edward-sterling

[edward-sterling]

his gaze drops down to his lips, where the smallest twitch of a smirk sits at the corner of his mouth, and eddie takes in a slow breath to steady himself. he sparsely has time, because nero doesn't hesitate to step closer into his space, and the intoxicating notes of heavy amber and bergamot from his cologne envelops him. his eyebrows lift as nero seizes his hand, but his grip isn't what sends his mind reeling, but the way his thumb traverses the divots between each of his knuckles. he exhales softly, an almost-laugh — he can hardly believe that the man standing in front of him is real, and when he utters his name, it sounds as smooth as silk against a gravelly backdrop.

"nero," he repeats, flushed as the other man's eyes sweep over him, erasing any doubt he held that the electricity crackling between them was anything but raw, unfiltered chemistry. "the pleasure is all mine." the two become locked in, blue-gray eyes boring into dark brown, and eddie's lips part to say something, but before he can, he is reminded all-too-suddenly that he hadn't come alone. his stomach drops into a freefall as he watches nero's jaw clench, while his own shoulders stiffen at the hand that grips him there. dread filters into the space between his ribs as he glances between them, and he wonders if he imagined the look that darkened nero's face, because it disappears in the seconds that follow like it never happened at all.

suffocated by the tension, eddie tips back the glass of wine in his hand, finishing it with a hefty gulp before proffering it to his date with a smile that accentuates the natural lines around his mouth. "don't worry about me, theo. why don't you get us a refill on those drinks?" he asks, pushing the glass into the man's hands, and despite a fumbling protest and a wary glance at nero, he reluctantly leaves the two of them alone in a crowded room. "so, nero, what brings you here?" eddie asks, lips pressed in a grim smile until his gaze drifts lower, to swaths of dark ink that cover his neck and dip down into the deep v-neck of his jacket. suddenly aware of the way he ogles him, eddie's eyes snap up to meet his, expression sheepish but only for a second because catching those stormy eyes staring back at him renders his mind blank.

his tongue peeks out to wet his lower lip, wicking away remnants of a red wine that leaves something to be desired. "not here for the wine selection, i presume?"

he took in the man’s expression, the subtle surprise bleeding through as he stumbled over his introduction. his name spilled out—eddie. nero let it roll around his mind, savoring the sound of his voice, the almost intoxicating accent, and noticed the way he wavered, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. cute. nero's lips curved into a faint smirk, subtle but deliberate, a flicker of something teasing in the tilt of his mouth. he leaned closer, enough to invade eddie’s space, feeling the air between them charging.

his hand reached out to take eddie’s, grip lingering just long enough to make a point. “a pleasure, eddie. nero di fiore,” he said, his voice dipping lower, almost a purr, and his thumb brushed against eddie’s knuckles as he released his hand. his eyes, sharp and piercing, roamed over eddie’s frame like he was committing every detail to memory. fuck! he’d walked into this room expecting another night of shallow smiles and boring small talk, and now he was here, knocked off balance, pulse thrumming in his ears. the faint scent of eddie’s cologne reached him, drawing him in even further.

but then, like nails on a chalkboard, a deliberate cough cut through the moment. it wasn’t subtle, either—loud enough to make nero’s jaw clench. his head turned slowly, the motion calculated and deliberate. standing slightly to eddie’s side was a man—his date, evidently—with a forced smile that barely masked the irritation behind it. “excuse me,” the man said, voice tight, trying to wedge himself into the conversation. his posture screamed entitlement, from the way he puffed out his chest to the way he let his hand rest possessively on eddie’s shoulder.

nero’s eyes darkened, the faint smirk vanishing from his lips. for a second—just a second—his expression turned lethal, his gaze cutting into the other man like a blade. it wasn’t loud, but it was there: pure, unfiltered rage bubbling up from somewhere deep, sharp and hot enough to surprise even him. who the fuck did this guy think he was, interrupting him? worse, making him look away from captivating brown eyes?

he pushed the feeling down, letting his face smooth back into an unreadable mask. “can i help you?” nero asked, his tone polite but there was no mistaking the bite behind them. his head tilted slightly, his eyes darting back to eddie for just a fraction of a second before returning to the man who had forced his way in. nero didn’t move an inch—he didn’t need to. his presence alone said everything: you’re not welcome in this conversation.

