Tuesday
Noah woke up with Atlas beside him.
He didn't move. Just lay there, eyes open, watching the rise and fall of Atlas's shoulder. The room was gray—curtains half-drawn, early light bleeding through. Atlas's face was turned away. Hair falling across the pillow. One arm tucked under his head.
Noah stared at him.
I should feel something.
He waited.
Nothing came.
Then his chest started to tighten. Not sudden. Slow. Like someone was sitting on his ribs, pressing down, inch by inch.
He tried to breathe in.
Couldn't get enough air.
He sat up. Too fast. His head swam. He swung his legs off the bed, stood, walked—didn't know where, just away—into the bathroom. Shut the door. Leaned against it.
His hands were shaking.
He turned on the shower. Didn't wait for it to warm up. Stepped in fully clothed— t-shirt, everything.
Cold water hit his face. He stood there. Didn't flinch. Just stood.
His breath came in short, uneven pulls.
What the fuck am I doing?
He said it out loud. Voice cracking on the last word.
The water kept running. He didn't move. Stood there like a statue, eyes open, water streaming down his face, soaking through his shirt.
Then he reached for the dial. Turned it. Hot water came, steam rising fast. He started to feel his fingers again. His toes. The edges of his body.
He blinked.
Atlas's bathroom.
Black marble. White towels folded in perfect stacks. Everything sharp, clean, expensive.
He looked down at his hands. They were still trembling.
"It's over," he whispered.
His throat closed up. He bit the inside of his cheek. Hard.
Don't.
He turned off the water. Stepped out. Grabbed a towel. Caught his reflection in the mirror.
His eyes were red. Hair plastered to his forehead. Shirt clinging to his chest.
He stared at himself.
Then something shifted. His jaw set. His gaze sharpened.
He dried off. Changed in the walk-in closet—Atlas's closet, where half his clothes had slowly migrated over the last two months. He pulled on dark jeans, white shirt, didn't bother with the buttons at first. His fingers kept slipping.
He tried again. Got them done. Grabbed his bag.
Walked downstairs.
Atlas was coming out of the bedroom. Stopped when he saw Noah. Leaned against the doorframe, arms loose at his sides. He was shirtless, wearing sweatpants. Hair messy from sleep.
Noah turned. Smiled. "Morning."
"Morning." Atlas's voice was low, rough. He rubbed the back of his neck. "You're—leaving early?"
"Yeah. Presentation today. Then the project meeting."
Atlas nodded. Didn't say anything. Just looked at him.
Noah's fingers tightened on the strap of his bag. Not much. Just enough. His smile stayed in place but his eyes didn't move—didn't blink, didn't soften.
"Okay," Atlas said.
Noah counted his own heartbeat. One. Two. Three.
"See you tonight," Noah said. Still smiling.
He turned. Walked to the door. Opened it. Stepped out.
Didn't look back.
Behind him, Atlas stood in the hallway. Didn't move. Didn't call after him.
---
Noah got into a cab. The driver was older, gray beard, humming along to some radio station. "Where to?"
Noah gave the address. Sat back. Put his head against the window.
The city blurred past. Buildings, people, cars.
He thought about last night. The dinner. The sex. Atlas had kissed him after—soft, lingering—but when Noah had opened his eyes, Atlas was already looking away.
When did that start?
He didn't know.
I don't know him.
He mouthed the words. Didn't say them out loud this time.
The driver glanced at him in the rearview. Noah caught his eye. Looked away.
---
Clara was already at her desk when Noah walked in. Elias was making coffee in the corner. They both looked up.
"Hey," Clara said.
"Hey."
Noah dropped his bag, sat down, opened his laptop. The screen lit up—emails, reports, deadlines. He stared at it. Read nothing.
His leg started bouncing under the desk.
"You good?" Elias asked. He was holding two mugs, steam rising from both.
Noah glanced up. "Yeah. Why?"
"You look—" Elias stopped. Set one mug on Noah's desk. "I don't know. Tired."
Clara set her pen down. Folded her arms on the desk. "You haven't been here for two days."
"I was working from home."
"Right." She didn't buy it.
Noah exhaled. Leaned back in his chair. Rubbed his face with both hands. "Some stuff came up."
Clara and Elias looked at each other.
