The phone rang twice before Nero's dad picked up.
"Hey, Dad. It's me," Nero said quickly, trying to hide the hope in his voice.
There was a long pause on the other end, followed by a distracted grunt. "Hey, Nero. I'm in the middle of something. What's up?"
Nero's grip tightened on the phone. Of course. Same old routine. He shouldn't have expected anything different, but the disappointment still gnawed at him. "I just… wanted to talk. It's been a while since we've had time to—"
"I know, I know," his dad cut him off, his voice sounding distant. "Work's been crazy. We'll catch up soon, alright?"
Nero swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah, but you said that last time." His voice was barely a whisper, but he knew his dad had heard him.
A sigh came from the other end, full of impatience. "Look, I'll try to make some time this weekend. I've got a lot going on."
Nero stared at the floor, his chest tightening. "Right. Okay. I'll let you go."
"Good. We'll talk later."
Click.
Nero lowered the phone, staring at it for a few seconds like it might magically say something else. His fingers trembled slightly as he tossed it onto the couch. He wasn't even angry anymore—anger had worn off months ago. Now, he was just exhausted. Tired of waiting for his dad to follow through, tired of being a second thought.
Every conversation was the same: empty promises of "later" that never seemed to come. Nero could barely remember the last time his dad had really asked him how he was doing. It hadn't always been like this. Before his mom passed, his dad had come home every night, helped with homework, asked about his day. Now? It felt like Nero barely existed.
The familiar weight of loneliness pressed down on his chest. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to shake off the feeling, but it stuck to him like a bad hangover.
Charlie was in the living room, lazily plucking the strings of his guitar, a half-empty beer sitting next to him. He looked up as soon as Nero walked in, his expression instantly shifting to one of casual concern.
"Hey, you alright, kid?" Charlie asked, setting the guitar aside.
Nero shrugged, sinking into the armchair across from him. "Just talked to my dad. He's… busy. Again."
Charlie didn't say anything for a second, then leaned back, nodding slowly. "Yeah, that sucks."
There was no long speech or attempt to dive deep into emotions. And that was something Nero appreciated about Charlie—he didn't try to force anything. He just… existed alongside him. Sometimes, that was enough.
After a few minutes of silence, Charlie drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, breaking the stillness. "You wanna do something with all that frustration? Beats sitting here and marinating in it."
Nero glanced up. "Like what?"
Charlie shrugged, his classic smirk appearing. "I don't know. Music? You've got something rattling around in there. And it's not gonna do any good just sitting there."
Nero sighed. "I'm not really feeling it."
"Exactly why you should do it." Charlie raised an eyebrow. "When things are all messed up in here" —he thumped his chest— "music's the best way to untangle it. Trust me. You'd be shocked at how many jingles I've written to avoid having a nervous breakdown."
Nero looked at him skeptically. "Jingles?"
Charlie grinned. "Hey, kid, you can pour a lot of emotion into a toothpaste commercial. Anyway, you're sitting on something bigger than a jingle. I can tell."
Nero eyed the guitar next to Charlie. "I've never written a full song before."
Charlie shrugged, nonchalant as always. "Doesn't matter. You've been playing around with melodies for weeks. I bet you've got some lyrics in there, just waiting to come out. No pressure. Just let it happen."
Nero considered it for a moment. Charlie might've had a point. The last time they played together, the words had almost come out on their own, like they were waiting for him. Maybe it was time to see if the music could say what he couldn't seem to get out any other way.
Without another word, Nero slid off the chair and sat down at the piano. His fingers hovered over the keys, the frustration still bubbling inside him. He didn't start right away, letting the tension simmer a little longer. The music was there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be pulled out.
Charlie watched from the couch, sipping his beer but giving Nero plenty of space.
Finally, Nero pressed a few soft notes, letting them linger in the air. The melody came slowly at first, then grew louder as it began to take shape. With each chord, the weight in his chest loosened just a little, the frustration fading into the music. Then the words came—tentative at first, but natural, like they had always been inside him.
♪ "I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you / Take me back to the night we met..." ♪
Nero didn't need to think about the next line; it flowed effortlessly, his voice carrying the weight of his emotions.
♪ "I don't know what I'm supposed to do / Haunted by the ghost of you..." ♪
The more he played, the more the song seemed to write itself, expressing all the pain and longing he couldn't quite put into words.
♪ "I've been searching for a trail to follow again / Take me back to the night we met..." ♪
Nero's voice grew stronger as he let the emotion pour out, the melody filling the room. Each word felt like a release of everything he'd been holding inside, the unspoken fears and sadness.
♪ "When the night was full of terrors / And your eyes were filled with tears..." ♪
The music swelled, Nero's voice echoing through the house, the pain lessening with every note.
♪ "Take me back to the night we met..." ♪
As he finished the last note, the house fell into a quiet, peaceful silence. Nero took a shaky breath, his hands resting on the keys. The music had helped—it hadn't erased the pain, but it had given him a way to let it out, even if just for a little while.
Charlie grinned from the couch, lifting his beer in a mock toast. "See? Told you. It's all in there, waiting to come out."
Nero stared at the piano, still processing what had just happened. "I don't even know where that came from."
Charlie leaned back, looking pleased with himself. "Doesn't matter. What matters is that it came out. You've got a gift, kid. Don't forget that."
Later that evening, Nero found himself absentmindedly playing the same melody again, letting the music drift through the house. He didn't even notice Berta standing in the doorway until she cleared her throat.
"Not bad," she said, arms crossed, her usual no-nonsense tone softened just slightly. "Better than most of the noise I have to listen to in this place."
Nero glanced up, startled. "You heard that?"
"Hard not to." Berta smirked. "Kid, you're probably the best thing that's happened to this house. Most people wouldn't last two days with Charlie."
Nero chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not that bad."
Berta rolled her eyes. "Sure. But seriously, you've got something real going with that music of yours. It's gonna keep you grounded when everything else is falling apart."
Her words hit deeper than Nero expected. There was no sugarcoating with Berta, just the truth, and it was oddly reassuring.
"Thanks," Nero said, his voice quiet.
Berta gave him a final nod before heading back to the kitchen. "Don't mention it. And kid? Don't let Charlie suck all the sanity out of you."
Nero smiled, watching her leave.
As Nero lay in bed that night, the melody from earlier still echoed in his mind. He thought about what Berta had said—how the music was keeping him grounded. She was right. Every time he felt like the world was slipping away, like he couldn't get through to his dad or make sense of anything, the music was always there.
Maybe he didn't have all the answers right now. But at least, for tonight, the music had said what he couldn't.