When they got home that night, Isaac kept his word.
The moment the front door closed behind them, the noise of the world cut off.
The apartment fell into a heavy quiet, the kind that made every small sound feel too loud.
Isaac toed off his shoes and glanced back at Aria.
She moved slowly, as if she were wading through water.
Her shoulders were hunched, her gaze fixed somewhere around the floor instead of on him.
She didn't complain about being tired.
She didn't joke about wanting to collapse on the sofa.
She just slipped past him and sat down at the table without a word.
"I'll get started," he said, more to fill the air than anything else.
He headed into the kitchen, hanging the familiar pink apron around his neck.
Normally, Aria would make some teasing comment about it, laughing at how ridiculous he looked, but today she only watched from a distance, elbows resting on the table, her chin in her hands.
She didn't say anything.
Her eyes were dull.
He opened the fridge and stared inside for a moment, letting the cool air wash over his face before he started pulling out ingredients.
Minced meat.
Tomatoes.
Garlic.
The usual things he reached for when he wanted to make her favourite.
The chopping sounds rang through the apartment.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The knife met the cutting board in a steady rhythm.
On another day, he might have hummed under his breath, or made a dumb comment about the state of their fridge, or complained about how many dishes he was going to have to wash afterwards.
Today, he just worked.
He could feel Aria's gaze on his back, faint and wavering, as if she were watching from very far away.
He tried to talk about simple things.
"The supermarket near the station changed its layout," he said as he stirred the sauce. "I almost walked into the cleaning aisle instead of the frozen section. Nearly died surrounded by bleach and mops."
No answer.
He waited a beat, then tried again.
"Your favourite barista wasn't there today. You know, the one who draws weird animals in your coffee foam? Some new guy instead. He gave me a lopsided heart. It looked like a potato."
A small exhale came from the table.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite nothing.
He kept going.
"The neighbour from downstairs was yelling at his cat again when I took the trash out this morning. I'm pretty sure the cat listens to me more than him."
If he stopped talking, the silence felt like it might swallow them both whole.
He plated the food carefully, taking a little more time than usual to make it look neat.
Sprinkled a bit of cheese.
Wiped the edge of the plate with a thumb so nothing looked messy.
It was pointless, he knew.
Presentation wasn't going to fix anything.
But it was something he could control.
When he finally set the plates down at the table, the smell of warm sauce and herbs filled the apartment.
Aria's eyes flicked to the food, then to him.
"…Thanks," she said.
Her voice was faint, thin in a way he wasn't used to.
It sounded like it might crack if she tried to raise it even a little.
He sat down opposite her.
"No problem," he replied quietly.
She picked up her fork, her fingers curling tightly around the handle.
The knuckles stood out sharply, pale against her skin.
She stabbed at a meatball halfheartedly, cutting it into smaller pieces without really looking at it.
Isaac watched her from across the table.
Every small movement felt wrong.
She flinched at tiny noises, the clink of his fork against the plate, the creak of the chair when he shifted his weight.
Each time, her shoulders jumped, then she forced herself still again, like she was trying to hide it.
Her eyes rarely met his.
Whenever his gaze caught hers, she looked away quickly, staring instead at the food, the wall, the edge of the table.
Anywhere but directly at him.
She wasn't okay.
She was just pretending.
He knew it.
She knew he knew.
He tried to keep the conversation light, but even his own words sounded hollow to his ears after a while.
It felt like throwing paper at a stone wall and hoping it would move.
"So," he started, "if we skip classes for a while, you'll owe me extra chores when you're back to normal."
She let out something that might have been a snort, but it faded almost immediately.
"As if you'd let me touch the kitchen," she muttered.
"True," he said, managing a small smile. "You'd probably burn water if I left you alone long enough."
"Mm."
It was the closest she got to a reaction.
They ate in that fragile, uneven silence, the sound of cutlery the only thing keeping the evening from collapsing into complete stillness.
By the time they finished eating, Aria's plate was half-empty.
Her appetite, usually boundless, had clearly gone somewhere else.
"I'll… wash these later," Isaac said, stacking the plates. "You should rest."
"Yeah," she murmured.
She stood up from her chair slowly, as if every joint ached, and turned toward the hallway.
Isaac watched her walk away.
Each step was small and unsteady, her shoulders hunched in on themselves as if she were trying to make her body take up less space.
