The numbers on the oven clock blinked 2:37 a.m.
Elliot sat hunched on the couch, arms wrapped around his middle, the world narrowed to the steady throb in his chest. He hadn't moved in hours. The shards of glass from earlier still glinted on the kitchen floor, untouched. His laptop sat closed on the table, silent and accusing.
Every time he thought about standing, his body refused. His limbs felt heavy, his head foggy. He wanted sleep, but his mind was a relentless reel. Car crash. Screams. Silence. His mother's voice pleading, his own cracking in reply.
He'd revealed something last night — hadn't meant to — but Val had seen it. The crack in his armor. And now it felt like the whole building had seen it too, though logic told him she was the only one in the hall. Logic didn't help.
By five a.m., the city outside began to stir, taxis honking far below, dawn smearing gray across the skyline. Elliot hadn't shut his eyes once. His body begged for rest, but every time he tried to close his eyes, adrenaline spiked like a live wire.
So he stayed still, statue-still, listening to the apartment breathe around him.
When the knock came at nine, he didn't react at first. It was faint, rhythmic.
"Elliot?" Noah's voice. Steady. Familiar.
The door opened — the code punched in from outside. Noah stepped in, balancing a coffee tray in one hand, a briefcase in the other.
"Brought breakfast, man. Thought you'd —"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Elliot blinked at him, slow, as if surfacing from underwater.
Noah's eyes scanned the untouched room — the shattered glass, the still air —and finally landed on Elliot. Slumped on the couch, hair unkempt, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
"Jesus," Noah muttered, setting everything down. He crouched in front of him. "You haven't moved all night, have you?"
Elliot's throat worked, but no words came.
"You didn't sleep," Noah said softly, careful, like speaking to a wounded animal. "You look like hell."
Elliot dragged a hand down his face, his breath uneven. "I… tried. Couldn't."
Noah's jaw tightened. "This isn't sustainable, El. You can't keep doing this to yourself."
But Elliot just shook his head, eyes darting away, shame curling tighter than panic. How could he explain it? That the silence he once craved now suffocated him — that the smallest disruption across the hall could topple everything he'd built to stay upright?
Noah sat back, frustration and concern warring in his expression. "Okay," he said finally. "Then we're figuring this out. Today."
Elliot wanted to protest, to push him away like always — but the fight wasn't in him anymore. He just stared past Noah at the perfect, empty walls and wondered how much longer he could keep pretending this was living.
By mid-morning, Noah had made a few calls.
"You're not moving today," he said firmly. "Not one step."
Elliot didn't resist. Didn't argue when Noah moved the couch cushions, tidied the chaos, made the room feel less like a crime scene and more like a place to breathe.
When the doorbell rang, Elliot barely looked up. A calm, middle-aged man stood there, introducing himself as Dr. Harper. Noah stayed close while the therapist took quiet stock.
"You're exhausted," Dr. Harper said finally. "I have something that will help you rest. We'll start properly tomorrow. Step by step."
Elliot nodded faintly. The medication was offered, and he took it without argument. Within minutes, the tension in his shoulders softened, and the panic that had clutched him all night began to loosen.
Noah stayed until he was breathing evenly, asleep on the couch. Then he moved silently, sweeping up glass, straightening papers, setting a cup of water nearby. The city outside kept moving, unaware. But inside, for the first time in two days, it was quiet.
When Noah finally opened the door to leave, Val's door cracked open across the hall.
"Is he… okay?" she asked softly.
Noah hesitated. "He's resting. Let him be. He's… under the weather."
Val blinked, startled. She nodded once and closed her door gently behind her.
Then she just stood there, staring at her reflection in the dark TV screen. She felt heavy. Guilty. Uneasy. Something had gone very wrong, and she didn't know what — but she knew she'd played a part in it.
She sank to the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees. Her life was usually chaotic, loud, and fast—too fast to feel much of anything. But this felt different. She hadn't broken anything physical, hadn't done anything truly dangerous. Yet she'd hurt someone. Somehow.
She didn't have a clue what was wrong with Elliot, but the sight of him earlier — pale, exhausted, empty — stuck with her.
And that twist of guilt wouldn't fade.
The doorbell rang repeatedly that evening, loud and insistent. Val groaned and opened it to find her usual group of friends — smiling, loud, bottles in hand.
"Party time!" one of them cheered.
Val stared, numb. The idea made her stomach twist. Not tonight. Not with everything she was feeling.
"I'm not in the mood," she said flatly. "You should go."
They blinked, shocked.
"What do you mean? You always want to party," one said.
Val crossed her arms. "Not tonight. And maybe don't show up uninvited next time."
One of them laughed, mean and sharp. "You've changed, Val. Honestly, we never really liked you that much anyway."
Val's heart jolted — but then steadied. Relief crept in where pain might have been.
"Good," she said simply. "Then go."
They left muttering, and for once, she didn't chase after them. She closed the door, exhaled, and really looked at her apartment.
Empty cups. Stale perfume. Glitter and dust and noise she hadn't cleaned in weeks. It looked like a shell of the life she'd been performing.
So she started cleaning. Quietly. Carefully. Piece by piece, she put the place back together. By the time the room looked different — calmer — and so did she.
Later, she sat at her small desk and opened her laptop. She scrolled through job listings — ordinary ones. Waitressing. Retail. Things she'd once thought were beneath her but now looked like steps toward stability. Toward something real.
She didn't know if Elliot would ever forgive her or even want to hear her apology. But for the first time in a long time, Val decided she didn't need to be the loudest person in the room.
She just needed to change.
The following morning, Noah arrived at Elliot's apartment just as dawn washed pale gold over the city. He lifted his hand to knock, but the door opened first.
"Morning," Elliot said evenly. He was dressed, showered, composed — mask firmly in place.
Noah's brow furrowed. "You're up early."
"I was just tired," Elliot said. "Needed the sleep."
Noah didn't believe him for a second. "You're not fine, Elliot. I'm staying until you talk to Dr. Harper. First session, in here. With me."
Elliot hesitated, eyes flicking to his laptop. "Okay. But… can I work until he gets here?"
Noah sighed but nodded. "Fine. But once he's here, that's it."
The apartment fell into a fragile rhythm — the click of keys, the quiet hum of city life outside. When the knock finally came, Noah went to answer.
"Dr. Harper," he said, opening the door.
At that same moment, Val's door opened across the hall. She glanced out, saw them, and gave a small, tense nod. Then she hurried down the hallway without a word.
Elliot noticed. The worry on her face lingered with him longer than it should have. It wasn't pity exactly — it was something quieter.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Noah's voice drew him back. "Alright," he said, gesturing toward the therapist. "Let's do this."
Elliot nodded, fingers hovering above the keyboard, heart beating too fast for reasons he couldn't quite name.
As Dr. Harper stepped inside, Elliot realized he wasn't sure which was harder — facing help, or facing what came after.
Either way, there was no hiding now.