SATURDAY
Noah woke wrapped around Atlas.
His face pressed against Atlas's chest. His arm thrown across his waist. Legs tangled. Like he'd been holding on all night.
He didn't move. Just lay there. Eyes closed. Listening to Atlas breathe.
Then the headache hit.
Dull throbbing behind his eyes. His mouth dry. Tongue thick.
Wine. Too much wine.
He opened his eyes slowly. Squinted against the light streaming through the windows. Dust particles floated in the pale rays, dancing slow and aimless.
Atlas was still asleep. His face peaceful. Younger. His hand resting on Noah's back, fingers splayed wide.
Noah watched him. Counted the rise and fall of his chest. Steady. Real enough to make his chest ache with the weight of it.
Last night came back in fragments. Wine. Candles. Atlas showing up unannounced. Holding each other while Alicia Keys sang about everything meaning nothing.
The things they didn't say dissolving into Merlot and flickering shadows.
This is fine. Probably.
But then—unbidden—another thought.
What if he's not here tomorrow?
Noah's chest constricted. His throat closing like a fist.
He imagined it. Waking up alone. This bed empty. This apartment silent. His whole life hollow.
The image was so vivid it physically hurt. Like someone pressing on his sternum.
Stop.
His breathing got shallow. Uneven.
Stop it.
He forced a deep breath. His lungs burning. Held it until his chest ached. Let it out slow through his mouth.
He's here. Breathing. Real enough that I can count his heartbeats through my palm.
He listened to Atlas's pulse. Let the rhythm ground him. Steady. Constant.
Another breath. Better.
But then the whisper came back. Quieter. More insidious.
For how long?
Noah shoved it down. Buried it. But it didn't leave. Just waited in the dark.
He thought about last night. Waking at three AM to find Atlas still awake. His hand moving through Noah's hair. Endless. Never stopping.
He barely slept. I felt him.
Noah's throat burned.
He pressed a soft kiss to Atlas's shoulder. His lips trembling slightly.
"I love you," he whispered. So quiet even he barely heard it. The words cracking in the middle.
Atlas didn't stir.
Noah carefully extracted himself. Moved slow. Trying not to wake him.
Atlas's hand reached out. Grasped air. Found nothing. But didn't wake.
Noah stood. Looked down at him.
You need this. Sleep. Actually sleep.
His own fingers trembled. He pressed them against his thigh. Made them still.
---
KITCHEN
Noah made coffee. The machine too loud. Each drip feeling like an accusation.
He poured a cup. Held it with both hands—not for warmth but for the weight. Let the ceramic press into his palms. Something solid.
Walked to the window. Stared down at the street.
Saturday morning. Dog walkers. Joggers with earbuds. A couple carrying groceries, laughing about something. Normal people. Normal problems.
He's here. Everything's good.
He said it like a mantra.
But his reflection in the window looked unconvinced.
He set his coffee on the sill. Started cleaning. Needed his hands busy.
Gathered the wine glasses. The empty bottle. Rinsed them under water hot enough to hurt. Watched red residue spiral down the drain. Put everything away in precise order.
Blew out the candles. Wax had dripped onto the windowsill. He scraped it off with his thumbnail. Each movement deliberate.
Erasing evidence.
His phone buzzed.
Group chat - Clara, Elias:Tennis tomorrow at 2? Courts on 5th?
Lydia:miss u. when r we hanging
Mom:How are you, sweetheart?
Noah answered mechanically. His thumbs moving without thought.
"High tension. Everyone being polite while hating each other."
Atlas's words from last night echoed.
Noah thought about his own family. His mom's weekly calls. His dad's random texts about nothing. Lydia's 2 AM memes.
Isn't family supposed to make things easier?
He set his phone down face-up. Watched the screen go black.
Some people get lucky. Some get tests. Most get both and have to figure out which is which.
Hours passed. Noah cleaned. Made more coffee. Answered texts. Tried not to watch the clock.
Finally—when the apartment was spotless and he'd reorganized the bookshelf twice—he went to check on Atlas.
---
BEDROOM
Atlas was still asleep. On his back now. One arm thrown over his head. The other on his stomach. His chest rising and falling deep and slow.
Noah leaned against the doorframe. Just watching. His shoulder pressed into the wood.
He looks peaceful. Like nothing's wrong.
Maybe nothing is. Maybe I'm inventing problems where there aren't any.
His throat tightened.
Or maybe we're both pretending and I'm the only one who sees it.
He turned to leave. Quiet.
"Don't go."
Atlas's voice. Rough. Sleep-heavy. Raw.
