Isaac POV
Thsssk—
The can of cola hissed softly as Isaac cracked it open, a faint mist of carbonation rising in the warm summer air.
He took a long sip and let the cold fizz sit on his tongue for a second before swallowing.
It was the summer of his junior year of college, and he was sitting on a bench just outside the sliding doors of a crowded clothing store, half in the shade, half in the soft evening sun.
The air was warm enough to cling to his skin, the kind of heat that made everything feel a little slower, a little lazier.
He leaned back against the bench, phone in one hand, cola in the other, a small, relaxed smile resting on his face as he typed.
The shopping district was busy: cars passing, footsteps tapping on the pavement, muffled conversations from people heading home or wandering between stores.
The glass storefront behind him reflected a faint image of his profile: soft green eyes, tied-back black hair, a simple T-shirt, name badge still clipped to the hem.
His thumb hovered over the screen as a new message popped up.
- [Aria: How's work going???? (｡◕‿‿◕｡)]
He snorted softly.
Her emoticons always felt like they had more energy than any human should reasonably possess.
- [Isaac: Same as always. The new kids are running around like crazy lolol.]
He took another sip as he waited for her reply, the cola already starting to go lukewarm.
- [Aria: Have fun! \(^o^)/ I'll come pick you up latr!]
He could almost hear her voice reading the message out loud, cheerful and bright, the way she always sounded when she tried to hype him up over something as mundane as a part-time job.
- [Isaac: Alr, what do you want for dinner?]
He glanced toward the road out front.
The sky was softening into early-evening colours, but there was still plenty of light left.
- [Aria: You decide!]
His lips tugged up a little further.
She always said that, "you decide."
It wasn't that she didn't have preferences.
If he picked something she hated, she would complain immediately, but there was something steadying about it, the way she left these small choices in his hands, trusting he would choose something good.
He let out a quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders easing.
"Isaac, we'll need you back in here in a minute."
The manager's voice cut across his thoughts from the doorway.
"Alright," he called back without turning around yet.
He glanced back down at his phone and typed one more message.
- [Isaac: I'll just decide when I'm home then, my breaks almost over so i'll ttyl <3]
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then left the little heart at the end.
It wasn't unusual between them.
It had never been.
Aria threw hearts and emoticons into almost every conversation, and somewhere along the way, he had started doing it back.
- [Aria: Bye-bye! <3333 (• ◡•)つ]
He exhaled quietly in amusement.
"…Idiot," he muttered fondly under his breath, smiling down at the screen.
Their back-and-forth had become second nature over the years.
Short, messy messages.
Too many exclamation marks from her side.
Dry replies from his that softened whenever she pushed harder.
Aria had a way of making him feel at ease, even on days when work was a mess and photographers made his patience thin.
Just seeing her name pop up on his screen usually took the edge off.
He tipped the can back and drained the last of the cola.
"Alright, that's that."
He stood up, tossed the empty can into the nearby bin with a practised flick, and brushed off the front of his shirt.
The faint sticky feeling of the summer air clung to him, but it wasn't unpleasant.
It just felt like… a normal day.
A normal break.
A normal shift.
A normal conversation with Aria.
He slid his phone into his pocket and headed back into the store, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh.
As he walked past the displays and racks of clothes, he took a mental note.
'I should thank her later for always checking in.'
Even if it was just a few texts, even if she treated it like nothing, it meant something to him.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
Honk-honk!
"Isaac! Over here!"
Aria leaned halfway out of the driver's side window, waving one arm energetically as if he might somehow miss her bright red compact car blaring its horn in the middle of the street.
He squinted against the late-afternoon sun, lifting a hand to shade his eyes as he scanned the road.
There she was, hair slightly messy from the wind, sunglasses pushed up onto her head, grinning like she hadn't just nearly climbed out of a moving vehicle.
"Yes, yes, I see you," he called, walking over.
He opened the passenger door and slid into the seat, the interior still warm from sitting under the sun.
