you're still here? // isaacwhy x reader
A/N: no note, enjoy short n sweet :)
—————
The call had started like every other one. Background noise. Half attention on your end. Isaac muttering about editing something while you folded laundry on your bed, phone propped against a pillow.
Neither of you had anything important to say, you just liked existing in the same space, even if it was through a screen.
“You’re gonna fall asleep,” he says at some point, not even looking at the camera. You had finished folding laundry a while ago, now underneath warm and clean blankets tucked all the at up to your chin.
“I am not,” you mumble, already blinking slower. “I’m listening.”
“You said ‘mhm’ to something I didn’t even say.” Isaac snorts.
“Did too.” You retorted sleepily.
“Name one thing I just said.”
“…you’re editing.”
He snorts. “Yeah. That was ten minutes ago.”
You try to argue, but the words melt into a yawn, and then into silence. Your cheek presses into your pillow, the dim light from your room washing everything soft and warm.
His voice becomes background noise comfortable, steady, safe. His occasional little note to himself out loud about what he was editing.
You don’t remember falling asleep.
————
When you wake up, your room is darker.
Your phone is still where you left it, screen dimmed but not off. The call timer is still going.
And Isaac is still there.
Headphones on. Hoodie pulled up. Eyes flicking between his monitor and the tiny square of your sleeping face.
He doesn’t notice you’re awake yet.. just keeps clicking, scrubbing through footage, occasionally glancing back at you like he’s checking something.
Like he’s making sure you’re still there.
“Isaac?” Your voice is rough with sleep.
He startles immediately, looking at the screen. “Oh… you’re up.”
You push yourself upright, heart doing something weird and warm in your chest. “You stayed?”
It comes out softer than you meant it to.
He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “Yeah.”
“For how long?” You asked sleepily.
“Since you knocked out.”
“I was asleep for like… hours.”
“Yeah.”
You stare at him. “Why didn’t you hang up?”
He hesitates. Not long, just enough to feel real.
Then he leans back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno. You looked comfortable.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is a reason.”
“Isaac.”
He sighs, eyes flicking away from the camera. “I didn’t wanna wake you.”
Your chest tightens.
“You could’ve just ended the call.”
“Yeah,” he says again, quieter this time. “Could’ve.”
Silence settles, but it’s not awkward. It’s the kind that hums: full, heavy, honest.
He finally meets your eyes through the screen.
“I like being on call with you,” he admits, voice casual in a way that sounds practiced. “Even if we’re not talking.”
Your fingers tighten around your blanket. “Even when I’m literally unconscious?”
He huffs a laugh. “Especially then. You’re not roasting me or distracting me. Peak productivity.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
You both fall quiet again, and this time neither of you looks away.
He glances at the clock on his monitor. “You should probably go back to sleep.”
“You first.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
“You’re still tired.”
“I’m always tired.”
“Isaac.”
He studies you for a second, like he’s debating something. Then his voice softens.
“Stay on call?”
Your heart trips.
“Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
You settle back into your pillow. He turns down his mic volume, the clicking of his keyboard fading into something distant and rhythmic. Not annoying. Just there.
Comforting.
You close your eyes again, but this time you’re aware of him. The quiet breathing. The occasional shift of his chair. The way he checks the screen every few minutes.
Like he’s making sure you’re still safe. Still there.
Right before you drift off again, you hear him mumble, so quiet you almost think you imagined it:
“Night.”
Your lips curve into your pillow.
“Night, Isaac.”
And the call stays on.
