Chapter Text
Jisung woke up groaning. He could tell, even without looking directly at the living window, that it was too late in the day. The sun was high in the sky, casting a direct beam onto his face, worsening his headache. A flash of memory overtook his brain. Last night had been bad.
To make things worse, his phone started ringing. Patting his pockets in slow motion, he found it, reading the name on the screen. He gulped.
It was Chan, his manager.
“Hyung,” Jisung spoke as quietly as he could so as not to disturb his head even more.
It was the pause Chan took before even beginning to speak that made Jisung understand the consequences of his actions. In a split second, he pictured all the articles about him online and the disappointment on Chan’s face while reading them.
“Come to my office. Now,” Chan said, his voice clipped, low, and harsh. Chan didn’t yell, but Jisung’s knees trembled nonetheless.
One of his best qualities, he thought so, was to deflect, so he decided to play it cool.
“How about some other time, hyung? I got a headache,” Jisung was playing with fire. He knew that much.
Chan had given him one too many chances. Maybe because they had been friends for decades. Maybe because he served as a sort of father figure to Jisung and had decided on a softer approach long ago. Jisung wasn’t entirely sure. But he had pushed Chan to the brink so many times, he wondered when he would snap.
It looked like today was the day.
Chan said, “Get your ass here if you still care about your damn career.”
Chan hung up without another word. This also gave Jisung pause.
What he had done the night before had been bad, but not so out of character for him. Wasn’t Chan used to his ways? Maybe he was finally tired. Maybe this was it for Jisung.
The thing is, even though he tried to play it cool while feigning disregard for the situation, deep down, he cared about his career, about disappointing Chan, and about his future.
Despite himself and his physical pain, Jisung got up, albeit slowly, and started moving around his apartment. His headache wouldn’t go away. Not after he showered, not after he drank coffee, and definitely not after he ate. That actually made things worse. His stomach turned in protest.
How much had he drunk? Too much, apparently. If he could barely eat, things went way too far the night before.
More flashes of the night before appeared in his mind. He vaguely remembered a club, a woman, dancing. Then he remembered a man looking at the same woman he had been dancing with. Then a punch was thrown. Then another. Who had started the fight?
The rest was a blur. A big blur of alcohol, arms throwing him outside, people yelling at him, then him alone on the sidewalk. The camera flashes came shortly after.
He fought to keep the single bite of a plain croissant in his stomach. It almost didn’t work.
-
Hangovers were particularly bad for Jisung, not because of the terrible physical condition that they left him in, but because the psychological state that made him get to that point in the first place permeated.
There was a profound sadness that preceded these episodes, leaving him utterly embarrassed. So embarrassed that he tried to forget about everything. Every feeling, every intrusive thought, every action that led him where he was. So he drank. He drank to forget what a failure he had become and then woke up hungover, still remembering. It was an endless cycle.
This cycle had been more pronounced in the last year as a hollow feeling inside him began to grow. Little did he know that alcohol wouldn’t fill this hole. No amount of alcohol, lovers, or money could change him.
But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because for the few hours that he drank, he managed to forget.
It embarrassed him to feel that way when, for the external eye, he had everything he ever wanted. A career in music, fame, money, women… and sometimes men. Why did he try to forget? What could he possibly want beyond the things he already had?
To be able to write again.
Jisung entered Chan’s office. The immaculately clean space made him feel ever sicker, but he kept on pushing one foot in front of the other until he stopped by Chan’s desk.
“Sit,” Chan said without looking at him.
Jisung did. He sat down on the black leather chair, his head hanging between his shoulders.
Chan took in a long breath. Jisung braced for impact. The air was filled with unsaid questions. What were you thinking? Are you out of your mind? Do you not care? What would your parents think? Do you want out? Do you need help? When will you put the effort that you’re wasting on fucking up into writing again?
Yes. Jisung needed help, but no, he wouldn’t admit that.
“Here,” Chan picked up a pamphlet and slid it across the desk to Jisung.
Jisung frowned, picking up the pamphlet.
It was one of those smooth-to-the-touch papers. Fancy stuff. The cover showed something that looked like an upscale resort. Something between Western and Japanese architecture, bringing in an air of extreme peace. It read, “Your healing journey starts here.”
Jisung quirked an eyebrow.
“A vacation?” Jisung asked, intrigued.
Chan scoffed. “You fucking wish.” He still didn’t spare Jisung a glance.
Going back to the paper, Jisung investigated further. Opening the pamphlet, he could understand what he was really looking at.
The whole thing read more like some sort of vacation-adjacent facility. A spa with a mix of therapy sessions, one too many pools, saunas, meditation rooms, hot yoga. And god forbid, occupational therapy.
A retreat. An exclusive resort for the uber-famous to rest, recover, and restart their lives. An NDA paradise. Rehab?
It was Jisung’s turn to scoff.
“Therapy? I don’t need this. I don’t have an actual problem. I’m certainly not sick,” he spat, throwing the paper onto Chan’s desk and standing up far too quickly for his hungover head to catch up.
His mind swam. He took a deep breath so as not to throw up all over the white floors.
“You’re not, but you’re not far from it either. Using alcohol and sex to cope with the fact that you can’t write anymore is pretty serious too, don’t you think?” Chan explained, still without sparing Jisung a glance. His eyes focused on the computer screen in front of him.
