At some point, the apartment stopped feeling like a home.
Isaac still moved through the same rooms, opened the same cupboards, stepped over the same shoes they always left in the hallway, but it all felt… hollow.
He drifted from kitchen to living room to hallway like a ghost, touching nothing he didn't absolutely need to, speaking to no one.
The TV stayed off.
The computer stayed off.
Even his phone was facedown more often than not, screen dark.
Days blurred into nights, nights blurred into days.
Light came in through the curtains, then vanished, then came back again, but it all felt like the same dim shade of grey.
He would catch himself standing in the middle of the living room with no idea how long he had been there.
Every meal he made for her was left untouched.
Sometimes the food disappeared hours later, and he told himself that meant she had eaten.
Sometimes it was still there when he came back from work, cold and congealed on the plate, and he scraped it into the bin with a tight jaw.
Every knock at her door went unanswered.
Knock. Knock.
"Aria, I left food here," he would say. "Just… open the door if you want to talk."
Silence.
He would stand there with his hand still hovering in the air, waiting for footsteps, the sound of the handle turning, anything.
Eventually, he would drop his arm and walk away, swallowing the disappointment until it sat like a stone in his stomach.
And every muffled sob that leaked through the walls, those quiet, strangled sounds she probably thought he couldn't hear, each one was a needle in his chest.
He lay awake most nights, staring up at the ceiling, listening.
Sometimes he heard nothing and stayed awake anyway, terrified that the silence meant something worse than crying ever could.
He had tried to help her.
He had tried to protect her.
He had tried to keep her safe.
But the more time passed, the more he realised that maybe that had been impossible from the start.
That all his efforts had just been small patches on something that was already falling apart.
The stalker's words haunted him.
— I did it all for you… we can be happy now… you'll finally see me.
He remembered the twisted smile on her face, the way her eyes shone when she admitted it, as if confessing to the crime that ruined Aria's life was some kind of love letter.
He remembered the blood on her face.
The dirt on her clothes.
The way she grabbed his leg and giggled like she was proud of herself.
Every detail he recalled made his stomach twist and bile rise in his throat.
He had defended Aria, yes.
He had punched that girl.
But he had also failed to act when it mattered.
He hadn't gone to the administration and forced them to listen.
He hadn't taken the photos apart in front of a crowd and pointed out every flaw.
He hadn't called her parents before they saw the rumours and heard the whispers from someone else.
He had hit the stalker in a moment of rage, and then he had walked away.
He had left without clearing a single accusation, without changing how everyone saw Aria, without even securing proof that the girl had said it was her.
'If I'd said something sooner…'
His fingers dug into his hair as the thought circled back again.
'If I'd listened to myself back then… If I'd taken that first encounter seriously…'
Each regret cut into him like a knife.
Everything felt like his fault.
He had been her safe place, her lifeline, the one person she could collapse in front of without being judged.
And now?
Now, he was nothing but the reason for her pain.
Bzzt–!
A notification came from his phone.
The sound made his shoulders flinch.
Isaac stared at the device lying face-down on the table, the faint vibration buzzing against the wood like an accusation.
For days, he had been avoiding it, ignoring messages that piled up in the background: classmates asking where he was, group chats filled with rumours pretending to be concern.
But this time, his chest sank.
He knew, before he even picked it up, that it wouldn't be anything good.
He reached for the phone with stiff fingers, turning it over.
It was a message from the college group chat.
The preview alone made his skin crawl: Aria's name tagged, multiple images attached.
He opened his phone cautiously, thumb moving slower than usual.
The chat window filled with new content.
Photos.
A short, grainy video.
All of them tagged with Aria's name.
The intent was obvious.
They weren't even pretending to be subtle anymore.
He tapped the video.
Blurry footage appeared on the screen; the frame shakily focused on someone who resembled Aria, sitting on someone's lap, arms around their neck, kissing.
The angle was wrong.
The lighting was poor.
The quality was terrible.
It had obviously been recorded secretly, from a distance, from angles that hid the person filming.
But it didn't matter.
For strangers, for people looking for confirmation, it was enough.
Enough to connect it to the photos.
Enough to say, "See? We were right all along."
"Fuck!"
The word tore itself from his throat, louder than anything he had said in days.
A scream echoed throughout the apartment.
— Ahhhhh—!
Her voice.
Not the video.
Not a memory.
A real scream, raw and broken, tearing through the wall from the direction of her room.
Her voice was shredded, high and hoarse and filled with terror.
Isaac's heart seized.
He dropped the phone onto the table and sprinted down the hallway.
"Aria!" he shouted, banging his shoulder against the wall as he turned the corner too fast.
He reached her door and knocked hard.
Knock. Knock.
"Aria? Please… talk to me. I'm here."
Her voice came back to him, muffled by the wood.
— I'm sorry…
The words were barely understandable through her sobbing.
— It wasn't me… I'm sorry… I didn't do it…
She repeated it like a chant, as if saying it enough times would shift reality to match.
