TUESDAY
"Noah! Breakfast!"
His mom's voice cut through sleep. Warm. Normal. Like she hadn't watched him fall apart twelve hours ago.
Noah blinked at the ceiling. Too bright. Sun everywhere. He'd forgotten to close the blinds.
For a second, he didn't remember. Then it hit—the wine, the crying, her voice saying Atlas's name like she'd always known.
Fuck.
"Coming!" His voice cracked.
He rolled out of bed. Stumbled to the bathroom. Turned on the tap. Cold water on his face until his skin stung.
In the mirror, his eyes were still puffy. But his jaw sat looser. Shoulders less like he was bracing for impact.
He looked—
Lighter. Is that what this is?
Noah touched his own face. Smiled. Small. Surprised at himself.
Before leaving his room, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand.
Noah: Good morning ❤️
Typed it fast. Didn't overthink. Hit send.
Took a breath. Walked out.
---
His mom stood at the stove in silk pajamas and bare feet. Hair falling out of a loose bun. Flipping pancakes like she did this every Tuesday.
"You made pancakes?" Noah stopped in the doorway.
"Your favorite." She didn't turn around. Her voice was light, easy, like nothing had changed. "Don't get used to it."
"I could get used to it."
She laughed. Actually laughed—not the careful society laugh. The real one. "Then your father really will miss me."
Noah slid onto a stool at the counter. Watched her plate the pancakes—three perfect circles, butter already melting, syrup pooled in the center like she remembered exactly how he liked it.
She set it in front of him. Met his eyes. Nothing heavy in her expression. No weight from last night.
Just—Mom.
"Thanks."
"Eat before it gets cold." She poured coffee for herself. Leaned against the counter with her mug in both hands. "We should do this more. Just us."
"Yeah." Noah cut into the stack. Steam rose. "We should."
The conversation stayed safe—Dad's golf, Lydia's seventeen latte photos, the foundation gala Mom was organizing.
Like last night was tucked in a drawer neither of them needed to open right now.
Noah's shoulders dropped another inch. He ate. She drank her coffee. The morning sun made everything feel less complicated than it was.
---
At eight-fifteen, Mom checked her watch. Drained the last of her coffee. "Gotta run. Board meeting at nine."
Noah walked her to the door. She gathered her bag—Hermès, probably cost more than his rent. Her coat. Heels clicking as she slipped them on.
At the door, she turned. Pulled him down into a hug.
Her arms tight around him. She smelled like Chanel and coffee. Familiar. Safe. Not letting go immediately.
When she pulled back, her hands went to his collar. Straightened it even though it was already straight. The gesture automatic—from when he was seven and couldn't dress himself properly.
"You look good," she said. Not handsome. Not polished. Just—good.
Noah's throat went tight but he swallowed through it.
Mom's hand stayed on his collar. Not fixing anymore. Just—there. "Just—don't lose yourself, okay?" Her voice dropped. "Your voice matters."
Her palm pressed flat against his chest for a second. Over his heart. Then dropped.
Noah nodded. The words didn't feel like a warning this time. More like permission. To be himself. Even in this.
"I love you," she said. Kissed his forehead. Her lips warm.
"Love you too." His voice came out rough. Thick. "Thank you. For—everything. Yesterday."
"Don't thank me." She touched his face. "I'm your mother. Call me whenever you need to. I mean it."
"I will."
She left. The door clicked.
Noah stood there with his hand on the doorframe. His chest felt different—full but not crushing. Like a weight had lifted and he didn't know what yet.
He'd never felt this close to her. Not like this. Not as adults.
---
Getting ready for work, Noah couldn't stop replaying it. Her hands in his hair. The way she'd just—held him. Let him break. Didn't flinch.
If you stay with Atlas, you're the one who gets hurt.
He shoved the thought down. Grabbed his bag. Headed out.
---
The city slid by in streaks of light—headlights, glass, motion.
Noah leaned back against the seat, phone in hand.
The screen lit up.
Atlas: Good morning ❤️ How'd it go with your mom?
A small smile tugged at his mouth. He typed one-handed, the other resting on the window ledge, feeling the faint vibration of the car beneath his palm.
Noah: Good. Really good, actually.
Atlas: Yeah?
Noah: Yeah. I'll tell you later.
Atlas: Miss you.
Noah: Miss you too.
The message bubbles sat there, glowing in the dim light.
Noah stared at them—at those three words and the heart emoji.
His chest pulled. That ache again. The one that only happened with Atlas.
He exhaled slowly. The city outside blurred—buildings melting into color and glass.
His reflection stared back from the window: tired eyes, but softer somehow.
Don't lose your own voice.
He slipped the phone into his coat pocket.
Watched the city glide past.
For once, the silence didn't feel empty.
---
OFFICE
Noah logged in at his desk. Forty-seven new emails.
One subject line jumped out.
Project Reassignment — Behavioral Data Research
He clicked.
Noah,
Effective immediately, you'll be joining the Behavioral Data Research team. You'll be working with Elias Hayes and Clara Mercer on data analysis and strategic outcomes.
Your new workspace is on the 12th floor, Room 1247.
