The next morning arrived soft and pale, sunlight filtering through the blinds in quiet stripes.
Elliot was already at his desk when Noah let himself in, the familiar rattle of the door handle followed by the usual morning greeting.
"Morning," Noah called, hanging his coat by the door. "Coffee's on, right?"
"Left side of the counter," Elliot said, not looking up from his laptop.
Noah found the pot still warm, poured himself a mug, then paused when he noticed the small white box sitting neatly beside it.
He lifted the lid. Inside were four cupcakes — frosted, sprinkled, undeniably homemade.
He blinked. "Okay… this is new."
Elliot glanced up briefly. "Val made them."
Noah arched an eyebrow. "And?"
"I helped."
The admission was so casual, so completely un-Elliot-like, that Noah nearly dropped his mug. "You baked?"
Elliot straightened a stack of papers, feigning nonchalance. "Technically, she baked. I measured."
"Still," Noah said, grinning. "That's progress. What brought this on?"
"She asked."
"And you just… said yes?"
Elliot frowned faintly. "Why is that surprising?"
"Because you once refused to attend a birthday lunch because the restaurant didn't have a noise policy."
"It was too loud," Elliot said simply.
Noah laughed, shaking his head. "And yet, somehow, cupcakes passed the test."
"It was fine," Elliot said, a little too quickly.
"Fine," Noah repeated, amused. "That's your official review of baking with the neighbour you're absolutely not falling for?"
Elliot shot him a warning look, but there was no real heat behind it. "I told you, we're friends."
"Uh-huh." Noah picked up a cupcake and took a bite. His eyes widened. "Oh, damn, these are good."
Elliot said nothing, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"She gave them to me to share," he said after a pause. "I think she wanted me to try something new."
Noah studied him, half leaning against the counter. "And? Did you like it?"
Elliot hesitated. Then, quietly, "Yes."
Noah's smile softened. "You know, you're doing really well, El. I can see the difference."
Elliot's brow furrowed. "What difference?"
"You're not hiding as much," Noah said simply. "A few months ago, you wouldn't have let her in. Now you're baking together. That's… massive."
Elliot looked away, uncomfortable with praise. "I suppose."
But after a moment, he added, "It was nice. The evening, I mean."
"Then maybe you should tell her that."
Elliot looked startled. "Why?"
"Because people like to hear nice things," Noah said. "And because she clearly cares about you."
Elliot didn't answer. He only turned slightly back toward his desk, fingers finding the edge of his notebook — the one where he'd written about the night before.
He didn't need to read it again. The words were still there in his mind: Maybe emotions aren't problems to fix. Maybe they're moments to notice.
He'd noticed last night. He'd noticed everything.
The day moved quietly after that.
Noah stayed until early afternoon, the two of them buried in work — calls, numbers, deadlines. It was the kind of structured focus Elliot usually liked, but today, his concentration flickered at the edges.
Every so often, he caught himself glancing toward the hallway, toward the door across from his own.
It wasn't impatience.
Not exactly.
Just… curiosity. A small, insistent hum beneath the surface.
When Noah finally packed up his laptop, he said, "You going to take a break tonight?"
Elliot gave him a mildly exasperated look. "I worked six hours today."
"That's my point. Go do something else. Watch a movie. Talk to Val."
"I'll consider it," Elliot said, which Noah had learned meant probably not, but maybe.
After Noah left, the apartment fell back into silence.
Elliot finished his reports, closed the laptop, and for a while just sat at his desk, watching the late light shift across the room.
He didn't expect the knock that came around seven.
Three light taps again — familiar now.
He hesitated before opening the door.
Val stood there, dressed casually this time — hoodie, soft jeans, her hair tied up in a loose knot. She was holding something behind her back.
"Hi," she said, smiling. "I just wanted to see if the cupcakes survived the night."
"They did," Elliot said. "Noah liked them."
"Of course he did. He looks like the type who'd eat dessert for breakfast."
"He did, actually."
She laughed, and the sound hit him like a warm breeze. "So, a success?"
He nodded. "Yes. Thank you. For letting me help. I had a nice time."
Her smile softened at that. "You did more than help. You were great. I was impressed by your precision. You level flour like you're defusing a bomb."
"I like accuracy."
"I noticed."
She shifted her weight, hesitating. "I, um… made tea. If you're not busy."
It wasn't a big invitation — not like the movies or the baking — just something small. Safe.
He hesitated, and she caught it, immediately backpedaling. "You don't have to. I just—"
"I'd like that," he said quietly.
Her expression flickered — surprise, then warmth. "Oh. Great. Come on over."
Her apartment felt different tonight — softer, quieter. The counters were clean again, but the faint scent of vanilla still lingered in the air.
She poured two mugs of tea and handed him one, motioning for him to sit.
"Earl Grey," she said. "You seem like an Earl Grey guy."
He took a cautious sip. "That's accurate."
She smiled, curling up on the couch across from him. "So, how's work?"
"Predictable. Which I prefer."
"And Noah?"
"He's the same. Talkative. Opinionated."
"Good. Someone has to balance you out."
They both smiled at that. For a while, they just talked — small things, nothing important. Work. Weather. The neighbour who played guitar too loudly on weekends.
It was easy.
Easier than it had any right to be.
At one point, she leaned back, looking at him curiously. "You know, I wasn't sure you'd say yes last night."
"To the cupcakes?"
"To… any of it. You looked startled."
"I was," he admitted. "You surprised me."
"In a bad way?"
He considered. "No. Just unexpected."
She nodded thoughtfully. "I can live with that."
There was a comfortable pause after that. The kind that made him aware of small things — the faint curl of steam from her mug, the sound of a clock ticking somewhere, the slow rhythm of her breathing.
He realized he wasn't anxious.
Not tense.
Just… present.
When he finally stood to leave, she walked him to the door. "Thanks for coming over," she said softly. "I like your company."
"Me too."
They lingered for a moment in the doorway — the narrow space between her light and his shadow.
"See you tomorrow?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yes."
She smiled — a real one, soft at the edges — and stepped back into her apartment.
He crossed the hall, unlocked his door, and closed it behind him.
Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached for his notebook.
I spent the evening at Val's again. We talked about nothing important. But it felt… steady. Comfortable.
She said she likes my company. I like hers.
I think this is what Dr. Harper meant — about sitting with feelings instead of running from them. They don't feel so dangerous now. Just alive.
He paused, tapping the pen against the page, then added:
She still surprises me. But maybe that's what I like about her.
He closed the notebook and exhaled.
Across the hall, he could hear faint movement — the sound of Val putting her mug in the sink, humming quietly to herself.
He found himself smiling, small, but genuine.
For the first time in a long while, the quiet between them didn't feel like distance.