Isaac POV
14th of October.
Almost a year before the incident that would turn Isaac and Aria's lives inside out.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The alarm on his bedside table shrieked to life, drilling straight into his skull.
"Ugh…"
Isaac rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a few long seconds, seriously considering death by ignoring the alarm.
Unfortunately, responsibilities existed.
Bills existed.
Agency deadlines existed.
His thumb finally dragged across his phone screen, silencing the noise.
For a moment, he simply lay there, sheets tangled around his waist, the grey light of an autumn morning leaking through the curtains.
"I should've just taken the day off," he muttered.
Aria's voice floated up in his memory, annoyingly energetic even in hindsight.
— Take your birthday off! You're always soooo busy, so you should take a break every now and then, dummy!
He had laughed it off at the time.
Told her he would be fine.
Told her it was "just another day."
Now, with sleep still clinging to his bones and the distant ache of another long shoot ahead, he wished he had listened.
"Hahh…"
He turned his head and unlocked his phone.
No new notifications.
Not even a token "HBD" from a distant classmate.
No family message.
Just Aria's chat sitting there, the last message from last night:
- [Aria: Don't oversleep or I'm stealing your share of breakfast.]
He snorted faintly, but the quiet in his chest didn't quite go away.
'Figures. At least I have Aria.'
Without her, he knew exactly where he would be, still stuck in that house, still being told what to study, how to live, what kind of future he was allowed to have.
He shoved the covers aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The floor was cold under his feet, sending a reluctant jolt of wakefulness up his legs as he padded towards the bathroom.
Before shower, before work, before anything else, there was one immutable law in this apartment:
If he didn't cook, the jobless bum in the other bedroom would live off instant noodles and whatever junk she found in the back of the cupboard.
Pshhh…
Hot water burst from the showerhead, steam creeping up the mirror as Isaac leaned against the tiled wall and let the heat soak into his muscles.
Slowly, the stiffness in his shoulders loosened.
He wiped a circle of condensation from the mirror with his palm and squinted at his reflection.
Slim build.
Barely any muscle definition.
"Do I have to go to the gym again…?" he asked his mirror self.
The answer was obvious.
His profession demanded he stay in shape year-round; it did not care if he was exhausted, if it was exam season, or if it was his birthday.
If he slacked off, he lost work.
If he lost work, he lost money.
'It's such a pain…'
He hadn't set out to become a model.
It had just… happened.
One afternoon, years ago, he had been loitering around town with Aria and a couple of other friends, drinking cheap convenience store coffee and making fun of fashion ads.
A stranger had approached them, suspiciously stylish, suspiciously friendly, suspiciously insistent.
Before anyone could tell him to back off, the man had handed Isaac a card and asked, with way too much confidence, if he was interested in doing some test shots.
At the time, Isaac had laughed and shoved the card into his pocket, playing it cool in front of his friends.
Then he had gone home.
And every time his father snapped at him.
Every time the walls of that house felt too small.
Every time he stared at his bank app and saw the number zero…
His eyes drifted back to that stupid card.
No rent.
No say in his own life.
No money that was really his.
In the end, it had taken him two days to crack.
He had called the number with shaking hands and scheduled a meeting, telling himself he would just "hear them out."
"Looking back, I was way too easy," he muttered now, grabbing his shampoo.
Those first gigs had been rough.
Long hours, weird shoots, "experimental" lighting that really just meant standing around freezing while a half-bored photographer tried to be artistic.
And the pay…
He had found out later that his first agency had been skimming from his fees.
Some jobs hadn't even paid him at all, the money vanishing into vague "administration expenses."
He had been furious when he found out, but not surprised.
Still, those jobs had given him a portfolio, and after the blow-up, other agencies had been willing to pick him up.
In the end, the scam had been both a curse and a stepping stone, like most things in his life.
He rinsed off, turned the tap, and stepped out of the shower, shivering as cooler air hit his damp skin.
Squeak.
He twisted the tap off properly, grabbed a towel, and scrubbed himself dry.
After brushing his teeth and towel-drying his hair into something vaguely manageable, he pulled on clean clothes, a simple T-shirt, jeans, and a hoodie.
Nothing fancy.
The stylists would strip him out of it all later anyway.
Only when he was zipped up and half-presentable did he crack open the bathroom door and pad down the short hall to the other bedroom.
Knock knock.
"Aria, you awake?"
Silence.
Then, faintly:
— Nnn…
He frowned at the door.
'Guess not.'
Lately, he had noticed that Aria went to bed later and later.
The light under her door stayed on deep into the night.
Sometimes he heard the faint clacking of her keyboard, sometimes the muffled sound of videos.
He had thought about asking what she was doing.
Thought about telling her to at least try to keep a normal schedule.
But every time the words reached his throat, he swallowed them.
She had taken him in when he had had nowhere else to go.
She paid most of the rent without complaint.
If she wanted to burn her nights away on whatever, he wasn't going to lecture her like he was her father.
"Well, I'm going to work," he said instead, raising his voice just enough to slip through the door. "There are leftovers in the fridge. If you need anything, just text me."
— Nnn…
He smiled faintly despite himself.
She really was hopeless.
"Welp, see you later," he added, voice turning lighter to hide the heaviness in his chest.
He grabbed his bag, shrugged into his coat, and crouched by the shoe rack to pull on his boots.
The apartment smelled faintly of last night's cooking and Aria's expensive shampoo.