"I'm here for you, okay?" Isaac pressed his forehead lightly against the door. "I'm on your side. I believe you."
His own voice shook.
On the other side, her sobs only grew worse.
Each broken sound made his chest tighten so hard it hurt to breathe.
He lifted his hand and knocked again, more gently this time, then louder when there was no response beyond the crying.
"Aria… please…"
He didn't know what he wanted her to do.
Open the door.
Throw something at him.
Scream at him.
Anything would have been better than listening to her fall apart alone.
Through the door, another sound filtered out.
Vrrrrrr… Vrrrrrr…
Her phone.
It vibrated again and again, the noise somehow even louder against the quiet of their hallway.
— Noooo!!!!
Her cry was strangled, full of panic.
He heard the frantic rustling of sheets, the thump of something knocking against furniture, as if she were trying desperately to get away from the sound.
Vrrrr…
— I can't do it!
Her words were torn from her throat.
— Why me? Why…? What did I do?
He pressed his hand flat against the door, as if he could somehow reach through it.
He wanted to help her.
He was desperate to fix everything, to make the noise stop, to make the messages stop, to make all of this disappear.
But how?
He had no idea what to do.
He was just a student with a part-time job and a ruined roommate, standing powerless in a hallway.
Vrrrr… Vrrr…
This time, the vibrating came from his own pocket.
He stepped back, glancing down at the screen.
An unfamiliar number.
He frowned, jaw tightening, then quietly backed away from her door.
He took a few steps down the hallway, into his room, closing his door halfway so she wouldn't hear too much, and answered.
"Hello?" he said.
[Hello…?]
It wasn't the deep voice he expected.
It was a woman's voice.
Soft, but frayed at the edges.
[It's Aria's mother…] she said slowly. [I heard from my husband that you were living with Aria…]
Isaac closed his eyes briefly.
"Yes, I am," he replied.
His grip on the phone tightened.
He leaned back against his bedroom wall, sliding down until he was half-sitting, half-slumped.
[Would it be possible for you to put my daughter on the phone, please…? She won't answer me.]
Isaac looked toward the half-open door, toward the hallway beyond it, where her sobs had just been echoing.
His chest twisted.
"I'm sorry, but that seems unlikely…"
There was a pause on the other end.
He could hear her mother breathing, the faint waver in each breath.
[Then could I ask you to pass a message on to her?] she asked at last.
"...I'll try my best," he answered.
He already suspected he was going to fail, but he couldn't tell her that.
[Her father is coming over,] Aria's mother said quietly. [She'll be coming home with us.]
The words landed like a weight.
[We'll cover this month's rent, so please be prepared to move out next month.]
Her voice trembled slightly.
[I'm sorry, Isaac.]
He stared at the far wall, eyes unfocused.
"...Right," he said.
It was the only answer he could force out.
[Thank you.]
Click.
The call ended, and the line went dead.
He lowered the phone, his arm feeling like it weighed a ton.
'For fuck's sake…'
The thought slipped through his mind, raw and bitter.
He let himself slide the rest of the way down the wall, collapsing onto the floor.
His hands came up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as if he could claw the guilt out from underneath his skin.
Every choice he had made.
Every time he had hesitated.
Every second in which he had thought, "I'll deal with it later."
All of it had led here.
To Aria being dragged home.
To him being told to prepare to move out.
To the girl who had saved him being punished while the one who had hurt her wandered free.
He stayed there for a while, breathing raggedly, listening to the muffled sounds from the hallway.
Eventually, he pushed himself back to his feet.
His legs felt unsteady as he walked out of his room and back toward her door.
Knock. Knock.
"Aria…" he said, resting his knuckles against the wood. "I just got off the phone with your mother…"
There was a faint clatter inside.
Clatter!
Something metal hit the floor, maybe her phone, maybe a cup, he couldn't tell.
The sound made him flinch.
"She told me to tell you that your father is coming over…" he continued, his voice barely holding steady. "And that he's taking you home…"
— Noooooo!!!!
Her scream was raw.
It tore through the door, through him, through the entire apartment.
He sank to the floor on his side of the door, knees pulled up to his chest.
"...I found out who did all of this," he whispered.
His forehead rested against his knees, his voice shaking.
"It was the girl… the stalker."
He swallowed, throat tight enough to hurt.
"I'm so sorry. It's my fault…"
Silence settled heavy around them.
For a long time, there was no sound at all.
No sobbing.
No movement.
Just the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the sound of his own breathing.
Then, finally, her voice came, faint and cracked.
— It's… your fault…?
The words lanced straight through him.
"...Yes," he murmured.
He didn't dress it up.
He didn't try to soften it.
The truth, as he saw it, was simple and cruel.
— Why…?
The question trembled.
He tried to explain.
He told her about the confession, about the girl confronting him, about the stalker gloating that she had done everything "for him."
He tried to string together the moments where he should have acted, should have gone to the school, should have gone to her parents, should have done more than punch and walk away.
