WEDNESDAY
The alarm dragged Noah out of sleep. Sharp. Intrusive. 6:30 AM flashing red on his phone screen.
He reached across the bed before opening his eyes. His fingers met cold sheets, the fabric smooth and untouched.
Right.
Noah blinked at the ceiling. Morning light filtered through the blinds he'd forgotten to close—again. Dust particles floated in the pale rays, dancing slow and aimless.
He turned his head. Stared at the empty pillow beside him. Imagined Atlas there—hair messy, face soft with sleep, the weight of his arm across Noah's chest pinning him down in the best way.
Their morning routine. Atlas pulling him closer even though Noah was already pressed against him. Noah complaining about needing coffee. Atlas kissing his neck, that spot just below his ear, until Noah forgot about coffee and everything else entirely.
The smile came before he could stop it—full, unguarded, stupid.
Tonight. He'll be here tonight.
Noah got up, still smiling like an idiot. The floor was cold against his bare feet but he didn't mind. He showered, letting the water run hotter than necessary until steam filled the bathroom and fogged the mirror completely.
In his room, he pulled out the new suit—the one Atlas had helped him pick last month. Tailored. Expensive. Dark grey with a subtle pattern that only showed when light hit it right.
Noah put it on slowly. Adjusted the collar twice. Sprayed cologne—the one Atlas liked, the one that made Atlas lean in closer without even realizing he was doing it. Two sprays. Not too much.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Straightened his tie.
Yeah. This works.
---
OFFICE
The elevator ride to twelve felt faster today. Noah checked his phone as the doors slid open with that familiar ding.
Atlas: Miss you.
His chest squeezed. He typed back immediately, thumb moving fast across the screen.
Noah: Miss you too. When do you land?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Atlas: Tonight. Not sure what time yet.
Noah: ❤️
Atlas: ❤️
Noah pocketed his phone. Still smiling as he walked down the hallway to Room 1247.
---
Elias and Clara were already there. Clara at her usual spot by the monitor, hair pulled back in that messy bun she always wore. Elias sprawled in his chair with terrible posture, coffee in hand, scrolling through something on his laptop.
"Morning," Noah said.
"Morning," they said in perfect unison.
Looked at each other.
Laughed.
Elias studied Noah for a second. Tilted his head. "You look... different. Happier, maybe."
Noah shrugged. Dropped his bag. "Slept good."
"Finally." Clara didn't look up from her screen. "Your eyes were all puffy yesterday."
"Thanks for noticing."
"I'm observant."
Noah logged in. Fell into the rhythm they'd somehow already established—coffee first, then reports, casual conversation weaving between work talk. It shouldn't feel this easy after only two days but it did.
---
LUNCH
Elias shut his laptop with purpose. "Found a new place. Chinese food. We're going."
Clara looked at Noah. Raised an eyebrow in question.
Noah looked back. Shrugged.
"Yeah. Okay."
They grabbed their coats. Walked three blocks to a hole-in-the-wall place with plastic menus and fluorescent lighting that hummed too loud. Best lo mein Noah had ever tasted though.
"So at Harvard—" Elias started some story about a professor who'd accidentally locked himself in his own office during a fire drill. Clara interrupted with corrections. They argued over details that absolutely didn't matter—was it a Tuesday or Wednesday, was the professor wearing a bow tie or regular tie.
Noah found himself laughing. Actually engaged, not performing for anyone, just—there.
"We should play tennis sometime," Clara said. Stealing a dumpling from Elias's plate without asking.
"Only if you're on the other team," Elias said. Didn't try to take it back.
"Scared of losing?" Noah asked.
"Scared of being on her team. Last time she hit me with the ball." Elias's chair creaked as he leaned back, spinning halfway around. "Twice."
"Those were accidents."
Her smile said they absolutely weren't.
Elias leaned forward again. Crossed his arms on the table, chopsticks still in one hand. "Fine. What're we betting?"
"What do you want?"
"Concert tickets?"
"Whose concert?"
"Winner decides." Elias grinned.
Clara turned to Noah. "What do you think?"
Noah shrugged. "Sure. But if I win, I'm picking classical."
Elias groaned like she'd personally wounded him.
Clara laughed.
Noah watched them—the easy touches, Elias's hand on Clara's shoulder when he made a point, Clara shoving him when he said something stupid. Natural. Unthinking. Like they'd known each other so long they didn't have to think about being comfortable anymore.
He thought about his old office. Eating lunch alone at his desk, answering emails while cold pasta congealed in a takeout container. Most days skipping it entirely.
