The night had been still.
Almost too still.
Elliot had gone to bed early, his notebook closed neatly beside the lamp, the faint hum of the city beyond his window more comforting than distracting. He'd almost fallen asleep when the sound started — sharp knocks echoing down the hallway. Voices. Movement.
At first, he thought he'd imagined it. But then the knocks came again — louder this time.
Someone shouted, "Fire department! Everyone needs to evacuate! Gas leak in the building!"
Elliot froze.
He sat up, heart hammering, disoriented by the sudden noise. The word evacuate tangled in his mind like an alarm he couldn't silence.
He threw off the blanket, his feet hitting the floor, but he couldn't make himself move beyond that.
Gas leak. Fire department. Leave.
He pulled on his shoes and went to the door, but stopped short. The hallway outside was a blur of voices and footsteps. People moving, shouting, calling for their children and partners, doors slamming. Too much noise and movement.
His chest tightened sharply.
He took one step back, then another. He couldn't breathe.
Someone banged on his door — hard.
"Sir? Fire department! You need to come out right now!"
Elliot's hands trembled. "I — I can't —" His voice barely audible.
The lock clicked under his fingers, but he didn't turn it. His entire body felt locked in place — muscles coiled tight.
The firefighters knocked again, urgency rising. "Sir, you have to leave immediately! It's not safe!"
He stumbled back a step, shaking his head. "No, I — I can't go out there!"
The noise pressed against him like a wall. Boots, radios, the echo of orders shouted down the corridor. His breathing came fast, shallow. The air itself felt thick.
Then the door opened across the hall.
"Wait —" A familiar voice. Calm, steady, warm. "I've got him."
Val.
She stepped out, still in her pyjamas — an oversized shirt and leggings, her hair tied back messily. She moved toward the firefighters, hand raised. "It's okay. He's coming. Just give him a second."
They hesitated, but nodded, moving on to the next apartment.
Elliot stood frozen in the doorway, shaking. "I can't —" he whispered. "It's too loud."
"I know," Val said softly, crossing the hall toward him. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe. We just need to go outside for a few minutes."
He shook his head again, eyes wide, breath stuttering. "I can't. I can't —"
"Elliot," she said, voice firm but gentle, grounding him. "Look at me."
He did. Barely.
"You need your headphones," she said. "You know where they are, right?"
He blinked, dazed. "Desk."
"Good," she said, calm and certain. "Go get them. I'll wait right here."
He hesitated — but her voice was steady enough that his body obeyed before his mind caught up. He turned, stumbled to his desk, yanked the drawer open, and found the noise-cancelling headphones. His hands shook as he put them on.
"Okay," Val said, nodding. "Now we're going downstairs. Together."
She opened her hand toward him. "You don't have to touch me, but walk near me, alright? Keep your eyes on me, not on everything else."
He followed her to the door. His breath came fast but steadier now, the edge of panic dulling under the weight of her calm.
As soon as they stepped into the hallway, the noise hit again — people moving, shouting, the distant wail of a siren outside.
He flinched, stopping short.
Val turned instantly, her hand rising protectively in front of him, a small barrier between him and the rushing movement. "It's alright," she murmured. "Stay with me. Just one step at a time."
He nodded, barely.
They descended the stairs slowly — her one step ahead, him behind, his eyes fixed on the back of her shirt, the soft fall of her hair. She kept her arm slightly outstretched, her presence a buffer between him and the crowd.
At the bottom, cold air rushed in as the building door swung open. Outside was chaos — flashing red lights, engine noise, people gathering on the pavement in clusters. Radios crackled, firefighters shouting instructions.
The sudden flood of light and movement broke whatever fragile hold he had left.
He made a small, choked sound and lifted his arm, pressing it over his head as if he could block it all out.
Val turned, instantly reaching for him. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're outside now. You're safe."
"I can't —" His voice cracked. "It's too much — too bright —"
She stepped closer, lowering her voice until it was just for him. "Alright. Breathe with me, okay? Just like you told me about — in therapy. In and out."
