Chapter 14
Date: January 25th, 2008 – Friday Evening
---
The laundromat had the stale, humid air of something that used to be clean a long time ago and just gave up. A row of old dryers clunked and wheezed at uneven intervals, drowning in the smell of lint and detergent that never quite masked the undertone of city grime.
In the back, behind a crooked Employees Only sign and a busted vending machine that hadn't been stocked since last summer, Aria hunched over a worn folding table. The edges of a city map curled up like it wanted to leave, but duct tape held it down like a warning.
He stared at the marked-up sheet, red and black lines zigzagging across boroughs, arrows drawn over streets, pins stuck into buildings like pressure points on a bruised body. The latest circle he'd added was still wet from the marker.
"Stash house," he muttered to himself. "East Brooklyn. They rotated the drop four nights ago."
He tapped the circle. His hand was steady, but everything else inside him was racing.
"You're stacking jobs like you're trying to burn through us."
Maddox's voice cut into the room like a second hum. He stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his frame a shadow under the yellow light. Stir stick clenched in the side of his jaw. He didn't sound angry. He sounded…watchful.
Aria didn't look up. "We're not burning out. We're sharpening."
"They got twitchy last week," Maddox said. "Shot a teenager in the leg for walking too slow near the block. You think they're going to play nice when we knock again?"
"I think they won't expect us to come this soon."
"You always think you're two steps ahead. But sometimes the people behind you are sprinting."
Aria didn't answer. He moved a pin half an inch to the left.
Maddox stepped in, closer now. "You haven't breathed in three weeks. Jay's rattling. Cassie's covering your silence in front of the crew. Even Rene's starting to poke around."
"Let him," Aria said.
"What's the finish line?"
"Soon."
"That's not a line."
Aria finally looked up.
His eyes weren't tired. They were locked in. Like a camera on manual focus, lens narrowed down to a single point in the distance.
"There's a shift coming," he said. "It's not about this block, or the next one. It's the whole board."
Maddox raised an eyebrow, slowly. "And this stash hit moves the board?"
"It funds the next one."
"And the next one funds…?"
Aria didn't answer.
Maddox studied him. He wasn't stupid—he knew Aria was working toward something beyond cash and crew. He'd known for weeks. But the more Aria doubled down, the quieter he became about what it was for.
"You don't let people close," Maddox said. "You never did. But you're even further gone now."
"I'm focused."
"You're distant."
They stared at each other in the stale silence of dryer thuds and fluorescent hum.
Then Aria spoke again.
"Three jobs. That's all we need."
"And then?"
"We vanish for a while."
Maddox ran a hand down his face, stepped back. "We're with you, man. We are. But we're not ghosts. We bleed."
Aria didn't respond.
He stood alone at the table as Maddox left.
When the door clicked shut, he pressed his hand down against the map like it could ground him. His heart wasn't racing, but it wasn't calm either. Something behind his ribs pulsed quietly. Not panic. Just something awake.
And it stayed awake long after the dryers went still.
---
Roosevelt High had a way of always smelling like yesterday's fries and wet sneakers, no matter the weather. The halls were packed, noisy, the kind of organized chaos that made teachers think they had control and students know better.
Aria sat on the edge of a bench by the vending machines, tray untouched, hood halfway up. His lunch had that classic cafeteria quality: bland, lukewarm, vaguely rubbery. The meat could've been chicken. Or resentment.
He hadn't touched it.
He didn't really remember sitting down, either.
"Look at you," Liyana said, dropping down beside him like gravity made an exception. "Sitting here all broody. Real 'teen vigilante' energy."
"I'm trying to win an Oscar," Aria muttered. "You're ruining my dramatic arc."
"You already lost when you didn't eat that thing," she said, nodding at the sad lump of cafeteria mystery meat. "You know it's a war crime to waste government meat, right?"
Aria smirked without looking at her. "This isn't meat. It's an experiment."
"Then eat it and report back to science."
He shook his head. "I'd rather go out with dignity."
Liyana pulled out a granola bar, peeled it open with a practiced flick. "Missed group project check-ins all week. Jay was ready to write your part and pretend he was you."
"Bold of him to think he can capture my charm and questionable grammar."
She glanced at him sideways. "So… where've you been?"
"Researching time travel. Trying to escape the horrors of Monday."
"Failing, clearly."
He gave a tired chuckle, leaned back against the wall. "Honestly, I don't know. Just… around."
"That's not vague at all."
"Vagueness is my only personality trait right now."
Liyana narrowed her eyes like she could see through the hoodie, past the shadows under his eyes and into whatever part of him had gone dark in the last few weeks.
"You're doing that thing again."
He blinked. "What thing?"
"The thing where you pretend everything's fine while radiating 'I haven't slept in days and might start a secret rebellion' energy."
