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A heavy sigh tumbles out of Creed’s lips as the first notes to The Killers’ Mr. Brightside starts to fill the room. By the powers of nostalgia and intoxication, everyone starts to lose their minds, rushing to the center of the room to dance the night away.
Or at least, try to. He’s pretty sure at least half of the room is too trashed to even do the robot.
The temptation to shut the party down once again crosses his mind. Everything’s too loud, too bright, too much. It’s as if someone decided to turn Creed’s mansion into a stuffy club. Creed can’t even remember the last time he’s stepped into a club, much less enjoy being at one.
Unfortunately for him, he’s not that much of a dick to do so. Not anymore, anyway.
Contrary to what some of his friends might think, Creed isn’t a Scrooge when it comes to birthdays. He enjoys getting friends presents and hanging streamers and balloons in hopes to surprise said birthday person.
He’s fine with birthday parties. Just not his own.
Draining the last of his whiskey, Creed makes a quick scan of the room. Thankfully, no one seems to be paying him any attention. They’re either drunk, too involved in their own conversations, or stuffing their faces with food. Not even Jennifer, who’s busy jumping around to the guitar riffs, screaming her heart out to the deafening warbling.
“Looking for someone?”
Shit.
Creed shakes his head, glancing to the side. “Just making sure no one’s heading my way.”
Janine flashes him an apologetic look as she moves to stand next to him. She casts the room with a fleeting look as she nurses her own glass of wine. “I did try to tell Jen. But you know her. Once she sets her mind to something…”
“Don’t I know it,” Creed mutters.
He knows Jennifer means well. As much as she tries to change his mind every year, she’s always respected his wishes in the end.
Apparently, not this time. Frankly, Creed’s surprised she’s even held out this long. She had many opportunities to throw a party or two during their college days.
He supposes the countless trips to clubs back then satiated her enough.
Jennifer seems to have invited just about everyone who works at, or at least, shot an episode with McQueen Entertainment. Even Ryan showed up, talking animatedly to a few faces Creed can’t seem to put a name to. He’s just glad that Ryan hasn’t bothered to antagonize him tonight.
There’s only one person Creed hasn’t seen since the start of the party. Maybe he decided to head home for the night. It’ll make sense if he has.
It’s already surprising that Ed Talbot even bothered to show up. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to show up at a birthday party of a man he barely knows, let alone the CEO of a gay porn production company. He doesn’t seem like the rowdy type either. He probably prefers a quiet night in with a friend or two. Just like Creed.
“You want to—”
“Please.”
Janine breaks into a grin. Creed sighs, embarrassed at how transparent he’s being.
“Not a word.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Janine replies, her grin morphing to something more assuring. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover for you.”
Creed sags in relief before throwing her a grateful smile. “Thanks,” he says, turning on his heel. “If anyone asks, just tell them…”
Various scenarios swirl around in his head, meshing and blending into one confused mess. He blurts out the first thing he can decipher.
“Tell them I’m looking for Ed.”
Goddamn it.
That’s not what he wanted to say. That’s not it at all.
Why did he even say that?
Janine doesn’t seem to have picked up on his distress, brightening. “If you’re looking for Ed, he went upstairs a while ago to get some air. I don’t think he’s left yet. No harm in checking though.”
Creed nods, halfway to the door. At least she didn’t bother teasing him about Ed. If it’s Jennifer he’s talking to, he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it.
“I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow.”
“No, ‘thanks for the save’?”
“Nah.”
He could hardly make out Janine’s indignant reply from the noise around him, the sounds growing distant and muffled as he shuts the door behind him. Creed takes a moment to bask in the sudden silence, shutting his eyes and exhaling in relief.
Finally. Some reprieve.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, running his fingers through his hair. “I sound like an old man.”
It’s honestly astounding how different he is compared to before. Gone is the reckless and hedonistic Creed Schreiber. Now, he’s just, well…
No, now’s not the time to get introspective. Creed should escape before anyone notices that he’s gone.
