FRIDAY
Noah woke wrapped in Atlas.
Arms around him. Legs tangled. Atlas's breath warm and steady against his neck.
For a moment, Noah just lay there. Eyes closed. Feeling the weight of Atlas's body pressing him into the mattress. The rise and fall of his chest. The way his fingers splayed across Noah's ribs even in sleep.
Then last night came rushing back.
"You looked happy. Without me."
"I can't stop seeing you with him."
"The thought of losing you..."
Noah's chest tightened. His throat felt thick.
He broke down. Atlas—who never loses control, who's always so fucking composed—he broke down.
Noah's hand moved up to Atlas's chest. Fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart. Feeling it beat. Strong. Steady.
Is he okay? Are we okay?
His fingers moved higher. Into Atlas's hair. Soft. Messy from sleep. Threaded through the strands slowly.
Atlas's arms tightened immediately. Still asleep but holding on. Like even unconscious, he was afraid Noah would slip away.
Noah's throat burned.
What do I do with this? With you being terrified of losing me?
He pressed a kiss to Atlas's chest. Light. Gentle. Felt Atlas's heartbeat against his lips.
I love you. But is love supposed to feel like this? Like walking on glass?
Atlas stirred. His hand sliding up Noah's back. Warm. Familiar.
Noah tilted his head up. Looked at him. His fingers moving to Atlas's face. Tracing his jaw—feeling the stubble rough under his fingertips. His cheekbone. The curve of his mouth.
He kissed him. Soft. Just lips brushing.
I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.
Atlas smiled without opening his eyes. That small curve Noah loved.
Noah kissed him again. A little longer this time.
Atlas's eyes opened. Dark. Warm. Still soft with sleep.
"Morning," they said at the same time.
Atlas kissed Noah's forehead. Lingering there. His lips warm. His breath steady.
Noah smiled. Tried to make it reach his eyes. "Breakfast?"
"Omelet?"
Noah nodded. "I should shower first."
"Want company?" Atlas's voice still rough. His hand sliding lower on Noah's back.
Noah grinned. "Only if you behave."
"How much behaving?" Atlas's fingers traced Noah's spine. Slow. Deliberate. "Little bit?"
He kissed Noah's shoulder.
"Lot?"
"A lot," Noah said. But he was smiling.
"Deal."
Noah grabbed his hand. Pulled him up.
---
BATHROOM
After the shower—where Atlas had mostly behaved, with only a few strategic touches—Noah stood at the sink. Blue towel wrapped low around his waist. Water still dripping down his spine, pooling at the small of his back.
He wiped the fog from the mirror with his hand. Looked at himself.
And froze.
His neck. His collarbone. His chest. His ribs.
Marks everywhere. Dark red. Purple in places. Some light, some deep. A constellation of bruises mapping his skin.
Jesus Christ.
Noah touched one on his neck. Pressed lightly. It was tender.
He marked me. Like—fuck. Like claiming territory.
His stomach twisted. Not quite uncomfortable. Not quite okay.
Atlas appeared behind him in the mirror. Wrapped his arms around Noah's waist. Pulled him back against his chest. Pressed a kiss to one of the marks on his neck—gentle, almost reverent.
Noah met his eyes in the mirror. "Really?"
Atlas's expression shifted. Something almost guilty flickering there. "I got carried away." His voice soft. Almost apologetic. His chin hooking over Noah's shoulder. "Sorry."
Noah turned his head. Looked at him directly. "A little carried away?"
"Maybe more than a little." Atlas held him tighter. His face suddenly buried in Noah's neck. Hiding.
They stood there. Water dripping. Steam still clinging to the air. Looking at themselves in the mirror—Atlas holding Noah, Noah covered in marks.
He was afraid. Last night. He was so fucking afraid of losing me that he—
Noah's chest ached.
"A little?" Noah asked again. Softer this time.
Atlas lifted his head. Rested it on Noah's shoulder instead. Met his eyes in the reflection. His expression raw. Open. "I'm sorry."
"I don't do this to you," Noah said. Quiet.
"You could." Atlas's eyes held his. Steady. "You should."
Noah turned in his arms. Faced him. "You're insane."