Noah froze. Turned back. His chest squeezing. Smiled. "Hey."
Atlas's hand reached out. Eyes still closed. Searching blindly. "Come here."
Noah walked over. Each step deliberate. Sat on the bed's edge. The mattress dipping. Took Atlas's hand.
Their fingers laced together. Atlas pulled. Insistent.
Noah lay down facing him. Close enough to feel his breath.
"Sleep more," Noah said. Soft. His free hand finding Atlas's hair. Threading through. His fingers trembling just slightly.
He kissed Atlas's forehead. Light. His lips lingering longer than necessary.
"Come closer," Atlas said. His voice clearer now.
Noah shifted. Pressed against him. Atlas's arms wrapped around him immediately. Tight. Like locks clicking shut.
Noah's hand moved to Atlas's jaw. His thumb tracing the line. Feeling stubble. Feeling warmth. Feeling temporary.
Atlas smiled without opening his eyes. Small. Content. Unaware.
"What time?" he asked. Muffled against Noah's hair.
"After eleven."
Atlas's eyes opened. Dark. Warm. Confused. "Shit. Really?"
You didn't sleep last night. I felt you. Your hand in my hair. On my back. All night. Counting my breaths.
But Noah swallowed the words. Instead: "It's Saturday. That's what weekends are for."
He kissed Atlas. Soft. Quick. Tasting sleep.
"What do you want to do?" Atlas asked. His hand already moving on Noah's back. That constant need.
Noah's lips curved. "Decide in the shower?"
Atlas grinned. Eyes lighting up. "I'm not behaving today."
"Little bit of behaving." Noah laughed. Almost real.
But then he kissed Atlas harder. Deeper. Like proving Atlas was solid. Present. Not going anywhere.
Please don't go anywhere.
Atlas responded carefully at first. Gentle. Then—feeling the edge in Noah's kiss—he matched it. His hands in Noah's hair. On his back. Gripping. Present.
---
BATHROOM
After, they stood in front of the mirror. Red towels low on their hips. Steam clinging. Their skin flushed. Hearts still settling.
Atlas wrapped his arms around Noah from behind. Pulled him back. Rested his chin on Noah's shoulder. Met his eyes in the reflection.
Neither spoke. Water droplets sliding down their skin. Their breathing finding sync.
"I love you," Atlas said. Clear. Simple. Like stating fact.
Noah's chest squeezed.
Did he hear me this morning? When I thought he was asleep?
"I love you too," Noah said. His voice steady even though his hands shook slightly at his sides.
They stood there. Looking at each other through glass. Steam fading. Hearts slowing.
This is good. Fine enough to believe it.
---
KITCHEN
Atlas made pancakes. Noah sat at the counter watching him move around the kitchen with easy confidence.
Like he belonged here. Like this was permanent.
Atlas caught him staring. Smiled. "What?"
"Nothing." But Noah smiled back. His coffee cup warm between his palms.
They ate side by side. Legs tangled under the counter. Atlas stealing syrup even though his was right there. Noah stealing his coffee. Easy movements. Natural rhythms.
Good.
"Big week," Atlas said. Cutting his pancakes with precision. "Mitchell pitch Tuesday."
"You ready?"
"Yeah. Mostly." Fork paused halfway up. His eyes found Noah's. Held them. "Long Island today? If you—" He paused. "If you want."
Casual. But his fingers tapped once against his plate. Waiting.
"I haven't ridden in years," Noah said.
"Then we should." Atlas's hand found Noah's knee. Squeezed. "Make it routine. Every other weekend. Us."
Us. Building toward something. Making plans for later.
Noah leaned over. Kissed him. Tasting syrup. "Yeah. Okay."
"And tonight—" Atlas paused. His thumb rubbing Noah's knee. "Alice invited us. Her yacht. Dinner."
"Perfect."
They finished. Got ready. The day stretching out. Full of possibility.
See? Normal. We're normal. Fine enough.
---
LONG ISLAND
The stables smelled like hay and leather and horse. Clean earth. Familiar ghosts.
Two horses waited. Already saddled. A bay mare and a black gelding. Both tall. Well-groomed. Patient.
Noah approached the bay. His hand out. Palm up. Let her sniff. Learn him.
Her nose was velvet. Her breath warm against his palm.
"You remember," Atlas said behind him. Soft. Pleased.
"Muscle memory." Noah stroked her neck. Felt warmth. Muscle. Life. "It's been so long."
"We'll go slow."
Atlas helped him mount. His hands on Noah's waist. Steadying. Supporting.
Noah settled into the saddle. Leather creaking. Took the reins. His hands remembered the weight but not the confidence.
