By the time they wheeled Val toward the hospital exit, the afternoon light had softened to a muted haze. A pale gold glow filtered through the glass doors, warm against her bandaged hands. The world outside felt louder than she remembered, sharper somehow, but when she glanced sideways and saw Elliot walking beside her, the noise faded away just a little.
Noah pushed the wheelchair with quiet efficiency. Elliot walked close enough that Val could hear the small rhythm of his breathing and the soft scrape of his shoes on the polished floor. Every so often he looked at her, quick flickers of concern he could not quite hide.
Outside, the air was cool. As they waited for a cab, Val pulled the blanket tighter around her legs, the wind biting at her cheeks.
"You cold?" Noah asked.
"A little."
Before she could adjust the blanket again, Elliot stepped forward and tucked it more securely around her. His movements were gentle, almost precise, as though he were handling something delicate. His fingers brushed her knee. He flinched at the contact. She did not.
During the ride home Noah and the driver talked quietly. Elliot watched Val as she drifted in and out of a light doze, her head tipped toward the window. Every few minutes he checked that she was breathing evenly.
When they reached the building, Noah opened the door beside her so she could get out. Elliot hovered nearby, uncertain, until Val reached out with her bandaged wrist and curled her fingers into his sleeve. His breath caught. He steadied her and slipped an arm carefully around her back as he guided her toward the lift.
On the fourth floor she hesitated.
That was when Elliot asked, "Do you want to stay in your place or mine?"
She blinked at him. "Mine is fine. You can just check on me once or twice a day. I don't want to be a burden."
"That's not what Dr Ames said," he replied quietly. There was no scolding in his tone. Only a simple truth.
"She was clear. You shouldn't be on your own for a few days."
He held her gaze with surprising steadiness.
"I'm staying. Whichever apartment you choose."
Val opened her mouth to argue, then let the breath out slowly. He meant it. Not from obligation. Not from pity. From care.
"Yours," she murmured with a small nod.
Something warm unfolded in his expression. He nodded and unlocked his door.
Inside, the familiar scent of his space wrapped around them, clean with a faint trace of bergamot. The living room was bright, despite the late afternoon. A blanket lay folded neatly on the couch. A few reports were stacked on his desk by the window, aligned with almost perfect precision with his laptop. Nothing was out of place.
Noah helped her to the couch. She exhaled a shaky breath as she sat, the effort of the short journey catching up with her.
"You two sure you'll be alright here?" Noah asked.
Val nodded. "Go home. Go sleep. You look half dead."
He smiled, touched her shoulder lightly and murmured, "I'll come back later."
When the door closed behind him, the apartment settled into a softer quiet.
Elliot lingered for a moment, uncertain. His expression held something she could not quite name. Protectiveness. Fear. Tenderness. It made her chest ache.
"You should rest," he said.
She shifted and winced.
"So should you. I'm okay."
But he stayed where he was, thinking. He looked toward the kitchen, then back at her, sorting through a few things in his mind.
Eventually he moved. He fetched a glass of water and her pain medication, set them quietly on the table, and helped her lie down. He spread the blanket over her with careful hands, steady despite everything inside him that was trembling.
"Thanks," she whispered.
He swallowed. "I'll be right here."
Yet he did not sit. He looked toward the bathroom again, almost apologetically.
"Actually, I'm going to take a quick shower," he said in a low voice, "and then make some food. Something soft so it won't hurt your ribs. I'll leave the door open a little so I can hear you if you need anything."
"Elliot… you don't have to do all of this."
"I know."
He did not add anything else, but his voice carried everything he could not articulate.
She nodded. "Okay."
Once her eyes drifted closed, he stepped back.
In the bathroom's steamy hush, Elliot braced his hands on the counter and exhaled. His reflection stared back, pale and tired, the shadows under his eyes deep from days spent in hospital corridors. But something else had shifted too. A faint softening around the edges. A fragile steadiness.
He showered quickly, changed into clean clothes, then padded into the kitchen.
The familiar motions of cooking soothed him. Boiling water. Chopping vegetables in even slices. Setting each ingredient in tidy rows on the counter. The world made more sense when everything had its place.
Once the food was simmering, he sat at his desk and pulled his journal closer. He opened to a fresh page. His handwriting was small and careful.
I had forgotten how hospitals felt until this week. The lights. The sounds. Everything sharp and unpredictable. I thought I wouldn't manage.
But Val was there and I didn't want to leave. Even when everything in me felt too tight and too loud. Even when my skin hurt. I stayed. I wanted to be there when she woke up.
Noah helped. He always does. But I stayed.
He paused, pen hovering, heart unsteady.
When she looked for me first, something inside me settled. I don't know why. I only know that I want her to stay here. I'm scared she will decide to go back to her own place too soon.
He closed the journal gently and placed it back on the desk.
When he glanced toward the couch, Val was stirring. Her lashes fluttered open, her hair rumpled against the cushions.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "Are you?"
A faint flush crept into his cheeks. "I feel better now I've showered."
"You smell good," she murmured before she could stop herself.
His blush deepened. He cleared his throat.
"The food's ready."
She watched him move across the room to serve the food he'd made, watched the way he checked on her every few moments without seeming to realise he was doing it, watched his shoulders ease when he saw she was comfortable.
A soft warmth bloomed inside her.
She didn't say anything out loud.
But she was glad she had chosen his apartment.
And even more glad he had let her stay.