"Cyrus…!"
"I won't be renewing my contract. That's all I came here to say."
As he prepares to leave Mr. Henderson's office, he looks at towards his right. A little more than a week ago, Eli was sitting in the seat next to him.
And now…
Cyrus clenches his hands into a fist.
"Cyrus, please take some rest." Mr. Henderson says as he hands him a cup of simmering green tea, "The contract can wait later."
"You don't get it," Cyrus grits his teeth, "I'm not signing this contract."
"Calm down." Mr. Henderson raises his voice, like a superior ordering his lackey. For a second, Cyrus' heart jumps to this throat, "You're ruled by grief and hatred right now. You aren't in any state to think about the contract. Go home."
"Mr. Henderson—"
"Come back in a week and we can talk about your role and contract renewal." Mr. Henderson continues, "Until then, I'm expressly forbidding you from doing any practice."
"What about my dance evaluation?"
"Leave that to me. You shouldn't concern yourself with matters like this right now."
Just like that, Mr. Henderson had Cyrus cornered, unable to refute any of his points. Because, frankly, Cyrus is simmering in rage.
Rage over the alphas deciding to spare a modicum of sympathy now that Eli is long gone.
Rage over the number of pitiful glances directed towards him as he made his way from room to room.
Rage over the way Eli took his own life, without a single explanation—not even a note or a text to set Cyrus' heart at ease.
It's so unfair the way he's unable to even apologize to Eli face-to-face. The way Cyrus is forced to pick up the broken pieces left by Eli's absence. The way Cyrus had to sit through the funeral ceremony held by Eli's dad and stepmom.
"From the moment you're born, you've been a light in my life," Eli's 'dad' began, "Unwavering and bold, you're like a firecracker. I confess, sometimes I listen in when you sing your room. With your voice, you would've had every chance to succeed... and yet! Your life was so unfairly cut short ...Every child should have the right to pursue their dreams without malicious threats and harassment, and you were deprived of this right."
Then the man paused to shoehorn in a few gasps and sniffles.
"At the height of relentless abuse hurled towards our family, we were waiting for you to come back from class to join us for dinner to celebrate your birthday...until we received the news that you had committed suicide and died when your body was discovered. Snapped neck, body beyond recognition. You only barely turned eighteen two weeks ago, the time you should be having so much fun discovering the freedom of drinking with your friends and the joys of adulthood."
At this, Eli's dad began to sob uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face and his quiet sobs cutting up every other word he speaks.
"May you be living your best life even after death. I love you."
Bullshit.
It took every ounce of Cyrus' thinning patience to not yell at these ghouls. Until the entire public stunt Eli's dad has made about Eli's death, no one, not even him, knew that Eli was the biological son of the founder of the the largest soft drink company in Ancora—Quirst. That's how badly Eli did not want to associate with his supposed family.
It didn't take a genius to know the reason Eli's dad spoke a bunch of nonsense and cried a river in front of a bunch of reporters.
Except for practicing maniacs like him, most people would know the controversy over Mr. Family Man's image (or Eli's dad, Cory Kirsten), especially following a photo of an intimate interaction between him and a mysterious young idol dated two years ago.
Cyrus balls his hands into fists. Even in death, Eli isn't free.
And all of this just begs the question—how much did he know about, or rather, not know about Eli?
As he's buried in his thoughts, he feels someone bump into him. As he looks up, he's face-to-face to that generic villain again.
"Sorry about that. I didn't see you there." Gavin taunts.
"Gavin, fuck off."
"Woah, fiesty. Too bad I'm not in the mood back off. Seeing you all mopey and depressed over your lover boy has been the best thing all week."
"I'm impressed. A dead guy's all the fuck you can talk about. Maybe that's all you amount to, explains why you can't debut even after six years."
"Tread lightly, omega." Gavin's jaw tightens, "Both of you never belonged here, especially that slut."
"Oh, bless your fucking heart. Jealousy isn't a good look on you, sweetie."
