THURSDAY
Noah woke to Atlas kissing him.
Soft at first. Gentle. The kind that pulled him from sleep like surfacing from warm water.
He smiled before opening his eyes. Kissed back. His hand found Atlas's jaw—rough with stubble, warm under his palm.
"Stay," Noah murmured against his mouth. Eyes still closed. Voice thick with sleep. "Just—a little longer."
Atlas didn't answer with words. Just kept kissing him—his mouth, the corner of his jaw, down his neck. His hands sliding under the sheets, fingertips tracing ribs, hipbones, everywhere.
Noah's breath hitched. His eyes opened.
Atlas was already looking at him. Hair messy. Eyes dark. That expression Noah couldn't quite read.
"Morning," Noah said. Smiled.
"Morning." Atlas's voice was rough. Lower than usual.
Noah shifted closer. Pressed his forehead against Atlas's chest. Wrapped his arms around him. "Missed this. Waking up with you."
"Yeah." Atlas's hand moved up Noah's back. Slow. "Me too."
They lay there. Quiet. The morning light soft through the blinds. Atlas's fingers traced patterns on Noah's skin—circles, lines, abstract shapes Noah couldn't follow.
After a moment, Noah tilted his head back. Looked up. "How was LA? Everything go okay?"
Atlas's hand stilled for just a second. His jaw shifted. "We're really gonna talk about work? Right now?"
Noah lifted his head. Met Atlas's eyes. There was something there—something Noah couldn't name. But it was gone before he could catch it.
"What do you want to talk about?" Noah asked. Smiled.
"Nothing." Atlas's voice dropped. Got rougher. "Let's not talk."
He kissed Noah hard. Demanding. The kind that made thinking impossible. His hand gripping Noah's hip, pulling him closer.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Noah pushed himself up. Sat on the edge of the bed. Extended his hand.
"Shower?"
Atlas took it. Let Noah pull him up—then yanked him back suddenly.
Noah yelped. Fell back onto Atlas's chest. They both laughed—breathless, stupid, tangled together.
"That was supposed to be an invitation," Noah said through his laughter.
He pushed up again. Looked down at Atlas. Let his voice drop. "You coming or not?"
Atlas just looked at him. Expression unreadable. Mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. His eyes tracked over Noah's face like he was memorizing something.
"Your call," Noah said. Started walking toward the bathroom.
He'd barely made it three steps before Atlas caught him from behind. Arms around his waist, pulling him back against his chest.
"Wasn't waiting for an invitation," Atlas murmured against his ear.
Noah laughed. Turned in his arms. "You're always up to something."
Atlas kissed his neck. Slow. Deliberate. Found that spot that made Noah's knees weak.
"Don't leave marks," Noah said. But his voice lacked conviction. His head already tilting to give Atlas better access.
"Can't promise that." Atlas's teeth grazed his pulse point.
Noah's fingers dug into Atlas's shoulders. "Atlas—"
"Shower," Atlas said against his skin. "Right."
LATER
They got ready together. Moving around each other in the bathroom—Noah at the sink, Atlas in the shower, switching places, easy rhythm they'd found without trying.
Noah fixed his tie in the mirror. Caught Atlas watching him. Their eyes met in the reflection.
"What?" Noah asked.
"Nothing." But Atlas didn't look away.
Breakfast was quick—coffee and toast standing at the counter because sitting felt like wasting time.
In the car, Atlas drove. Noah watched the city blur past. Early morning traffic, people walking dogs, the whole world waking up.
"So," Noah said. Casual. "Tonight. Your place?"
"That a question?" Atlas's hand found his thigh. Squeezed.
Noah bit his lip. Fought the smile. "Maybe I need to think about it."
Atlas's fingers tightened. Not painful but—present. Deliberate. "Don't think too long."
Noah looked at him. That pull in his chest. The one that only happened with Atlas. "Okay. Yeah. I'll come over."
He leaned across the console. Kissed Atlas quick—tasted coffee and toothpaste and Atlas.
When they pulled up to Noah's building, Noah grabbed his bag. Opened the door. Looked back.
Atlas was watching him. Expression soft. Open.
Noah smiled. Got out. Walked toward the entrance.
At the door, he turned around. Atlas was still there. Still watching through the windshield.
Noah's chest did that thing again. That ache that felt good and hurt at the same time.
He walked inside. Couldn't stop smiling like an idiot.
OFFICE — 9:03 AM
Clara and Elias were by the coffee machine. Both turned when Noah walked in.