Maybe he could take a drive around the city, find somewhere quiet to spend the time until everyone crashes. He could even stay at a hotel for the night or even—
Something solid collides with him, drenching Creed in something wet.
Creed freezes, whipping upwards and meeting a wide-eyed gaze.
Ed Talbot’s wide-eyed gaze, to be exact.
Somehow, Creed has wound up at the bottom of the stairs, with one hand on the banister and another on a step. Ed stands inches away from him, his jaw slacked and his fingers wrapped around a beer can. His denim shirt is ruined, soaked in beer. It blows Creed’s mind that he still looks breathtakingly gorgeous.
“Oh, shit,” Ed says, breaking the silence. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Creed replies, snapping out of his stupor. He gives his own shirt a once-over. There’s only a couple of damp spots. It’s nothing compared to Ed’s ruined shirt. “It’s just beer. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine too,” Ed echoes, his eyelids fluttering. “It’s just beer.”
Creed shakes his head. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it—”
“I’ll get you a shirt.”
Ed’s brow furrows. He glances somewhere behind Creed, most likely at the front door. “You don’t have to—”
“You’ll feel better if you get changed.”
Ed’s lips part, his frown deepening. Creed expects Ed to insist on leaving but surprisingly, he ends up relenting.
Creed steers him towards one of the dressing rooms on the upper floors. It’s times like these that he’s glad that he lives in the same building as he works at. He can’t imagine having to lend Ed one of his shirts, having to see him dressed in clothing that smells just like—
He stills, his fingers hovering over the last shirt in the room. None of them seem to fit Ed’s body type. Creed’s about to propose to head to another room when he hears Ed call his name.
In his grasp, is a red sweater.
A red sweater that belongs to Creed.
Creed can’t figure out why the sweater is even in there in the first place. Maybe it got lost in the wash.
“Can I wear this?”
Creed should open his mouth, tell him that the sweater is his and that there are tons of shirts Ed could borrow from the wardrobe department.
But then, the image of Ed dressed in Creed’s sweater sticks in his mind like a fungus, covered in Creed’s faded scent as he—
“It’s mine. If that’s okay with you.”
“Oh.” Ed drops his hands, searching the room. “Then, I’ll—”
“No, it’s fine. You can wear it. Nothing else here fits you, anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Very sure.” Creed clears his throat, wetting his dry lips. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
Ed averts Creed’s gaze as he mumbles out a thanks. His fingers move to unbutton his shirt.
Creed should look away, leave even. Yet somehow, he’s rooted to the ground, his gaze drinking in Ed’s unblemished nape, the broad curve of his shoulders, his dusty—
“You could rinse yourself first,” Creed blurts out, spinning on his heel. “I’ll get changed myself.”
He doesn’t wait to see or hear Ed’s reply, exiting the room with his heart in his throat and his chest on fire.
Creed has always found Ed sexually attractive. He’s seen the man naked several times already. Hell, he’s probably even seen enough naked men to last a lifetime. The simple act of unbuttoning a beer-stained shirt shouldn’t make his heart race.
Then again, this is Ed Talbot. Ed Talbot has always seemed to find ways to mess with Creed’s mind, to occupy all of his thoughts.
He hustles over to change into the first shirt of his he could find before heading downstairs. Much to his surprise, Ed hasn’t left yet, standing in Creed’s sweater and his ruined shirt in his arms.
Since Creed’s a little bulkier than Ed, the sweater hangs a little loosely off Ed’s shoulders. The sleeves almost engulf his hands, his fingers barely peeking out of them. He doesn’t look like he’s swimming in the clothing but it’s obvious to anyone that Ed isn’t wearing his own shirt.
The sudden feeling of possession and need overtakes Creed for a brief moment. Once again, the urge to seize Ed by the collar and kiss him senseless is engraved into his mind, to lead him up the stairs and push him onto his bed, to have him dressed in Creed’s and Creed’s sweater alone and—
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Thank you,” Ed says when Creed’s in earshot.
“For spilling beer over you?” Creed jokes.
Ed’s lips quirk to the side. “For lending me a shirt.”
Creed grins. “Well, you’re welcome. You look good in it.”
