The next morning arrived wrapped in soft, golden light — the kind that made the air feel gentler, as if the city itself was exhaling. Elliot stood by the window, coffee mug in hand, staring at the way the sunlight caught on the glass towers beyond. He could see faint trails of people down on the street — hurried, purposeful, alive. The hum of the world still felt distant, but less threatening than it once had.
Behind him, Noah emerged from the guest room, yawning and tugging on his jacket. "You're up early," he said, half-amused, half-wary.
Elliot nodded, eyes still on the window. "Couldn't sleep much."
Noah reached for his keys. "Want me to pick you up something for breakfast?"
Elliot turned then, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Actually…" He hesitated, taking a steadying breath. "I'd like to go with you. To the café on the corner."
For a moment, Noah didn't speak. Then his eyebrows shot up. "Ok. You sure?"
"Yeah," Elliot said simply, but his voice trembled on the edge of the word.
Noah smiled, warmth blooming in his chest. "Then let's go, buddy."
The autumn air greeted them like a rush of a new language — crisp, sharp, alive. Elliot had forgotten what cold air on his skin felt like, how the light fractured through morning fog, how footsteps echoed differently outdoors. He slipped on his noise-cancelling headphones and tucked his hands into his jacket pockets.
The world dulled instantly — the bus rumble softened to a throb, voices melted into a low hum. The distance it created was comforting, but also strange, like walking through a memory.
They crossed the street. The café was small and busy, windows fogged with breath and steam. When Noah pushed open the door, the bell chimed — a delicate, metallic note that made Elliot's pulse quicken.
He paused just inside the doorway, grounding himself with slow breaths. The smell of espresso and sugar was thick and warm, wrapping around him like a blanket. People lined up along the counter, a young woman laughed near the window, a barista called out an order.
Elliot's fingers itched — part of him wanted to run, another part wanted to stay and remember how this felt.
"You okay?" Noah murmured.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Just… taking it in."
Noah nodded and ordered the coffees and some pastries. Elliot managed a small, uncertain smile at the barista when she handed over the drinks, and she smiled back — ordinary, brief, human.
It was nothing. It was everything.
Outside again, the city looked different. Not smaller, exactly; just less impossible.
They walked back slowly. The paper bag was warm in Elliot's hands. His pulse had steadied, and for the first time in a long time, his thoughts didn't circle endlessly around fear.
When they reached his apartment, Elliot stopped at the door to Val's apartment.
Noah paused beside him. "What's up?"
Elliot hesitated. "I got an extra coffee and muffin."
"And?"
"I want to give them to her."
Noah's expression softened. "Alright."
Elliot took a breath, then knocked.
The door opened a moment later. Val stood there, hair swept into a loose bun, lipstick a confident red, tote bag slung over her shoulder. Her surprise at seeing him turned quickly to confusion.
"Morning," Elliot said, holding out the cup. "I brought you breakfast."
Val blinked. "You what?"
"Coffee. And a muffin." He paused. "It's blueberry."
Her gaze softened, suspicion fading into something like tenderness. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know," he said quietly. "I just… wanted to say I'm sorry. For how I spoke to you. I was worried, but it came out wrong."
Val stared at him for a heartbeat, then took the cup. "It did come out wrong," she admitted, voice low. "But I get it. You were trying to look out for me."
He nodded, grateful. "Still. It wasn't my place."
She smiled — a real one this time, small and crooked. "Apology accepted. And thanks for the breakfast."
As she started down the hall, she threw a glance over her shoulder. "You should come by the café for lunch. If you want. Or not. Whatever."
Her grin widened just a fraction before she disappeared into the elevator, leaving behind the faint scent of perfume and coffee.
Elliot exhaled slowly, feeling something he hadn't in weeks — ease.
Inside the apartment, Noah leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him. "That went better than I expected."
"Better than I deserve," Elliot murmured.
"She clearly doesn't think that."
Elliot didn't answer, but a small smile ghosted across his lips.
They sat together at the kitchen table, the morning sunlight soft and full, spilling across the floor. For a long time, they didn't talk. There was no need to.
Then Elliot said quietly, "Noah… thank you. For being here. Not just now — for all of it. I wouldn't have made it through without you."
Noah waved it off. "You don't have to thank me, man. That's what friends do."
"I know," Elliot said. "But I still want to." He hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry for relying on you so much. I didn't mean to take over your life."
Noah leaned back in his chair. "You didn't take it over. You gave it meaning."
Elliot frowned. "That can't be true."
"Maybe not all of it," Noah said with a shrug. "But you're my best friend. You needed someone and I could be that. I don't regret a second."
Elliot looked down at his hands. "Still… I've kept you from having a life of your own."
Noah smiled softly. "I have a life. It's just… quieter than most."
Elliot looked up at him then, genuinely curious. "How are your parents?"
"They're good," Noah said. "Still in the suburbs. My mum keeps sending me casseroles like I'm twelve."
Elliot smiled faintly. "And… anyone special?"
Noah chuckled. "Not yet. I've dated a bit. But no one's really stuck."
Elliot's gaze fell. "Because of me?"
"Because life's complicated," Noah replied easily. Then, after a pause, "Maybe a little because of you. But don't start apologising for that too, you're my priority."
Elliot's expression softened. "You deserve more."
"So do you," Noah said. "We'll get there."
For a moment, the two men sat in silence, the city's pulse just beyond the glass — distant, steady, alive.
After Noah left for the office, Elliot lingered by the window again, the soft light spilling over his desk. His coffee finished, but he didn't move to refill it.
He thought about Val — her half-smile, the teasing glint in her eyes. He thought about how much effort it had taken to apologise and how strange it was that such a small gesture could make him feel human again.
He thought about Noah, too; about what friendship really meant. About what it might mean, someday, to give something back.
His gaze drifted to his notebook on the table. It sat open to a blank page, the pen lying across it like a held breath.
He sat down.
The quiet filled the apartment. For a moment, he just listened — to the tick of the wall clock, the whisper of wind against the window pane.
Then, slowly, he began to write.
"I went outside again, today. The air hurt my lungs a little. The light was too bright. But I didn't panic. I think that's progress."
"I made peace with someone I hurt. She smiled at me, and it didn't scare me. I don't know what that means yet."
"Noah says I'm not a burden. I want to believe him."
He paused, pen hovering, then added quietly:
"Maybe I'm learning how to live again. Maybe I just needed someone to wait for me to catch up."
The words weren't perfect, but they were real.
He closed the notebook gently and sat back, exhaling. Outside, the city was sliding toward evening — lights flickering on in the distance, the world moving forward, indifferent, but inviting.
He didn't feel ready to join it yet. But for the first time, the idea didn't seem impossible.
He rose and went to the kitchen, humming under his breath as he began to cook dinner. The rhythm of chopping vegetables, the hiss of olive oil — simple, grounding, alive.
Somewhere beyond the walls, he heard laughter drifting faintly from the street. He imagined Val's voice among them, bright and clear.
And as he stirred the pan, he thought — maybe, someday soon, he'd walk into that café at lunchtime.
Not today.
But someday.
When the moment came, he wanted to be ready.