Two weeks passed almost without notice.
The days folded into one another with a quiet ease that neither of them commented on, as though naming it might disturb something delicate. Mornings still began early, Noah arriving with his coffee and his familiar energy, settling in at the desk with Elliot as if nothing fundamental had changed. And yet everything had.
Elliot worked more steadily than he had in months. He still paused when the world pressed too close, still reached for his headphones when noise layered itself unpredictably, but there was less bracing now. Less vigilance. His shoulders no longer lived permanently near his ears. He caught himself humming once, absently, and stopped in mild shock before realising he wasn't distressed by the sound.
Val noticed that and smiled to herself, feeling proud of how far he'd come.
She had gone back to work at the café two days a week and begun volunteering twice a week at the community centre. She came home tired, but it was a different kind of tired than before. She didn't feel hollowed out or brittle. She felt satisfied. She talked about the people she worked with at the community centre while Elliot listened intently.
"There's a kid who's too nervous to dance in front of the mirrors," she said one evening, as they ate dinner. "He says he can't move if he can see himself. So I had the whole group turn around."
Elliot paused, his fork hovering. "Did it help?"
"He danced for twenty minutes straight," she said, smiling. "He didn't stop once."
He nodded slowly. He understood that kind of fear. The way observation could feel like exposure.
Another night she told him about a woman in her sixties who picked up a paintbrush for the first time in decades and whispered, almost embarrassed, "I used to think art was silly. I can't believe I'm enjoying this."
Val had gone quiet after telling him that, thoughtful.
"You make people feel safe," Elliot said, carefully, as if testing the words before releasing them.
She looked at him, surprised. "You do, too."
He shook his head. "I just make things predictable."
"That's the same thing," she replied.
He didn't argue. He was starting to recognise when something was true.
One morning, Noah arrived with an energy that felt almost impossible to contain rather than restless. He set his bag down and hovered for a moment instead of opening his laptop.
"So," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was thinking."
Val looked up from the sofa. "That sounds dangerous."
He laughed. "I want you two to meet Holly."
Elliot glanced up, hesitantly. "Holly?"
"My girlfriend," Noah said, unable to stop smiling now. "I know you both want to meet her, and I think… it's time."
Val's face lit up immediately. "Yes. Absolutely yes."
Elliot considered it carefully, then nodded. "You should bring her here," he said. "For dinner. Or… something."
Noah blinked. "Yeah?"
"Yes," Elliot said, a little firmer. "If you want."
Noah's grin widened. "Yeah. I do."
Val clapped her hands softly. "Can't wait."
Elliot felt the shift immediately. The request lodged somewhere beneath his ribs, not panic, but awareness. Only later did the magnitude of that decision fully register.
A couple of nights later, Elliot found himself preparing more than necessary. He checked the table layout twice. Then a third time. He aligned the chairs. Then he straightened the placemats and adjusted the lighting until it was neither too bright nor too dim.
Val watched him from the doorway, amused, but gentle.
"You don't have to impress her," she said.
"I know," he replied. Then, after a beat, "I just want it to be nice."
She crossed the room, looping her arms loosely around him.
"It will be."
When the knock came, Elliot inhaled slowly before opening the door.
Noah stood there, familiar and reassuring. With Holly beside him.
She was cheerful in a way that didn't grate or demand attention. She had a warm smile and curious eyes. She took in the apartment with interest rather than judgment.
"Hi," she said easily. "I'm Holly. Thank you so much for having me."
"Come in," Val said, stepping forward so Elliot didn't overthink it. "I'm Val."
Holly's smile softened. "It's really nice to finally meet you. Noah talks about you both all the time."
Val beamed. Noah flushed.
Throughout dinner, she didn't mention hospitals or long nights or anything that might cast a shadow over the evening. Instead, she laughed at Noah's jokes, asked Val about the community centre, told stories about work that were light and kind and humorous.
Elliot listened more than he spoke, but when he did, Holly gave him space. She didn't rush him or fill silences prematurely.
Elliot found himself relaxing without quite noticing. At one point, when Noah went to the kitchen, Holly turned to Elliot directly.
"I'm really glad to finally meet you," she said. "Noah talks about you a lot, he says you're like a brother to him."
Elliot hesitated, then nodded. "He's… important to me."
She smiled, as though that was exactly the right thing to say.
At one point, Val caught Elliot watching Noah and Holly together, studying the easy affection between them. She reached for his hand beneath the table, her fingers sliding into his without ceremony.
He held on.
When the evening wound down, Holly stood and smiled at them both. "This was great. I've had a lovely time."
"You're welcome back anytime," Val said warmly.
Elliot nodded. "Yes. Anytime."
Noah lingered a moment at the door, his expression soft. "Thanks," he said quietly. "This really was great, El."
After they left, the apartment settled back into its usual quiet.
Elliot and Val washed the dishes side by side. She handed him plates without asking. He reached for a towel without thinking. They moved around each other with a rhythm that no longer required negotiation.
"She's lovely," Val said softly.
"Yes," Elliot agreed. "They're... good together."
Val watched him for a moment. "You notice the small things."
"I can't help it, I always have," he said. "I just don't always know what to do with them."
They finished cleaning up and turned off the lights one by one. The apartment dimmed into its familiar hush, no longer empty, no longer something Elliot retreated into alone.
Later, when the lights were off and the city had softened outside the windows, Elliot lay awake beside her, listening to her breathing. Slow. Even. Real.
He didn't count it.
He didn't prepare for it to stop.
He let it be.
In the quiet, he noticed what had changed.
Before, silence had been something he hid inside, a buffer against loss. Now it felt shared. Chosen. A place someone else had stepped into with him willingly.
He turned slightly toward her, folding his hands beneath his head as he lay there, close enough to feel her warmth. What he felt now wasn't fear.
It was gratitude.
The next morning, when he woke, the quiet remained. Not empty. Not fragile.
Steady.
And Elliot allowed himself to believe this feeling might last.