This was—
He didn't know what to call it yet, but it felt right. Like something clicking into place.
---
AFTERNOON
Back at the office, they worked. Coffee breaks every hour—Clara insisted, said it was better for productivity. Comparing notes. Clara and Elias arguing over data interpretation while Noah mediated, pulling up additional sources to prove one of them right.
Around three, his phone buzzed.
Marcus: Drinks tonight? Been too long man.
Noah stared at the message for a second. His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating for reasons he couldn't name.
Noah: Yeah. What time?
Marcus: 7? Usual place?
Noah: See you there.
He set his phone face-down. Kept working. But something shifted in his chest—anticipation mixed with something else he couldn't quite name. Nervousness maybe. Or excitement.
At four-thirty, Clara made them all take another coffee break. They stood by the window overlooking the city. Twelve floors up, the world spread out below them—endless buildings, tiny cars, people like ants.
Noah sipped his coffee. Clara explaining something animated, hands moving as she talked, almost spilling her mug twice. Elias listening but also making jokes, keeping the energy light.
Both of them so comfortable in their own skin.
Noah felt it too. That ease. Like he could just—exist here. No performance required.
Huh.
---
Clara started packing up. "What're you guys doing tonight?"
"Meeting a friend," Elias said. Zipping his laptop bag.
"Same," Noah said.
Elias looked at Clara. "You should come. Meet up after?"
"Gym." Already pulling on her coat, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
Elias grabbed her bag. Held it hostage, grinning. "Then why'd you ask what we're doing?"
"Maybe I'll stop by after." She snatched her bag back with more force than necessary. "If I feel like it."
"Call if you do."
"Yeah."
She waved. Headed out. The door clicked shut behind her.
Elias and Noah walked out together. Stood on the sidewalk for a second. The city was loud around them—car horns blaring, someone yelling in the distance, the smell of food carts mixing with exhaust fumes.
"Later," Elias said. Clapped Noah's shoulder once—brief, friendly.
Walked off toward the subway.
Noah watched him go. Then Clara's figure disappearing around the corner in the opposite direction, her bag bouncing against her hip.
He tilted his head back. Looked up at the sky. Clear for once. Stars starting to show despite all the city lights fighting against them.
Good night.
---
BAR
Marcus, Jared, and Alex were already there. Corner booth, same one they always claimed. Three beers on the table, condensation running down the bottles.
"Noah!" Marcus stood. Pulled him into a hug—the kind that involved aggressive back-slapping and lifting slightly off the ground.
Jared and Alex waved. Noah slid into the booth, shoulders relaxing immediately.
"Yo, did you get all dressed up for us?" Marcus grinned. Gestured at Noah's suit with his beer bottle.
Noah laughed. "Obviously. You said it was a special occasion."
"Every occasion with us is special."
"Looking good though." Jared reached over. Touched Noah's jacket sleeve, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. "This is nice. New?"
"Yeah. Recent purchase."
"Fancy." Alex raised his eyebrows. "Someone's got good taste now."
They ordered another round. Fell into conversation—sports, work gossip, who was dating who, who'd gotten fired for embezzling, who'd embarrassed themselves at some party last weekend by trying to do a keg stand at twenty-four.
Noah told them about his new apartment. "You guys should come over. We'll do something."
Alex raised his beer. "House party?"
Noah laughed. "Yeah. Sure. Why not."
Marcus and Jared raised their beers. They clinked glasses, the sound sharp and satisfying.
Noah checked his phone under the table.
No messages.
He's probably still in meetings. Or boarding. Phone's off.
The thought didn't quite settle the unease twisting in his stomach.
"So—" Marcus leaned in. Lowered his voice even though the bar was loud enough that no one could hear them anyway. "How're things with Atlas?"
Noah took a sip of his beer. "Good."
"Yeah?" Jared asked. Waited.
Noah nodded.
Hesitated.
Then added, "Lydia knows. And my mom."
All three of them froze mid-sip. Stared at him like he'd just announced he was moving to Mars.
"Don't—don't look at me like that," Noah said. Face heating.
"Wait, hold on—" Alex nearly choked on his beer. Set it down hard. "Lydia knows?"
"Yeah, she stayed with me for like a week and—"
"Bro, how did she even figure it out?"
"We weren't exactly subtle," Noah admitted. Picked at the label on his beer bottle.
"No shit." Marcus laughed. "You guys are never subtle. I could've told you that."