Please relocate your materials today.
Best, Margaret Chen
Noah read it twice. Then once more.
Elias Hayes. Clara Mercer.
Didn't know them. Had never heard either name.
Same room. Three people. Is this random?
His stomach twisted.
Or is Dad—
No. Stop. You're being paranoid.
He closed his laptop harder than necessary. Why was he being moved? He unplugged everything, hands too quick. Grabbed his notebook and the stupid Starbucks mug Lydia got him as a joke.
Took the elevator to twelve.
---
12TH FLOOR
The hallway up here was quieter. Less foot traffic. Carpet newer.
Room 1247 had glass walls. He could see everything before he even opened the door.
A woman stood at a massive monitor mounted on the wall. Light brown hair in a messy bun, loose pieces falling around her face. Grey sweater. Black pants. Gesturing at the screen with a pen.
Next to her—a guy. Tall. Built like he actually used his gym membership. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, grinning at whatever she was saying.
They looked comfortable. Like they'd been working together for years, not days.
Great. I'm the third wheel.
Noah pushed the door open.
They both turned.
"Hey." Noah's voice came out smaller than intended. "I'm Noah. Noah Wellin."
The guy stood immediately. Smiled—easy, genuine. "Elias." Extended his hand. "Elias Hayes."
His grip was firm without crushing. Warm. He held eye contact—friendly, not aggressive.
"Clara Mercer." The woman stepped forward. Her handshake matched his—solid, brief. "Welcome to the chaos."
"She's not kidding," Elias added.
Noah managed a half-smile. Moved to the empty spot at the big round table in the center. Started unpacking—laptop, charger, notebook, stupid Starbucks mug.
"So—" Noah plugged in his laptop. "I don't really know what this project is. You guys have been on it for a while?"
"Couple days," Clara said. She pulled her chair over. "Started Thursday."
A couple days and they're already finishing each other's sentences?
"Consumer behavior stuff," Elias said. He angled his laptop toward Noah. "Why people buy dumb shit."
Clara leaned in. Pulled up a spreadsheet covered in highlighted cells and color-coded tabs. "I'm handling the psych angle. Elias does the numbers. You're covering strategic recommendations and final analysis."
Noah nodded slowly. "Okay. Cool. I can—yeah."
"Don't stress," Elias said. He leaned back again. One ankle crossed over his knee. "We'll catch you up. It sounds worse than it is."
Clara was already typing. "Coffee first though."
"You've had three cups," Elias said without looking up from his screen.
"And?"
"And you skipped breakfast again. Your stomach's gonna stage a revolt."
Noah blinked. Looked between them.
Elias caught his expression. Grinned. "Undergrad roommates. Harvard. Can't shake her."
"He wishes," Clara shot back. But she smiled.
Noah didn't know what to say to that. Settled on: "Cool."
They worked. Clara explaining frameworks. Elias pulling up datasets. Noah taking notes, asking questions when he got lost.
It was—fine. Better than fine.
Weirdly easy.
--
LUNCH
Clara stretched. Her sweater rode up slightly. "Lunch. I'm starving."
"You two go ahead," Noah said automatically. "I'll grab something later."
"Nah, come on." Elias was already standing. Grabbing his jacket off his chair. "You gotta eat."
"I'm good, I—"
"Not asking." Elias held the door open. Looked at Noah. Waiting.
Noah hesitated. Then grabbed his phone. "Yeah. Okay."
---
They ended up at a deli two blocks over. Small. Crowded. Smelled like fresh bread and coffee.
Noah felt out of place. Like he was crashing their routine.
But Elias ordered a sandwich the size of his head and started laughing about that viral LinkedIn post where a guy called himself a "thought-leadership ninja."
Clara nearly choked on her drink. "Stop, I saw that one—he wrote a whole paragraph about synergy."
Noah couldn't help it. He laughed too. The conversation flowed.
"Oh—hold on." Clara pulled out her phone. Scrolled. "Look at this dress I got for this weekend."
She showed Elias. Navy blue. Simple but elegant. Definitely expensive.
Elias squinted at the screen. "Yeah, it's fine."
"Fine?" Clara's voice went up half an octave. "I spent two hours shopping for this and you say fine?"
"It's good. You'll look good. What else you want me to say?"
Clara turned to Noah. "What do you think?"
Noah looked. "It's nice. Really nice. The cut's good."
"Thank you." Clara shot Elias a look. "See? Noah has taste."
"I'm wearing my tux from last year," Elias said. Took a massive bite of his sandwich.
"What's this weekend?" Noah asked.
"Alumni Gala," Clara said. "Annual thing."
Noah's hand stilled halfway to his sandwich. "Which school?"
"Harvard," Elias said through his mouthful. Swallowed. "You know. Networking bullshit. Free food. Open bar."
"Sounds fun," Noah said. Kept his voice neutral.
"You go to school around here?" Clara asked.
"Yale."
"Nice." Elias nodded. "Good school. Better than Princeton at least."
They moved on. Talked about the project timeline. Their boss's impossible deadlines. Horror stories from past assignments.