"Morning," Noah said.
"Morning," they said in unison. Looked at each other. Laughed.
Elias studied Noah for a second. Grinned. "Last night went better than expected, huh?"
Clara glanced at Noah. Smiled knowingly. "He's got that look."
Noah felt his face heat. "What look?"
"That look," Elias said. Still grinning. "The my-boyfriend-came-home-last-night look."
"Shut up." But Noah was smiling.
"Some of us," Clara said, pouring herself coffee, "fell asleep after the gym like responsible adults."
"Boring," Elias said.
"Healthy," Clara corrected.
"Still boring."
They all laughed.
Noah grabbed his coffee. Settled at his desk. The morning disappeared into spreadsheets and reports and data analysis. The rhythm he'd found with them felt natural. Easy. Like he'd been doing this for months instead of days.
LUNCH
"Where should we eat?" Clara asked. Already standing. Bag over her shoulder.
Noah looked up from his laptop. "Uh—doesn't matter."
"Your turn to pick," Clara said.
"Italian?"
"Works for me," Elias said.
They walked three blocks. The city loud around them—construction somewhere close, traffic, someone's radio blasting, the smell of food carts and exhaust.
Noah watched them as they walked. The way they moved around each other. Clara gesturing wildly about something, almost hitting a pedestrian. Elias steering her by the shoulder, laughing. Natural. Unthinking. Like they'd been doing this their whole lives.
"You think we're insane, don't you?" Elias asked. His hand landing briefly on Noah's shoulder.
Noah laughed. "Little bit."
"Good," Clara said. "You should."
"You'll get used to it," Elias added.
At the restaurant, they ordered. Talked about the presentation next week. Then about nothing important. Clara stealing food from Elias's plate. Elias stealing from hers. Some unspoken agreement between them that Noah was starting to understand.
"Elias makes really good pasta," Clara said to Noah. Fork pointed at Elias accusingly. "He won't share his recipe."
"Family secret," Elias said.
"I'm terrible at cooking," Noah admitted. Face heating slightly.
"Then Elias should make us dinner," Clara said. "As payment for putting up with him."
"Only if you guys help," Elias said. "I'm not cooking for you alone."
"Deal."
Walking back, they passed a bakery. Clara stopped. Peered through the window.
"You guys go ahead," she said. "I'll catch up."
Noah and Elias kept walking. Elias started telling some story about a client who'd called him at two in the morning to ask about font choices. Noah laughed—actually laughed, the kind that made his stomach hurt.
By the time they reached the building, Noah was wiping his eyes.
"You're making that up," Noah said.
"I swear," Elias said. "Comic Sans. At two AM. I almost quit."
Noah hit his arm lightly. "You're full of shit."
"Maybe." Elias grinned.
They walked into the lobby. Still laughing. Elias pulled out his phone. Showed Noah the actual email. Time stamp: 2:47 AM. Subject line: "URGENT: Font Emergency."
Noah lost it. Laughed so hard he had to stop walking. Bent over slightly. Shoulders shaking.
Elias was laughing too. "See? I told you—"
Then Noah turned around.
And froze.
Atlas stood in the corner. Twenty feet away. Four men in suits around him—talking, gesturing, looking at documents one of them held.
But Atlas wasn't looking at them.
He was staring at Noah.
Not the warm stare. Not the I-missed-you stare Noah had gotten this morning.
Something else. Something flat. Analytical. Like Noah was a problem he was calculating.
Noah's laugh died in his throat.
Atlas's eyes tracked from Noah to Elias—whose hand was still on Noah's shoulder from the joke—then back to Noah. His expression didn't change. Didn't flicker. Just—watched.
Then he nodded. Once. Brief. Like acknowledging a colleague.
Turned back to his meeting.
Noah stood there. His chest suddenly tight.
What—
"You okay?" Elias asked. Quieter now.
The elevator dinged. Doors opened.
"Yeah," Noah said. But his voice sounded thin. "Yeah."
He got in the elevator. Pressed his back against the wall.
Through the closing doors, he caught one last glimpse—Atlas adjusting his tie even though it was already perfect. His fingers precise. Controlled.
The doors closed.
Noah's hands were cold.
What was that?
AFTERNOON
Back in the office, Noah made coffee. His hands still unsteady.
Clara came in twenty minutes later. Arms full of muffins and pastries in a white bakery box.
"For us," she announced. Set them on the table.
