The apartment was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that seemed to press in from all sides. Danny took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings as if seeking solace in the mundane. I followed him in, closing the door softly behind us.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to shatter the delicate peace.
Danny shrugged, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Not really.”
I nodded, understanding that it wasn’t food he needed right now. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make some tea.”
He hesitated before moving toward the couch, finally sinking into the cushions with a heavy sigh. I busied myself in the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting out two cups. The ritual was soothing in its simplicity—a small act of normalcy in the midst of chaos.
As the water began to boil, I glanced over at Danny. He was staring at his hands, lost in thought. It was hard to see him like this, so distant and weighed down by everything that had happened. I wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but I knew that he needed time to process everything in his own way.
The kettle whistled, breaking the silence, and I poured the hot water over the tea bags. Carrying the cups carefully, I walked back to the living room and handed one to Danny. He took it with a faint smile of thanks, the warmth seeping into his fingers as he held the cup close.
We sat in silence for a while, the steam from the tea curling between us like a fragile bridge. Danny took a sip, and his eyes closed briefly as if savoring the moment.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, opening his eyes to meet mine. “For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I replied softly. “Just take your time. We’re in this together.”
Danny nodded, a small spark of determination flickering in his gaze.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.
“I live here?”
I nodded. “Yep. We both do.”
“Seems a little Richie Rich for my tastes,” he said, picking up one of the cashmere throw pillows I picked out right after we moved in.
I smirked. “Yeah, you were never big on the décor. Still not, I see.”
“Never saw the need for fancy shit. I was born a country boy and will die a country boy,” he said, getting to his feet. Walking over to the windows, he looked down at the city and asked, “Is that Central Park?”
“Yes it is.”
“And I bought this place? Me?”
“Yes,” I said, placing my cup of tea on the coffee table. Leaning back on the sofa, I added, “You were living with Ace when you bought this place.”
“Why was I living with Ace?”
“Because we got into a fight. You were living with me at my apartment.”
Shaking his head, he groaned, “I thought you said I was a student at MIT.”
“You were until you dropped out.”
“Why did I drop out?”
“Club business got in the way.”
“Makes sense,” he muttered, turning to see all of his computers in the dining room. “That’s all my stuff.”
“I kept it just as you left it. I wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway, unless something broke, then I could fix it, but you never really needed me for that stuff.”
Walking over to the dining room, he absently turned on his computers and sat. “It feels weird. Like I know, but I don’t.”
“Dr. Robinette said some things would be familiar. Computers have been in your life since you were little. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you without one.”