"And your mom?" Jared leaned in, eyes wide. "How the fuck—"
Noah looked at his beer.
Silence. Just the bar noise around them—music, voices, glasses clinking.
Then he looked up. "She saw us. At the club."
More silence. Complete silence at their table. Even Marcus's grin faltered for a second.
Then it came back. Slow. Dangerous. "Saw you doing what exactly?"
Noah grabbed a napkin. Crumpled it. Threw it at him. "His hand was on my back, okay? That's it. Nothing crazy."
"That's all she needed?" Alex shook his head, looking genuinely impressed. "Damn, your mom's observant as hell."
"She's—yeah. She notices things."
"What'd she say?" Jared asked. Genuinely curious now, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
"She was—" Noah paused. Tried to find the right words. "Calm. Really calm. Took it better than I expected."
"Better than your dad would've," Marcus muttered.
"Way better."
"Damn." Alex raised his beer. "You're lucky, man. Seriously."
"Yeah."
Noah took another drink.
"Kind of."
The words hung there for a second. Then Marcus changed the subject—started telling some ridiculous story about his coworker who'd accidentally sent a thirst trap to the company-wide email. They all laughed until Noah's stomach hurt and his face ached from smiling too much.
Around nine-thirty, Noah said goodbye. Slightly buzzed. Happy.
But walking home, the happiness started to fade around the edges like watercolor bleeding out.
He checked his phone every block.
No messages.
He's probably boarding now. Or in the air. Phone's definitely off.
The walk felt longer than usual. Colder. Noah pulled his coat tighter, letting the night press around him. The city was loud—sirens in the distance, someone shouting, music spilling from a bar—but he felt separate from it all. Like he was walking through a bubble of his own silence.
His apartment building came into view. Warm light spilling from the lobby windows, the doorman visible through the glass.
He kept checking his phone.
Nothing.
Phone's off. That's all. He's fine. Everything's fine.
But the empty feeling in his chest didn't go away. It sat there, heavy and persistent, like a stone he couldn't swallow no matter how hard he tried.
---
HOME
Noah changed into sweats and an old t-shirt—the Yale one with the hole in the collar he refused to throw away. Brushed his teeth. The bathroom mirror showed him flushed cheeks and slightly glassy eyes.
Not that drunk. Just—tipsy. Barely.
He smiled at himself. But it felt forced, like he was trying to convince his reflection of something that wasn't quite true.
In bed, he grabbed his phone. Hesitated. Then typed.
Noah: Good night ❤️
He sent it.
Waited.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Five.
Nothing.
"He could've at least sent an emoji," Noah said to the empty room. His voice sounded strange—too loud in the silence.
He looked at the other side of the bed. The empty space where Atlas should be, where his body left an indent in the mattress, where his smell still lingered faintly on the pillow. Noah reached out, touched the cold sheets.
That ache in his chest—the one that only happened when Atlas wasn't here—spread wider.
He opened his photos. Scrolled to Atlas. The smile that made Noah's stomach flip. Those eyes that saw too much. The way he looked at Noah in every picture like—
Fuck. He's too much. Too everything.
Noah set his phone on the nightstand. Lay back. Stared at the ceiling where shadows moved from car headlights outside.
Tried not to think. Just—breathe.
Time passed. Could've been minutes. Could've been an hour. The room was too quiet, just the distant hum of traffic and his own breathing, and Noah kept reaching for his phone then stopping himself because what was the point, Atlas was probably asleep or his phone was dead or maybe he'd gotten delayed or maybe something happened or maybe—
Then—
A knock at the door.
Noah sat up fast. Heart jumping into his throat, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears.
He didn't check the peephole. Didn't think. Just opened it.
Atlas stood there. Tie loosened, hanging crooked around his neck. Jacket over his arm, wrinkled from travel. Hair falling across his forehead—the way it did when he'd been running his hands through it. But he was smiling. Tired, real, Atlas.
"Hey," Atlas said. Voice low. Rough around the edges, tired but warm.
Noah smiled. Couldn't find words yet. Didn't trust his voice.
"Hey."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The city noise outside—sirens, distant music, someone shouting—pressed close. The quiet inside even louder. Heavy. Expectant. The air between them felt thick, weighted with three days apart.
Then Noah stepped forward. Closed the distance. Kissed him—soft at first, just lips brushing, testing. Gentle enough to make his chest hurt.
Atlas's hands found Noah's waist immediately. Slid around to his lower back, pulling him closer. Then down, fingers spreading wide.
"You taste like whiskey," Atlas murmured against his mouth. His breath warm. "And something familiar."