They ate. Worked. The afternoon passed in a blur of data and reports and Clara and Elias bickering about something Noah didn't follow.
Around three, Noah pulled out his phone. Stared at the screen.
Typed: Miss you.
Hit send before he could overthink it.
He set his phone face-down. Tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him.
One minute passed. Five. Ten.
His phone buzzed.
Atlas: What time you leaving?
Noah stared at the message. Read it twice. Three times.
That's it? That's all I get?
He typed back: Around 6:15.
Atlas: Okay.
One word.
Noah set his phone down.
He's just busy.
But that look in the lobby—
Noah shook his head. Forced himself to focus on work.
6:07 PM
They packed up. Walked to the elevator together.
"Oh—" Clara pressed the button. "Next week. My friend's having a party. You should come."
Noah looked at her. "Yeah?"
"Just Harvard people," Clara continued. "Nothing fancy. Beer. Bad decisions. The usual."
"If you want to hear the dumbest stories of your life," Elias added, "you should definitely come."
The elevator arrived. They stepped in.
Noah hesitated. Then: "Okay. Yeah. I'll come."
"Great." Clara smiled.
Outside, Clara spotted someone across the street. Waved.
"My friend's here," she said. Touched both their arms. Brief. Warm. "See you tomorrow."
She left. Jogged across the street.
Noah and Elias stood there for a second. The city moving around them—people leaving work, traffic, someone's phone ringing.
"See you tomorrow," Elias said.
"Yeah. See you."
Elias walked toward the subway. Noah walked down the block.
Spotted Atlas's car. That familiar black Aston Martin.
Noah got in. Closed the door. The sound too loud in the quiet interior.
"Hey," Noah said.
"Hey." Atlas pulled into traffic without looking at him.
Noah studied his profile. The tight set of his jaw. The way his hands gripped the steering wheel—knuckles white.
Something's wrong.
"How are you?" Noah asked. Kept his voice light. Easy.
"Fine." Atlas's eyes stayed on the road. "You?"
"Good."
Silence. Heavy. Pressing.
Noah reached over. Put his hand on Atlas's thigh.
Atlas's hand covered his. Squeezed once—hard, almost too hard—then went back to the wheel.
Noah's hand stayed there. Atlas didn't touch him again.
Okay.
"Did you have meetings today?" Noah asked.
"Yeah."
One word. Flat. Empty.
"How'd they go?"
"Fine."
Noah bit the inside of his cheek. Stared out the window.
What the fuck happened between this morning and now?
"What'd you do today?" Atlas asked. Voice carefully neutral.
"Just work. Nothing exciting." Noah paused. "Went to lunch with Clara and Elias."
Atlas's jaw flexed. Once. Twice. His knuckles went whiter on the wheel.
"How was it?"
"Good. They're—" Noah smiled without meaning to. Couldn't help it. "They're funny. Always going at each other. Never boring."
Atlas said nothing. Just drove. His jaw working like he was chewing on words he wouldn't say.
Noah watched him. Waited.
Nothing.
The silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Wrong.
They drove the rest of the way without speaking.
Atlas unlocked the door. Walked in. Set his keys down—gentle, controlled.
"What do you want for dinner?" He was already moving toward the kitchen.
"Whatever you want."
"That's not helpful."
"I really don't care." Noah followed him. "You pick."
Atlas pulled out vegetables. A cutting board. Knife. Started chopping. His movements precise. Measured. Each cut exactly the same width.
Noah leaned against the counter. Watched him.
The kitchen felt too quiet. Just the rhythmic sound of knife on board. Nothing else.
"Need help?" Noah asked.
"No." Atlas didn't look up.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
The knife kept moving. Precise. Methodical. All focused on the same spot on the board.
Noah crossed his arms. "Did something happen today?"
"No."
"In your meeting?"
"No."
Atlas's tone hadn't changed. Still even. Still flat. But the knife hit the board slightly harder.
"Then—"
"I'm just tired." Atlas finally looked up. His face calm. Neutral. "Long day."
But his eyes—there was something there. Something cold and watchful.
Noah took a step closer. "Are you sure that's—"
"Noah." Atlas's voice was gentle. Patient. "I'm fine. Just let me cook."
It wasn't dismissive. Wasn't harsh. Just—closed. Final.
Noah nodded. Backed off.
He sat at the counter. Watched Atlas work. The precise movements. The controlled breathing. Everything measured. Everything contained.
Something's wrong. But he's not going to tell me.