Familiar, messy, lived-in.
He slid his phone into his pocket, patted it once, and stepped out, locking the door behind him.
The corridor was cool and empty.
Outside, the October air bit at his cheeks as he exhaled a steamy breath and headed for the parking lot.
'I hope we finish early today…'
With that small, selfish wish, he started the long, ordinary day that would become one of his favourite memories.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
The studio lights were already too bright by the time Isaac arrived.
Rows of softboxes were angled towards a simple set: a faux living room with clean white walls, a pale sofa, and a table arranged with autumn décor—tiny pumpkins, fake leaves, warm-toned cushions.
It was the kind of generic, cosy aesthetic that sold clothes to people who wanted to look effortlessly "put together."
"Isaac, you're here. Go change," one of the assistants called out, barely looking up from the clipboard in her hands.
"Morning to you, too," he muttered, but he headed straight for the changing area.
The shoot itself was nothing special.
Pose with a sweater draped over his shoulders.
Pose leaning against the window frame.
Pose sitting, standing, walking slowly across the set while pretending to laugh at nothing.
Click. Click. Click.
The camera shutter snapped in rapid bursts as the photographer called out half-hearted directions.
"Chin up a little."
"Good. Hold that."
"Turn your body more towards the light."
Isaac shifted as instructed, mind half on the shoot, half on what he would cook tonight.
'Pasta? Stir-fry? She'll complain if it's too healthy…'
He moved through the poses almost on autopilot.
He had done this so many times that his body knew the rhythm without needing his full attention.
Except today felt longer.
Maybe it was the weather, the grey light outside making everything feel slower.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep.
Maybe it was just the knowledge that it was his birthday, and he was spending it in front of a camera instead of lazing around at home while Aria bullied him.
By the time the last outfit was shot and the photographer finally lowered his camera, Isaac's shoulders ached.
"Alright, that's a wrap for today," the photographer called out, stretching his arms over his head. "Good work, everyone. Files will go to editing by tomorrow."
A few staff members clapped lazily.
The assistant scribbled something and snapped her folder shut.
"Let's wrap it up, good job everyone. Make sure you all get home safe," the shoot director added, voice already fading as she turned toward her laptop.
"Finally…" Isaac muttered under his breath, dropping onto a nearby chair.
He tugged at the collar of the last outfit, eager to get out of clothes that weren't his.
When the assistant waved him off with a distracted "You can change, Isaac," he pushed himself back to his feet and shuffled towards the dressing room.
The small backstage space was cramped, littered with hangers, garment bags, and plastic shoe covers.
He stripped out of the brand's clothes and slipped into his own hoodie and jeans with a familiar sense of relief.
Once the wardrobe staff checked the last outfit and murmured a quick "Thanks, good work," he grabbed his bag and headed for the exit.
"Oh, and Isaac?"
He paused, turning.
His boss, a woman in her thirties with sharp eyeliner and a perpetually tired but kind gaze, was walking toward him, tablet tucked under one arm, heels clicking against the studio floor.
"Is something wrong, boss?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"No problem. You did well today. I just wanted to say…"
She stepped close enough that the other staff drifted out of earshot and held out a paper bag.
It was folded neatly at the top, cool to the touch when he took it.
"Happy birthday," she said simply.
Isaac blinked.
'She… remembered?'
He stared down at the bag for a moment, then back up at her, caught off guard.
Their relationship had always been professional.
She was strict, pragmatic, not the type to fuss over personal dates.
"Ah… thank you," he managed.
"You're always working, even when I tell you to rest. So I thought you should at least get something that's just for you. It's nothing big," she said, lips tugging up into a faint smile.
He shook his head.
"Even so… I appreciate it."
"Good. Now go home," she said, shooing him with a flick of her hand. "You've got someone waiting, right?"
Isaac let out a small, embarrassed cough.
"…Something like that."
She chuckled and turned away, already calling instructions to someone else.
He left the studio with the paper bag in one hand and his bag slung over his shoulder, stepping out into the cool early evening air.
The sky was painted with pale orange and soft blue, the city humming quietly around him.
The parking lot was half-full, most of the crew already gone.
His car sat where he had left it, a familiar, slightly dented old thing that Aria often called "a tin can with wheels."
As he walked, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Vrrr… vrrr… vrrr…
He slowed, balancing the paper bag in the crook of his arm while he fished for his phone.
The screen lit up with a name:
[Aria]
He slid his thumb across to answer.
"Hey?"
[Isaac, have you finished work?]
Her voice came through the speaker, bright and impatient as always.
It softened something in his chest.
"Yeah, we just wrapped up. I'm about to start driving home now."
[Great! Hurry up and get over here.]
He snorted.
"Alright, alright. I'll be there soon."
[Move it!]
"I got it, I'm on my way," he said, lips twitching.
[Faster!]
He rolled his eyes at the empty lot.
"Shut it, I'm hanging up."
[Tch, asshole.]
Click.
The call ended.
Despite the insult, his mood had lifted; her voice always had that effect on him.
He opened the car door and set the paper bag from his boss carefully on the passenger seat, fastening the seatbelt loosely around both it and his bag out of habit.
'A gift from my boss and a demon waiting at home,' he thought with mild amusement. 'Not bad for a birthday, I guess.'
He started the engine.
The radio crackled to life with some generic pop song, and he pulled out of the lot, heading toward the small apartment that, despite everything, felt more like home than anywhere else ever had.
————「❤︎」————