She didn't look back at him, didn't make a joke, didn't throw a teasing comment over her shoulder.
Just walked.
The hallway in their apartment wasn't long; only a few steps separated the main room from the bedroom doors.
Still, those few steps felt like a wide gulf.
He followed her with his eyes until she reached her room.
The door closed quietly.
Click.
The sound of the lock sliding into place echoed much louder than it should have.
Isaac stared at the closed door for a long moment, plates still in his hands, the weight of the ceramic suddenly heavier than it had ever felt before.
That night, he washed the dishes alone.
He wiped the counters, turned off the lights, and stood in the darkened kitchen listening to the faintest sounds from the hallway.
Nothing.
Just his own breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator.
He went to his room eventually, but sleep didn't come easily.
Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was her expression in front of the blackboard, the way her knees gave way, the way she had whispered, "I didn't do it…"
By the time morning came, his eyes ached from lack of rest, but he got up anyway.
Made breakfast.
Knocked on her door.
Waited.
That became the rhythm of the days that followed.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
Aria began locking herself away for progressively longer stretches of time.
At first, it was an hour here, two hours there.
She would disappear into her room after breakfast or after a phone notification made her flinch, only to emerge later with red eyes and a forced smile, insisting she was fine.
Then the gaps grew.
A half-day.
An entire day where he didn't see her at all, only the faint clink of dishes placed outside her door or the soft shuffle of her feet when she crept to the bathroom.
By the end of the week, Isaac realised he hadn't seen her in person for almost two full days.
He stood in the hallway, staring at her closed door like it might open on its own if he waited long enough.
Knock. Knock.
"Aria," he called, keeping his voice calm. "I made breakfast. I'll leave it outside, okay?"
No answer.
"Toast, eggs, that yoghurt you like," he added, for no reason other than to keep talking. "I didn't burn anything."
Nothing.
He listened for the creak of the mattress, the rustle of fabric, any sound at all that would tell him she was moving on the other side.
Silence pressed back at him.
He sighed quietly and set the plate down on the floor in front of her door.
"I'll… be at work for a few hours. If you don't eat it, I'll be offended."
He tried to make it sound like a joke.
It came out more tired than he meant it to.
Each hour she stayed hidden, Isaac's chest grew tighter.
He cleaned the apartment the way he always did, laundry, dishes, the corners of the kitchen that no one ever noticed.
He messaged her between tasks.
- [Isaac: I'm heading out. Do you need anything?]
- [Isaac: I'll bring snacks on the way back.]
- [Isaac: Don't make me eat all the food by myself, that'd be tragic.]
Sometimes the messages showed as read.
Sometimes they didn't.
Either way, replies were rare.
When she did answer, it was with short, clipped lines.
- [Aria: I'm fine.]
- [Aria: Don't worry.]
- [Aria: Just tired.]
He didn't believe any of it, but he didn't push through the crack of a door she clearly wasn't ready to open.
On the fifth day, he came home late.
The sky outside was already dark, the hallway lights in their building buzzing faintly.
He shut the front door with a soft click, slid his bag down his shoulder, and was about to head toward the kitchen when he heard it.
"Isaac…"
Her voice.
Barely there, barely above a breath, floating down the short hallway.
Isaac straightened, his heart lurching into his throat.
"Aria?" he called back.
She stepped out from the shadowed hallway slowly, like someone approaching from another world.
When she stepped closer into the light from the living room, his chest tightened.
She looked… unlike herself.
Her cheeks were hollow, the usual softness gone, leaving sharper lines under her eyes and along her jaw.
Dark smudges bruised the skin beneath her eyes, the telltale markers of too many sleepless nights.
Her hair was pulled into a haphazard knot, strands sticking out at odd angles, like she had shoved it up without caring how it looked.
But her eyes were the worst.
Red, swollen, rimmed with raw irritation from crying too much and sleeping too little.
Her gaze flickered up to meet his, then skittered away, too ashamed to hold for long.
"I didn't do it," she whispered.
Her shoulders trembled, just barely, as she stood there in the doorway.
"I really didn't…"
The words cracked halfway through, her voice breaking on the last syllable.
He crossed the distance between them before he even realised he had moved.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her in close against his chest.
Her body felt smaller than he remembered, lighter than it should have been.
"I know," he said quietly, the words steady. "I know. Don't worry."