DINNER
They ate at the counter. Not the table.
The food was good. Atlas had made pasta—Noah's favorite.
"This is really good," Noah said.
"Thanks."
They ate in silence. Atlas's fork moved at regular intervals. Controlled. Mechanical almost.
"Clara invited me to a party," Noah said. "Next week. Just Harvard people."
Atlas nodded. Took another bite.
"You want to come?"
"No." Atlas's tone was neutral. "You should go though. Have fun."
"Yeah. Maybe." Noah paused. "It's just—you've seemed off. Since—"
"Since what?"
Noah hesitated. "Since you saw me. In the lobby. With Elias."
Atlas's fork stilled. Just for a second. Then kept moving.
"I don't know what you mean."
"You looked at me differently. You—"
"I had a meeting." Atlas's voice was calm. Reasonable. "I was focused on that."
"But—"
"Noah." Atlas set his fork down. Looked at him. His expression open. Patient. "I'm fine. You're reading into things."
But his hand on the counter—fingers tapping once, twice, three times. A rhythm only he could hear.
Noah stared at him. "Okay."
"Okay."
They finished eating in silence.
LATER
They moved to the couch. Atlas pulled Noah close. His arm around Noah's shoulders. His thumb tracing circles on Noah's arm.
Normal. Easy.
But Noah could feel it—the tension in Atlas's body. The way his breathing was too controlled. Too measured.
"Hey," Noah said. Turned to look at him. "Are we—are we okay?"
"Of course." Atlas smiled. Small. Gentle. "Why wouldn't we be?"
"I don't know. You just seem—"
Atlas kissed him. Cut off the words.
It started soft. Normal. Then something shifted.
Atlas's hand moved to the back of Noah's neck. Gripped. Not painful but—firm. Possessive.
His mouth pressed harder. His teeth caught Noah's bottom lip.
Noah made a sound. Surprised.
Atlas pulled him closer. His other hand sliding under Noah's shirt. Fingers pressing into his ribs.
The kiss turned desperate. Hungry. Atlas's mouth demanding. His hands everywhere—gripping, claiming, possessive in a way that felt new.
Noah pulled back slightly. "Atlas—"
"Bedroom." Atlas's voice was rough. His eyes dark. Pupils blown.
"Yeah. Okay."
BEDROOM
They made it to the bedroom. Clothes disappearing.
Atlas pushed Noah onto the bed. Followed him down. His body covering Noah's completely.
He kissed Noah's neck. Hard. His teeth scraping skin. His mouth moving down—collarbone, chest—each kiss harder than the last.
His hands gripped Noah's hips. Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to leave marks.
"Atlas—" Noah's breath caught. "You're—"
Atlas kissed him. Swallowed the words. His hand sliding up to Noah's throat—not squeezing, just resting there. Claiming.
His mouth moved back to Noah's neck. Sucking. Biting. Definitely leaving marks.
"Atlas—slow down—"
But Atlas didn't slow down. His hands moving over Noah's body like he was memorizing. Like he was erasing something.
His mouth everywhere. Possessive. Almost rough.
Noah's fingers tangled in Atlas's hair. "Hey—look at me—"
Atlas lifted his head. His eyes were wild. Desperate. Something fierce burning there.
"What's—"
Atlas kissed him again. Harder. His body pressing Noah into the mattress. His hands gripping Noah's wrists. Pinning them.
Noah gasped against his mouth.
Atlas pulled back. Looked down at him. His chest heaving. His jaw tight.
"You're mine," Atlas said. Not a question. A statement. Almost a growl.
"I—what?"
"Say it." Atlas's hand tightened on Noah's wrist. "Say you're mine."
Noah's heart pounded. "I'm yours."
Atlas kissed him. Brutal. Desperate. His mouth claiming. His hands everywhere.
He moved down Noah's body. Kissing. Biting. Marking every inch of skin he could reach.
Noah's back arched. "Fuck—Atlas—"
Atlas's mouth moved lower. His hands gripping Noah's thighs. Spreading them.
He looked up. Met Noah's eyes. His expression almost feral.
"Mine," he said again.
Then his mouth was on Noah and thinking became impossible.
LATER
They lay tangled together. Both breathing hard. Sheets kicked to the floor.
Atlas's hand moved over Noah's ribs. Slow. Possessive.
Noah pressed closer. His face in Atlas's neck.
Silence. Just breathing.
Then—
"You laughed today."
Noah lifted his head. "What?"
