Comfort in Chaos

Trust me

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Ed sat alone in the dim studio, hunched over a well-worn notebook with lyrics scribbled across the pages, frustration evident in the tense set of his shoulders. He'd been reworking the same lines for hours, but each time he read them back, they felt flat, lacking the spark he wanted—needed—for this song. Winning the Red Diamond Award wasn't just a dream; it was his next step, and he wanted this song to be worthy of it.

The studio door opened quietly, and Mr. Dale, Ed's long-time producer, walked in with a calm, understanding smile, setting a glass of red wine on the table. "Ed," he said gently, settling into the chair opposite him, "take it easy. You're not on anyone's clock here." Dale knew Ed's process well and recognized the intensity in his expression; he'd seen it enough times to know Ed was wrestling with something deeply personal.

Ed looked up, his brows knitting. "Clock or no clock, I'm late, Dale. The fans are already waiting for this one." He sighed, lifting the glass but barely noticing the wine as he stared off, clearly somewhere far from the studio.

Dale gave a thoughtful nod. "They'll wait," he assured Ed, his tone calm but firm. "They know you, Ed, and they'll wait if it means you give them a song that's true to you." He paused, watching Ed closely. "I know this one's important to you. But sometimes, the best lyrics don't come from sitting in a room forcing them out. You need space. A breather. Meet some new people, see something different."

Ed sighed, his frustration softening just a little as he listened. "Space? I don't need space, Dale. I need a song." He set the glass down, eyes intense. "It's not just another track, it's… more than that. It's got to be something that really hits, something I can stand by when it's time to go after the Red Diamond."

Dale's expression softened, and he nodded slowly, understanding the weight of Ed's words. "Then all the more reason to step away for a while. Take a break, clear your mind, let the words find you. Sometimes, you don't have to chase the lyrics; they come to you." A smile touched his lips. "And thank God no one recognizes you by sight. You could go anywhere and slip by unnoticed."

Ed seemed to consider this, his gaze finally relaxing as he let the idea sink in. After a long pause, he rose from his seat, sliding the notebook under his arm. "Fine," he said finally, his voice tinged with resolve. "A vacation, then."

Dale looked pleased, nodding approvingly. "Good call. I'll set something up. Maybe a little spot out of town where you can be—"

"No need." Ed interrupted, waving off Dale's suggestion with a hint of a grin. "I've got a place in mind."

Dale arched an eyebrow, curiosity sparking. "Just promise me you'll take some security, Ed. I don't want any surprises if someone connects the dots."

Ed chuckled, an unreadable glint in his eyes. "No one's going to recognize me." As he slipped his notebook into his bag, he murmured to himself, "It's time to find Abigail."

He left the studio with purpose, his assistant Jane hurrying to keep up, intrigued by Ed's sudden shift in mood. She'd been working with him for a while now, but today, something felt different. He had a focus that felt less about lyrics and more like he was set on a personal mission.

When they arrived home, Ed was startled to find George, his best friend and one of Hollywood's biggest stars, sprawled on his sofa, munching potato chips. George looked up, grinning widely as he launched himself off the couch to greet Ed.

"Daddy's home!" he teased, pulling Ed into a bear hug, earning a laugh from Jane, who watched the two men with amusement.

"George," Ed muttered, a smirk breaking through his serious expression. "Why didn't you let me know you were here?"

George just shrugged, collapsing back onto the sofa. "Come on, Ed. I'm your best friend. I don't need an appointment." He turned, raising an eyebrow at Jane. "So what's the deal here? Studio's empty, and you're back early. What's going on?"

Jane answered before Ed could speak. "He needs some time off." She took a seat across from Ed, who was already closing his eyes, seeming more relaxed than he'd been in days.

George, chewing another chip, chuckled knowingly. "Let me guess: the lyrics are giving you trouble?"

Ed nodded, his eyes closed, as he let out a sigh. "Something like that."

After a beat, he turned to Jane with a focused expression. "I need you to set up a few things. Find me an apartment on Flower Street. Something basic, under the radar. Get a used car, too—nothing flashy. And find me a low-profile job while you're at it."

Jane's brows furrowed in surprise as she nodded. "A job? And on Flower Street?" She was curious but didn't question it further. "Okay, I'll get started on it."

George, however, raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin playing at his lips. "Flower Street, huh?" He glanced at Jane, then back at Ed with a knowing look. "So… is this about Abigail?"

Jane froze, her mouth parting in shock as she whipped her head toward Ed. "Abigail?" she repeated, her voice tinged with surprise. "This whole… setup is to meet her?"

Ed shot George a look, but George simply shrugged with a smirk, leaning back into the sofa as he enjoyed Jane's reaction. "Oh, don't act so surprised, Jane. You know Ed. When he's got his mind set on something, he goes all in."

Jane's expression shifted, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. "Wait—so, Ed, you're telling me you're planning to… what, disguise yourself just to meet her?"

George chuckled, clearly amused as he took in the scene. "Relax, Jane. This isn't a James Bond mission. He just wants to see her without the spotlight on him. Think of it as… research for the song."

Ed sighed, shooting George a warning look. But George, being George, just laughed it off. "Come on, Ed," he said, his tone teasing. "Jane's got to know eventually."

Ed rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Jane with a faint smirk. "It's not just about her, Jane. I need a break, some space. And maybe… seeing her again will help." His voice softened, a rare vulnerability seeping into his expression.

Jane forced a small smile, crossing her arms, though there was a hint of tension in her posture. "Of course," she murmured, sounding almost to herself. "If it'll help with the song…"

George caught her reaction, his grin widening with mischief. "Aw, don't tell me you're jealous, Jane. You're his assistant, remember? Not his personal therapist."

Jane's cheeks reddened, and she looked away quickly, her voice defensive. "I know my job, George. I just… didn't expect this."

Ed raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a faint smirk. "Are you sure that's all?"

Jane's eyes flashed, and she shook her head firmly. "Of course. This is just… unexpected, that's all." She cleared her throat, trying to regain her professional composure.

George, watching her intently, chuckled again. "Good. Just make sure you're clear on that." He shot Ed a grin. "Besides, Ed here is way too invested in Abigail to notice anyone else."

Ed rolled his eyes, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused. "You're overthinking things, George."

But George just leaned back, folding his arms with a knowing smile. "Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that." He glanced at Jane, noticing her lingering tension, then turned back to Ed. "Anyway, if you're done overanalyzing, Jane, get everything set up for Ed's little 'vacation.' He's got some blending in to do."

Jane straightened, giving Ed a nod. "I'll handle it—the apartment, the car, the job. Just… be careful," she added, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she left.

As the door clicked shut, George turned back to Ed with a more serious expression. "So… you really think this'll work?"

Ed's mouth curved into a faint smile, a glint of determination in his eyes. "I've got a plan, George. Trust me."

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