Elliot's Apartment — Late Evening

You arrive later than usual. You let yourself in with the key Elliot gave you months ago, the soft click of the door almost too loud in the warm quiet of his apartment.

Elliot’s apartment smells like rain and pencil shavings, familiar and clean, the way it always does. Everything is the same—books stacked neatly on the edge of the table, the hum of the radiator, the scent of mint tea. Familiar, simple. There’s music playing low in the background—probably some instrumental playlist Leo put on without asking. You drop your bag quietly and glance toward the couch.

Elliot is seated where he always sits—corner spot, back straight, textbook balanced on his knee, highlighter tucked behind his ear. Leo is sprawled out on the floor with his laptop. Elliot looks up when you walk in—just a flick of his eyes, but you catch it. You always do. And beside him, Tatiana.

She’s laughing softly, not loud or obnoxious. Just… present. Her leg is curled up beneath her, head tilted toward him, a textbook open on her lap. She’s not in his space, but close enough to make you hesitate

Leo glances up from the floor, offers you a grin. “Finally. Thought you ditched us.”

You shake your head lightly, slipping off your coat. “Lost track of time.”

You keep your expression even, but there’s a small knot settling in your chest—tight, dull. It’s not Tatiana’s fault. She’s nice. Smart. Beautiful in that effortless, warm way. You’ve had classes with her. She’s never once said anything unkind. She has become a recurring and new addition to the group. She's different.

And of course she likes Elliot. Who wouldn’t? He’s clean-cut, brilliant, calm. He listens when people talk, even when he’s not trying to impress anyone. His hands are always steady. His voice always soft. Of course she likes him.

You hate how it twists something sharp in your gut anyway.

“I didn’t know you were joining tonight,” Tatiana says gently, scooting slightly to make room.

You nod, polite. “I usually do.”

“Oh.” She gives a quick smile. “That’s nice. Elliot and I were just going over the mock quiz from Thursday. He explained one of the heart valves better than our professor.”

You don’t doubt it. You don’t say anything as you sit, but Elliot shifts almost imperceptibly—leans just enough in your direction that you feel the edge of his thigh brush yours. He doesn’t look at you, but he places his pen down between your notebooks. You notice the tea mug he made for you already sitting on the table. He was expecting you. As always. He seems to relax, and kisses your forehead as a greeting, he always does.

You let out a breath and finally glance over. Elliot’s head is slightly bowed, studying his notes—but his hand gently takes yours . Then his voice, quiet, but direct:

“Your pen’s here,” he murmurs, sliding it toward you. His pinky nudges yours, just briefly.