Morning arrived quietly. The light was softer today, matching the mood in Elliot's apartment. The rooms held that hushed expectancy that came just before a day properly began. Val sat at the small table with a mug of coffee warming her hands, her hair in a loose bun. Elliot was already at his desk by the window, his sleeves rolled up and eyes on his screen, but his posture relaxed in a way it hadn't been weeks ago.
The door opened without a knock. Noah stepped inside, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, looking faintly pleased with himself.
"Morning," he said.
Val smiled. "You're cheerful again."
He shrugged, setting his bag down. "Am I?"
"Yes," she said. "Very."
Elliot glanced over his shoulder. "Do you need anything before we start?"
"No," Noah replied easily. "I'm actually heading out again in a bit. I just wanted to drop off the revised files."
He set them on Elliot's desk, then straightened, already shifting his weight toward the door.
Elliot hesitated, then spoke before he could overthink it.
"You could come back later. For dinner."
Noah paused, surprised. He looked between them.
"I can't. I've got plans."
Val's eyes lit instantly.
"I knew it."
Noah froze. "Knew what."
"You've been seeing someone," she said, delighted. "I could tell."
His ears went red. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're smiling," she said. "You hum when you walk in. And you leave early now. You're terrible at being subtle."
Elliot watched silently, fascinated. Noah never looked like this. Flustered. Caught.
"How long were you planning on keeping it quiet?" Val pressed gently.
Noah exhaled. "It's not… that big a deal. We've only been seeing each other a couple of weeks. Since…" He stopped.
"Since what?" Val prompted.
He sighed. "Since the hospital."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh."
"One of the nurses," he added quickly. "She was working nights when Val was there."
Val's smile softened. "That's sweet."
Noah winced. "Please don't make it a thing."
Elliot said nothing, but his attention sharpened. He noted the rhythm of the exchange, the way Val asked without accusation, the way Noah chose how much to give.
"You should bring her over sometime," Val said. "We should meet her."
Noah glanced at Elliot.
Elliot went very still.
"No," Noah said quickly. "That's… probably too soon. We're not serious."
Val held up her hands. "Okay. Okay. I'm backing off." She smiled. "But if you do get serious, I'm calling dibs on first dinner."
Noah laughed, relief breaking through his embarrassment. "Deal."
He checked his watch. "I should go. I'll see you tomorrow."
After the door closed, the apartment settled back into its quiet.
Elliot stared at the place Noah had been standing, his brow faintly furrowed.
"How do you do that?" he asked finally.
Val looked up from her coffee. "Do what."
"That," he said. "You asked him questions and he didn't get angry. He just… answered."
She studied him for a moment, then smiled softly. "Because I wasn't demanding anything. I was just curious."
"But what if people don't want to answer?" he asked. "Doesn't it make them uncomfortable?"
"Sometimes," she said. "But if someone feels safe, they'll usually give you something. And if they don't want to, they'll let you know without saying it outright."
"Like how he said it was too soon," Elliot said slowly.
"Exactly."
He nodded, filing it away. "So that's a boundary."
"Yes," she said. "And it's not a rejection. It's just information."
He considered this. "I think… I'm beginning to understand some things. By watching you."
She smiled at him. "Careful. You might start to enjoy talking to people."
He frowned, then paused. "I think I already do."
She laughed. He didn't mean it as a joke, but the sound surprised him enough that he laughed too, a short, startled sound that broke free before he could stop it.
Val looked at him, delighted. "There it is."
His face warmed. "What?"
"That," she said. "You."
He shook his head, embarrassed, but he was still smiling.
And for once, the idea of letting someone see him like that didn't feel dangerous at all.
Evening settled over the apartment in stages.
First the light shifted, softening at the edges. Then the city sounds outside thinned, traffic easing into a slow rumble that Elliot had learned to tune out.
They had eaten dinner. Val had insisted on cooking, even though Elliot kept hovering, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of struggle. She had rolled her eyes at him fondly and told him she wasn't going to burn down the building. He had accepted that, mostly, though he still watched the way she moved, monitoring for small signs of anxiety without quite meaning to.
