The morning light filtered softly through the windows when Val knocked on Elliot's door. It wasn't a hard knock, more of a quiet tap, like she was testing whether he might still be asleep.
He wasn't. He'd been awake for hours, sitting at his desk, reading Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman.
When he opened the door, she was there — hair pulled into a loose braid, jacket half-zipped, that easy, lopsided smile on her face.
"Morning," she said. "You busy?"
He hesitated. "No. Not exactly."
"Good." She rocked back on her heels. "Come for a walk with me."
He blinked. "A walk?"
"Yeah. There's a park a few blocks away. It's quiet this time of morning, barely anyone around.
He frowned slightly, glancing past her toward the hallway, as though the very idea of outside was something to examine from a distance. "Why?"
Val's smile softened. "Because it's a nice day. Because you've been cooped up in here too long. And because I think it'd be good for you."
He didn't answer right away. His fingers twitched against the doorframe, his mind running through all the possibilities — the noise, the people, the unpredictable.
"I don't… do well outside," he said finally. "Too many variables."
"I know," she said gently. "That's why I thought we'd just go to the park. No crowds. No traffic. Just trees, air, and maybe a duck or two if we're lucky."
He looked doubtful. "A duck?"
Her grin widened. "A very calm duck. Probably minding its own business."
Despite himself, his lips twitched. "That does sound… tolerable."
"There you go," she said brightly. "From you, that's practically enthusiasm."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know, Val. I —what if it's noisy?"
"Bring your headphones," she said, "Sunglasses too, block the brightness if it bothers you."
He blinked, startled that she'd think of that.
"You… won't mind?"
"Of course not." She shrugged, like it was obvious. "Whatever you're comfortable with."
Something in his expression softened then, a small crack in the uncertainty.
Val took a step closer, careful not to crowd him. "Come on, Elliot. Just ten minutes. If it's too much, we'll come straight back."
He studied her face — the openness there, the lack of pressure. He trusted her, he realised. Maybe as much as he trusted Noah..
"Ten minutes?" he said.
"Ten minutes," she promised.
He took a slow breath, then nodded. "Alright."
Her smile widened into something bright and proud, though she tried to hide it. "Grab your jacket too, it's a bit chilly."
He moved methodically — jacket, keys, wallet, headphones, sunglasses — the ritual steadied him. By the time they stepped into the corridor, his heartbeat had evened out.
They took the stairs. Val kept a half-step ahead, chatting lightly about the weather and the strange squeaky noise the elevator made sometimes. She didn't expect replies; she just kept the air easy, giving him something else to focus on besides the tightness in his chest.
When they reached the street, Elliot paused. The light hit him like a physical thing — too bright, too open. His breath caught for a second.
Val noticed and didn't push. She simply said, "Headphones, glasses. Just walk beside me. We'll go slow."
He nodded, sliding them on, grateful for the cocoon of quiet they brought.
She matched her pace to his, keeping her tone calm, casual.
He didn't say a word, but he didn't turn back either. That was something.
They walked past the coffee shop on the corner, the bus stop, the row of trees lining the street that led toward the small park. With each step, the sounds faded — traffic giving way to birds, the buzz of the city replaced by something gentler.
When they reached the park entrance, Val glanced sideways at him. His shoulders had lowered slightly; the tension wasn't gone, but it was less sharp.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
He nodded once, tentative. "I think so."
Val smiled, the kind of smile that didn't need words. "Good."
And then the sunlight was warm on his face. It was gentle, not harsh. Elliot blinked against it, adjusting the noise-cancelling headphones, the familiar hum and gentle isolation providing a buffer from the city's clamor.
Val walked beside him, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, sneakers crunching softly on the gravel path of the small park just a few blocks away from their building. The air smelled faintly of wet earth and autumn leaves, a subtle sweetness he couldn't name. Birds called from the treetops, their chatter unfamiliar, yet oddly soothing.
Elliot's steps were careful, measured, his gaze scanning the green canopy above, the occasional passerby with a dog, a child chasing a balloon. It was new — all of it — and he felt his chest lighten slightly with each step.
"This isn't so bad, is it?" Val said, glancing at him. Her smile was soft, quiet, nothing flashy, just gentle encouragement.
He shook his head slowly. "It's… calming."
She raised her eyebrows, but smiled. "Calming?"
"Yes," he said carefully. "Being out. Not too far. There's… space between things. And it smells different than the street."
Val nodded, keeping pace with him. She didn't comment, just let him take in the world around him, understanding that rushing him would undo all the progress of the past few weeks.
They walked along the winding paths, stepping over roots and fallen leaves. The sunlight dappled through the trees, a slow pattern that shifted with the breeze. Elliot let himself notice it — the way the shadows stretched across the grass, the quiet rustle of leaves, the occasional bird flying overhead. Each small observation rooted him further in the present, something he rarely allowed himself to feel outside his apartment.
For a while, they didn't speak. They didn't need to. Just walking, just being among the trees, was enough. Elliot felt something he hadn't felt in years: lightness. Not joy exactly, not entirely calm, but a quiet, grounded sensation he couldn't have named when he was younger.
When they reached a small bench near a pond, Val paused and gestured for him to sit. The water reflected the sky, smooth and unbroken, a rare stillness in the middle of the bustling city.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
Elliot nodded. "Yes." Then, after a pause: "I… I'd forgotten what this felt like. Being outside. Just being around nature."
Val smiled. "It's a good feeling, isn't it?"
"Yes," he said again, more firmly this time. "Good."
They sat for a few minutes in companionable silence, the only sounds the birds above and the gentle lapping of the pond.
When they decided it was time to return, Val guided him back toward the street. "Want to come in for lunch? I can make grilled cheese sandwiches. It's my specialty."
Elliot hesitated. "I… don't know. Maybe that's enough for today."
"It's just here," she said, her tone warm. "Quiet. No one else. I promise."
After a brief pause, he nodded. "Alright."
Her apartment felt warm when they stepped inside. The small kitchen was tidy, jars lined up neatly along the counter. She set to work straight away, humming softly as she washed her hands, then slid the sandwiches onto plates and handed him one.
"Comfort food," she said, almost apologetically. "It's what my dad used to make me. And it's all I know how to cook."
He smiled faintly, the simplicity of it comforting in a way he hadn't expected. They ate together quietly, the soft scrape of plates on the counter the only sounds.
"Do you… eat this often?" he asked after a pause.
Val laughed softly. "Not really. But it's familiar, you know? It reminds me of home. Sometimes that's enough."
Elliot nodded, taking in the warmth of the kitchen, the soft light, the feeling that he could just be without overthinking.
When they finished, he stood and washed the dishes carefully, methodically, as he always did. Val watched him for a moment, then wandered over to the window, staring out at the city.
"Thank you," he said quietly when he finished.
"For lunch?" she asked, turning to him with a smile.
"For… everything," he admitted.
She smiled, but said nothing more. They didn't need to. Words weren't necessary.
By the time he returned to his own apartment, the city had grown softer, the afternoon stretching wide and quiet before him. He collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion washing over him, the physical exertion of the day and the emotional weight of venturing out mixing together.