Valentino fit him like a glove.

Dressed head-to-toe in a three piece suit only a man of his stature and status could effectively pull off, much less afford. Holden knew what it took to look good and his hour in the bathroom that morning at precisely 5:30 A.M. was an hour well spent. Hair swept back into the breeze, smelling of a scent not many could describe, but only ascribe to him—an almost sweet, yet fervent sent that assaulted the nose with as much gusto as he could muster up in a day. People liked it, as from the obvious stares up and around his office, small by design only because he was interning, but still fit for a king. The suit and vest clung to him like his own skin, perfectly tailored most likely somewhere in the expansive tourist hotspot of Italy and paraded off on the runways of Milan. It wasn't flashy, just eye-catching in the way it fit him: quite naturally, like a second skin. The polka dot tie that he always favored was tucked in place beneath the dark blue vest, front end tails popping just slightly over the silk trousers. The coat lay behind him, hanging loosely from the office chair he sat on.

Distress was clearly knitted across his visage. It was nearing the end of the day, all of his finished paperwork piled high in one stack, neatly placed in a container labeled, 'Finished.' A few people, namely the doctors and researchers he worked under, had dropped by to visit, make sure he wasn't slacking off; they never found him, in this setting, anything but diligent. Now, however, with everything finished, he sat wringing his hands through his hair, with his phone cupped against his ear. His mother, Vivian, decided today was a great day to check up on her youngest son, explaining something about a wedding. His wedding? No, he wasn't in any relationship.

Her wedding.

"Mother, I don't think I have time to talk about this," Holden said as his one hand fell to knead at his thigh. She continued, having not heard a word he said. There was no stopping that woman once she began, regardless of where she was—at that moment, around various friends, probably poolside with martinis high in their hands. There was no cause for celebration and she didn't make it out to seem that way either.

Standing from his perch, Holden tugged at his coat and flung it over his arm. Letting his eyes fall for a second, as his mother crowed on, he let out an irritated sigh. Vivian wouldn't let up. Seemingly lost in their conversation, though, Holden made his way out, completely ignoring anything out of the environment his mother subconsciously trapped him in. They had that much control, even over the phone; precisely the reason he never attempted to contact them. It was evident in his lost gaze and the rigid way he held himself, adhering to his mother's every beck and call and hating every bit of it. His coworkers took the hint, misunderstanding the call for something urgent. His mother's flings were anything but urgent.

The Audi parked along the curb, sitting posh and polished, was indeed his, alongside various types of cars that, no doubt, spilled unwanted secrets of wealth into the public space they were kept. He flung the door open and slid in, not saying a word as he listened to Vivian's ramblings, now on the topic of his love life. It was, more or less, something he didn't like discussing with anyone in his family, mother, father, fucking cousin, for that matter. But, she was relentless. Holden only stopped what he was doing when the line went silent.

"Well? Are you finding anyone in Miami?" Vivian's voiced crackled to life from the speaker as she repeated her question.

Another sigh.

The engine roared to life, periodically drowning out any further prodding from his mother. Holden effectively made a trailblazer out of his car, revving the entire vehicle to life as it took off without a moment's notice. The hum died down as it stabilized, once again opening the way for more incessant question and interrogation from a very needy and high-maintenance woman. He still hadn't answered the question and was more than tempted to hang up. She would call back until he answered.

"Not yet," he breathed, swallowing hard.

"Well, I hear Roslin's son, Charles, was single..." there she went again, bringing up some guy from who knows where, attached to who knows what esteemed family name, and with who knows how much money. He could have killed himself and he would have gladly done it if it weren't a simple phone call. Who was he kidding? Any call his parents made were anything but simple and both would have likely scoffed at the garish moniker. Already in a daze, Holden slipped the car into his usual parking spot, right behind Jason's, and stepped out to be greeted by one familiar face and another, newer one. He actually didn't pay any attention, still held to the tiny device in his hands. She was back onto her wedding, supposedly planning it with him there, on the other side of the country.

If Holden had any say as to how he looked, it'd be a hot mess, but that didn't stop the obvious stares from the random passerby. His hair simply looked slightly more tousled and he strode with less of a purpose and more of a lull. His eyes, however, were prey to his emotions and, more often than not, showed exactly how vulnerable he could get, this moment being no different. He made a cursory glance to the side, eyeing the newcomer with no real motivation, but landing on Jason with a silent plea for help. Of course, he would have never taken any help from either of the men, but he stopped in front of the door, staring blankly at the Spanish male beside him.

Her words stung. They bore into him like a thousand tiny little pinpricks.

"When are you going to stop your games, Holden," she had said all to clearly, "and be more responsible. Running off like this wasn't how we raised you. You're going no where in life..." Her words trailed off into static.

After what seemed like an hour, Holden shook his head and entered the building. "I don't need this," he mumbled into his phone, "Is this why you called? To goad me into another argument over something I've taken a clear stand on? That's not happening; I hope you and whatshisface have a wonderful three years together. Don't forget to sign your actual last name on the prenup, this time, the one with all the damn hyphens. And tell dad what you always do."

He hung up, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he moved into the actual apartment, hands dragging across his face in utter defeat. Phone calls to parents always ended like that. All he needed was a nice glass of whatever Jason had stashed in the kitchen, beer, wine, whiskey, whatever he could find in the cabinets. It was still a little early to be drinking, but it wasn't like he intended to later drop dead on the couch, shit-faced and whining about his family issues. No one needed to hear Holden complain and no one usually staid long enough for his high pitch whine to fully reel them into a situation they would always regret.

Two shot glasses filled with hard liquor downed in a second flat. Holden leaned himself against the counter, waiting quietly for the rest of his makeshift family to shuffle into the house. He'd left the door open and somehow thrown his coat into the corner, which would nag at the back of his mind until he took care of it. The nagging, however, was slightly dulled by the alcohol he had just downed and the burn it left in the back of his throat.

Miami seemed like the best possible outcome and, despite the forlorn gaze into the nearest window, actually made him quite content. Aside from the nasty phone calls.