The faint smell of fast-food fries and something floral, Aria's perfume, hung in the air.
"Did everything go well?" she asked, balancing a paper cup between her knees as she pulled the car away from the curb.
"One of the interns spilt coffee on a model," Isaac said, buckling his seatbelt.
He couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips.
"You should've seen his face. Thought he was about to ascend to the afterlife on the spot. But besides that, everything went fine."
"Mmm, okay!"
She nodded as if that were a perfectly normal workplace hazard.
"Here, I bought this for you on the way."
She pointed at the drink compartment between them, where a second cup sat, iced coffee this time, condensation beading along the plastic.
"Oh! Thanks, Aria."
He picked it up, the chill biting pleasantly at his fingers.
"You didn't have to."
"You're welcome," she said proudly. "You can repay the favour by making some good food. I'm starving."
"Of course you are…" he muttered, amused. "I'll try my best."
He shook his head, a slight grin curling his lips as he took a sip.
The coffee was a little too sweet, exactly how she liked it.
Clearly she had ordered it the way she would drink it and then handed it to him without even thinking.
He didn't mind.
The drive back was warm and lazy.
The streets were busy but unhurried, people in summer T-shirts and shorts wandering with shopping bags in hand, couples sharing drinks, kids dragging their parents toward ice cream stands.
Trees lining the sidewalks rustled softly in the breeze, their leaves glowing faintly in the evening light.
Isaac watched it all pass by through the window, his body relaxing by degrees.
"That one's new," Aria said suddenly, nodding toward a café they were passing. "We should go sometime. Their drinks look really cute."
"Cute drinks aren't usually a selling point, you know," Isaac replied.
"For you," she shot back. "For me, they are. You can drink the boring stuff."
"Wow. Thank you for your generosity."
She snorted.
"Don't mention it."
The small, easy banter settled between them like a familiar routine, as natural as breathing.
He didn't have to think about what to say around her; the words just came.
He took another sip of his coffee and let his shoulders drop fully against the seat.
After a day of customers, bright lights, and constant movement, this, sitting in Aria's car with her rambling about cafés and cute drinks while the city slid by, felt strangely soothing.
The kind of ordinary moment that never seemed important while it was happening.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
Once they arrived at their apartment, Aria parked in their usual spot, a little too close to the painted line, as always.
Isaac unbuckled and stretched his arms above his head, joints popping lightly.
"I'm dead," Aria groaned as she slumped forward against the steering wheel for a second.
The horn let out a weak honk, and she jolted before laughing at herself.
"Okay, maybe not that dead."
"Don't kill the neighbours," Isaac said, stepping out of the car.
He grabbed his bag and jacket from the back seat.
By the time he made it to the front door of their building, Aria had caught up, bouncing the keys in her hand.
Inside the apartment, he dropped his bag and jacket onto the sofa with a dull thud.
"Let's see…" he muttered, wandering toward the kitchen as he rolled his shoulders. "What are we working with today…"
Aria hummed quietly as she picked up his abandoned things.
She carried the jacket and bag into his room without comment, used to the routine by now, then hopped back out and made a beeline for the kitchen.
By the time she arrived, Isaac had already opened the fridge, one arm braced against the door, peering inside as if the ingredients might rearrange themselves into something inspiring if he stared long enough.
She jumped up onto the counter next to him, legs swinging lightly back and forth as she settled in.
"What are the options, Chef?" she asked.
"Hmm…" Isaac squinted, closed the fridge, and turned to the cupboard. "Meatballs, bolognese, or mac and cheese. We need to get through some of this pasta you bought."
He pulled out one of several bags of pasta, holding it up as evidence.
Aria looked away, whistling loudly in an exaggerated attempt at innocence.
"I want meatballs!" she declared, as if she hadn't heard him at all.
"Yes, sir," he replied, giving her a mock salute.
He tied his hair back, fingers moving through the familiar motions, then rolled up his sleeves.
"I'll take it that you wanna watch?"
"Yep!"
"Just be careful. If you fall off that counter, I'm not carrying you to the hospital."
