"Cyrus? Are you feeling unwell?"
Right. He's supposed to be at Johnny's Pizza. With Eli, celebrating Eli's one and only eighteenth birthday. You know, like friends do, sharing a large pizza and downing a can of Quirst (though Eli turned down the Quirst and elected to have a cup of lemonade instead).
Heck, Eli is even wearing the navy blue jacket Cyrus gifted him two years ago.
Yet here he is, unable to focus, his mind preoccupied by Brendan's words from dinner two days ago.
"Are you for real?" are the only words that managed to escape Cyrus' lips.
"I know I sound insane, probably hypocritical too, but please hear me out." Brendan replies, enunciating the 'please' as if his life hinged on the word, his breathing turning more erratic and unstable as he goes. "I know your dream is to debut, I'm sure that's the dream for all of us too."
"Yeah?"
"Cyrus, he wants you to renew a four-year contract. Four years. Signing this contract is your death sentence. You won't debut."
"Cyrus?"
Cyrus snaps out of his thoughts to be greeted by a worried Eli. Cold sweat trickles down his back in amounts so large that the sweat secreted an intense three-hour dance session wasn't even worth mentioning. He's crumbling inside, sweating with the same intensity as someone who stayed in the sauna for a two whole hours, but he can't let Eli know.
"I'm good, I'm good. My stomach hasn't been agreein' with me. Oily pizza or whatever."
"Do you need to go to the bathroom?"
"No, all good. 'Sides, we should leave. If anyone but James finds us—"
"It's Sunday. No one in the company can forbid us from eating pizza on our off-day."
Shit, of course he had to forget that Eli's birthday is on a Sunday. Now he'll have an even harder time convincing Eli that he isn't, in fact, having something comparable to a mid-life crisis (is he even old enough to have one?).
"Are you really alright, Cyrus?" Eli frowns.
"Yeah...I mean, not really...I don't know."
"You want to talk about it?"
Talk about it? Cyrus wants to laugh. Scream, even. He wants to yell until his throat turns raw, until he's left unable to make even a single word. Realistically, his vocals are more important than his life, and Mr. Henderson would certainly be beside himself with worry if his chords were damaged. Still...
He can't even begin to articulate the spiral that Brendan's words had sent him. Why? Why now? Just when he had obtained a sliver of hope that he's able to debut. Get out of trainee hell. Out of debt.
Of all days, why tell him two days before Eli's birthday? That day is like a storm cloud hanging over the rest of his days, itching to make his even neutral days feel as though the sky had collapsed.
"I...Heck, I don't know. I just...Sorry for doing this on your birthday."
"Please don't," Eli gives him this warm smile that immediately calms him down. It's the sun emerging from the grey clouds, keeping the storm at bay, "I'm glad you trust me enough to confide in me."
"Dunno who else I'd confide in if not you," Cyrus shrugs, "You remember how I ate out two days ago?"
"Mmhm."
"I wasn't alone. I gone out to eat with Brendan at a pretty nice burger restaurant."
Eli stays silent.
"It's all good. Normal banter, thanking each other and wishing each other the best and all that, until he drops this bombshell: he says there's no one I'll ever be able to debut."
"That's not true!" Eli raises his voice so loud that the people sitting by the tables next to them turn around to stare, "Mr. Henderson said that we'll be able to debut! He told me again after you left his office!"
"That's what I thought as well," Cyrus says grimly, "But then he listed a bunch of reasons. Reasons rooted in a logic that I cannot ignore."
"Logic...?" Eli asks in such disbelief that Cyrus almost believed that logic is some foreign concept introduced by a group of aliens.
Cyrus stays silent.
"But we can debut together as a duo! Duos are a thing in A-Pop!" Eli speaks in a ferocity that feels...off. It's not anger or indignation, but raw desperation, like a rabbit trying to claw its way out of a bottomless pit.
"Eli. Do you know why duos are rare?"
Eli sits down, collapses, his fighting spirit gone as quickly as it came.
"Company rarely debut duos unless both people are mega-talented. You're talented, Eli. You sing well, compose a bunch of songs. But me? I'm good at dancing, but nothin' to speak of compared to other alpha trainees."