They were shaking. Just slightly. His thighs clenched too tight.
The mare felt it immediately. Shifted. Her ears flicking back. Uncertain.
Noah's breathing quickened.
Atlas mounted his gelding. Natural. Easy as breathing. He moved close. Their legs almost touching. "Hey."
Noah looked at him. His chest tight.
"You're okay," Atlas said. Calm. Eyes steady on his. "I'm right here."
Right here.
A weight lifted. Not much. But enough.
They rode out. The trail wide. Trees arching overhead. Sun filtering through in patches. Birdsong somewhere distant.
Noah stayed tense. His hands too tight. Shoulders up. Breathing shallow.
The mare tossed her head. Pranced.
"Breathe with me," Atlas said. Moved closer. "In."
He demonstrated. Deep. Held it.
"Out."
Noah copied. Once. Twice. Three times.
His shoulders dropped. His grip loosened.
The mare settled. Started walking smooth.
"There," Atlas said. Smiling. "See? She knows."
"You make it sound—" Noah paused. "Simple."
"It is." Atlas hesitated. His eyes on Noah. "Once you trust."
Are we still talking about horses?
Noah took another breath. Let his body move with the mare. Let himself relax into rhythm.
She responded. Her walk becoming fluid.
"Good," Atlas murmured. Watching. Always watching. "That's good."
They rode in comfortable silence. Hooves on dirt. Birds. Wind through leaves. Their breathing eventually syncing.
Noah glanced at Atlas. Sun caught his profile. Made him golden. Made him look like he belonged in dreams.
Noah tried to hold onto this moment. The anxiety was still there. Waiting in the wings. But not right now.
Right now, this is good.
Then—clouds rolled in. Fast. Unexpected.
The sky darkened. A few drops fell. Then more.
"Shit," Atlas said. Looking up. "Weather app said clear."
Rain came harder. Sudden. Soaking.
They urged the horses back. Faster now. Rain pelting. By the time they reached the stables, both were drenched.
Noah's hair plastered to his forehead. His shirt stuck to his skin.
Atlas looked at him—soaked, dripping, completely present—and started laughing. Real. Full.
Noah stared. Then laughed too. The sound surprising him. Genuine.
They stood there in the rain. Horses stamping. Both laughing like idiots.
The anxiety didn't leave. But it quieted. Just for now.
"So much for perfect weather," Atlas said. Wiping water from his face.
"It's fine." Noah grinned. "It's good."
And somehow—it was.
---
IN THE CAR
Atlas drove. His hand on Noah's thigh. Thumb moving circles. Always moving.
He talked about his week ahead. Meetings. Clients. The Mitchell pitch he was more nervous about than he'd admit.
"Numbers are solid," Atlas said. Eyes on the road. "But Mitchell's brutal. Turned down three other firms."
"You'll get it."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're good." Noah paused. "And stubborn as hell."
Atlas glanced at him. His expression softening. "So are you."
Noah leaned over. Kissed his jaw. Felt him smile.
Atlas laughed. Low. "Distracting."
"Good." Noah grinned, leaning closer.
Atlas's grip tightened on his thigh. "Dangerous."
"That's the point."
A comfortable silence fell. The car humming. City lights starting to glow as they got closer.
Then Atlas's phone rang. Loud. Intrusive.
He glanced at the screen. His jaw tightened. Just barely. "It's work. I should—"
"Take it."
Atlas answered. Put it on speaker.
Noah watched Atlas's face. The way his expression smoothed. Became neutral. Professional. A mask sliding into place.
"Tuesday's still on?" Atlas asked. His hand left Noah's thigh. Gripped the wheel with both hands now.
Noah looked out the window. Let the conversation fade to background noise.
Even now. Even on weekends. Work comes first.
He pushed the thought away. Unfair. Atlas was building his career. That took time. Dedication.
So why does it feel like I'm always waiting in the margins?
The call ended. Atlas's hand returned to Noah's thigh. "Sorry. He wanted to confirm details."
"It's fine."
But Noah's voice sounded thin even to himself.
---
THE YACHT
Alice's yacht was massive. Three levels. Gleaming white against darkening sky. Security waved them through the private marina without question.
Alice met them at the entrance. Elegant in white linen. Perfect hair. Genuine smile.
She hugged Atlas first. Kissed his cheek. Then pulled Noah in. Warm. Real.
"So glad you came," she said. Her hands on Noah's arms. Looking at him like she saw more than he showed. "You both look good."
Sienna appeared. Tall. Relaxed in ways Noah envied. She hugged them. Her smile easy.
