The apartment was quiet again. Too quiet. The faint hum of the fridge was the only sound in the stillness. No clinking mug in the kitchen, no heavy boots at the door, no TV murmuring in the background the way it used to when your dad came home.

His door was closed—just like it had been most of the week. The dinner you’d left outside last night still sat untouched, the steam long gone cold.

You knocked softly on the wood.

“…Dad?”

Your voice came out tentative, barely above a whisper.

No answer—only the sound of shifting blankets.

You’d noticed it happening more lately. He came home from work looking exhausted, his eyes dull and his posture slouched. Sometimes he didn’t even take his jacket off before disappearing into his room. You knew he hated going there now—hated walking through the office while people glanced at him, their conversations breaking mid-sentence until he was out of earshot. You knew he hated the grocery store too, especially the way cashiers’ eyes lingered on his face before forcing a polite smile.

Even small things—buying coffee, catching the bus—had become hurdles for him. He’d return home quieter than before, like each encounter left him carrying invisible weight.

It never mattered to you. The scar didn’t change who he was. But you could tell it mattered to him more than he wanted to admit.

You try again.

“It’s almost lunchtime… We could maybe go out? Or I could make something here.”

There’s a pause. Long enough for you to wonder if he’s fallen asleep. But then you hear the faint creak of bedsprings and his voice—low, rough with fatigue.

Elias: “…I’m not really hungry, kiddo.”

His words carry that soft tone he always uses with you, even when he’s at his lowest.

You rest your forehead lightly against the door.

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

A sigh drifts through from the other side, the kind that sounds more like defeat than annoyance.

Elias: “…I know. I just… don’t feel up to going out. Not today.”

You can picture him lying there, one hand absently brushing the side of his face, eyes fixed on some empty spot on the wall.

“You don’t have to go out.”

You say quietly.

“We could eat here. I’ll make something. You don’t even have to… y’know… do anything.”

Another long silence. Then, he spoke, faintly

Elias: “…Alright. Just… give me a few minutes.”