Val was sitting on the sofa, writing down ideas to try at the community centre. Sunlight slanted across the floor, warming the wood, catching dust in the air. Elliot was at his desk, focused.
Her phone vibrated once.
She glanced at it, then away. Then, after a moment, she picked it up.
The message was from someone she hadn't spoken to in months. A name from her old life. Someone still deep in it.
Hey you. This just came up and I immediately thought of you. It's a great opportunity. You'd be perfect for it.
There was more. Details. Names. The language of potential and promise and almost famous.
Val stared at the screen longer than she wanted to. Her thumb hovered, while she thought of a reply, then she locked her phone and set it down again, as though it might speak if she didn't.
Across the room, Elliot noticed a change before he knew what it was. There was a shift in the energy around her.
She had gone quiet in a way that was different from her usual thoughtful silences. Her movements were slower. Guarded. She smiled when he looked at her, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
He didn't ask.
After a few minutes, she stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders.
"I'm going to get my hair done," she said lightly. "I might be a couple of hours."
He turned in his chair. "Okay."
She hesitated, then smiled again. "Don't wait for me if you get hungry."
"Okay," he said again, though he was feeling anything but OK as she reached for her coat.
The door closed behind her with a single, soft click.
The apartment felt different. Elliot felt different.
Nothing tangible. But alert.
Elliot tried to return to his work. He reread the same paragraph three times without absorbing it. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, then retracted.
She hadn't said goodbye the way she usually did.
He stood, paced, then stopped himself. This wasn't an emergency. She was allowed to leave. She was allowed to have parts of her life that didn't include him.
He knew that.
Still, the feelings of unease lingered.
Eventually, he sat at the desk and reached for his journal.
He didn't write in it every day. But when he did, it was deliberate. A way to anchor his thoughts and process his feelings before they spiraled.
He opened to a blank page.
The words came slowly at first, then steadier.
I used to think wanting someone nearby was a weakness. A kind of failure. Like I needed to depend on someone. I thought I enjoyed being alone.
But lately, I notice when she isn't here.
Not because something is wrong. Because it feels like something is missing.
That's new.
He paused, tapping the pen against the page as he thought.
We've been cooking together. Eating together. Sitting on the sofa in the evenings without talking much. It doesn't feel like effort. It feels like rest.
I still need quiet. I still need space. But I don't crave solitude the way I used to. I crave proximity. Her presence. Knowing she's here or just near.
That scares me less than I thought it would.
He swallowed, then wrote the next line carefully.
I don't feel like I'm losing myself. I feel like I'm finding a version of myself I didn't know existed.
He closed the notebook gently, as if not to disturb the thought.
The sound of the door opening startled him.
He looked up instinctively.
Val stood in the doorway.
He checked the clock automatically. She hadn't been gone long. Certainly not long enough for a hair appointment. Her hair looked the same.
"You're back," he said, surprised.
"I am."
She didn't say anything right away. Then she crossed the room and held out her hand.
"Can you come sit with me?"
He took her hand without hesitation.
They sat on the sofa, facing each other, their joined hands between them. She didn't let go.
"I need to tell you something," she said in a quiet voice.
He nodded. "Okay."
She took a breath. "I got a message earlier. From someone I used to work with. An actor. There's an audition. A good one. The kind I would've dropped everything for."
His chest tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"When I said I was going to get my hair done," she continued, "I was actually going to go to the audition."
He felt the words land, solid and quiet.
"I got on the bus," she continued. "And I just sat there. Thinking."
She looked down at their hands.
"I thought about the last couple of months. About how different I feel. How happy I am, actually. How the community centre feels like… purpose. Like I'm useful in a way I never felt before."
She smiled faintly. "And I thought about you."
He stayed very still.
"I realised something," she went on. "I don't want to be on stage anymore. Not like that. I don't want to keep chasing something that always made me feel like I wasn't enough. I don't need applause. I don't need any of it."
She lifted her gaze to his.
"I already have everything I need."
Silence stretched between them.
Elliot felt a dozen thoughts crowd his mind, but none of them seemed urgent enough to speak over what she'd just told him.
Finally, he said quietly, "Thank you for telling me."
She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
Then he added, just as softly, "But please don't keep things like that from me again."
Her brow furrowed.
"Are you mad?"
"No."
She searched his face. "Because it feels like I'm being told off."
He tightened his grip on her hands, grounding himself.
"I'm not angry," he said, his voice steady. "I was worried."
She blinked.
"I care about you," he continued. "And I want to be there for you. But I can't do that if you disappear into decisions without letting me in."
She was quiet now, looking down at their hands.
"I don't want to just leave you to face things alone," he continued, the words coming more easily now that he'd started saying them. "I don't want to be the quiet one who benefits from your courage while you carry everything alone. I want to do my part, stand by your side. Even if my part looks different."
Her eyes softened.
"You already do," she looked up at him.
"I want to do more," he replied. "And I can't if I don't know what's happening."
She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shut you out. I just… needed to hear it in my own head first."
"I understand that," he said. "I just need you to know you can tell me."
She squeezed his hands, smiling now.
"I will."
She hugged him and rested her head against his chest as his arms went around her. They sat there for a while, the late afternoon light shifting across the room, the quiet settling back in, familiar, easy, comfortable.
"I didn't go to the audition," she said, her head still against his chest.
"I know," he replied.
She smiled.
"I got off the bus and came home."
He stroked her hair slowly. "If you're happy, I'm happy."
"I am."
Elliot could still feel his fear, under the surface, faint and watchful.
But it wasn't in control.
Elliot didn't feel like he was standing on a ledge, waiting to fall.
He felt like he was learning how to be brave, even for a little while.