Atlas smiled. Actually smiled. Small but real. "Maybe."
Noah shook his head. But he was smiling too. "Definitely."
---
BEDROOM
They got ready together. Moving around each other in comfortable silence.
Noah pulled on a black suit. Simple. Clean. Sharp lines. He adjusted his collar in the mirror. Made sure it covered most of the marks.
Most. Not all.
He moved to Atlas's side of the bathroom. His cologne collection lined up perfectly on the glass shelf. Noah picked the one he liked—the one that smelled like Atlas. Sprayed it once on his wrist. Twice on his neck.
Caught Atlas watching him in the mirror.
Noah held his gaze. Stuck his tongue out. Just barely.
"Don't," Atlas said. But his mouth curved. Fighting a smile.
Noah finished getting ready. Straightened his tie. Walked to the door.
Turned back. Made eye contact with Atlas.
Winked.
Stuck his tongue out again—more obvious this time.
Then bolted down the stairs before Atlas could catch him.
He heard Atlas laugh behind him. Low. Warm. The sound filling the space.
There. That's better. That's the Atlas I know.
---
KITCHEN
Noah was cracking eggs into a bowl when Atlas came down. Already dressed. Hair still damp, curling slightly at the ends.
Atlas wrapped his arms around Noah from behind. Chin on his shoulder. "What was that?"
"What was what?" Noah grinned. Kept whisking the eggs.
"You know what."
"No idea what you're talking about."
Atlas's chin pressed harder against his shoulder. His arms tightening. "Liar."
Noah laughed. Set the whisk down. Turned in Atlas's arms. "Maybe."
They stood there. Just looking at each other. Atlas's hands on Noah's waist. Noah's hands on Atlas's chest.
We're okay. We have to be okay.
They made breakfast together. Atlas handling the omelet while Noah made coffee and toast. Their rhythm easy. Practiced.
They ate side by side at the counter. Knees touching. Atlas stealing bites from Noah's plate even though his was identical. Noah stealing sips of his coffee. Easy. Playful.
Like last night never happened.
But Noah could feel it—the way Atlas's hand always found him. His knee. His thigh. His hand. Never letting go completely. Always touching. Always there.
He's still scared.
Noah's chest tightened.
And I don't know how to fix that.
---
Before leaving, Atlas pulled Noah close. Both hands cupping his face. Kissed him slow. Gentle. Thorough. Like he had all the time in the world.
When they broke apart, Noah's hands found Atlas's cheeks. Held them. Looked into his eyes—dark, warm, still carrying shadows from last night.
"I love you," Noah said. Clear. Certain. Each word deliberate. "Don't forget that."
Atlas's eyes softened. Something vulnerable flickering there. "I love you."
He kissed Noah's forehead. Lingering. His lips warm. His breath steady.
Noah closed his eyes. Felt it.
Please be okay. Please let us be okay.
---
IN THE CAR
They talked about work. Atlas's meetings today. Noah's presentation next week. The new client Atlas was pitching to. Normal things. Safe things.
But Atlas's hand never left Noah's. Fingers laced together on Noah's thigh. His thumb rubbing circles over Noah's knuckles. Constant. Grounding.
Noah watched the city blur past. People on sidewalks. Coffee in hand. Rushing to work. Normal Friday morning.
Is this normal? Is any of this normal?
When they pulled up to Noah's building, Noah leaned over. Kissed Atlas quick. Tasted coffee and toothpaste.
"See you tonight?"
"Yeah." Atlas's hand tightened on his. "Text me."
"I will."
Noah got out. Walked toward the entrance. Turned back once.
Atlas was watching through the windshield. His expression unreadable from this distance.
But Noah knew. He was watching to make sure Noah actually went inside. Making sure he was safe.
Still holding on.
Noah waved. Smiled. Kept walking.
---
OFFICE
Clara and Elias were already working. Both looked up when Noah walked in.
"Morning," Noah said. Couldn't help the smile.
"Morning," they chorused.
Clara studied him. Her eyes sharp. Assessing. A slow smile spreading across her face. "You're very dressed up today."
"Thanks." Noah felt his face heat. Dropped his bag.
"Special occasion?" Elias asked. Grinning now too.