"Did you have fun last week?" Alice asked as they walked inside. All white and cream and expensive art Noah couldn't name.
"Yeah. Thank you for inviting me."
"Sienna and I are meeting Lydia Wednesday," Sienna said. Casual. Like it was nothing. "Coffee."
"She's excited. Won't stop talking about the program."
"She should come to the Vogue Italy shoot," Alice said. Leading them up stairs. Past artwork that probably cost more than Noah's year of rent. "Milan. Next month. If your family allows it."
"If I can convince them." Noah laughed. "Dad's protective."
"Tell him she'll have the industry's best supervision. She'll learn more in one day than a month of classes."
The yacht pulled away from the dock. Smooth. Nearly silent. Gliding into the harbor like floating on air.
They reached the top deck. Table set for four. White linens. Crystal. Candles already lit. Wine chilling in a silver bucket. The city skyline glittering in the distance like scattered diamonds.
They ate. Talked. Easy conversation flowing like the wine. Work gossip. Upcoming events. Fashion week. Some gallery opening in Chelsea.
Noah watched Alice and Sienna between bites.
The way they moved around each other. Natural. Unthinking. Alice's hand on Sienna's back when she laughed—brief, automatic, unconscious. Sienna's fingers brushing Alice's wrist reaching for wine—casual, intimate, years of practice.
Romantic but deeper than that. Rooted. Like they'd grown together over time. Like separation was impossible now.
How long did it take? To become that solid?
Noah glanced at Atlas. His hand was on Noah's. Fingers laced. Thumb moving in slow circles. Always moving. Never quite still.
Can we get there? Someday?
The thought felt heavy. Hopeful but uncertain. Like trying to hold water.
Alice stood. Her hand touched Atlas's shoulder. Light. "Can we talk? Business thing. Won't be long."
Atlas looked at Noah. Question in his eyes.
Noah smiled. Nodded. "Go ahead."
"Five minutes," Alice promised.
They left. Disappeared down stairs.
Noah watched them go. Atlas's hand in his pocket. Alice leaning close. Their heads together. Familiar in ways that made Noah's chest tight.
The door closed.
Noah stared at his wine. Candlelight dancing on dark liquid. His hand clenched around the stem.
Just work. Business. Nothing else.
But tension lived in his shoulders. His jaw was tight.
Sienna was watching. Her expression knowing. Gentle. Understanding without pity.
"Work stuff," she said. Not pitying. Just acknowledging reality.
Noah nodded. Took a sip. The wine bitter on his tongue. "Yeah."
Silence. The yacht rocked gently. City lights reflected on black water like fallen stars. Music playing somewhere below—soft, instrumental, sad.
"How are things?" Sienna asked. Careful. "With Atlas?"
Noah looked at his wine. Swirled it. Watched it coat the glass. "Good."
The word felt hollow. Like knocking on fake walls.
He paused. Then quieter: "Getting better. I think."
Am I lying? To her? To myself? Does it matter?
Sienna smiled. Small. Understanding in ways that hurt. "Relationships have stages."
"Yeah?"
"The beginning is—" She paused. Choosing words carefully. "Intense. Beautiful. Chaotic."
"I think we're—" Noah stopped. "At the beginning."
"Then brace yourself." Gentle. Not warning. Just honest. "Beginnings are beautiful chaos."
Noah let that settle. Felt its weight in his chest.
"You and Alice—how long?"
"Four years in March." Sienna leaned back. Relaxed. Her face soft with memory. "But we were close friends two years before that."
"Close friends," Noah repeated. The words strange in his mouth. Foreign.
"Best friends, really. We knew everything about each other before—" She smiled. "Before it became more."
Noah looked up. Stars barely visible against city glow and yacht lights.
We were never friends. We started with fire instead of foundation.
The thought sat heavy. Like stones in his chest. Like truth he couldn't swallow.
We went from strangers to this. No middle ground. No safety net.
Is that why it feels so fragile? Like it could shatter with one wrong word?
Atlas and Alice returned. Smiling. Talking about contracts or clients or things Noah didn't catch.
Atlas's hand immediately found Noah's. Squeezed. His eyes searched Noah's face. Making sure he was okay.
Noah smiled. "All good?"
"Yeah. Just—boring contract stuff." Atlas's thumb rubbed Noah's knuckles. Constant reassurance. "Sorry."
They talked about New Year's. Making plans. Throwing out ideas like wishes.
"Somewhere different," Alice said. Eyes bright with possibility. "Aspen? Europe? Paris for New Year's could be magical."
Atlas looked at Noah. Open. Hopeful. Vulnerable. "Want to?"
