SATURDAY
Noah woke to the weight of Atlas's arm across his chest. Heavy. Possessive even in sleep.
Last night flickered through his mind—Charles's calculated smile, Atlas's jaw going tight, the way silence had filled the car ride home like water rising. The feeling sat in his chest like a stone he couldn't swallow. Not fear exactly. Not even worry. Just this ache of knowing something was off and having no name for it.
What are we doing?
He turned his head. Studied Atlas's face in the pale morning light.
Asleep, Atlas looked younger. The sharp edges softened. His mouth slightly parted. Hair falling across his forehead in a way he'd never allow when awake.
"You're cuter when you're sleeping," Noah whispered. The words came out rougher than he meant, like his throat was tight.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He reached for it carefully, trying not to disturb Atlas's arm.
Mom: Everything okay? We're landing this evening. Bring Lydia home tomorrow please.
Noah typed back one-handed: Everything's fine. I'll bring her tomorrow.
Atlas's arm tightened. "Who're you texting?"
The words came out rough with sleep, eyes still closed.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
"Was already awake." Atlas pulled him closer, chest to back now. His breath warm against Noah's neck. "Stay."
Noah pressed his lips to Atlas's shoulder. Tasted sleep and warmth and something indefinably him. His chest ached—not from fear or joy, just the weight of feeling too much at once. Like he was already mourning this moment while still living it.
They lay there. Quiet. Just breathing.
Then: "Who was it?"
"My mom." Noah's fingers found Atlas's hand. Traced the knuckles, the valleys between tendons. "They're flying back tonight. Want Lydia home tomorrow."
Atlas kissed his forehead. Lingered there, nose pressed to Noah's hairline. "Apartment's gonna be too quiet."
Noah smiled despite the knot in his chest. "You actually like having her around."
"She's growing on me."
A beat. Then Atlas said, voice still sleep-rough: "Let's go to Glenmere. Drop her off on the way back."
Noah laughed softly. "Did you literally just think of that?"
"You're being nosy this morning." Atlas's mouth found that spot behind Noah's ear that made his breath catch. "Problem?"
"No problem."
"Good."
---
KITCHEN
Noah had just started the coffee when Lydia stumbled in.
Yesterday's dress. Smudged mascara. Hair defying several laws of physics.
"Oh my god." She leaned against the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright. "I'm dying. Literally dying."
"You're not dying."
"Those cocktails were basically—" She made a vague gesture. "Chemical warfare. Who let me drink those?"
Atlas appeared, already dressed in jeans and a henley. He took one look at Lydia and his mouth twitched.
"Morning"
Lydia shuffled forward and wrapped her arms around both of them at once, face buried between their shoulders. "Love you guys," she mumbled into their shirts. "Even though my head's gonna explode."
Atlas's hand came up to pat her back. Gentle. Almost tender. The kind of touch Noah had learned meant more than words with him.
Noah caught it—that softness Atlas tried so hard to hide.
"You smell terrible," Noah said, half laughing into her hair.
Lydia pulled back, wounded. "Rude."
"Go shower. We're leaving in an hour."
"Where're we—"
"Glenmere."
Her eyes lit up despite the hangover. "The mansion? With the fancy spa?"
"That one."
She was already shuffling toward the guest room. "Dibs on first massage!"
Noah and Atlas exchanged glances. Held it for a beat too long. Then both looked away, fighting smiles.
"She's gonna document every second," Noah said.
"Let her." Atlas moved closer, crowding Noah against the counter. His hands bracketed Noah's hips, thumbs pressing just above his hipbones. "She's happy."
The gesture was so casual. So comfortable. Like they'd been doing this for years instead of months.
Noah's chest tightened with something he couldn't name. That grief-like feeling again, like sand slipping through his fingers.
Atlas caught it. Always did. His thumb traced slow circles against Noah's hipbone through his sweats. "Hey. You good?"
"Yeah." Noah kissed him. Quick. Light. Trying to push the feeling down. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"Nothing important."
Atlas studied him. That look that saw through every deflection, every careful word. But he let it go. Kissed Noah properly this time—slow and thorough until Noah's hands fisted in his shirt and he forgot what he'd been worried about.
"After breakfast," Atlas murmured against his mouth. "We'll leave after breakfast."
---
Lydia had recovered enough to steal half of Noah's eggs.
