***Our eyes can't meet***
***마주치지 못할 두 눈***
***When I look into your eyes***
***네 눈을 보면 또다시***
***I know I'll turn away again***
***돌아설 나인 걸***
*\- Falling, Jin*
***Holden Young***
I was trying to end it all in a civilized way—for real. I just wanted to go home, see my friend again, and live a normal life away from all of this.
After days stuck in this hotel room that looked more like a luxury hostage cell, I finally got out of bed, took a decent shower, and even put on a clean T-shirt.
A miracle.
Cyrus would be satisfied with that—if I knew where he went. But it’d be that quiet kind of satisfaction, the one that doesn’t need applause. Just his way of saying “finally, you bastard” without opening his mouth. I get it.
The room was full of people trying to make my image look less fucked than it really was. Some blonde woman in an overpriced blazer and a screechy voice was talking about photoshoots and a possible “redemption” interview, like I had died and was now resurrecting for prime time. Amara, Akira, couldn’t even remember her name.
Another guy, didn’t even bother to learn his name, was rambling about new songs, the postponed deluxe album, and how my “downfall” could be part of mywho artistic narrative—pressure, personal struggles, blah blah blah.
I just wanted them all to shut the hell up and leave.
The truth is, none of this made any sense. The young, rebellious celebrity image was way past its expiration date, and now I just looked like… an idiot.
A loser who was… lost.
The kind of guy you'd expect to see on a tabloid cover with the headline: “EX-ROCKSTAR THROWS UP ON LAWYER DURING COURT HEARING.”
Not that it’s happened. Not yet, anyway.
I slumped in the chair, wincing as I tasted that bitter mouth, craving a cigarette while the producer dude went on about a comeback single. I could only catch a few words here and there. “Relevance.” “Media tragedy.” “Everyone loves a comeback story.”
My name was a brand, and I was a product. And right now, that product was off the shelf, wrapped in brown paper labeled “fragile, handle with care.”
Or maybe: “expired, caution: TOXIC.”
I leaned over and stared at myself in the mirror across the makeshift meeting room set up at the cost of my privacy. My skin—Jesus.
I had dark circles, I was pale. Hair all messed up, cut grown out. I looked worse than a low-budget zombie.
"Holden?" the producer asked.
"Hm?" I murmured, not even bothering to look.
"You need to be at the press conference. Tomorrow. Noon."
"Tell them I’ll be sick. I mean—I am sick."
"Holden…"
"What part didn’t you get? I don’t want any of this shit."
They exchanged glances like they were dealing with a spoiled kid. Maybe I was. But it didn’t change the fact that no one there had the slightest clue what was actually going on in my head—or gave a damn. They only saw the money going down the drain.
Cyrus walked right in the middle of it all, clapping like he was wrapping up some play.
"Well, well. Still alive. Holden’s up and functioning. That’s tart."
He looked around, reading the miserable and pissed-off faces, then looked at me.
"Can we talk? Alone."
Everyone left reluctantly. I stayed in the chair, spinning the cap of the water bottle, trying to guess what this new stunt was gonna be while forcing myself to drink something that wasn’t vodka or beer.
"So, what now? Let me guess. A rehab disguised as a spiritual retreat? Is some new hotshot Korean manager going to make me look healthy with those K-pop tactics? A magic IV drip to fix me up?"
Wouldn’t mind that last one, honestly.
Cyrus sighed and leaned against the wall, looking even balder than when he left.
He had that worn-out look. Not like he hadn’t slept, but like he’d been carrying weight no one could see. We were two of a kind, then.
"You know your parents are camped out here, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "And since when is that new? They’ll stay till they’re sure I won’t slit my wrists."
"They’re putting pressure on me, Holden. They want a new financial control contract. They want voting power over your career."
"Nope. That’d be a disaster. I’d go back to being the puppet I was when I was a kid, dragged to competitions even when I was exhausted, just so my dad could rig the results and get his medals. He liked the trophies."
"I know." He crossed his arms, biting the inside of his cheek.
"That’s why I’m telling you now—so we can stop this from getting worse."
"Figure out what we’re gonna do and let me know when they leave. Till then, I’ll stay in the room, pumped full of tranquilizers. Far from the drama, just the way you want it."
"That’s not gonna work. You need to show the world you’re back, take control like a man, earn their trust."
"Cyrus, I don’t even know if I wanna come back."
He went quiet. That pause always pissed me off, because he knew.
He knew I was telling the truth, and that made everything harder.
"I don’t want this circus. Not the fame, not the shows. I just want it all to stop."
He nodded and swallowed hard. Then, casually, like tossing a coin in a fountain just to hear the splash—
"What if you had someone around to help?"
My breath caught for a second.
"Someone like… who?" I said, trying to fake indifference.
Cyrus shrugged, pretending it wasn’t a big deal.
But he knew exactly where he was stepping.
"Someone who helped you before. Someone you listened to, someone who made you better…"
He didn’t say her name, but it hung in the air like a thick scent that wouldn’t go away.
I closed my eyes. My jaw tightened.
"Don’t start this bullshit. Don’t you dare suggest that."
"It’s not bullshit, Holden. Just… an idea."
"If she wanted to help, she wouldn’t have disappeared. Don’t make anyone go looking for her. Don’t invent some dumb play."
Cyrus stayed still. But there was something in his eyes. Something that pissed me off.
I stood up, already breathing heavily.
"You want her to come back, stick around, pretend like everything’s okay just so I can function? I’m not a goddamn robot!"
"I want you to stop ruining your life."
"And why would she agree to that?" I got closer to him. "Why would she come back to this shit? No goodbye, no explanation. Even when I used her song to get her attention, she didn’t try to talk to me. Just signed the damn contract and moved on."
Cyrus opened his mouth but shut it again. Said nothing. That silence was all the answer I needed.
"You’re not telling me everything."
He gave a small, almost guilty smile.
"Sometimes, you gotta use what you have."
"You used her?"
"You use everyone, too, Holden. Every damn day. The difference is, some people still want to see you okay."
My stomach twisted. I wanted to punch something., He turned away, walking toward the door.
"She’s here?" I asked.
He stopped. Didn’t answer.
"I’m serious, Cyrus. Is she here?"
He hesitated for a second, just enough for me to know.
"Why don’t you ask her yourself?"
And then he left.
I stood there, staring at the door.
My heart was pounding so l, ud I couldn’t hear anything else.
She was here. Somewhere in this damn hotel.
And now I had to decide if I was gonna run to him, or keep pretending none of this mattered anymore.