"I'm mellow."
"You're a cryptid with trauma."
He laughed, for real this time. Just a little. It felt weird in his chest—light, like it didn't belong, but she made it feel like it could.
"I'm fine," he said eventually.
"You're lying."
"Yeah."
She didn't push. Just sat there, chewing her granola bar like she was watching a show that hadn't hit the climax yet.
"You hungry?"
He shrugged. "Kinda. But that tray looks like it's plotting against me."
"Here." She reached into her bag and pulled out a plastic container wrapped in foil. "Brought extra."
"You psychic now?"
"No. I just knew you'd be here sulking with that 'leave me alone, I'm mysterious' look."
"I'm not mysterious," Aria said, opening the lid.
"You wear hoodies indoors and lean against walls for no reason. You are the textbook."
The smell hit him immediately—steamed rice, spicy egg sambal, and something fried that made his stomach remember it had opinions.
"Okay," he muttered. "I might marry this."
"I accept your proposal, on behalf of the food."
They sat in quiet for a while, the hallway noise washing over them like they were in a different room entirely.
Liyana didn't look at him when she spoke again.
"You're carrying something heavy. I can feel it."
He didn't answer.
"I'm not asking what it is. I'm just saying… I can carry part of it if you let me."
He looked at her, really looked.
"You ever think maybe I'm trying not to drop it on you?"
"Then stop holding it alone like an idiot."
The bell rang.
Liyana stood, brushing crumbs off her lap. "You skipping history again?"
"I was considering hiding in a broom closet."
"I'll mark you present. But if you pull this ghost act again tomorrow…"
"You'll haunt me?"
"I'll bring chili oil and dump it in your shoes."
"Abuse."
"Love," she corrected, with a wink. Then she was gone.
Aria watched her go, the grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth long after she disappeared into the crowd.
He looked down at the empty container.
And for the first time all week, he felt like he could breathe.
---
The hallway was nearly empty, just the scuff of old sneakers and a lingering smell of cafeteria grease that stuck to everything. Aria walked with his head low, cutting past the rows of faded lockers, hoping to disappear into the side stairwell before anyone noticed.
"Mr. Saputra."
He stopped cold.
Principal Keller stood near the faculty lounge, half-shadowed by the doorway, a clipboard tucked under one arm. His gray hair was combed neatly, tie loose like he'd stopped trying to impress anyone years ago. The kind of man who didn't yell—but somehow always made you feel like you'd been caught.
"Walk with me," Keller said. Not unkind. But firm.
Aria adjusted his bag and fell into step beside him.
They moved down the west wing, past bulletin boards covered in club flyers no one read, past lockers that hadn't opened in years. The quiet here wasn't peaceful—it was weighty. The kind that made your shoes feel louder than they were.
"You've been absent a lot lately," Keller said, flipping through the clipboard. "History, Chemistry, English. Same teachers. Same concern."
Aria didn't reply right away. "I've turned in the work."
"Some of it," Keller said. "But presence matters too. Not just on paper. In a room. In a group. With your peers."
Aria offered a shrug. "I'm not trying to fall behind."
"You're managing just enough to get by. But getting by and being here aren't the same thing."
They passed the janitor's closet. The lights flickered overhead.
"I've had conversations about students like you before," Keller went on. "Smart. Quiet. Fast thinkers. Always listening. Always somewhere between engaged and distant."
"I'm not distant," Aria said quietly.
Keller gave him a long look. "You disappear for whole stretches of the day. You sit in class like your body showed up but your mind stayed outside. I don't need a confession, Aria. I just want to understand what's happening."
"I'm fine."
"You're not," Keller said, and this time there was no softness in it. "You look exhausted. You're pulling away from every lifeline you've got, and worse—people are starting to notice."
Aria stopped walking for half a second.
Keller did too.
"There's been talk," the principal added. "Among students. One of the aides overheard something in the east stairwell—nothing specific. Just… rumors."
Aria's posture stiffened, but his face stayed neutral.
"What kind of rumors?"
Keller studied him carefully. "Stuff that doesn't sound like homework trouble. Talk about you knowing people you shouldn't. Going places at night. A fight that didn't happen on school grounds—but someone showed up with a black eye and wouldn't say why."
"People talk," Aria said simply. "They always do."
"Maybe," Keller replied. "But not always about the same person."
He let that hang for a beat.
"I don't care about gossip, Aria. I care about the kind of trouble it leads to. And the people who usually get caught in the middle."
Keller lowered the clipboard.
"You've got that look. Like you're trying to hold something together that's already slipping. I'm telling you—before it pulls you under, let someone in."
"I'm handling it," Aria said. Voice steady. No hesitation.