"That's not true—"
"Don't deny it." Cyrus interjects. All of his frustrations, insecurities and worries are the magma that lied dormant, untouched by his fragile vessel. But it's too much. Too much. It's all threatening to leak out and erupt in a flurry of lava until everything around him is razed to the ground, "James said that you were his pride and joy. You are the person he wants to debut. It's only after you mentioned me that he said we'd debut together."
"That's—"
"And don't get me started on Brendan." Cyrus clenches his teeth, "He invited me to a private dinner and told me all this. Why? Because he knows it's me who can't debut. He told me all this because he pitied me. He saw that I'll be doing nothing but waste my own life."
By now, tears started to blur his vision. Detestable tears he tries to wipe away, but seem to appear faster each time he attempts to rid of them.
"My dad's dead, and my mom's not speaking to me. I haven't gone to school in four years, and I got nothing to show for it. I'll be old, poor, and miserable. I got nothing. Just...need some time alone."
Cyrus puts down fifty Anchors on the table for both of their portions and walks out.
Great. He just can't hold back his temper for one day for the sake of Eli's birthday. Just had to make this about himself.
All the adrenaline from his emotion-fuelled rant disappeared the instant he left the pizza joint, and all he's left with is emptiness and the harrowing realization that he just fucked up.
Hard.
He has to make this right, somehow.
——
His last hurrah of 'making things right' almost seems laughable as he searched the entire vicinity (including their shared dormitory) for any trace of Eli. He's almost certain Eli is a ghost or that Eli somehow, within the span of an hour or so, managed to get in contact with one of those elusive vanishing programs.
Even their chat feels like a one-sided conversation.
You: u alright? (Sent at 8:16pm)
You: I can't find u anywhere. you aren't answering your phone either pls pick up im worried (Sent at 8:23pm)
You: I'm really sorry for what I said earlier, was just being an ass (Sent at 8:27pm)
You: it's no excuse, I was just torn up about not being able to debut and it got to me. you didn't deserve none of that (Sent at 8:30pm)
You: please reply if you read this. I wanna make it up to you (Sent at 8:31pm)
Cyrus collapses on a nearby bench, heartbeat ringing in his ears. He's a crazed maniac in search of his poor victim. In the dead of the night, with nothing but the chilly air to keep him grounded, there's an overwhelming realization he's all alone yet again, without a single soul to accompany him.
His stupid thoughts can wait.
——
When Cyrus comes to his senses again, he's pressed against his futon. Immediately, the heat from his stuffy winter jacket and the unrelenting, frigid wind make themselves known.
He doesn't know whether it's the numbness from smushing his face against the pillow or abnormally strong winter breeze, but something feels amiss. Out of place.
It's too quiet. Neat. Empty.
His brain is screaming at him that something is amiss, but his eyes cannot keep up. He's a madman, grasping at the straws for even the slightest mismatch that may justify that ringing in his head.
Then it clicks.
Where is Eli?
He springs up from his futon and searches about their dormitory. Aside from a shared bathroom, a small dining table and their makeshift beds, their "apartment" isn't much to look at, only made more bearable by Eli's penchant for going to the flea market and bringing home all kinds of homely knickknacks: plushies, an incense holder, a bookshelf, a few flower vases, and much more Cyrus cannot count.
Nothing.
Cyrus scrambles for his phone. No new messages from Eli. Even worse, Eli never received any of Cyrus' messages.
He has to tell Mr. Henderson. Eli hasn't been missing for twenty-four hours yet, but his instincts are hounding at him that something is amiss.
He passes by his futon to grab his shoes when he stills.
Earlier, he felt that there was an abnormal amount of cold air within the room. Amidst his frenzy, he didn't notice that the window behind his futon is wide open.
Open?
He doesn't remember opening the window. Especially in fucking winter. He'd be insane to expose himself to having a cold.
Maybe it was the strong wind that blew it open.
As he readies to close the window, a sight of something in the middle of the icy street below him catches his eye.
Something…or rather someone wearing a jacket that resembles Eli's navy blue birthday jacket lies limp on the ground.
And then it hits him—the body is missing a head.
He screamed.