"Nope. Just—felt like it."
Clara's eyes dropped to his neck. Where his collar didn't quite cover everything. Her eyebrows raised. But she didn't say anything. Just smiled knowingly.
Noah's face burned hotter. "Shut up."
"Didn't say anything," Clara said. Innocent.
"Your face is saying plenty."
Elias laughed. "Leave him alone. He's happy. Let him be happy."
Noah settled at his desk. Pulled out his laptop. Tried to ignore the heat in his face.
Got absorbed in spreadsheets within minutes. Numbers and data consuming his attention.
His phone buzzed.
Atlas: Miss you already.
Noah's chest squeezed. He typed back: Miss you too.
Set his phone down. Stared at the screen.
He's okay. We're okay. Everything's fine.
But the knot in his stomach didn't quite believe it.
---
LUNCH
"What are we eating?" Elias stood. Stretched his arms over his head until his back cracked.
"Pizza?" Clara suggested. Already grabbing her bag.
"Works for me," Noah said.
They walked to the pizza place two blocks over. The sun bright and warm for October. People everywhere—lunch rush in full swing.
They grabbed a booth in the back. Ordered two large pizzas and drinks.
Noah listened to them banter about some show they were both watching. Laughed when Elias did a terrible impression of one of the characters. Clara throwing a balled-up napkin at his face.
But part of his mind kept drifting.
"He touches you. A lot."
"Does he touch Clara like that?"
Noah watched them when they weren't looking. Really watched this time.
Elias said something about the season finale. His hand landed on Clara's shoulder—brief, casual, emphasizing his point—then gone. Two seconds max.
Clara laughed. Shoved him. Her hand on his arm for maybe three seconds. "You're so dramatic."
The exact same way they touched Noah. The exact same casual, thoughtless contact.
There's nothing there. It's just—how they are. With everyone.
Noah took a bite of his pizza. Chewed slowly. The cheese stretching, almost burning his mouth.
Atlas saw something that wasn't there. Because he was looking for it.
The thought sat heavy in his stomach. Heavier than the pizza.
What else is he seeing that isn't real?
"Earth to Noah," Clara said. Waving her hand in front of his face.
Noah blinked. "Sorry. What?"
"The party. Sunday night. You coming?"
Noah hesitated. Thought about Atlas. About last night. About the way he'd looked at Noah in the lobby yesterday.
But I can't just—stop having friends.
"Yeah," Noah said. "I'll come."
Clara's face lit up. She reached over. Touched his shoulder. Brief. Warm. "You'll have fun. I promise."
Noah smiled. Tried to mean it. "Yeah."
But the knot in his stomach pulled tighter.
---
AFTERNOON
Back at the office, Elias made coffee. The machine gurgling and hissing.
They worked. Clara explaining something about the data set. Elias making terrible jokes. Noah mediating when they disagreed.
When something was particularly funny, they all laughed. Loud. Real. The kind that made Noah's stomach hurt.
Clara tried to get them to focus. "Guys. Guys. Please be serious."
But she was laughing too.
This is good. This is—normal. This is what having friends feels like.
So why does it feel wrong?
Around six, they packed up. Walked out together into the cooling evening air.
"Tennis on Sunday?" Clara asked. Slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Before the party?"
"Sure," Elias said. Looked at Noah. "You in?"
Noah thought about telling Atlas. About the look on his face.
But it's just tennis. It's just—hanging out. That's normal.
"Yeah. Okay."
"Perfect. I'll text you tomorrow. Figure out time and place."
"Sounds good."
Clara waved. Walked toward the subway. Her ponytail swinging.
Elias and Noah stood there for a second. The city moving around them.
"See you Sunday then," Elias said.
"Yeah. See you."
They went separate ways.
Noah pulled out his phone. Checked his messages.
Nothing from Atlas since this morning.
He's probably in meetings. It's fine. Everything's fine.
But his chest felt tight anyway.
He hailed a cab instead of taking the subway. Suddenly wanting to be home. In his own space. Where he could think.
---
NOAH'S APARTMENT
Noah showered. Let the hot water beat against his shoulders. His neck. Steam filling the bathroom until he couldn't see the mirror.