"Mom texted," she said through a mouthful of toast. "She's being all suspicious."
Noah's hand stilled on his coffee mug. "About?"
"Where I was last night." Lydia shrugged, reaching for the jam. "Told her Sienna's."
Noah looked at her over his mug. "Maybe don't share every detail on Instagram next time."
Atlas's hand found Noah's thigh under the table. A steady pressure. His thumb didn't move though—just rested there, still.
"Speaking of Sienna," Lydia continued, suddenly animated. "She's gonna teach me about lighting. And composition. And—"
She launched into a detailed recap of every conversation from the party. Atlas's thumb stayed frozen on Noah's leg as they half-listened. Noah glanced sideways at him—saw that distant look, like Atlas was somewhere else entirely. Then he blinked, and it was gone.
"—and then Charles was being weird with that guy from Goldman, you know the one with the slicked-back hair—" Lydia paused. Looked between them. "Are you guys even listening?"
"Every word," Atlas said smoothly. His thumb started moving again.
Lydia narrowed her eyes. Then grinned. "You're both terrible liars."
---
The Aston Martin purred through morning traffic. Lydia had claimed the backseat, still talking.
"—and the blue one tasted like literal Windex, I swear—"
Noah tuned her out. Watched Atlas drive instead. The competent movements. The way his jaw shifted when he concentrated. The careful way his fingers curled around the wheel.
Outside, Manhattan gave way to suburbs, then countryside. The spaces between buildings growing wider. Breathing room.
"You're staring," Atlas said without looking over.
"Am not."
"You are."
Lydia leaned forward between the seats. "He totally is. Noah has literally zero chill."
"I have chill."
"Name one time you've had chill."
Noah opened his mouth. Closed it.
Atlas laughed. Low and warm. The sound did something complicated to Noah's chest—made that ache worse and better at the same time.
---
GLENMERE MANSION
The car swept through iron gates, up a private drive lined with hundred-year-old oaks. The mansion emerged like something from another era—Italian Renaissance architecture, pale pink brick glowing in the afternoon sun.
"Holy shit," Lydia breathed.
Even Noah, who'd grown up with money, felt it. The weight of old wealth. Real wealth. The kind that didn't need to announce itself.
Atlas parked near the entrance. A valet appeared immediately.
"Mr. Sterlins. Welcome back."
Of course they knew him.
Inside, the lobby opened into soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers, marble that had probably been shipped from actual Italian quarries. But somehow it felt warm. Lived in. Not a museum.
Lydia was already documenting everything on her phone.
"This is insane." She spun in a slow circle. "Like, actually insane."
---
They changed into tennis whites. Atlas looked like he'd been born in them.
The courts were Har-Tru—that distinctive green clay that proper clubs used. Atlas's shoulders straightened the moment his feet hit the surface. His whole posture shifted. This was his world. Where he knew all the rules.
"Ready to lose, Wellin?" Atlas called across the net.
"In your dreams, Sterlins."
They played. Atlas was better—of course he was. But Noah held his own, made him work for it.
"Your backhand's gotten worse since Yale," Atlas said after a particularly bad return.
"Saving my energy to destroy you later."
Atlas's smile turned sharp. "Yeah? That a promise?"
Heat crawled up Noah's neck.
From the sideline, Lydia shouted: "Get a room!"
---
The spa was all warm stone and eucalyptus steam. Lydia disappeared immediately for what she called "the full experience."
Noah and Atlas ended up on adjacent massage tables, trying not to laugh as the masseuses worked in synchronized silence.
Noah had never done this before. The vulnerability of it. Being touched by strangers while Atlas lay three feet away. He felt ridiculous for blushing—they'd done far more intimate things—but this felt different somehow. Being seen.
He turned his head. Found Atlas already looking at him.
Atlas reached across the space between tables. Their fingers tangled briefly before the masseuses cleared their throats.
Noah bit his lip to keep from smiling. Felt seventeen and ridiculous and completely gone for the man beside him.
---
They found Lydia by the pool, glowing and wrapped in a plush robe.
"I've been reborn," she announced. "My skin has literally never been softer. Feel." She thrust her arm at Noah.
"I'll take your word for it."
"Your loss." She was already scrolling through her photos. "These are getting so many likes. People are gonna die."
They changed back into regular clothes. Noah noticed how Atlas's hand kept finding him—his back, his shoulder, his waist. Like he needed the constant reassurance of touch. Like Noah might disappear if he wasn't careful.