A crimson blush creeps onto Ed’s cheeks. It shouldn’t be as adorable as it looks. It’s moments like these that remind Creed of Ed’s demure demeanor, that Creed has no business corrupting a man like him.
“I should get going,” Ed remarks, glancing behind him. “It’s late.”
Stay the night, Creed almost blurts out, catching himself at the last second. He’s not sure why he doesn’t offer to. Judging by how things are going, almost all his guests are going to be staying over for the night.
Instead, he says the next thing that comes to his mind.
“I’ll drive you.”
Ed shakes his head. “It’s fine. I can catch the subway or a cab—”
“It’s late—”
“And you have a party to get back to.”
A party I don’t even want to be at, he almost says.
Creed shrugs his shoulders. “Then, just treat this as your birthday present to me.”
Ed arches an eyebrow, eyeing Creed dubiously. “Your birthday present is you driving me home?”
Creed couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “Something like that.”
Ed raises his other eyebrow, his dark gaze peering at him with incredulity. It’s not the first time Ed’s looked at him with such a look before.
Creed braces himself for the upcoming rejection. Once again, Ed succeeds in surprising him.
“Okay.”
The ride to Ed’s apartment is shrouded in silence, save for the music playing through the car speakers and Ed occasionally piping up to provide him with directions. Usually, Creed finds silence awkward and stilted, especially with people he doesn’t know well. He’d even say that the atmosphere was a little uneasy the first time he drove him home.
For some unexplainable reason, the atmosphere isn’t awkward this time. It’s oddly…tranquil. Nice.
Creed couldn’t help but steal a glimpse of Ed as they pause at a stop light. Unlike the other night, Ed isn’t asleep. Instead, he has his fist tucked under his chin. His eyes are trained forward, doing what sounds like—
“You like the song?”
Ed startles, straightening up. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Creed feels both awful and fond at the sight.
“Something like that,” Ed mutters, rubbing his cheeks, as if willing his embarrassment away.
Another pang of guilt courses through Creed. He didn’t mean to make him feel ill at ease. He racks his brain for something, anything to comfort Ed for his silly observation.
“It’s cute.”
Once again, Ed’s cheeks turn flaming red. Creed switches his attention to the road, heat blooming in his chest and cheeks as he turns the volume up.
What is wrong with him tonight? Creed isn’t usually this loose-lipped or self-conscious. Is it because of the whiskey? A glass shouldn’t turn him into a total mess.
He supposes he’ll never know. Questions related to Ed Talbot never seem to hold any answers. He’s an enigma behind his innocence.
For a horrifying moment, Creed expects the mood in the air to take a tense turn. He searches for something to say, to salvage the wreckage he made due to his lack of tact. He could bring up work, but the thought of talking about Ed’s upcoming shoot with Lancer ticks Creed off.
But then, Ed resumes humming, bobbing his head to the crunch of the guitars blaring from the speakers. Creed finds himself relaxing, even joining Ed’s own murmurs.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Ed’s gaze drifts his way, falling silent for a split second. As he shifts away, Creed swears that Ed’s humming gets a little louder.
They spent the rest of the drive alternating between companionable silence and humming. Before Creed knows it, they’re approaching Ed’s doorstep.
Reluctance washes over him. He doesn’t want this night, this drive to end. It’s too early, too soon to say goodbye, to head back to a party he doesn’t want to be at. Creed wants more of that comfortable silence, more of Ed’s soft humming, more of the quiet joy that Creed shouldn’t be experiencing. It’s a reprieve from the outside world, a bubble they made for themselves and themselves alone.
It’s awful. It’s awful and selfish of him. Creed shouldn’t even be here. He should be back at the mansion and not ditching a party thrown for him and him alone. He should’ve walked Ed out like the good birthday boy should and let Ed take the subway home.
“Thanks,” Ed begins as they pull up to the side, “and sorry again. I’ll return your shirt to you tomorrow.”
Creed parts his lips, a, ‘You can keep it’, on the tip of his tongue. But then he remembers that Ed Talbot is a straight, straight man who deserves better than being associated with the devil that is Glenn McQueen.