Noah relaxed. Bit by bit. Laughed at Elias's impression of their department head. Added his own story about a presentation disaster last month.
They were normal. Not trying to impress anyone. Just existing together.
What's that like? Just—being comfortable?
---
BACK AT THE OFFICE
Noah's phone buzzed. FaceTime. Atlas's name.
Three people in here. Can't talk now.
He declined immediately. Texted instead.
Noah: In new project room. Three people working in here. Will call tonight when I'm home.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Atlas: Okay.
That's it. One word.
Noah's stomach dropped. He stared at the screen. Waited for more. Nothing came.
He set his phone face-down. Turned back to his laptop. His hands felt cold.
---
AFTERNOON
The hours passed faster than expected. Elias and Clara kept up a steady rhythm—work, banter, more work, more banter. Noah found himself laughing at their back-and-forth. Actually contributing to conversations that had nothing to do with spreadsheets.
"You two are really comfortable together," Noah said around four. The words just—came out.
Elias grinned. "Three years of group projects and a shared apartment. Trauma bonding at its finest."
"Explains a lot," Noah said.
Clara smiled. Didn't look up from her screen. "We survive."
Noah watched them. The ease. The lack of performance. They weren't trying to be anything except exactly what they were.
What's that like? Just—being comfortable?
---
Clara shut her laptop with more force than necessary. "I'm done. Brain's dead."
"Same." Elias stretched. His chair creaked. "Drinks later this week?"
"Only if you promise not to puke like last time," Clara said. Already packing her bag.
"That was one time."
"Still traumatized." But she was smiling.
They all left together. Elevator down. Out into the cool evening air that smelled like exhaust and someone's cigarette smoke.
On the sidewalk, they paused.
"See you tomorrow," Clara said. Waved.
"Yeah. See you." Elias turned to Noah. "You good getting home?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
They split. Clara heading toward the subway. Elias walking west. Noah east.
He walked slower than usual. Thought about them. How easy they made it look. Existing next to each other without all the weight. The constant calculation.
Must be nice. Just—being yourself. No performance.
---
HOME
The apartment felt empty. Wrong-empty. Atlas-not-here empty.
Noah dropped his bag by the door. Pulled off his tie. Tossed it on the couch. Unbuttoned his collar.
Called Atlas immediately.
Three rings.
Atlas's face filled the screen. Hair damp. White t-shirt. Fresh from the shower.
"Hey," Noah said.
"Hey." Atlas smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How was your day?"
"Good. New project's actually interesting." Noah dropped onto the couch. "Working with two people. Elias and Clara. They're—they're cool. Easy to work with."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. They went to Harvard together. Known each other forever. It's nice. They're like—comfortable, you know? No bullshit."
Atlas nodded. Watched Noah's face.
"How's LA?" Noah asked.
"Boring. Meetings that could've been emails." Atlas shifted. Propped his phone up somewhere. "How's your mom? Everything okay?"
Noah's ribs tightened. "Yeah. Everything's good."
"You sure?" Atlas's eyes narrowed slightly. That look. The one that saw too much.
"Yeah." Noah smiled. Forced it to look real. "Promise."
Atlas didn't look convinced. His jaw shifted like he wanted to push. But he didn't.
"When you coming back?"
"Tomorrow night. Late flight." Atlas's voice dropped. Got softer. "Miss you."
"Miss you too."
They talked for maybe ten more minutes. Surface stuff. Safe stuff. But tension hung between them—unspoken, heavy.
When they hung up, Noah stared at the black screen. His own reflection staring back.
He ordered Thai food. Changed into sweats and an old t-shirt. Sat on the couch with the TV off.
The apartment felt massive. Cavernous.
He'd never been truly alone here. Atlas was always here. Or Lydia. Or both.
Now—just him. Just silence. Just the hum of the refrigerator and distant sirens outside.
Noah ate pad thai straight from the container. The quiet pressed in from all sides.
His mom's voice circled in his head.
If you stay with Atlas, you're the one who gets hurt.
Don't lose your own voice.
The moment you're unhappy, you end it. No wasting time.
He'd promised. Looked her in the eye and promised.
But then—
Atlas's smile. His laugh. The way his hand felt on Noah's back. How his voice got soft and rough when they were alone in the dark.
How Noah's heart kicked every time he saw Atlas's name on his phone.
How his whole body warmed when Atlas touched him. How everything else—all the noise, all the fear—just disappeared.
His mom's words faded. Slipped away like smoke.
Noah finished eating. Cleaned up. Moved to the bedroom.
The bed looked obscene. King-size and empty. Too much space for one person.
He climbed in. Lay dead center. Stared at the ceiling where shadows moved from car headlights outside.
Thought about Atlas here. Taking up space. Pulling Noah close in sleep. The weight of him. The warmth. How safe it felt.
Noah smiled. Couldn't help it.
He grabbed his phone.
Noah: Miss you ❤️
Two seconds—
Atlas: Miss you too ❤️
Noah set his phone on the nightstand. Rolled onto his side. Pulled the blanket up.
Closed his eyes.
Mom's voice. Atlas's laugh. Both pulling. Noah didn't know which one would win.