[edward-sterling]

the gala's splendor of wealth and opulence is not lost on the young doctor, but it still feels altogether strange to be a part of it. he has always been on the outside looking in, wholly familiar with royalty and grandeur from a young age, but from a distance — staring at the soft flicker of a television screen, or in memorabilia of grand weddings etched into his grandmother's dinner plates or a hand towel. he didn't grow up poor by any stretch of the imagination, but his younger years were spent splashing in the pond or chasing after fireflies in the waning summer sun, not intermingling with those ten times his net worth. his attention catches on glowing chandeliers in their glittering grandiosity, and sweeping, figure-framing gowns that draw in the eye.

eddie is vaguely aware that he shouldn't be here, that he has no place in a world of charity galas and art exhibitions, but he looks the part. draped in white in a tailored blazer with a sheer top beneath that hides little to the imagination where an open neckline hints at rebellion. he dons high-waisted trousers that cut at the most narrow point of his waist with accentuation that the eye can't miss, while dark, pointed shoes provide a sharp edge to an otherwise ethereal presentation. hand tucked loosely in his pocket with a glass of cabernet in his other hand, he half-listens to the man next to him, a date he agreed to accompany despite the slow spiral of their fizzling chemistry. he barely catches the little-known secrets he tells him about the guests around them, interest lost in the conversation itself, but all of it fades away the moment he sees him. his mouth goes dry, heart skipping its rhythm in his chest.

is he really staring back at him?

his heart leaps in his chest when he realizes the broad-shouldered, handsome man is cutting through the crowd and headed straight for him. for a second, the physician forgets that he came with company, until he feels distinctly aware of his date's hand at his waist — and the way it falls away as nero steps in between them, a towering imposition that sends eddie's already racing heart into a frenzy. staring up at the stranger in all of his dark, alluring countenance, surprise bleeds into his expression and a shiver runs down his spine at the way his tongue rolls over the word he utters in sharp italian. "i, uh .. no, i don't think we have, i'm .. eddie," he finishes lamely with a soft exhale, releasing a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as he holds out his hand to shake his, english accent thick as he smiles at him. "eddie sterling."

📍𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐝𝐚’𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐚 + @edward-sterling 🩷

the charity gala was all glitz and polish, a blur of expensive smiles and shallow conversation, and it couldn’t be better for his affairs. the deep v of his black shirt revealed the line of his muscles and just enough ink to catch interested glances, and the sleek cut of his suit made sure no one questioned whether he belonged here. the thick, silver chain around his neck accentuated even more his blue-gray eyes. he leaned against the bar, his fingers lazily drumming against the wooden surface. sage stood beside him, talking.

“… so the deal’s wrapped up. the investors signed this morning. that’s another fifty grand a month, clean as a whistle,” his friend said, swirling his drink. “all we gotta do is make sure the delivery schedule stays tight.”

nero nodded absently, his gaze skimming over the crowd. the room was filled with expensive suits, glittering jewelry, and practiced smiles—a parade of wealth and pretense he had no interest in. he’d been to numerous events like this, and they all blurred together into the same dull routine.

“that’s locked in. i’ve got it covered,” nero replied, his voice smooth but distant. sage was still talking, his tone shifting to something about tax write-offs or real estate—nero wasn’t listening anymore.

his eyes landed on a man across the room.

he felt as if his head were in a vice with a vacuum forming, all the air slowly being sucked out—all the sound. he was quite deaf. he couldn’t hear anything over the pressure. he felt intensely sick. the room behind him dissolved. it hit him like a sucker punch, straight to the gut. the man was mid-conversation with someone, and nero couldn’t hear a damn word, but it didn’t matter. there was something about him—the way he moved, the way he held himself—that grabbed him by the throat and refused to let go, that made him feel like his body wasn’t fully his anymore, like something fundamental had shifted in the span of a second.

fucking hell.