Noah grinned. Held up his thumb and finger. Small gap between them. "A little."
"How little?"
Noah leaned closer. Let his lips barely graze Atlas's when he spoke. More breath than touch. "You tell me."
He kissed him again. Deeper this time. No hesitation. His mouth sliding from corner to center, the gentle pull and release.
Atlas responded immediately. His hands gripping Noah's hips hard enough to leave marks, pulling him inside, kicking the door closed behind them without looking. The lock clicked.
They stumbled. Kissing desperately now—messy, graceless, all need. Noah's back hit the wall—hard. Atlas's body pressing against him, pinning him there.
Atlas's jacket fell somewhere. Forgotten.
Noah's shirt riding up. Atlas's hands sliding underneath, palms hot against his skin.
"Missed you," Noah breathed between kisses. His breath hitching. "So much."
Atlas's mouth moved to his neck. Found that spot below his ear that made Noah's knees weak. Kissed down to his collarbone. Slow. Deliberate.
Noah gasped. Fingers digging into Atlas's shoulders.
Atlas made that sound—low in his throat, the hum of approval vibrating between them. The one that drove Noah insane.
They made it to the stairs somehow. Barely. Still kissing like they couldn't get enough, like drowning and finding air at once. Atlas's shirt half unbuttoned, hanging open. Noah's hands in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, never close enough.
Up the stairs. Noah's shirt coming off. Atlas's following, buttons giving up, fabric hitting the floor.
Noah's fingers worked Atlas's belt. Got it open. Atlas laughed against his mouth—breathless, warm.
"Impatient?"
"Shut up."
They stumbled into the bedroom. Fell onto the bed—Noah first, Atlas following immediately, caging him in with his arms, body covering Noah's.
For a second, they just looked at each other. Both breathing hard. Eyes dark, pupils blown wide.
"Hi," Noah said. Smiled up at him. Stupid and happy and gone.
"Hi." Atlas's thumb traced Noah's jaw. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was memorizing it.
Then he kissed him and Noah stopped thinking entirely. Atlas kissed him like he was memorizing the shape of his mouth, urgent enough to bruise but somehow still careful. Noah could feel Atlas smile into the kiss, felt himself laugh against Atlas's mouth before it turned serious again.
Atlas's mouth moved down his neck, finding every spot that made Noah gasp. His hands everywhere—mapping, claiming, remembering. Fingers tracing ribs, hipbones, everywhere. His breath hot against Noah's skin.
Noah's fingers dug into Atlas's shoulders, nails probably leaving marks, pulling him closer. "Missed you," he said again. Couldn't stop saying it. "Missed this. Missed you so much."
Atlas lifted his head. Met his eyes. His hand cupped Noah's face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. The quiet gasp Noah made—Atlas swallowed it with another kiss.
"Show me," Atlas breathed against his lips.
And Noah did.
---
LATER
They lay tangled together, limbs intertwined in ways Noah couldn't untangle even if he wanted to. Sheets twisted around them, kicked half off the bed. Both breathing hard, skin flushed and damp with sweat.
Atlas's fingers traced lazy patterns on Noah's shoulder. Down his arm. Back up. Slow circles, figure eights, random lines. The touch light, almost absent-minded, but constant.
Noah tilted his head back against Atlas's chest. Looked up at him.
"Did you miss me?" Noah asked. Soft. Vulnerable in a way that would've terrified him a week ago. But now it just—came out.
Atlas looked down. Met his eyes. Held them.
Smiled. Small. Real. The kind that reached his eyes, creased the corners.
"I missed you," he said. Simple. True. "Every second."
Noah smiled back—the kind of smile that didn't need words, that came from somewhere deeper than conscious thought. The kind he couldn't fake even if he tried.
He pressed closer. Buried his face in Atlas's neck. Breathed him in—cologne and sweat and something uniquely Atlas.
Atlas's arms tightened around him. Secure. Safe. His hand stayed in Noah's hair. Protective. Gentle.
They lay like that. Not talking. Just breathing together. Hearts slowing to match each other's rhythm, beating in sync.
Noah's eyes got heavy. Sleep pulling at him, dragging him under. But he fought it for a moment, wanting to stay in this—the weight of Atlas's arm across his waist, the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way they fit together like puzzle pieces.
Atlas kissed his forehead. Lingered there, lips warm. Held him tighter.
Noah let go. Let himself fall asleep right there—safe, wanted, home.
And for the first time in days, his chest didn't ache.