Val hadn't meant to drink.
Not at first.
After the audition, she'd stepped out into the afternoon sun with the same sharp, sinking feeling she used to get after getting a bad grade in school; like something inside her had cracked in a way no one else could see. The director's polite smile, the tight nod, the all-too-familiar "Thank you, we'll be in touch" echoed in her head again and again.
She'd known it immediately.
She hadn't impressed them.
She'd wanted this one, badly. A real show, a real chance.
And when the disappointment pressed into her ribs like a fist, the bar across the street felt too convenient.
Justone, she'd promised herself.
She hadn't kept that promise.
By the time she stumbled up the stairs to her apartment door, late evening shadows were pooling around the hallway. Her head was foggy and her emotions were loud and uneven.
She fumbled with her keys. Dropped them. Swore under her breath.
That was when Elliot's door opened a crack.
"Val?" His voice was soft, uncertain.
She blinked at him blearily, leaning a little too much on the wall. "Hey."
"You're… back." His gaze flicked to her unfocused eyes, the wobble in her stance, the flushed pink in her cheeks. "Are you... are you okay?"
She laughed, but it came out brittle. "No. Not really."
He stepped out a little more, concern sharpening his expression. "What happened? I thought we were —"
He caught the word in his throat.
"— going to have dinner."
Her stomach twisted. She had forgotten. Completely.
"Oh. Right. Dinner." She waved a hand, nearly losing her balance. "I'm not… in the mood. Sorry, Elliot. I just want to —" She shook the bottle still in her hand. "— keep drinking. And forget today ever happened."
He blinked, stiffening. "Oh."
She didn't notice the way something in him flinched, pulled inward, curled tight like a wounded animal. She barely noticed anything at all except the heavy, humiliating ache of her own failure.
"Val… did I… say something?" His voice was thin, fragile. "Did I do something wrong?"
She groaned softly. "No. God, no, Elliot. It's not about you."
But the words were slurred, tangled and they landed wrong.
He stepped back, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "You seem upset. With me."
"I'm upset with me," she snapped, quickly, carelessly. "I blew it. I wanted that role so bad…" Her voice wavered. "And I ruined it. I just want to drink, okay? I can't talk about anything tonight. And I can't be nice."
He went still.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Just… hurt.
"Okay," he whispered, taking another half-step back toward his apartment. "I understand."
But he didn't.
He didn't understand why her voice had suddenly turned sharp, why she had dismissed him so fast, why the warmth from that morning had vanished like it had never existed.
All he could feel was the rejection; it was heavy, confusing and aimed straight at him.
Val finally got her apartment door open. "I'll… see you tomorrow or something," she muttered, and slipped inside, closing the door behind her with a dull click.
The hallway fell silent.
Elliot stood there a moment longer, staring at the closed door, frustration and confusion twisting painfully beneath his ribs.
He hated that sharp sting in his eyes.
He hated that he immediately questioned himself for what he'd done wrong.
Hated even more that he couldn't find an answer.
He retreated into his apartment, closing the door quietly, as though afraid to disturb the air between them.
Neither of them ate dinner that night.
Val sat on her kitchen floor with her back against a cabinet, a half-finished drink warming in her hand, tears drying unevenly on her cheeks. The failure sat in her chest like a stone. She didn't think about dinner. Didn't think about Elliot. Just thought about all the ways she wasn't good enough. For anything or anyone.
Elliot sat at his table, the untouched plate of food in front of him, staring at the counter as if it could give him answers. His stomach twisting with knots, his mind turning over every word she said, every expression on her face.
She didn't want dinner with me.
She pulled away.
What did I do?
He pressed his palms to his eyes, breathing shallowly.
The night stretched thin and miserable through the building. Two apartments, two hearts aching for different reasons, the warmth of their morning now feeling impossibly far away.
Tomorrow felt uncertain.
And both of them, in their own quiet, painful solitude, wondered if they'd broken something without meaning to.
Val didn't remember how the idea arrived. Only that it came on a swell of loneliness sharp enough to make her chest ache.
She stared at her phone, the room tilting slightly, her thoughts blurry around the edges.
Don't, some small voice urged. Don't call him.
But numbness was easier than loneliness.
And she was drunk enough to chase the easier thing.
Her finger tapped the contact before she could think it through.
"Val?" Her ex's voice crackled through the speaker. Smooth. Familiar. Wrong.
She swallowed. "Are you… doing anything?"
A pause. Too long. Her stomach dipped.
"You sound drunk," he said.
"So?" she slurred.
Another pause, shorter this time, then: "I'll come over."
She hung up without answering.
The second the call ended, regret pooled in her throat, thick and sour.
What did I do?
She pressed her fingers to her temples.
Why him? Why now?
She didn't move. Didn't clean. Didn't fix her face. She just sat there on the floor as the minutes ticked by unevenly.
Then came the knock.
Firm. Too familiar.
"Val?"
Another knock. Harder this time.
"Val, I know you're in there. Open the door."
Her breath caught. Panic flared hot and sudden in her chest.
She crawled to her feet, but didn't go near the door. The sight of his shadow under the frame made her stomach turn.
"Oh God…" she whispered, pressing her hand flat against the wall as if it could hold her up. "I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have called you."
"Open the door," he snapped. "We're talking about this."
"No," she said. Barely a whisper.
He slammed his palm against the door. "Val!"
She flinched, stumbling back a step.
And across the hall, Elliot froze.
He'd been sitting on his couch, staring at nothing, replaying every moment of their strange, painful evening. Her sharp words. Her dismissal. Her sadness he didn't understand.
When the shouting began, his head snapped up.
A man's voice.
Deep. Angry.
Too close to Val's door.
Elliot stood quickly, adrenaline flooding his limbs.
He crossed to his own door and peered through the spy-glass.
"Val! Come on! Don't ignore me!"
Elliot felt his pulse slam against his ribs.
Who is that?
Why is he yelling at her?
Is she okay?
Another shout. Another thud against her door.
His fingers hovered over the doorknob.
He could go out there. He could check on her. He should.
But the memory of her voice earlier, that tired, slurred "I'm not in the mood… just want to drink… can't talk about anything tonight", hit him like a wall.
She hadn't wanted him.
She hadn't wanted his presence, his help, anything.
Maybe she didn't want it now either.
Maybe she didn't want him.
His throat tightened painfully.
The man outside Val's door cursed under his breath. "Unbelievable. You call me and then don't even open the door?"
Elliot clenched his fists. His stomach churned with something sharp and confused; fear, jealousy, worry, humiliation. All tangled together.
Should he step in?
Should he knock?
Should he...
But he didn't move. He couldn't.
He stood there, frozen, listening to the man rage and Val's muffled, shaky "Just go away," each sound slicing through the heavy quiet of the hallway.
The ex muttered something vicious under his breath, then footsteps stormed down the hall. The door to the stairway slammed.
Silence followed.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
Elliot stayed where he was, forehead resting lightly against his door, his heart hammering a painful rhythm.
He wanted to knock.
He wanted to ask if she was okay.
He wanted to help.
But the fear; the fear she'd be mad at him again, the fear that he wasn't someone she wanted nearby, kept him rooted to the spot.
Across the hall, Val slid down against her door, tears burning hot tracks down her cheeks. Her head throbbed. Her stomach twisted.
"I'm such an idiot," she whispered into the dark.
Neither of them slept that night.
And neither of them had any idea how to fix the space widening quietly, painfully, between them.