t be blamed that he immediately turned his head, searching for someone in the crowds, famous actors and known actresses, interviewers, fans, the high society and there, finally, he found Daniel in the crowd, talking to someone Q didn’t recognise, a woman with piercing grey eyes, nearly white.
Regardless of what Ben tried to come up with, he couldn’t find a reply which wouldn’t lead to more questions. Would he say that he was, in fact, taken, the interviewer would demand to know who it was, if they were happy and why they weren’t here together. The other course of conversation wasn’t any more tempting either.
He wished Daniel would look up, see him, maybe even gesture him to come to his side, but that wouldn’t happen.