"You totally would," she said, grinning.
Isaac sighed and grabbed the apron from the hanger behind the door, throwing it over his head and tying it roughly at the back.
"That apron really suits you," Aria said, clearly delighted.
He glanced down.
Bright pink.
Frills around the edges.
A stupid cartoon rabbit smiling smugly from the front.
The apron Aria had given him for his birthday.
She had laughed so hard when he first opened it that she nearly cried.
"Yeah, thanks for the amazing gift," he replied, voice dry.
But he couldn't quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips.
He reached for the chopping board and knife, pulling ingredients from the fridge: minced meat, onions, garlic, and a few stray vegetables he wanted to use up before they went bad.
Aria propped her elbows on her knees, watching him like he was performing some sort of show.
She didn't talk for a moment, just observed.
Her gaze followed every movement: how he sliced the onion, how he shaped the meatballs, how he reached for the seasoning without needing to read the labels.
There was something quietly trusting in the way she watched him cook.
Like she believed he would make something good, no matter what combination of ingredients he picked.
And maybe she did.
She had always trusted him to handle things.
Chores, cooking, schedules.
The practical stuff.
"Hey, Isaac," she said suddenly, tilting her head. "What are your plans for after you graduate?"
He paused mid-motion, knife resting against the board for a brief moment.
"Never really thought about it," he admitted. "Maybe go full-time with modelling? I'm not sure."
He said it casually, but a part of him tensed at the admission.
He didn't have some grand plan waiting for him after college.
He just had things he was doing now that might, possibly, turn into something.
"Fair enough," Aria replied, not pushing.
She swung her legs a bit more, heels hitting the cupboard rhythmically.
"What about you?" he asked, glancing over.
She puffed out her cheeks.
"I haven't really thought about it, to be honest. I could just become a stay-at-home wife."
She said it like a joke, light and careless.
Isaac snorted.
"Stay-at-home wife for who? You can hardly even clean on your own."
"Hey!" she protested, pouting. "I can learn, you know."
"Yeah, of course you can. I'll believe it when you don't beg me to cook every day."
She clicked her tongue but smiled.
Talking like this, easy and familiar, tugged a distant memory to the surface.
The first time she had brought it up.
– Hey, Isaac, can you cook…?
– Somewhat.
– Can you do chores…?
– Yep.
She had approached him carefully at the time, sounding casual but with a forced brightness he had only learned to recognise later.
She had known some of his circumstances.
Not the details, but enough.
And then she had said it.
– …Do you want to live together?
He remembered almost choking on his drink, coughing halfway to death as he stared at her in disbelief.
– I'll cover the rent if you do the chores, so please move in with me!
He had thought she was joking; she wasn't.
After she explained properly, her situation with money, his situation at home, how it would help them both, it had made a strange kind of sense.
She didn't offer him pity.
She offered him a deal.
And somewhere along the way, that deal had turned into something else, a shared space, shared routines, shared life.
In some way, she had saved him.
And all she asked for in return was that he do what he was already good at, chores, cooking, the quiet, ordinary things.
He couldn't imagine a better friend than Aria.
"Well, it's done," he said a while later, breaking the quiet clatter of utensils and the faint simmering of sauce.
The smell of cooked meat, tomatoes, and herbs filled the apartment, warm and inviting.
"Shall we eat?"
He turned toward her with a warm smile.
"Mhm!" she replied, eyes lighting up as she hopped down from the counter.
She grabbed cutlery from the drawer without waiting to be asked, setting them on the table as he brought the food over.
It was such a simple moment, dinner after work in a small, slightly messy apartment.
Aria humming under her breath as she set out cutlery, Isaac adjusting the seasoning with one last taste.
Ordinary.
Safe.
Later, he would replay this evening more times than he could count.
The warmth of the kitchen.
The sound of her laugh.
The weight of that pink apron around his neck.
All the small, everyday details that didn't feel like anything special…
Until he no longer had them.
————「❤︎」————