So, here we are—Cyrus, our lovable disaster of a human, stuck in a psych ward with no boyfriend in sight. And let me tell you, those first few days? They were absolute hell—and not the cute kind of hell where you get a funky T-shirt and maybe some souvenir keychains. No, this was the "I miss my boyfriend so much I could probably cry my eyeballs out" kind of hell. Picture it: long, lonely nights in a room that smelled like hospital-grade bleach and sadness, with nothing to hold him but his own swirling emotions. And every single night? Screaming, crying, sobbing like someone had stolen his blanket, all while he begged—begged—to go home. Because, let's face it, being away from his boyfriend was like being a dog without a bone, a plant without water—just an emotional mess of needs and tears.

Did anyone care? Uh, nope. Instead, they'd come in, like, five times a night with this awful contraption—the straightjacket of doom, or whatever they called it—wrapping him up like a human burrito, but not the delicious kind. More like a saran wrap of despair that constricted around him tighter than a hug from a cranky aunt. Why? Because they thought he'd hurt himself. Or someone else. Spoiler alert: it wasn't that dramatic, but the mental health professionals didn't seem to agree. And don't even get him started on the meds. Ugh. Those things tasted like someone had scraped the bottom of a dumpster, mixed it with regret, and called it "treatment." Oh, and guess who learned how to fake-swallow pills like a pro? Yup. Our boy Cyrus. If he was going to be miserable, it wasn't going to be on someone else's terms.

But today? Ohhh, today was different. Today was THE DAY. The gates of freedom were opening, like the final scene of a superhero movie, and Cyrus was ready to fly right into the arms of his boyfriend, his glorious knight in shining armor (or, you know, just a regular dude who was probably wondering why the hell his boyfriend was this dramatic). As soon as he saw his boyfriend standing by the door, his eyes—his big, crazy eyes—lit up like a Christmas tree, all sparkly and borderline manic. He didn't even wait for permission. The guards barely had time to tighten their grip on him before he slipped away faster than a greased pig and slammed himself into the door.

"MY LOVEEEEEEE! AAAAAHHH!!" he screamed, as if the world was about to end and his one true love was the only thing keeping him from it. Without missing a beat, he flung himself at his boyfriend, burying his head in his shoulder like a clingy puppy who had just been reunited with their favorite human. He was shaking with joy, literally vibrating with happiness.

"CARRY ME, CARRY ME!" he begged, bouncing on his toes like he was about to pop out of his skin. The desperation in his eyes? Unmatched. The adorable level of insanity? Peak Cyrus. He just had to be carried—because, obviously, after spending what felt like an eternity in the psych ward, the only thing that could possibly make him feel normal again was being literally held by the one person who could keep him from literally losing his mind.