He tried, but the breaths came jagged, uneven.
"Good," she whispered. "You're doing fine. Come on. Let's get you away from the noise."
She guided him gently, one hand hovering near his shoulder, steering him toward the far edge of the street where the shadows were quieter and the lights didn't reach.
When they reached the corner, the air felt cooler, calmer.
Elliot leaned against the wall, pulling off one headphone so he could hear her voice more clearly.
Val crouched beside him, keeping her tone low and slow. "You did really well."
He shook his head, eyes wet. "I— I froze. I couldn't —"
"You did, you got out," she said simply. "That's what matters."
He let out a shuddering breath. "Everyone must think I'm —"
"Stop," she said gently. "No one's thinking anything. You were scared. You listened, and you came out. That's all."
The flashing lights painted her face in pale red and blue, her eyes bright with quiet determination. She wasn't scared. Not for herself, not even for him.
She was anchored. And that steadiness was what finally started to pull him back.
After a while, the chaos dulled into background noise. Elliot's breathing slowed. His hands stopped shaking. The cold air on his face helped.
Val sat beside him on the curb, close, but not touching. "You're safe now," she said softly.
He nodded, barely whispering, "Thank you."
She smiled faintly. "Anytime."
The night air bit through her thin shirt, but she barely felt it.
Her pulse was still high — not from fear, but from focus. Watching Elliot crumble like that, seeing the panic overtake him — it hit something deep inside her.
Not pity. Just… care. Fierce, steady, protective.
He sat beside her, headphones half on, eyes closed, breathing slowly. The flashing lights reflected off his face — pale, tired, but calmer now. Every so often, his shoulders twitched like he was reminding himself he still existed.
She kept her voice soft when she spoke again. "How's your breathing?"
He nodded without opening his eyes. "Better."
"Good."
Silence settled between them — not heavy this time, just the kind that fills space when words can't do better.
She glanced back at the building. The firefighters were still checking units, making sure the air was clear. Some neighbours stood around talking, but most looked sleepy, impatient, mildly inconvenienced.
She looked at Elliot again. His fingers were still curled tight around his knees, but his colour had returned.
She remembered how he'd looked in the hallway — pale, trembling, caught somewhere between logic and terror. How his voice had broken when he said I can't.
And she'd just known, instinctively, what to do.
She'd seen that look before — not on him, but on herself, years ago, when life had fallen apart and panic was the only thing that made sense. She'd learned then that sometimes you don't need someone to fix it. You just need someone who doesn't flinch.
When the all-clear finally came through, she turned toward him. "They said it's safe to go back inside."
He opened his eyes, blinking slowly. "Already?"
"Yeah. They think it was a faulty line. No damage."
He nodded, silent.
When he stood, she stood too, keeping close enough that if he wavered, she could steady him. He didn't, though. He just walked slowly back toward the building, his eyes on the ground.
At the doorway, he paused. "I'm… sorry," he said quietly. "For making a scene."
She frowned. "You didn't make a scene."
"I did. I —"
"Elliot," she interrupted gently. "You had a panic attack in a building full of alarms. You got out anyway. That's not weakness."
He met her eyes, something raw flickering there. "You make it sound simple."
"It isn't," she said. "But that's why I'm proud of you."
He blinked, caught off guard. "Proud?"
She nodded, smiling faintly. "Very."
He looked at her for a long moment — like he wanted to say something, but didn't have the language for it. Then he nodded once, almost shyly.
They reached their floor, and she stopped at her door. "Try to get some rest, okay?"
He hesitated, then said softly, "You too. And… thank you. For helping me."
Her chest tightened. "That's what friends are for."
He nodded, unlocked his door, and stepped inside. She waited until it closed before turning toward her own apartment.
The hallway fell quiet again, just as it had been before the evacuation.
But now the air felt different — charged with something unspoken, something fragile and bright.
She leaned against her door for a moment, her eyes closed, the adrenaline finally ebbing.
Then she whispered to herself, half a smile breaking through:
"That's what friends are for."