Noah thought about it. Paris with Atlas. New year together. Plans stretching into the future.
Are we making plans we'll actually keep? Or just pretending we have that kind of time?
He pushed the thought away. "Yeah. Sounds amazing."
They discussed details. Flights. Hotels. Where to stay. What to see. Building castles in the air.
Conversation flowed. Easy. Light as champagne bubbles.
But Noah felt it. That weight. That shadow at the edges.
---
GUEST ROOM
The room was beautiful. Large. Elegant. Warm lighting casting gentle shadows. King bed with white linens that looked like clouds. Windows overlooking dark water and distant lights.
Noah fell onto the bed. Atlas landed beside him. Both laughing. Breathless from racing up stairs like children.
Noah rolled over. Faced him. His hand on Atlas's chest. Fingers tracing idle patterns. Feeling his heartbeat beneath skin and bone.
Today was good. Fine enough.
"What are you thinking?" Atlas asked. His hand covering Noah's. Stilling it.
"Nothing."
"Liar." Atlas pulled him closer. "Your face does this thing."
"What thing?"
"Overthinking thing. Your eyebrows do this—" He traced Noah's forehead with one finger.
Noah grinned. Leaned close. Whispered against Atlas's ear: "What do you think I'm thinking?"
Atlas kissed him immediately. Hard. Hungry. His hands already in Noah's hair. Pushing up his shirt with urgency.
Noah gasped. His fingers tangling in Atlas's hair. Pulling him down. Closer. Always closer.
Atlas's mouth moved to his neck. Biting. Claiming. His hands everywhere—possessive, desperate, afraid.
"Atlas—" Noah's breath caught.
"Mine," Atlas murmured against his skin. Low. Fierce. Territorial. "Say it."
"Yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours."
The kiss this time slower. Deeper. Atlas's hands mapping every inch. Memorizing. Trying to hold onto something that felt like it was already slipping away.
His mouth traced Noah's jaw. His neck. His collarbone. Each kiss deliberate. Intentional. Claiming territory he feared losing.
Noah's hands gripped Atlas's shoulders. His back. Pulling him impossibly closer. Trying to fuse them together.
When they finally broke apart—breathing hard, faces flushed, hearts racing—Noah smiled. Crooked. Breathless. "That wasn't what I was thinking."
"No?" Atlas's lips curved. Dangerous. Beautiful. His hand still on Noah's hip. Possessive. "What then?"
"That today was perfect."
Atlas looked at him. Really looked. His expression softening. Vulnerability bleeding through. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Noah kissed him. Soft. Gentle. "Thank you."
Atlas pulled him close. Held him tight. "Anytime."
---
LATER
They lay tangled together. Sheets kicked off somewhere. Both spent. Breathing hard. Skin damp and cooling.
Noah's head on Atlas's chest. His hand on Atlas's ribs. Feeling his heartbeat slow to normal.
Atlas's hand in Noah's hair. Moving. Gentle. Never stopping. That constant need to touch. To know Noah was there.
Noah's eyes got heavy. His body relaxed into safety.
"Everything's okay," Noah murmured. Half asleep. Barely audible. "It's all okay."
He tried to believe it. Just for tonight. Let himself have this.
Back in bed, Noah pressed close. Tried to believe his own words.
For tonight, maybe it was true.
Sleep pulled him under.
---
Atlas lay awake. His hand moving. Through Noah's hair. Down his back. Up again. Endless loops he couldn't stop.
His chest felt hollow.
Today was perfect.
So why does it feel like I'm losing you anyway?
His hand moved faster. Noah's heartbeat under his palm—steady, real, present.
But Atlas couldn't shake it. That feeling.
Like holding sand. The tighter he gripped, the faster it slipped through his fingers.
Noah stirred. Made a soft sound. Pressed closer in his sleep.
Atlas held him tighter. His other arm wrapping around Noah's waist. Pulling him close. Closer.
His eyes burned with exhaustion. With fear. With things he couldn't name.
I'm trying. I don't know how to do this right. How to keep you. How to be enough.
But even as he thought it, he felt it.
That shift. That crack running through the foundation. That fundamental break neither of them would acknowledge in daylight.
He closed his eyes, pretending rest could fix what had already cracked.
Pressed a kiss to Noah's forehead without meaning to. His lips lingering. His breath unsteady.
Noah shifted. Murmured unintelligible words against Atlas's chest.
Atlas held him tighter still.
Like if he held hard enough, long enough, physics itself couldn't pull them apart.
But deep down—in that place he refused to look—he knew.
They were breaking.
Slow. Quiet. Beautiful and tragic.
And neither of them knew how to stop it.