“I am just having fun. When did that become illegal? It’s just partying,” Jisung said. A lie. Obviously. Both of them knew it.
Jisung was thirty-six years old, and his partying days were long gone. What he was doing was just sad.
Most of his friends had married, had kids, and some were even divorced, but they were moving on with their lives, building something to be proud of. Jisung had been proud of his career, but fame can only make you happy for so long. There was no one to share it with. Definitely not after his parents had both passed, not after Chan had found a great boyfriend, not after his ex-girlfriend left him the day after he bought her a ring. Quitting writing seemed so easy. Jisung had nothing to say anyway.
Chan sighed again, turning his computer screen for Jisung to see what he was looking at. He clicked through endless tabs of gossip articles. Han Jisung is at it again: this time on the streets, one of the articles said, a picture of Jisung throwing up on the sidewalk in front of a club. Another article stated, Fight club: Han Jisung gets kicked out of a high-scale club for fighting another young man. And another one, No new releases, but endless nights of partying: how Han Jisung spends his nights. That last one hurt him more than it should.
It was true, he had not released anything in two years.
He cared about his career. He cared about music. But it was as if the music no longer cared about him. Jisung stopped writing and did not know how to get back into it. Whenever Chan asked about any new lyrics, he brushed him off.
He was a singer with nothing to sing about.
Chan finally looked at him. “Do I need to show you more?”
Jisung gulped, shaking his head.
“You will go to this place, you will recover, you will write again, and when you come back, I will be here, and we will launch something great, ok?” Chan kept his eyes fixed on Jisung. His voice was honest and low. “You will launch something great, like I know you can.”
Jisung didn’t deserve him. The sincerity of it almost choked him. He cleared his throat, averting his eyes from Chan’s.
He wouldn’t go down without a fight. He could deflect. Again. He could do this one more time. He had it in him to try to divert Chan from his sadness a little bit longer.
“I am fine, hyung,” Jisung said, suddenly looking at the floor.
Chan’s silence was long.
“I miss you, you know?” Chan said. “I miss having you excited about being in the studio. I miss planning your new album releases. I miss–”
“So this is about album sales?” Jisung asked, voice harsh again.
Chan ignored him. “But most of all, I miss seeing you working towards a goal, grinding like there’s no tomorrow—inspired! And knowing it’ll be great in the end, but still doing your best. What happened, Jisung?” Chan’s question was valid. It was the same thing Jisung asked himself every morning.
“I don’t know,” Jisung answered honestly.
And he truly didn’t. Most days, he supposed it was some sort of grief, but it wasn’t that, and he knew it.
How did that hollowness consume him? He wasn’t sure.
How to move on? He wasn’t sure.
How to figure out what he was missing? No idea.
Could he ignore all that and pick up a pen and paper? No.
Chan stood up. He rounded the table and stopped in front of Jisung, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it, ok?”
Jisung bit the corner of his mouth. He nodded even though he knew he’d just send a text to Chan later in the day saying he didn’t need to go anywhere to heal. What an insane notion.
Even if he needed help, how could he admit this? To Chan of all people, who had trusted him for so long?
Except that, after Jisung left Chan’s office, got home again, and lay on his couch, that same hollow feeling started consuming him again.
Hollowness. Missing what he never had. Stuck.
He could look at his life and call himself lucky. Of course, he could. But all he had acquired or achieved throughout the years only made him realize one thing: dreams change.
Our dreams from yesterday, when achieved, morph into something else. You’re never satisfied. It was not because he had finally achieved that career in music, with fame and all that it came with, that he was completely happy. No. Never.
There were endless nights alone. Mornings waking up to empty hotel rooms. Days of solitude with no one to share his thoughts. There were only sad words in his head, and he wasn’t ready to put those on paper, let alone show the world what he felt.
But maybe it was the fact that he had no family left, that his friends had better things to do, that alcohol and sex didn’t fill the void. There was an emptiness in his heart that continued to grow no matter how many people listened to his music.
He asked himself, What is my purpose, really?
The truth is, Jisung saw very little advantage in being a well-known artist these days. His face was plastered in every gossip website and magazine; it did not matter if he did good or bad. He could have no relationships without worrying whether he was being deceived. He had more money than he could spend, and yet it couldn’t buy him freedom or happiness.
It was all very empty. An empty life that didn’t let him fill the empty pages.
So, when night fell, and Jisung forced himself to text Chan, he decided to take a shot. Because at the end of the day, he did care.
Maybe, just maybe, a change in pace could change things for him. Maybe being away from flashes and gossip columns, pretending to be unknown and ordinary for a while, would do him good, even if he couldn’t admit to himself that he needed help. If anything, getting away would mean some real rest. At its worst, he’d come back with a clear mind and less sex and alcohol dependency. At its best, this retreat would help him write again.
Jisung
11: 54 PM
Fine, I will go.
Chan
11:58 PM
Great. You’re doing the right thing!
Jisung
00:03 AM
With one condition: do not release anything about a new album. If I write while I’m there and want to release something new, it will be on my terms.
Chan
00:05
Noted.
I will send you the details soon
Jisung sent Chan a “Thanks,” and locked his phone. He could do this. Deep down, he knew he needed to at least try.
He could get away for a while, think about his life, what he wanted, what he wanted the future to look like. And maybe he’d find a purpose and a renewed passion for music.