The apartment felt different the following morning.
Not tense. Not heavy. Just quietly aware of itself.
Val sat in the guest room after breakfast, scrolling through her phone, tabs multiplying as she searched for volunteer listings. Community centre programmes. Arts outreach. After school workshops. She made notes in her notebook, her handwriting looping and uneven where she got excited. She closed the door partway, not to shut Elliot out, but to give him space.
Elliot sat at his desk, his headphones resting beside the laptop ready for him to put on.
The video call window glowed softly, Dr Harper's name waiting patiently. He breathed in, then out, grounding himself in the familiar shape of the room. Val's presence was still there, like warmth through a wall.
Reassuring. Not intrusive.
He clicked join.
Dr Harper appeared, sitting in his office, calm and observant, his expression settling into attentive neutrality.
"Good morning, Elliot," he said. "How are you today?"
He considered the question carefully.
"Different," he said finally. "Not bad. Just… different."
He nodded. "Do you want to tell me about that?"
Elliot hesitated, then did.
He told him about Val's accident, carefully and without embellishment. About the nights he had slept upright against the wall, listening to her breathe.
About how the fear had been sharp and immediate, unlike the distant, managed anxiety he was used to. He told him how caring for her had felt both exhausting and grounding, how the apartment had seemed to rearrange itself around another person's needs.
"And now?" Dr Harper asked gently.
"And now she's better," Elliot said. "I asked her to stay. I didn't want her to go home. And she stayed."
"And how does that make you feel?"
He let out a slow breath. "Relieved. And… nervous."
Dr Harper waited.
"I feel at ease with her," Elliot continued. "More than I have with anyone in a long time. But that feels dangerous. Because ease implies expectation. And expectation implies loss."
Dr Harper's gaze sharpened slightly, interested.
"You're anticipating an ending."
"Yes," he said immediately. "It's logical."
"Is it?"
He frowned. "She's very different from me. She's social. Creative. She moves through the world easily. I… don't. I can't be what she would want."
Dr Harper tilted his head. "That's an assumption."
"It's a reasonable one."
"It's a familiar one," he corrected. "You're deciding her needs for her."
Elliot stiffened slightly. "I'm trying to be realistic."
"You're trying to protect yourself," Dr Harper said, not unkindly. "And possibly protect her. But in doing so, you're removing her agency."
The words landed quietly, but firmly.
"She has the right to choose," Dr Harper continued. "To choose what she wants, and who she wants it with. Even if that choice doesn't align with your fears."
Elliot looked down at his hands. They were steady. That in itself felt strange.
"I don't know how to explore this without risking everything," he said. "What we have feels… fragile."
Dr Harper smiled softly. "It is fragile. Most meaningful things are. But consider this. A few weeks ago, your primary goal was to keep the world at a manageable distance. To avoid connection entirely."
Elliot nodded.
"And now?" Dr Harper prompted.
Elliot thought of the café. The park. The way he had walked without counting. The way Val's hand had felt in his.
"And now," he said slowly, "I'm imagining a future that includes another person. Even if I'm afraid of it."
"That's a significant shift," Dr Harper said. "You're no longer shutting the world out. You're negotiating with it."
He absorbed that in silence.
"Even if Val only wants friendship," Dr Harper added, "that relationship is already good for you. You've stepped outside your patterns. You've tolerated uncertainty. You've allowed yourself to care."
He swallowed. "And if she wants more?"
Dr Harper's smile was gentle but knowing. "Then you will have to tolerate not knowing where it leads. That there is work for you to do."
The call ended not long after. Elliot closed the laptop and sat very still, letting the session settle inside him. His chest felt tight, but not panicked. More like a door he hadn't opened before was now ajar, letting in light and air he wasn't sure how to handle.
He stood and moved quietly down the hallway.
Val looked up when he knocked softly on the door of the guest room.
"All done?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
She studied his face, reading the small changes. "How was it?"
He considered lying. But he didn't.
"Challenging," he told her. "But… helpful."
She smiled. "That sounds about right."
She put her phone down. "I found a few places I might email. Nothing definite yet."
"That's good," he said. "Lots of options for you."
"I know," she replied. "I'm… excited."
He nodded. He understood that too now. The careful kind of excitement that didn't demand certainty.
They stood there for a moment, neither moving away.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?"
"For giving me space this morning."
She shrugged lightly. "It's important to have space."
"It was."
Their eyes met, held. Something quiet passed between them, unspoken but real.
Elliot noticed something as he stood there.
The future still frightened him.
But it also felt exciting.
That afternoon, they went for a walk.
The park was scattered with leaves, gold and rust and brown, crunching softly beneath their shoes. The air smelled clean and crisp with autumn. They walked side by side, hand in hand, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was now.
They found a bench in the sun and sat, angled toward each other without quite meaning to. Nearby, a couple were helping a small child learn to ride a bike.
The child wobbled, his feet scraping the ground, laughter mixed with frustration. The dad jogged alongside, one hand hovering just behind the seat.
Elliot watched intently. Each near fall making his shoulders tighten. Each recovery loosened them again.
Eventually, the dad let go. The bike rolled forward on its own. The child laughed, loud and triumphant.
Val followed his gaze.
"That's kind of how it feels," she said. "Starting over."
"Did you ever stop being scared?" he asked quietly.
She considered it. "No. I just stopped letting it decide everything."
He nodded, letting that settle.
They walked home slowly, unhurried. When they reached the apartment, the quiet welcomed them back, no longer empty, but shared.
That evening, they sat on the sofa, the familiar quiz show playing softly. Val tucked her legs beneath her, the blanket drawn over both of them. As she sat, she reached for his hand.
He did not hesitate.
Their fingers fit together easily now, as though they had learned the shape of each other. He realised, distantly, that he was calm. Truly calm. No bracing. No counting. Just the steady awareness of her beside him. His arm around her.
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
"You know," she murmured, "I think this might be my favourite place."
He glanced down at her. "My apartment?"
"No," she said. "This."
He understood.
They stayed like that as the evening deepened, the city dimming outside the windows. Elliot realised something quietly astonishing.
He was living inside the moment. Fully. Willingly.
And the thought of tomorrow did not feel like something to fear.