The Aristocrat

They call it what not talking leads to

January                                                                                                                                                                                        Monday 2nd 

Nerves plagued my body as I stood outside the front door of my best friend's house. Hesitation ate away at me as much as the cold weather did, my hand shaking as it reached up in the air and hovered over the wooden door. Plucking up the courage to move again, I knocked my hand down against the wood and then waited for a response.

A long few minutes went by before anything happened but then I heard footsteps and through the hazy glass on the door I could tell a figure moving towards me on the other side. It closer until it was right in front of the glass and the door was being pulled open.

Opposite me Isaac appeared, a pair of grey sweat shorts around his waist and a matching hoodie on top. The hood of the jumper nestled across his messy blonde locks and headphones hooked around his neck. A blank expression rested on his features as he took me in slowly, taking his time before he spoke, "Hey."

"Hi," I croaked out, lacking in intellectual responses with the nerves that racked my body.

"Ivy's not in," He told me, his eyes holding a reservation that didn't suit him, "she's having dinner out with our parents."

I nodded, treading back and forth and fiddling with the strap of my bag that was slung over my shoulder, "I know that," I said, mouth dry and heart pumping.

"Then why are you here?" He questioned, only the slightest tinge of surprise being allowed to crack through his cold expression.

I paused, chewing over words I might be able to string together which would be appropriate. I settled with the easiest thing I could think of, "I came to see you."

Issac himself took a couple of seconds to digest what I had said, no doubt mentally debating over the worthiness of my confession.

"Is anyone else in?" I asked him, beating him to a response. Usually with Isaac I never had the fear of rejection, but there was a hint of his expression that seemed unfamiliar to me and drew up fears inside of me.

"No," he said shaking his head rigidly.

"Then can we talk?" I questioned, my head tipped in the direction of his him and door, silently asking for my invitation inside.

"I thought you didn't want to talk with me," He retorted, bitterness fuelled behind his words.

"I guess it's not all about what I want," I shrugged helplessly. There was no point in denying him the truth, I'd already admitted to not wanting to drag up the past between the two of us. But after new year's, what Isaac had seen and the way he had looked at me after, I couldn't not address the situation.

"So," I paused, gulping, "Am I allowed to come in?"

Isaac seemed conflicted over whether or not I was allowed to or not, he wavered, pausing far too long for it to mean nothing. He ovbiosuly didn't want to talk but was well too aware of the fact that I wasn't leaving until he spoke to me.

Eventually he stepped to the side and gestured subtly with his head for me to come in.

"Thank you," I mumbled as I stepped through the door frame and past him. Inside I stopped and let Isaac close the door and then walk in front of me. I followed silently behind as he led me through the house to the kitchen.

"What did you want to talk about?" He asked me once we were inside. He'd taken a spot on the other side of the room, far away from me. He leant coldly against a counter and folded his arms defensively.