Creed knows that romance is out of the picture for him the moment he entered the porn industry. Why he’s even acting this way with a fellow actor, let alone a straight one boggles his mind.
“You don’t have to return it to me immediately,” he says instead. “I have a million shirts.”
“I don’t mind,” Ed replies. “I have stuff to do in the afternoon tomorrow, anyway. I can stop by in the morning.”
True to his word, Ed does turn up the next day, clutching a paper bag in one hand and rubbing his neck with his other one. Maybe it’s the memory of the night before but the sight of Ed sends Creed’s heart stuttering. He couldn’t help but note how the blue plaid shirt frames his shoulders nicely. It even brings out his stunning eyes.
“Ed, honey!” Jennifer cries, popping behind Creed’s shoulder. “I missed you last night!” She seizes Creed by the shoulders. “You won’t believe what Glenn is making us do! He’s—”
Creed rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who threw the party so you guys should be—”
“Yes, yes. And we will after brunch. You want some? Taylor makes the best hash browns.”
Ed shakes his head. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t. I have errands to run.”
There’s something odd about Ed’s demeanor that has Creed tapping Jennifer’s hands gently. “Jen. Give us a minute.”
“What’s there to— Hey!”
Creed makes another mental note that he owes Janine twice.
As he suspects, Ed relaxes when Jennifer and Janine are out of earshot. His gaze falls to his sneakers as he holds out the paper bag. “Here’s your sweater. Thanks again.”
“Again, it’s not an issue,” Creed replies, taking the bag. “I hope your shirt’s okay.”
Ed chuckles. “It’s fine. Just needed more scrubbing and some detergent.” He clears his throat. “Also, um, I got you something. For your birthday. I would’ve gotten you something yesterday but Jennifer told me about the party at the last minute so…”
True enough, there’s a wrapped parcel nestled between Creed’s sweater and an envelope inside the paper bag.
“I don’t know if you’ll like it but—”
“I’m sure I will. Thank you.” Creed pauses. “Should I open it right now or…”
Ed laughs, a tinge of apprehension laced in his voice. “It’s better if you do that later. Besides, I have to get going.”
Creed fights off the disappointed feeling that courses through him. “Sure. Have a good day.”
Nodding, Ed takes a couple steps backward. “You too.” His lips break into a smile, a smile that stuns Creed in place. It’s broad and bright, blazing like the August heat. It’s probably the first time Creed has seen him smile this carefree, this genuine before.
“And happy belated birthday, Glenn.”
Creed almost stops him, almost tells him to call him Creed instead. He needs to hear Ed say his name, his real name at least once.
But all he could do is just wave Ed goodbye until his figure disappears into the ocean of New Yorkers.
Since Creed knows that his brain is compromised for the moment, he elects to distract himself by heading up to his room to examine the contents in the paper bag.
Unwrapping the parcel reveals a leather-bound journal. Creed usually does all his writing and planning digitally but he supposes he could give the pen and paper method a shot. Or maybe journal his thoughts in it.
The envelope has Creed’s porn star name written in a scrawl, containing a greeting card of a cartoon cat with a party hat on. It grins up at Creed, surrounded by balloons and streamers, a ‘Happy birthday’ emblazoned behind it. The inside of the card is empty, save for a short sentence in the middle and a small paw print at the side.
Hope you like it. – Ed & Empa, it reads.
Creed vaguely remembers seeing a cat fast asleep on Ed’s desk. It’s adorable that Ed even roped his cat into this.
Something claws at his throat all of a sudden, something akin to affection. Ed really shouldn’t need to do all this for him, especially for someone he hardly knows.
And yet…
An involuntary smile graces Creed’s lips, his heart leaping against his rib cage. He doesn’t even realize he’s still smiling until Jennifer calls him out on it when he descends the stairs.
Creed shakes his head, Ed’s carefree smile seared into his memory.
“Nothing,” he replies. “Nothing at all.” He pauses, a thought striking him. “Jen? Do you know when’s Ed's birthday?”