"In the lobby." Atlas's eyes stayed on the ceiling. "With him."
Noah's chest tightened. "With Elias?"
"Yeah."
"It was just—a stupid joke. About work."
"You looked happy."
"I was having a good moment—"
"He touched you." Atlas's voice was flat. Empty. "His hand. On your shoulder."
Noah pushed up on his elbow. Looked down at him. "Are you jealous?"
"No." Atlas's jaw clenched. "I noticed."
"Noticed what?"
"He touches you."
"He's touchy with everyone—"
"Does he touch Clara like that?" Atlas's eyes finally moved. Looked at Noah. Cold. Analytical. "The way he does with you?"
"I don't—I don't pay attention to—"
"I do." Atlas's hand on Noah's ribs tightened. Slightly. "I pay attention."
Noah's stomach dropped. "Atlas—"
"Who is he to you?"
"He's my coworker. My friend."
"Friend." The word hung there. Flat.
"Yes. Just a friend."
Silence.
Atlas sat up. Back against the headboard. His jaw working.
"You were comfortable," Atlas said. "With him."
"Because he's my friend—"
"You let him touch you."
"It didn't mean anything—"
"Didn't it?" Atlas's hands clenched. "Because from where I was standing—" He stopped. Breathed. "You looked happy."
Noah's throat tightened. "That's not—"
"You didn't even see me." Atlas's voice cracked. Just barely. "So focused on him. On his joke. On—" He stopped. Looked away.
Noah moved closer. Put his hand on Atlas's arm.
Atlas pulled away. Stood.
Paced.
"I know it's irrational." His voice controlled again. Even. But his hands were shaking. "I know he's just your coworker." He stopped. "I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I can't stop seeing it." Atlas turned. His eyes burning. "I can't stop seeing you. With him. Laughing." His hands clenched. "I hate it."
"Atlas—"
"I hate that he makes you laugh. That you're comfortable with him." His voice broke. "That you don't need me there. To be happy."
Noah's chest cracked. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Atlas's laugh was bitter. "You've been fine. New friends. You're doing great." He stopped. Looked away. "You don't need me."
The words so quiet. So small.
Noah's throat burned. "I do—"
"For what?" Sharp. Atlas turned. "To come home to? What do you need me for when you have them?"
Silence.
Noah's heart pounded so hard it hurt. His hands shaking.
Then—
"I love you."
The words loud. Clear. Cutting through everything.
Atlas froze. His whole body going still. Even his breathing stopped.
"I love you," Noah said again. Stood. His legs unsteady. Walked over. "Not him. Not anyone else. You."
Atlas's jaw worked. His throat moving. Swallowing. His eyes glistening.
"Say it again." Voice destroyed. Raw.
"I love you."
Atlas pulled him in. Kissed him desperate. His hands in Noah's hair—gripping, shaking. His body trembling.
Noah kissed back. Everything in it. His hands on Atlas's face, his neck, his shoulders. Trying to hold him together.
When they broke apart, Atlas pressed his forehead to Noah's. His breath coming in short gasps against Noah's mouth.
"I love you too," Atlas whispered. His voice breaking on every word. "So much it—"
His breath caught. Shuddered.
"So much it terrifies me."
Silence. Just their breathing. Ragged. Uneven.
Then—
"The thought of losing you..."
He didn't finish. Couldn't. His whole body shaking now.
Noah cupped his face. His thumbs brushing away wetness at the corners of Atlas's eyes. Made him look.
"You're not going to lose me."
"You don't know that." Atlas's voice cracked.
"I do." Noah's voice steady even though his hands weren't. "I'm here. I'm choosing this. You."
Atlas's eyes closed. His breath shuddered. His forehead pressing harder against Noah's.
They stood there. Holding each other. Both shaking. Noah could feel Atlas's heart pounding against his chest. Fast. Desperate.
Finally—
"Come to bed," Atlas said. Barely audible.
"Yeah."
They lay down. Atlas pulled Noah close. His hand back on Noah's ribs. Moving. Claiming but also—seeking reassurance. Like he needed to feel Noah breathing.
Noah pressed into him. Let himself be held.
Atlas's breathing evened out eventually. But Noah knew he wasn't sleeping.
Just holding on.
Noah pressed closer. Kissed Atlas's chest once.
Atlas's arms tightened immediately. His hand still moving. Still touching. Still needing to know Noah was there.
Noah fell asleep.
But somewhere in the dark, that small voice whispered:
This isn't over.