The city was quieter than usual that morning, its sounds softened by a low mist that blurred the skyline. Inside Elliot's apartment, the faint hum of his computer blended with the ticking of the wall clock — a steady rhythm that anchored him.
Noah was sitting opposite him, reviewing a few company reports, when Elliot spoke up. His voice was calm but tentative, like someone testing the weight of a fragile idea.
"Do you want to get coffee?"
Noah looked up, blinking. "Coffee?"
Elliot nodded, gaze fixed on the table. "The shop on the corner."
For a moment, Noah just stared at him. "You sure?"
Elliot's lips twitched faintly — not quite a smile, but close. "That's usually what coffee shops are for."
Noah let out a slow breath, equal parts surprise and pride. "Ok."
Elliot's fingers tapped restlessly against his knee. "I've been thinking about it. I don't want to… hide anymore. Not all the time."
It wasn't said dramatically, but the quiet conviction behind it made Noah's chest tighten. He rose, grabbing his coat before Elliot could change his mind. "Then let's go."
The hallway smelled faintly of someone's floral detergent. Elliot slipped on his noise-cancelling headphones, the soft click of the power switch muting the world to a distant hum. The sound dimmed, and the pressure in his chest eased slightly.
They rode the elevator in silence. Elliot's reflection in the mirror was paler than he remembered — tired eyes, hair falling slightly out of place — but there was something steadier there too.
When the doors slid open, the city air rushed in, cool and damp. He flinched instinctively, but Noah's hand on his shoulder grounded him. "You're good," Noah murmured. "Just breathe."
The coffee shop was only a block away, but it might as well have been a mile. Every sound felt sharper, even through the muffled haze of his headphones — the rumble of passing cars, a dog barking somewhere nearby, the scrape of a bike tire on the pavement. He focused on Noah's footsteps beside him, matching the rhythm, counting each beat like a mantra.
When they finally reached the café, a bell chimed as they entered. The warmth hit him first — roasted coffee, baked sugar, the faint hiss of milk steaming. It was sensory overload in a different way, but softer somehow, more human.
Noah ordered for both of them. Two cappuccinos, one chocolate croissant, one almond. Elliot stood close, hands tucked in his coat pockets, focusing on the movement of the barista's hands rather than the noise.
When their drinks were ready, they carried them back through the mist, paper cups steaming in the cool air. Elliot didn't speak, but Noah didn't push him to. There was a quiet between them that didn't need words — just the shared knowledge that this, small as it seemed, mattered.
They turned the corner just as someone was heading out of his apartment building.
She stopped mid-step when she saw them. Her hair was loose, a few strands stuck to her cheek from the drizzle, her work uniform creased from the day. For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then she exhaled and looked at Elliot. "Hey."
"Hey."
"I… wanted to say I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For what I said before. I was angry, and I shouldn't have been."
Elliot's hand tightened around his coffee cup. "It's okay," he said, voice barely above a murmur.
"No, it wasn't."
He met her eyes briefly, then looked away. "Still. It's okay."
Something fragile and awkward hung between them — a truce made of half-smiles and too many unspoken things.
Val gave a small nod, hugging her bag closer. "Alright. Well… have a good day."
"You too."
And just like that, she was gone.
Elliot stood there a moment longer, the faint hum of his headphones filling the silence where her voice had been.
Noah smiled at him, quiet and proud. "That was good, El. Really good."
Elliot shrugged, a hint of colour in his cheeks. "It was just coffee."
"Sure," Noah said, grinning. "Just coffee. And sunlight. And people. And a full block away from home."
Elliot almost smiled. "Don't make it sound heroic."
"I'm not. Just proud." Noah's tone softened. "You want me to stick around for a bit? Or do you need to get back to work?"
"I'll be fine," Elliot said, glancing toward his door. "Thank you, though."
"Alright. Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
Noah hesitated at the threshold, studying his friend one last time before leaving. Something in Elliot's face had changed — still pale, still cautious, but lighter somehow. Not healed. Just… beginning.
When the door closed, the apartment's quiet returned, but it no longer felt suffocating. Elliot carried the coffee to his desk, set it down beside his notebook, and flipped it open. The leather was soft beneath his fingertips, the pen cool and steady in his hand.
He wrote a single line first, slow and deliberate:
I went outside today.
Then another, below it:
It didn't break me.
He sat for a long time after that, watching the words on the page like they belonged to someone braver. When the coffee cooled, he put the journal aside and moved into the kitchen.
He chopped vegetables, boiled pasta, stirred sauce — simple motions, grounding ones. The apartment filled with warmth, the scent of garlic and herbs chasing away the quiet.
When he sat down to eat, the city had slipped into twilight. Streetlights glowed through the blinds, and the hum of traffic rose like a heartbeat beneath the evening stillness.
He was halfway through his meal when a soft knock echoed through the hallway. Not on his door — Val's.
Curiosity stirred before he could stop it. He set down his fork, moved toward the door, and peered there peephole.
A man stood outside her door. Tall, dark-haired, well-dressed — the kind of confidence that came easily to some people. He was holding a bunch of flowers.
Val appeared a moment later, her laugh muffled through the door before it opened fully. She stepped out wearing a deep red dress, her hair pinned up, lips shining faintly in the light from the corridor.
She looked beautiful. Effortlessly so.
The man offered her the flowers and she them it without hesitation, her smile soft but certain. She took the flowers into her apartment and reappear a moment later.
Together, they walked toward the elevator, voices fading with the hum of the descending lift.
Elliot stayed there, unmoving, one hand braced against the doorframe.
He wasn't sure what he felt — only that it caught him off guard. A sharp twist low in his chest, quick and unwelcome.
It wasn't jealousy. It couldn't be. He didn't do things like that. He didn't feel… that way.
Maybe he was just concerned. Yes — concerned. A young woman living alone, trusting someone she barely knew. That was reasonable.
Logical.
But the logic didn't ease the restlessness.
He went back to his dinner, the food now cold, his appetite gone. His mind wandered, circling back to the image of her laughing, her hand in someone else's.
It was none of his business. He told himself that again and again.
Still, when he finally returned to his desk and opened his journal, he found his hand moving before he could think.
She went out tonight. With someone. I shouldn't care. I don't care. But I can't stop thinking about it.
He stared at the words until they blurred.
Then, quietly, he added one more line.
I think I'm starting to feel things again. And it's terrifying.