Her hands, which had been hanging limp at her sides, grasped at his shirt suddenly, bunching the fabric in tight, shaking fists.
Her forehead pressed into his chest, and a fresh wave of tears soaked through the cotton.
Her voice came out in broken fragments between sobs.
"What should I do…?" she choked out. "What am I supposed to do…?"
Isaac swallowed.
His throat felt dry.
He wanted to tell her it would be fine, that they would fix it, that the truth always came out in the end, but the words jammed somewhere between his chest and mouth.
He didn't know if he believed them himself.
"I'm not sure…" he admitted, forcing himself not to lie. "But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Her grip tightened.
She nodded faintly against him, a small, shaky movement, as if those words were the one thing she had been waiting for.
He didn't know how long they stood like that.
Just that, for the first time in days, she wasn't behind a door.
Just that, for the first time in days, he could feel her breathing against him instead of listening for it through walls.
The quiet was broken by a sudden buzz.
Vrrrrrr… Vrrrrrr… Vrrrrrr…
The sound cut through their moment like a blade.
Aria stiffened in his arms instantly, her body going rigid.
The vibration continued in short bursts, muffled by fabric.
"..."
Isaac felt it too, the source of the sound, pressed between them.
"Is that your phone?" he asked gently.
She didn't answer.
Her fingers dug into his shirt like she was trying to anchor herself to him, but her eyes were wide with fresh panic.
"Do you want me to answer?" he asked softly.
There was a long pause.
Then, finally, a tiny nod.
"…Please."
He loosened his hold just enough to reach into the pocket of her hoodie.
His fingers brushed against the edge of her phone and pulled it free.
He glanced at the screen.
[ Dad <3 ]
[ Accept ] [ Deny ]
His hand stilled.
Of course.
He felt her watching him, her breath shallow, eyes locked on the phone like it was something poisonous.
He hesitated.
If he denied the call, it wouldn't make the problem disappear.
If he answered, he had no idea what he was about to walk into.
After a few seconds, he tapped [Accept] and raised the phone to his ear.
"Hello, sir," he said.
His voice was level, polite, and defaulting to the respectful tone he always used with adults like this.
[Isaac? Where's my daughter?]
The voice on the other end was sharp and clipped, the kind of tone that had no patience for pleasantries.
Isaac straightened unconsciously, even though the man wasn't in the room.
"She's with me, don't worry," he replied.
Aria's fingers twisted in his shirt again at the mention of her.
[Put her on.]
The order came fast.
Isaac glanced down.
Aria shook her head violently, eyes going wide in fear.
The motion was frantic enough that loose strands of hair fell out of her messy knot, framing her face.
She mouthed a single word.
"No."
His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles whitening.
He looked away from her, focusing on the blank patch of wall ahead of him so he wouldn't let the fear in her eyes bleed into his voice.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," he said quietly. "Aria isn't feeling well at the moment. I'll tell her to call you later."
Silence.
It stretched across the line like static.
Then a sharp sigh crackled through.
[...If she doesn't call by tonight, I'm coming over myself.]
The words weren't shouted, but they carried the weight of absolute certainty.
A promise.
A threat.
"Understood. Have a good day."
The words felt thin and pointless, but they slipped out anyway, habit wrapping around reflex.
Click.
The line went dead.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen for a moment, seeing the call duration flash faintly before it vanished.
Then he slipped the phone back into her pocket carefully, his fingers brushing her hand.
She stared up at him, eyes wide and glassy, filled with fresh fear.
"What do I do…?" she whispered.
Her voice sounded smaller than ever, as if whatever strength she had gathered to step out of her room had been stripped away in an instant.
He didn't have a real answer.
He couldn't promise her that her father would listen.
The man barely listened to him and he was standing here, trying to speak as calmly and rationally as possible.
So he did the only thing he had been able to do since this started.
He hugged her tighter.
"We'll call him together. I'll be there, okay?"
She swallowed.
Her fingers tightened around his shirt again, holding on as if she were afraid he might slip away if she let go.
"Okay…" she whispered.
It wasn't a confident answer.
It wasn't even a hopeful one.
It was an agreement born out of the simple fact that she trusted him more than she trusted anyone else.
He knew that.
And the weight of that trust pressed against his ribs like something he could feel physically.
He held her for a little longer, feeling the tremors in her shoulders slowly start to ease again.
————「❤︎」————