Noah sat at the edge of Elliot's couch, his laptop resting on his knees, his hands lingering over the keyboard. He watched Elliot methodically type on the laptop across the room, lost in the familiar rhythm of work. The apartment was calm, the kind of quiet that let him think.
He thought about how long he'd known Elliot now — nearly a decade. They had met in high school, two quiet, awkward kids who didn't belong in the loud chaos of adolescence. Noah had been picked on for being too quiet, too serious, too small to defend himself. Elliot had noticed him one day in the library, hunched over a notebook, scribbling furiously. Something about that intensity, that careful attention to detail, had drawn him in. They had started talking, awkwardly at first, sharing small observations, talked about things that only they understood.
Before long, they'd become inseparable. Their differences were almost invisible in each other's presence. Elliot's careful, meticulous nature balanced Noah's quieter, more reflective one. They had laughed, studied, and suffered high school together. They had plans to go to college and live lives that didn't revolve around fear.
Then came the accident. The sudden, impossible loss of Elliot's parents had changed everything. Noah had tried to leave for college, tried to convince himself he should go, that he could thrive without being tethered to Elliot's shadow. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not when Elliot had nothing, no one, not when he had spent so long alone already. So he stayed, helping his friend navigate a life that had imploded overnight, stepping in to do what Elliot couldn't —groceries, bills, errands, small social interactions that Elliot avoided with a perfectionist, cautious precision. Then work; Elliot had inherited his father's company. He couldn't face meeting with clients, vendors, employees.
It hadn't been a sacrifice. Noah didn't see it that way. He didn't resent Elliot for the life they'd ended up living together, though part of him sometimes wondered if he'd ever have one of his own. Love, relationships, the kind that demanded time and emotional energy — he had no experience with it. And he wasn't sure he could manage it. Not yet, not while Elliot still needed him this way.
Noah shook the thought aside, pushing down the small ache of loneliness. He had a routine now — checking in on Elliot every day, working in his company, keeping things running smoothly — but the human side of him, the part that craved connection beyond his friend, remained unfulfilled. He didn't mind. Elliot's world came first.
Yet, there were nights he lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, and wondered what it would be like to be needed for more than management, guidance, or emotional support. To be someone's choice, not just their necessity. The thought lingered, bittersweet, like a song half-remembered.
He glanced at Elliot again, typing with a slow, deliberate care, seemingly shutting out the world. Noah smiled faintly, heart clenching with pride and worry all at once. Elliot was improving, bit by bit — taking steps he hadn't dared in two years — but the fear, the control, it was still there, coiled and ready to snap.
Noah's loyalty wasn't blind. He knew the fragility of progress, the way a single moment could send Elliot retreating into himself. He'd been there when Elliot lashed out, when the walls went up, when the apartment became a fortress. And he would be there again, no hesitation, because this was friendship, loyalty, and love in its quietest, most patient form.
The clock ticked softly, a reminder that hours passed whether they noticed or not. Noah leaned back, letting his hands fall into his lap. He thought of the small victories — the coffee made, the errands done, the appointments attended. He thought of Elliot walking outside, getting on the bus. Small things, but monumental in their own way.
And yet, underneath it all, a quiet ache remained. A life paused. The world outside the apartment waited for him too, and he sometimes wondered if he would ever step fully into it, with someone beside him, not just as a guide to another's steps.
But for now, Noah chose to stay. To be the quiet anchor in Elliot's storm. It was a choice he made with a steady heart, even if it left the rest of him — his own dreams, his own desire for connection — on hold.
He watched Elliot pause, leaning back from the laptop, and Noah felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, progress wasn't a straight line. Maybe, if he stayed, gave space and support, and let Elliot rebuild at his own pace, there would be room for both of them to live fully — separately, but connected, both finding their way forward.
Noah sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but he did know this: he wouldn't leave Elliot to face it alone. Not ever.
Noah watched a group of colleagues huddled around a monitor, joking about a presentation gone wrong, and a pang of longing twisted inside him. He had never experienced that kind of carefree camaraderie. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to a movie with someone, let alone taken a girl to dinner. Life, for him, had become a careful calculation: Elliot first, work second, and any personal desires shoved aside into quiet corners.
He glanced down at the calendar on his desk. Meetings, reports, check-ins with staff, Dr. Harper's visits — every hour accounted for.
Noah tapped his pen against the desk absentmindedly, thinking about how paradoxical it was: he was constantly surrounded by people, yet so cut off from the normal connections that made life feel lived. He could manage the chaos, keep the company afloat, keep Elliot safe. but he couldn't manufacture the kind of human warmth he craved for himself.
The office buzzed on, oblivious to the quiet ache in the man at the desk. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake it off. He reminded himself of the small victories: Elliot venturing outside, making it through another day without a meltdown, even smiling at a joke. That was worth more than any movie date, any romantic evening.
For now, he typed on, answered another call, and watched the office life continue around him, both a comfort and a reminder of what he quietly missed.