But as he spoke, every word felt hollow.
Every sentence sounded like too little, too late.
He apologised again and again, his voice cracking, but the apologies felt like pouring water on a house that had already burned to the ground.
On the other side of the door, Aria said nothing more.
He couldn't see her face.
He didn't know if she was crying.
He only knew that the silence felt different now, heavier, as if something fragile between them had finally snapped.
Isaac sat there until his legs went numb.
Eventually, he pushed himself upright, using the wall for support, and staggered back into the living room.
The apartment felt larger than usual and smaller at the same time, the walls closing in even as every room seemed empty.
He sank onto the sofa.
His body felt heavy, but his mind wouldn't stop spinning.
He didn't know how much time had passed when the front door opened.
The sound of the lock turning, the hinges moving, snapped him to attention.
Heavy footsteps entered the apartment.
Isaac looked up.
Aria's father stepped into the living room, expression set in a tight, controlled frown.
His eyes flicked over Isaac once, cold and dismissive, then moved past him without a word.
He ignored Isaac entirely.
The man walked down the hallway with the surety of someone who had already decided what was going to happen.
He stopped in front of Aria's door.
Knock. Knock.
"Aria, it's me," he called, his voice firm. "You need to come home."
Isaac held his breath.
— …
There was no answer at first.
"Please," her father added, his tone softening just a fraction. "Open the door."
— …No.
Her reply was thin, barely audible, but it carried something that made Isaac's chest tighten.
It wasn't the easy defiance she used when complaining about early lectures or chores.
It wasn't her playful stubbornness.
It was fragile.
Like she was trying to stand her ground on legs that had already given out.
"I'm sorry, but you have to," her father said.
The apology in his voice didn't reach his words.
— …I didn't do it.
She sounded exhausted.
Broken.
"I'm not here to argue about that right now. If you don't come out, I'll have to open the door myself."
— …It wasn't me.
The last insistence came out strangled.
Isaac closed his eyes for a moment.
"Alright then…" her father murmured.
There was the sound of metal.
Click.
It took Isaac a second to realise what it was, a small screwdriver sliding into the lock, turning with a practised motion.
The door swung open with a slow creak.
From the sofa, Isaac could just see the edge of the doorway.
He shifted forward without thinking, as if moving a few inches would make any difference.
Aria's room was dimly lit, curtains mostly closed.
Her father stepped inside.
"Aria," he said.
Isaac rose halfway from the sofa before forcing himself back down, fingers digging into the cushion.
In the doorway, framed by the faint light, he could see her silhouette.
She sat on the edge of the bed, a thin bedsheet draped around her shoulders like a cloak.
Her body looked small, swallowed by shadow.
"Aria, we're going home," her father said, stepping closer.
"No…" she whispered.
For a brief, flickering moment, she lifted her arms and pushed against him, hands flat against his chest.
Her voice came out hoarse from crying, but there was one last spark of resistance there.
"I… I don't want—"
The sheet slipped, exposing her forearms.
Faint lines and marks crossed her skin, some older, some newer.
They were the same kind of scars Isaac had seen on the girl who had caused all of this, only now they were carved into Aria as well.
His breath hitched.
It was like seeing proof of everything she had been enduring in a language written directly onto her body.
Then she looked past her father.
Her gaze landed on Isaac.
Their eyes met.
His were red and swollen, rimmed with exhaustion and guilt.
He knew what he looked like, someone who hadn't slept, hadn't eaten properly, someone who had spent days drowning in regret.
He wanted to say something.
To tell her again that it wasn't her fault.
That he should have done more.
That he would fix it if she let him.
But before he could even form the words, everything he had already told her wrapped around this moment.
He had told her the truth, that it was the stalker.
He had told her it was his fault for not stopping it sooner.
He had confessed, apologised, broken down on the other side of her door.
She already knew.
She already knew, and it hadn't been enough.
The fight drained from her eyes as quickly as it had flared up.
Her hands slipped from her father's chest.
Her shoulders sagged.
She slumped sideways against the bed, making no move to pull away as her father gathered the sheet tighter around her and lifted her up.
She didn't resist.
She didn't argue.
She just let herself be carried.
Isaac's chest tightened.
It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him with nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He had wanted to protect her.
He had wanted to be the one place she felt safe.
But he hadn't managed to stop anything.
He hadn't managed to shield her from the worst of it, and now, watching her surrender like this, he could feel it clearly.
She wasn't leaving because she trusted her father.
She was leaving because she could no longer trust him.
As Aria was lifted from the bed and carried toward the door, their eyes met one last time.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The words fell from his lips, broken and small.
He didn't know if she heard them.
She didn't respond.
She didn't look at him again.
She just bit her lip, tears slipping silently down her face, and let herself be carried out of the room, down the hallway, toward the front door.
The door opened.
Closed.
The sound of footsteps faded down the building's corridor.
Like that, Aria and her father left, leaving Isaac alone.
The apartment felt emptier than ever.
————「❤︎」————