Sunday Evening
Noah lay in Atlas's arms, tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
"I'm hungry," he murmured.
Atlas's hand stilled on his back. "Yeah?"
"Let's make something."
They got up. Pulled on clothes. Noah in sweats and one of Atlas's shirts. Atlas in jeans. Nothing else.
---
KITCHEN
They moved around each other easily.
Atlas at the stove, searing steaks. Noah tossing salad. Stealing glances.
Atlas caught him looking. "What?"
"Nothing." Noah smiled. "You just look good doing that."
Atlas's mouth curved. "Doing what? Cooking?"
"Everything."
They ate at the kitchen island. Knees touching. Wine glasses catching the low light.
Noah told stories from the weekend—Marcus nearly setting the tent on fire, Sam falling in the lake fully clothed, Alex's terrible attempt at fishing.
Atlas laughed. Really laughed.
The sound filled the kitchen. Warm. Unguarded.
"What about you?" Noah asked. "What did you do?"
"Golf on Saturday. Saw Alice and some friends for drinks Sunday."
"That's it?"
"That's it." Atlas's hand found Noah's thigh under the counter. "Mostly just waited for you to come back."
Noah's chest warmed.
He leaned over and kissed him.
They finished eating. Moved to the living room.
Noah stretched out on the couch. His head in Atlas's lap. Atlas's fingers moved through his hair. Slow. Absent.
The city lights flickered beyond the windows.
Everything felt easy. Comfortable.
Noah closed his eyes. Content.
Then he sat up.
Atlas's hand fell from his hair. Landed on the couch cushion. The space between them suddenly cold.
"Can I ask you something?"
Atlas looked at him. "Sure."
The silence stretched.
Noah's fingers dug into the cushion. "That person I saw at your party. Who was he?"
Atlas went still.
His hand moved toward his wine glass. Stopped halfway.
"No one important." Too fast. Rehearsed.
"How long were you together?"
Atlas's shoulder twitched. "We weren't together."
"Do you still see him?"
"Why would I?" Sharper now.
"Was it just one night?"
Atlas didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"Yes."
"So you don't see him anymore."
"No. Of course not."
"I was just curious." Noah's voice came out smaller than he meant.
They sat there.
Not speaking.
A clock ticked somewhere. Wine condensed on Atlas's glass. A single drop sliding down.
Noah leaned over. Kissed Atlas's shoulder.
Atlas turned. "Do you have more questions?"
Noah's mouth curved. Dimples appearing. "Yeah. How did you know?"
"Ask. Whatever you want."
"Everything?"
Atlas's lips twitched. "Don't push it."
"What was your longest relationship?"
Atlas paused. His lighter clicked once in his pocket. Unconscious. "Why?"
"You know everything about me. I don't know anything about you."
"This is what you want to know?"
"Yes."
Atlas breathed slow. Measured. Like counting. "Two years."
"When did it end?"
"A few months before I moved back to New York."
"Why did you break up?"
"Let's not talk about this." His jaw set.
"Should I ask Alice instead?"
Atlas's gaze sharpened. Pupils contracting.
Noah kept going. Couldn't stop now. "Why are you tense? I'm just asking."
"We went to Stanford together. Then it ended."
"You didn't want long distance?"
"It wasn't about that."
"Do you still talk?"
"No."
"Two years and you didn't stay friends?"
"Drop it, Noah." His fingers curled into his palm.
"I guess if she'd been in New York, you wouldn't have—"
Atlas's jaw clenched.
Noah heard it.
Atlas looked at him. Something dangerous behind his eyes. "Why does it matter? It's over."
Noah went quiet. "Okay."
Atlas felt the shift immediately.
Pulled Noah closer. Wrapped his arms around him like he could undo the last five minutes.
Noah's voice came soft against his chest. "You hate talking about the past."
"Why does it matter?" Quieter now. Almost to himself.
Traffic hummed through the windows.
Then Noah spoke.
Small. Scared.
"If we break up... would we stay friends?"