Now they were sitting on the couch.
Val's blanket spread over both of them, familiar and cosy. She sat close to him, her shoulder brushing his arm, her legs tucked beneath her. Elliot sat stiffly at first, his hands folded in his lap, his posture careful. The television murmured in front of them, their nightly ritual now.
Val shifted, adjusting the blanket, and without comment rested her hand on his forearm.
It was not dramatic. It was not tentative, either. Just a small, natural movement, as if it made sense for her hand to be there.
Elliot froze.
His body reacted before his mind could catch up. A sharp awareness shot through him, heat blooming where her fingers rested lightly against his sleeve. He did not pull away. He did not move at all. His breathing turned shallow, then deliberately slow as he reminded himself that this was not dangerous. This was Val.
She noticed the change in him.
"Is this okay?" she asked softly, her eyes still on the screen, her voice deliberately casual.
"Yes," he said at once, a fraction too quickly. Then, more carefully, "It's… okay."
She smiled, just slightly, and let her fingers curl more securely around his arm.
Minutes passed. The show continued. Elliot heard none of it.
Instead, he focused on the feel of her hand. The warmth. The gentle pressure. The fact that she was not gripping him like something fragile, but resting there as though she trusted he wanted her there.
Eventually, without quite realising when he decided to do it, he shifted his hand from his lap and placed it over hers.
His palm was warm. Slightly damp. Her fingers stilled for a beat, then relaxed beneath his, fitting there easily.
Something inside him loosened.
He felt steadier, oddly grounded, like her presence anchored him in his own body. The state of constant low-level vigilance he lived in eased, just a little. He did not have to think too much. He did not have to monitor every sound. He was here, and she was here, and for now that was enough.
Val noticed the change.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, she could sense his careful seriousness. The way his thumb had started to trace a small, unconscious arc over the back of her hand.
"You know," she said quietly, "you're very serious."
He blinked, pulled slightly from his thoughts. "About what?"
"About everything," she replied. "You don't do things halfway. Even holding someone's hand is a considered decision."
Heat crept up his neck. "I'm… not very good at doing things without thinking about them first."
"I like that," she said simply.
He absorbed this, turning it over slowly. "Most people don't."
"Well," she shrugged, "most people don't pay attention the way you do."
That made him look at her, properly this time. She looked at him with that open, steady gaze that still caught him off guard. Not assessing. Not waiting for him to perform. Just seeing him.
He looked away first, flustered, but his hand did not move.
They fell back into quiet, the television filling the space with low dialogue and applause. At some point Val shifted closer, her shoulder pressing more firmly against his arm. He adjusted instinctively, angling his body to accommodate her without crowding her.
Time passed. He did not know how much.
Eventually, Val yawned, long and unguarded. She covered her mouth with her free hand.
"Sorry," she murmured. "I think I'm more tired than I realised."
"That's okay," he said. "You should get some rest."
She glanced at the paused screen. "You don't mind?"
"No." Then, after a moment, "I like… this. Spending time with you. Even when we're not talking."
Her expression softened. "Me too."
They stayed where they were for a few more minutes, neither of them quite ready to move. When Val finally shifted to stand, she did it carefully. Elliot released her hand only when she was steady, he registered the absence of her warmth immediately.
She noticed.
"Hey," she said gently, reaching back and squeezing his fingers once before letting go. "I'll still be here in the morning."
He nodded, watching her disappear down the hall.
Left alone on the couch, Elliot sat very still.
His heart was beating faster than usual, but not in the panicked way he was used to. This felt different. Unfamiliar in a way that did not immediately demand retreat.
He thought of Dr Harper. About imagining a future. Of how impossible that had felt.
Now, for the first time, his mind brushed up against the idea without recoiling.
Not a grand future. Not a perfect one.
Just this.
Quiet evenings. Shared blankets. Someone's hand in his, not asking him to be different, not demanding more than he could give.