Elliot

4 - Good morning

Every morning, Nate stepped out of his apartment with the same routine: phone in one hand, keys in the other, and a mental checklist of the day ahead. And almost every morning, he'd bump into Elliot.

Elliot was everywhere. On the front steps stretching like he was preparing for a Broadway performance, crouched over a line of potted plants that seemed to multiply weekly, or darting back inside with a blur of colorful fabric trailing behind him. He was a constant burst of energy against the muted gray of the building and the quiet monotony of Nate's mornings.

Today was no different. Elliot was already outside, watering can in hand, pouring life into a cascade of bright flowers he'd managed to coax into blooming. His outfit was as loud as the flowers—an explosion of yellows and reds that clashed wonderfully with the browns of his boots. He hummed as he worked, some upbeat tune Nate couldn't place, and swayed slightly to the rhythm, oblivious to the world around him.

Nate slowed his steps, his eyes drawn to Elliot as if by some unseen force. The young man seemed tireless, moving with an ease that Nate envied but didn't understand. His laugh—light and confident—rang out when one of the neighborhood cats brushed against his ankle, and he crouched down to scratch its ears, cooing softly.

Nate gritted his teeth and kept walking. He couldn't afford to get caught up in that... whatever that was. He had a day to get through, deadlines to meet, and a long list of reasons not to engage. But it was getting harder to ignore the way Elliot seemed to radiate warmth, as if the cold morning air didn't dare touch him.

As he unlocked his car, Nate caught his reflection in the driver's side window: tired eyes, serious expression, dark clothes. A stark contrast to the whirlwind of color and motion just a few feet away. He glanced back over his shoulder, telling himself it wasn't intentional, only to find Elliot stretching again, his arms raised to the sky like he was reaching for the sun. Nate frowned. How did someone wake up like that? So alive, so... present? Even from a distance, Elliot's energy was contagious, and Nate could feel his carefully maintained defenses cracking. He climbed into the car, determined not to look back again. But as he reversed out of the driveway, his eyes betrayed him, flicking toward the figure still humming, still swaying, still unreasonably vibrant. By the time Nate reached the end of the street, he realized he hadn't thought about his to-do list at all. 

Nate entered his office building with the same quiet resolve he carried every day. The doors slid open to reveal a world of gray—gray walls, gray carpet, gray cubicles. Even the glow of computer screens seemed muted in this place, their blue light casting tired shadows on the faces of his coworkers.

As he walked past rows of desks, heads turned. A few colleagues nodded or greeted him with polite smiles. He returned their gestures with a subtle nod, unable—or unwilling—to muster anything more.

"Morning, Nate," someone said as he passed. He barely acknowledged them.

Before he could reach the relative sanctuary of his desk, the sharp click of heels echoed against the floor. Joanne, as predictable as the office coffee maker, was already making a beeline toward him.

"Good morning, stranger," she said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that made his stomach turn. Her red heels, impossibly high and startlingly out of place in the dreary office, came to a stop just inches from him. "You're looking sharp today."

"Joanne," he said, his tone clipped but polite. He didn't stop walking, hoping she'd take the hint. She didn't.

"You know, I keep telling you we should grab lunch sometime," she said, falling into step beside him. "I know a great little place just around the corner. You'd love it."