“G?” sage’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and questioning. “hey, man, you good?” nero didn’t answer. he couldn’t. his focus was locked, the gala’s noise dulled to a distant hum, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of them in the room. "the hell’s wrong with you?” sage said again, louder this time, his hand brushing nero’s arm. his body moved on autopilot, pulling him away from the bar and toward the man, slowing when he entered his line of vision, stepping in front of someone else.

his mouth opened, the words forming before he had the chance to realize what language he was speaking. “buonasera,” he said, tone tougher than usual. “i don’t believe we’ve met before.” his tone was polite, measured, but his eyes betrayed him—still locked on the man, with an edge of something dangerous.

[edward-sterling]

(JONATHAN BAILEY, CISGENDER MALE, HE/HIM) Oh, is that EDWARD STERLING? I heard they THIRTY-TWO year old is EMPATHETIC. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also TEMPERAMENTAL. Makes sense seeing how they are a CLEAN civilian who works as a TRAUMA PHYSICIAN AT MOUNT SINAI. (hyacinth, 30s, cst, she/her)

i. about him

full name — cassian edward "eddie" sterling nicknames — eddie, ian, cas age — 32 gender — cisgender male pronouns — he/him orientation — homoromantic homosexual birthday — november 23rd zodiac — sagittarius birthplace — wallingford, oxfordshire in england ethnicity — english languages — english, loose french and italian (enough to understand context but difficulty speaking either) height — 5'11" hair color — brown eye color — brown scars — a long horizontal stripe above his left collarbone, where he was attacked a few short years ago. when asked about it, he has a tendency to run his fingers over it nervously, and always stammers in his effort to change the subject. tattoos — he doesn't have any, though he wouldn't be opposed to getting one — but deciding what to get and where is the hardest part. pets — none, he doesn't have the time but he wishes he did. employment — trauma physician at mount sinai in new york city.

ii. personality

positive traits — ambitious. charming. empathetic. loyal. outgoing. resourceful. negative traits — evasive. impatient. indecisive. oversensitive. temperamental. likes — the sun, rainstorms, traveling, cooking, reading, black tea, collecting tickets, trinkets and souvenirs of places he has been, deadpan humor, gift giving. dislikes — loud noises, wasting food items, death, meditation, being alone with his thoughts, coffee, being woken up before the sun comes up, switchblades. phobias — trypophobia and ophidiophobia. habits — chewing on his lower lip until it is raw. fidgeting with pens until the ink gets all over his hands. obsessive organization. smoking when stressed. journaling. hobbies — cooking and baking, gardening but he has a black thumb, various collections of items (unique socks, art and coins), ceramics (pottery), knot tying.

iii. background

from an early age, eddie showed an innate charm that made him the heart of every room he entered. but beneath his easy smile lay a restless sort of energy, a mix of impatience and sensitivity that often led him to overthink even the simplest of situations. it was a duality he carried into adulthood, one that allowed him to adapt and thrive in challenging situations but also kept him on uneven footing with those closest to him. eddie has always had a way of keeping people at arm’s length, as though afraid that letting them in too deeply might unearth something even he isn't ready to face. the memory of his brother’s traumatic death a few years ago — and the harrowing circumstances surrounding it — has left eddie uneasy in the presence of violence along with the physical mark of a scar notched into his left collarbone as a constant reminder of his fragility and resilience. though he avoids discussing the incident, his fingers often trace the mark absentmindedly, revealing an undercurrent of vulnerability he would be quick to deny if confronted with it. the precarious experience deepened his already-present dislike for switchblades, and it has instilled a wariness of situations that feel out of his control and has been known to trigger panic attacks. losing his brother ignited something fierce within him — a need to give every patient the care, compassion, and safety he couldn’t give to his own flesh and blood. eddie poured himself into his work, often to the point of exhaustion, putting the needs of others before his own in a relentless pursuit of purpose and his altruism comes at a cost. his insistence on being there for everyone else left little room for himself, a fact he stubbornly refused to acknowledge, and he continues to try to be a ray of sunshine even on days where the clouds are darkest. his structured, quiet life has become both a sanctuary and a prison. in the end, it feels like the world is always pulling him back into the deep, dark underbelly of new york.

fate is often inevitable in that way.

iv. headcanons

— despite his best efforts and his love for gardening, eddie has a "black thumb." no matter how hard he tries, his plants inevitably die. he worries the same would happen if he were to get a pet.