His fingers found the marks Atlas had left. Traced them one by one. Felt them. Some tender. Some not.
"Mine."
The word echoed in his head. The way Atlas had said it. Desperate. Possessive. Almost feral.
Noah's chest tightened.
Are you okay? Is this—is this what love looks like? Or is this something else?
He got out. Dried off roughly. Pulled on white sweats and a white hoodie. Soft. Comfortable. The fabric worn from too many washes.
In the kitchen, he reached for the coffee maker. His hand hovering over it.
Then stopped.
His mom's wine bottles lined up in the cabinet. The whiskey chocolates she'd brought sitting on the counter.
Noah looked at the coffee maker. Looked at the wine.
Yeah. Wine sounds better right now.
He grabbed a bottle. Read the label without really seeing it. Grabbed a glass. The chocolates.
Moved to the living room. Set everything on the coffee table. The glass clinking against the wood.
Poured wine. The dark red liquid catching the light. Filling the glass almost to the rim.
Lit the candles Lydia had bought—three of them, different heights, sitting on the windowsill. Their flames flickering. Dancing.
Turned off the lights. Just the city glow through the windows and candlelight. Shadows playing on the walls.
Opened Spotify. His playlist. The one he made at 2 AM when he couldn't sleep. Soft. Moody. Aching.
He sat on the floor. Back against the couch. Glass in hand. Legs stretched out in front of him.
Took a sip. The wine dry. Bitter on his tongue. Warming his chest.
Thought about last night. Atlas's voice breaking. His hands shaking. His eyes wet.
"I hate that you don't need me there to be happy."
Noah poured a second glass. Drank it faster than the first.
He's jealous. Of Elias. Of Clara. Of me having friends.
The wine made his head feel lighter. Untethered.
Is that normal? Is that what love looks like?
He poured a third glass. His hand less steady now. Some wine sloshing over the rim. He didn't bother wiping it.
Or is this what love looks like when someone's terrified of losing it? When fear turns into possession?
Noah stared at the candles. Flames dancing. Hypnotic.
I love him. I love him so much it scares me too.
But I can't—I can't live in a cage. Even a golden one.
He drank more wine. His throat burning slightly. His chest warm.
What do I do? How do I love someone who's afraid I'll disappear?
His phone sat on the table. Dark. Silent.
Noah stared at it. Took another sip.
He said he loves me. He said he's terrified of losing me. He held me all night like I might vanish.
So why do I feel like I'm the one losing something?
He set his glass down. Harder than intended. The sound too loud in the quiet apartment.
Got up. His legs a little unsteady. Walked to the window. Glass still in hand.
The street below—people walking home from work. Couples holding hands. Someone walking a dog. Cars passing. The park across the way—trees swaying in the wind. Benches empty. Paths lit by streetlights.
But some spots too dark to see into. Shadows between the lights.
"So much darkness," Noah murmured. His breath fogging the window. "Even with all these lights."
He pressed his forehead against the glass. Cool against his warm skin.
Maybe I should text him.
Noah looked at his phone on the coffee table. Twenty feet away. Might as well be a mile.
Or maybe—maybe he needs space. To figure out whatever the fuck last night was. To figure out if he's okay.
Or maybe I need space. To figure out if I'm okay.
He didn't text.
Just stood there. Drinking wine. Watching the city. Feeling the alcohol blur the edges of his thoughts.
A knock at the door.
Noah froze. His heart jumping.
Please be him. Please don't be him. Please—
He set his glass down on the windowsill. Walked to the door. His feet heavy. His head light.
Opened it.
Atlas stood there. Tie loosened. Hanging askew. Hair messed like he'd been running his hands through it all day. His eyes immediately going to the wine glass in Noah's hand—wait, no, he'd left it at the window. To Noah's face. Reading something there.
"Hey," Atlas said. His voice quiet. Uncertain.
"Hey." Noah's voice sounded far away. "Come in."
Atlas walked in. Closed the door behind him. Stood there for a second. Taking in the scene—the candles, the wine bottle, Noah in sweats, music playing soft.
His eyes came back to Noah's face. Searching.
Noah walked past him. Grabbed his wine glass from the windowsill. Took a sip. Felt Atlas watching.