---
The grounds stretched for acres. They found bikes near the garden shed—old-fashioned ones with baskets.
"When's the last time you rode a bike?" Noah asked.
Atlas considered. "College?"
"Same."
They were terrible at it. Wobbly and laughing, nearly crashing into each other on the garden paths. Atlas's laugh came easier here. Fuller. Like the fresh air had loosened something in his chest that stayed tight in the city.
Lydia passed them on her own bike, no hands, filming everything.
"You guys are embarrassing!"
"We're distinguished," Atlas called back.
"You're old!"
Noah watched Atlas's face—the genuine amusement, the lack of walls. Memorized it. This version of him that only existed in stolen moments.
This. Remember this.
---
The dining room overlooked the lake. Candles reflected in the water like fallen stars.
They ate. Lydia talked. Atlas's hand stayed on Noah's thigh throughout, thumb tracing patterns that made concentration difficult.
"Thank you," Lydia said suddenly, looking at Atlas. "For this. For everything."
Atlas winked. Just that. But Noah saw the pleased surprise in his eyes—like he wasn't used to gratitude, didn't quite know what to do with it.
After dinner, Lydia wandered off to "explore." They found themselves in the library, sharing a bottle of wine by the fireplace.
"Everything okay?" Noah asked after a while. "Earlier, with Charles..."
Atlas's jaw tightened. His fingers stilled on Noah's hip—just for a second. "Family politics."
Noah shifted closer. His hand found Atlas's hair, fingers gentle. "What kind of politics?"
"My father. Power games," he said, eyes flicking toward the fire like he could burn the thought away.
"Are we gonna make things worse? When they find out?"
Atlas pulled him closer. Kissed his forehead. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "Don't think about that."
"We have to be careful."
"Right now, we're the least of their concerns."
Noah didn't understand what that meant. But Atlas's tone said leave it. So he did. Let the silence stretch between them, warm and heavy as the wine.
---
Lydia found them an hour later, curled together on the library sofa.
"Still being disgustingly romantic, I see." She raised her phone. "Don't move."
The camera clicked.
"Send me that," Atlas said.
"Already did. Both of you."
Noah tensed. "Lydia, delete those."
"No."
"Someone could see—"
"My phone has a passcode. And they're in a locked folder." She looked at Atlas. "Smart, right?"
"Very."
Noah pulled out his own phone. Started setting up a passcode he'd never bothered with before. His hands were careful. Deliberate.
Atlas watched him. "What're you doing?"
"Nothing." But Noah's throat felt tight.
Just in case.
---
The bedroom suite overlooked the lake. Moonlight turned everything silver.
They got ready for bed in comfortable silence. The kind that didn't need filling.
In bed, Noah curled into Atlas's side. "Will you tell me? If something's wrong?"
Atlas's eyes were dark in the moonlight. "Everything's fine." But his thumb had stopped moving on Noah's skin.
It wasn't the answer Noah wanted. He recognized the wall. The careful distance Atlas maintained around certain subjects.
Let it go. For now.
Atlas kissed him then. Hard. Demanding. Noah responded immediately, hands fisting in Atlas's hair.
When they broke apart, both breathing heavy, Atlas pulled Noah against his chest.
"This is uncomfortable," Atlas said after a moment, voice muffled against Noah's shoulder.
Noah bit him gently in response. "How would you prefer it?"
Atlas laughed. Kissed him again. "I'm perfectly content."
A beat. Then: "I have to go to LA this week. Three days."
Noah pulled back. "Oh."
"New acquisition. Signatures needed." Atlas traced Noah's jaw with careful fingers. "Come with me."
"I have work."
"Take time off."
Noah smiled despite the tightness in his chest. "No."
Atlas accepted it. But his arms tightened slightly. Just enough for Noah to feel it.
Outside, an owl called. The lake lapped against the shore.
Noah lay awake long after Atlas's breathing evened out. Watching stars through the window. His chest felt full of something unnamed—that ache that felt suspiciously like grief, like he was already mourning this while still living it. The stars outside seemed still, but he knew they were all burning, quietly moving apart.
Atlas shifted in his sleep. Pulled Noah closer.
And Noah let himself be held. Let himself believe, for just tonight, that this was enough.
That they were enough.
Even as that feeling whispered: But for how long?