Atlas's entire body went rigid.
Noah felt it. Every muscle locking.
He pulled his arms back.
He'd hurt them both.
Atlas's hands curled into fists. Knuckles white. "No. We wouldn't."
Noah swallowed. "I wouldn't either."
Atlas stared at him. "Where the fuck is this going?"
"I'm just trying to know you."
Atlas was trying to control himself. Noah could see it. The forced evenness of his breathing. Chest rising and falling in calculated intervals.
Atlas stood.
Walked to the bar.
Poured whiskey. The sound too loud in the quiet.
Grabbed his cigarettes.
The lighter flicked. Once. Twice.
Noah watched his back.
"I was just curious. I didn't know you'd—"
Atlas turned. Smoke curled from his lips. "You think that's why I'm pissed?"
"You got tense when I asked about her."
Atlas breathed sharp through his nose. Eyes cutting to Noah. "You think we're breaking up?"
Noah saw the anger there. "No. I don't. I was just—"
"You comparing us to them?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I don't know."
"You sound ready to end this."
"No." Hard. Definitive. "No."
Atlas stopped. Stared. "You asked if we'd stay friends after. What the fuck am I supposed to think?"
Noah's voice cracked. "One day you'll get bored. Like you did with the others. You'll say it's over—"
He couldn't finish.
His throat closed.
He tried again. "So when we see each other for work—"
Atlas's grip on his glass tightened.
The cigarette burned forgotten. He lit another from the first.
Noah couldn't breathe.
The room felt like it was closing in.
He stood.
Went to the bathroom.
---
BATHROOM
His eyes in the mirror.
Red. Wet.
He splashed water on his face. Cold. Shocking.
Gripped the edge of the sink.
Fuck. Fuck. What did I do?
Couldn't fix this.
Didn't know how.
---
KITCHEN
He walked to the window.
Pressed his forehead against the glass.
Stood there.
Minutes passed.
Then Atlas appeared in the doorway.
Their reflections caught in the glass. Two ghosts.
Noah saw him first.
Turned slowly.
Met Atlas's eyes. Sharp. Angry. Waiting.
"What about us makes you uncomfortable?"
Noah froze.
Words spilled out. "I'm trying to know you. I asked about your past and you got angry."
"You still don't get it." Atlas's voice dangerously quiet. "You want to know if we'll be friends after."
"No—"
"You have a date picked?" Atlas stepped closer. "For when you're leaving?"
Noah's anger flared. "What the hell are you trying to say?"
"If you're already thinking about after, you must know when."
"You're being ridiculous."
Atlas turned.
Walked away.
His footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Noah stood there.
Tears came.
He tried to stop them.
Couldn't.
After a while, he followed.
Found Atlas in the living room. Standing by the window. Smoke trailing from his cigarette.
"I'm sorry. For what I said."
Atlas didn't turn around.
Didn't move.
Didn't acknowledge him.
Silence.
Noah walked away before he could see Atlas's eyes.
Maybe better that way.
He grabbed his phone from the coffee table.
Went to the dressing room.
His hands shook. Wallet. Keys.
The apartment was so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat.
He walked to the door.
Atlas didn't stop him.
The door closed with a soft click.
Sounded like an ending.
---
IN THE TAXI
The city blurred past.
Lights. People. Life continuing.
The conversation replayed.
"If we break up—"
"No. We wouldn't."
"You sound ready to end this."
Every word. Every look.
The driver asked for the address twice.
"West 23rd," Noah managed.
His apartment.
He'd grab some things.
Couldn't stay there either.
---
HOTEL ROOM
The door clicked shut.
Noah dropped his bag.
Took three steps.
His legs gave out.
He sank to the floor. Back against the wall.
Let the tears come.
Everything he'd been holding back—in the taxi, in the apartment, in Atlas's silence—broke.
He pulled his knees to his chest.
His phone sat dark beside him.
Outside, the city hummed.
Indifferent. Eternal.
Inside, Noah fell apart.