Welcome Back, Elliot Grey

The rain had calmed to a whisper by the time they stepped out of the bar.

The sidewalk shimmered beneath the streetlights — reflections of traffic lights stretching like veins across puddles. The air smelled of wet pavement, cigarette smoke, and fading perfume.

Matt and Amelia had gone ahead, their silhouettes vanishing into the buzz of the main road. Laughter echoed behind them, then faded.

Elliot and June walked side by side, their footsteps oddly in sync, the city's noise dulled to a distant hum.

Neither of them spoke at first.

He kept his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, eyes fixed ahead.

She walked with her arms crossed, occasionally kicking a stone on the path.

There was no reason to rush.

They didn't say goodbye at the corner. They just kept walking.

A bus passed by, its headlights slicing through the mist. June's face lit up momentarily — pale, tired, thoughtful.

"You know," she said finally, her voice barely louder than the rain, "if there's something bothering you... You can tell me."

She didn't look at him.

"You don't have to. I just wanted you to know you could."

Elliot didn't reply.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable — just heavy.

Like a room full of unsaid things.

"I know I don't really know you," she continued after a pause.

"But you don't look like someone who has many people left to talk to."

Still, Elliot said nothing.

He wanted to. Something inside him moved — but it couldn't take form. It hadn't learned how to.

They passed a flickering streetlamp. A cat darted across the road, disappearing into the bushes.

June breathed in sharply, as if bracing herself.

"I had a brother. We were close. He taught me how to draw. We used to stay up until 3 a.m. making stupid comics. One time we made a story about a frog detective with a jetpack."

She laughed quietly, but it came out hollow.

"When I was sixteen, he killed himself."

She stopped walking.

Elliot stopped too.

She turned her face upward — to the sky, to the branches above, or maybe just to avoid his eyes.

"He never told me why. There was no note. No reason. I didn't even get to say goodbye."

The rain tapped softly on her coat.

"At first I blamed him. Then I blamed myself.

I thought maybe if I hadn't drifted away... or if I'd noticed something...

Maybe if I'd asked 'Are you okay?' more often."

Elliot listened.

Her voice wasn't breaking, but it was fraying — like fabric stretched too thin.

"I don't ever want to be someone who makes others feel invisible. I don't care if someone is broken, or lost, or hard to read. If someone's hurting... I want them to know they can speak."

She turned to him.

"Even if you can't say anything now... I'll be around. If someday you want to talk — I'll listen."

Elliot looked at her.

She wasn't crying. But there was something behind her eyes that trembled.

Not weakness — just truth.

The kind of truth people carry like scars.

The streetlight above them buzzed. Then flickered out.

They parted a block later, exchanging no promises.

Just a small nod.

That was enough.

Elliot reached his apartment just past midnight.

The hallway smelled like dust and rust. The bulb above his door flickered weakly.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The room felt colder than usual.

He dropped his coat. Kicked off his shoes. The fridge hummed like it always did. The air was stale.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he noticed something on the table.

A single folded piece of paper.

No envelope. No stamp.

Just his name, written in familiar, looping handwriting:

Elliot

He stared at it.

Didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Claire.

He didn't need to open it to know who it was from.

He sat down slowly in the chair beside it.

Hands in his lap. Back hunched. Eyes locked on the paper like it might vanish if he blinked.

The rain picked up again outside.

But inside, there was only the ticking of the wall clock and the ache of what used to be.

End of Chapter 5