"You wish, I'll never be jealous of that slut." Gavin sneers, "I bet he whored his way with that face of his."
"Are you really sure you want to go with that? Slutshaming seventeen-year-old even before you ever had the chance of debuting? What a charmer."
"It's not slutshaming when it's true." Gavin grins, "You aren't the only ones who gone out two weeks ago."
"Only someone as stupid as you will fall for that."
"Does Johnny's Pizza ring a bell?"
Cyrus stills.
"So it does. I imagine it does, since you had your dramatic lover's quarrel there. And then you left after throwing your petty tantrum. Boo-hoo."
"What do you want from me?" Cyrus says between clenched teeth.
Gavin laughs.
"See, that's what I like about you, Cheng. You're a lot more interesting than that crybaby slut. Put in a good word for me. Quirst, if you catch my drift."
"What's that going to do for you? You aren't debuting any time soon."
"Ah, that's right," Gavin gasps in mock surprise, "You don't know yet."
"Not that it matters. You're going to do what I ask, because you know better than anyone that this goes deeper than you think."
As Cyrus stares back at Gavin, it becomes all the more apparent that his own legs are shaking.
Shaking? Because of Gavin?
But it's undeniably true that at this very moment Gavin is the most domineering presence in the room, and Cyrus, for the first time, felt the true effects of an alpha's pheromones.
"Oh? Are you turning eighteen today?" As Gavin stares at him longer, Cyrus can sense Gavin's disgusting mint pheromones unravel, claiming all the exposed parts of his body.
This is dangerous.
"Well, I suppose you'll have something else to busy yourself with in the meantime." Gavin laughs, "Don't forget our deal afterwards."
Hell...!
In the middle of all this, Cyrus managed to forget about his first heat.
As he feels his instincts begin to take over, his rational mind is still yelling at him to run from this building and lock himself away.
Fortunately, the practice room he frequents has a hidden room amongst all the huge mirrors.
He can only hope that no one is there.
As he makes a beeline towards the room, heart pounding in his ears, he's overcome with the urge to throw up.
The revolting scent of hundreds of pheromones and sweat hits him like a freight train, and he suddenly feels like he's high on drugs with the way he's feeling too much, but nothing all at once. If purgatory existed, this would be it—the sickening smells were stifling his every breath, each prolonging his suffering as he fought against the primal urge to succumb to his base instincts.
As soon as he enters the practice room, he heads towards his little mirror room and closes the makeshift door behind him.
Then his consciousness begins to slip away.
——
"Cyrus?"
He is awaken by a plea from outside the hidden room. Cyrus can recognize the voice anywhere—Mr. Henderson.
It's unclear what hour it is, but judging by the significantly fewer pheromones in his vicinity, it should be around nighttime.
"I know you're somewhere here, Cyrus. Please answer me."
Even though they're separated by a thick makeshift door, Cyrus can feel the concern from Mr. Henderson's voice.
Like a father worried for the wellbeing of his son.
"J....Jame..." Cyrus croaks. Even uttering part of Mr. Henderson's name feels like his throat was being grinded away by a piece of sandpaper. His first heat had quite literally wrecked his entirety, to the point he isn't quite sure what he's craving relief from.
"I suppose he's not here." Mr. Henderson says after a while, clearly to himself.
No...!
Just like that, the footsteps faded into the distance.
Cyrus squeezes his eyes shut. The best way to describe all his feelings from the past two weeks is akin to sending someone who can't swim to fend for themselves in the deep sea, the only exception is that they're barely kept alive by a deflating floaty.
Oh, and at irregular intervals, the person will be hit by an engulfing wave. Sometimes it is powerful enough to knock them out cold, other times it'll only be strong enough to knock them slightly off balance.
Perhaps what's even worse is the inkling that somehow everyone else knows a lot more about Eli than him, be it Mr. Henderson or even Gavin.
And even worse yet, he wasn't sure what he should do to be able to get those answers.
Anyone...
"Cyrus!"