"I believe you," Keller said. "But maybe that's the problem."
They stood in silence.
Then Keller stepped back, tone cooling again.
"You're not invisible, Aria. Even if you want to be. And this place… it's not perfect, but it's here for you. So are people."
He nodded toward the stairwell.
"Get to class."
Aria turned, walked without rushing, without looking back.
Only when he reached the stairs did he let out a slow breath—and shake off the feeling that maybe, just maybe, someone had gotten a little too close to the truth.
---
The rooftop hadn't changed—but Aria had.
He stood at the edge, hoodie up, watching the city blink beneath him like it didn't give a damn what he was carrying.
The cold didn't bother him anymore. Not after the last few weeks.
Not after what he'd seen. Or done.
He heard the door open behind him but didn't move.
"I brought the sugar bombs," Liyana said. "Teacher's lounge hot chocolate, two sugars, no class."
He exhaled through his nose. "That a bribe?"
"No," she said, walking over. "It's an excuse."
She handed him the cup. He took it without looking, fingers brushing hers just long enough to say what neither of them had said aloud yet.
They stood there a minute. Drinking. Breathing.
"I'm not here to yell," she said.
"Good," he said. "I'm low on emotional armor today."
She snorted. "You're low on everything. Sleep, food, normal human expression."
He gave a dry laugh. It was small, but real.
"You know," she added, "you could've told me more. After what I saw. After what you admitted."
"I already said too much."
"You said just enough to stop me from walking away," she said. "And not enough to stop me from worrying every damn day since."
He turned his head slightly, finally facing her.
"You stayed."
"I told you I would."
"I didn't believe you."
"I know."
That landed harder than she expected.
She stepped closer, shoulder brushing his.
"I don't want to fix you," she said quietly. "I'm not here to give some big speech or ask for a life update like I'm your therapist."
He nodded slowly.
"But I'm here," she said. "And I'm not just here to check on you. I'm here to remind you you're still allowed to be human. You're still allowed to feel like crap. You don't have to be cold all the time to keep people safe."
Aria stared out at the city. His voice was low.
"I keep wondering when it's gonna be too much."
Liyana didn't say anything.
"I'm building something, Li. Something bigger than me. And sometimes I think if I stop, it all falls apart. Or I do."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"No," she said. "But I know you. And I'm not betting against you."
He looked at her then.
For once, he let the silence sit without trying to dodge it.
She held out her hand.
"C'mon. You look like you need someone to stand next to you who doesn't expect you to solve anything right now."
He took it.
And for a while, they just stood there. Not fixing. Not planning. Just existing in the same space, in the same wind, with something like warmth between them.
---
The city pulsed beneath them, all engine growls and blinking lights. But up here, it felt far away.
Liyana sat on the low rooftop ledge, legs swinging over the edge like she wasn't thinking about gravity. Aria sat beside her, hoodie down now, the wind tugging at his messy hair. The half-empty hot chocolate cup sat between them, forgotten.
They didn't say much. For once, the silence wasn't heavy. It just... was.
"You ever think about running?" she asked.
He glanced at her. "From what?"
"From everything. Just—grabbing a bag, getting on a bus, and disappearing."
"All the time," he said. "But I never know where I'd go."
"Somewhere warm," she said. "Somewhere quiet."
He smiled. "You? Quiet?"
"Okay, I'd bring music. But like, mellow music. Nothing with gunshots or ad-libs."
He chuckled. "That's the dream?"
"That's a dream."
He looked out again, city breathing beneath them.
"I don't think I could do it," he said. "Leave it all. Even if I wanted to."
"You could."
"I'm not sure I'd be the same if I did."
She turned her head to look at him. "Maybe that's not a bad thing."
They didn't say anything for a while.
Then Liyana reached out and laced her fingers with his.
It wasn't dramatic. She didn't even look at him when she did it. But she held on, firm and steady.
Aria stared at their hands, like it didn't make sense for something that simple to feel so… real.
She finally looked over, small smile playing on her lips.
"You know I'm not going anywhere, right?"
He nodded, slowly.
"I know."
They sat like that a little longer, hand in hand, rooftop wind swirling around them like it was trying to get in on something important. The city below kept moving, uncaring, loud.
But up here, everything was still.
And for once, that was enough.
Author's Note – Chapter 14
So yeah… rooftop confession, warm hands, emotional damage, and hot chocolate.
Liyana saw the crimes, shrugged, and held his hand anyway. That's love? That's concern? That's complicated.
Honestly, this chapter was me yelling "just talk to each other" for five pages. But they did. Kind of. Progress?
If you enjoyed that quiet storm of feelings, drop a comment, throw it in your collection, or just scream into the void with me. See you in the next one—it's not staying soft for long.
— me, still rooting for these two idiots