"Want some?" Noah asked. Not looking at him.
"Yeah."
Noah got another glass from the kitchen. His movements careful. Deliberate. Poured wine. The bottle almost empty now.
Walked back. Handed it to Atlas.
Their fingers brushed. Atlas's warm. Steady.
Noah sat on the couch this time. Not the floor. Atlas sat next to him. Close but not touching.
They sat in silence. The music filling the space between them.
Billie Eilish. Something sad. Something aching.
"You okay?" Atlas asked finally. His voice low.
Noah took a sip of wine. "Yeah. I'm good."
Liar.
"You?" Noah asked. Looked at him.
"I'm good."
Liar.
They both knew. But neither said it.
Atlas set his glass down. Pulled Noah close. His arm around Noah's shoulders. His other hand finding Noah's free hand. Lacing their fingers together.
Noah let himself be held. His head on Atlas's chest. Listening to his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Real.
The music changed. Alicia Keys now. Soft. Aching in a different way.
Some people want it all
But I don't want nothing at all
If it ain't you, baby
Atlas's hand on Noah's back stilled. Just rested there. Warm. Heavy.
Neither of them spoke. The song said everything neither of them could.
Everything means nothing if I ain't got you.
Noah's throat burned. His eyes stinging.
I love you. But I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared.
They sat there. Just holding each other. Just breathing.
After a while—could've been minutes, could've been hours—Atlas spoke.
"Family dinner tonight."
His voice flat. Emotionless.
"How was it?" Noah asked. Not moving. His face still pressed against Atlas's chest.
"Same as always."
"Which is?"
"High tension." A pause. "Everyone being polite while hating each other."
Noah kissed his jaw. Just once. Soft. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Atlas's hand moved on his back. Slow. Soothing. "Some families should come with a warning label."
Silence.
"You eat?" Atlas asked.
"Not really." Noah gestured vaguely at the wine. The chocolates. "Just this."
"Very nutritious."
Noah smiled despite himself. "Try the chocolate. The whiskey ones."
He sat up. Grabbed the box. Opened it. Took one for himself. Handed one to Atlas.
They ate them. The whiskey bitter-sweet. The chocolate rich.
Atlas pulled Noah back against him. Kissed him. Slow. Deep. Tasting chocolate and whiskey and wine and something indefinable.
"Good?" Noah asked when they broke apart. His voice breathless.
"Very." Atlas's lips curved. His hand cupping Noah's face. Thumb brushing his cheekbone. "The chocolate too."
Noah laughed. Soft. Real.
They drank wine in candlelight. Held each other. The music playing. The things they should say dissolving into red wine and flickering shadows.
Noah's head got lighter. Pleasantly foggy. The anxiety bleeding out with each sip.
Atlas's hand never stopped moving on his back. Constant. Grounding.
We're okay. Please let us be okay.
Eventually—when the bottle was empty and the candles burning low—Atlas spoke again.
"Bed?"
Noah nodded. His head heavy. His body loose. "Yeah."
---
BEDROOM
Noah curled into Atlas immediately. His head on Atlas's chest. Arms wrapped around him. Legs tangled.
Atlas stared at the ceiling. His hand in Noah's hair. Moving. Gentle. Constant.
Noah's breathing evened out quickly. The wine pulling him under. Sleep taking him.
But not before one last thought drifted through his foggy mind:
Something's broken. And I don't know how to fix it.
Then—nothing.
---
Atlas stayed awake.
His hand never stopped moving. Through Noah's hair. Down his back. Across his shoulders. Back up again.
Endless loops. Endless patterns.
Like if he stopped touching, Noah might disappear.
His chest felt tight. His throat thick.
I'm losing you. I can feel it. You're slipping away and I don't know how to hold on.
His hand moved faster. More desperate.
Noah stirred in his sleep. Made a soft sound. Pressed closer.
Atlas held him tighter. His eyes burning.
Please don't leave me. Please. I'll do better. I'll be better.
But even as he thought it, he knew.
Knew he was holding too tight.
Knew fear was turning into something else.
Knew something had broken last night that couldn't be fixed with love alone.
He closed his eyes. But didn't sleep.
Just held on.
And prayed it would be enough.