"You wanna talk about it?" Clara asked.
Noah stared at his screen. Then: "What do you think it means when—" He stopped. Started again. "When your partner's, like... cold. But not cold cold. Just—different."
Clara's eyebrows went up. Elias set his mug down slowly.
"Different how?" Elias asked.
Noah shrugged. His knee was still bouncing. "He's still there. Still talks. But it's like—" He made a vague gesture with his hand. "I don't know. Like he's not really there."
Elias scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, I'd probably just—talk to him. Ask what's going on."
"And if he says everything's fine?"
Clara looked at her coffee. Turned the mug in her hands. "I don't know. Maybe he's stressed. Or—" She stopped.
"Or what?"
She looked up. Her voice came out flat. "Or he's already halfway out and hasn't told you yet."
Noah went completely still. His leg stopped bouncing. His hand, halfway to his coffee, froze.
"There's no—" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "There's no other reason?"
Clara's mouth twisted. "Look, I'm probably not the person to ask. My ex—" She stopped. Shook her head. "Never mind."
"What happened?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Clara."
She sighed. Set her mug down hard. "He pulled away. Stopped texting. Stopped wanting to hang out. I kept asking if he was okay and he kept saying yeah. Then I ran into him at a bar with someone else."
Elias winced. "Jesus, Clara."
"What? He asked." She looked at Noah. Her voice softened. Just slightly. "I'm not saying that's what's happening. I'm just saying—don't ignore it if your gut's telling you something's wrong."
Noah's throat was dry. "How long were you together?"
"Year and a half."
"Did you—" He couldn't finish.
"Love him?" Clara's laugh came out bitter. "Yeah. Lot of good that did."
Noah nodded. Said nothing.
Elias turned to Noah. "Look, don't—don't spiral yet. Just... watch. See what happens."
Noah's leg started bouncing again. He stood up. "I'm gonna—bathroom."
He walked fast. Got inside. Locked the door. Turned on the faucet. Splashed cold water on his face. Gripped the edge of the sink.
His reflection stared back. Eyes red. Jaw tight.
Don't lose it.
He took a breath. Another. Dried his face. Walked back out.
---
An hour later, Clara stood up. "Let's get food."
They went to a Thai place two blocks away. Noah ordered pad see ew. Didn't eat much. Just pushed the noodles around with his fork.
Clara and Elias tried. Stupid stories, bad impressions of their boss, a bit about Elias's dog eating a sock. After a while, Noah cracked. Not much. Just a small smile.
"There he is," Clara said.
Noah shook his head. "I'm here."
"Good."
On the walk back, Clara looped her arm through his. "Okay, new rule. When something funny happens, you have to physically elbow me so I know you're alive. Deal?"
Noah actually laughed. Short, surprised. "Deal."
Elias grinned. "Come over this week. Mark made wine. It's bad, but we'll get drunk and pretend it's good."
Clara looked at Noah. "We're going."
Noah smiled. "Yeah. Okay."
---
Back at the office, Noah read reports. Took notes. His handwriting was shaky. He checked his phone.
No messages.
Why would there be?
He set the phone down. Face down.
At four-fifteen, he packed up. "See you guys tomorrow."
Clara looked up. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
He wasn't.
---
In the cab to Atlas's place, Clara's words circled in his head.
Already halfway out.
Don't ignore your gut.
He closed his eyes. Breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth.
Calm down. Just observe.
When he got to Atlas's, the door was unlocked. Atlas was in the bedroom, buttoning a white shirt. He looked up when Noah came in.
"Hey."
"Hey."
They stood there. Ten feet apart.
"How are you?" Noah asked.
"Good. You?"
"Good."
Atlas's fingers paused on a button. Then kept going. "Get ready. We should leave soon."
"Yeah. Okay."
They moved around each other like roommates. No touching. No talking. Noah changed into black pants, white button-down. Atlas fixed his cuffs. They both checked their phones.
In the car, they talked about work. Traffic. Whether it would rain. Nothing real.
---
The University Club was already packed when they got there. Warm lighting, brass fixtures, dark wood everywhere. People in tailored suits and cocktail dresses. Laughter echoing off high ceilings. A jazz trio in the corner—piano, bass, soft drums.
Noah followed Atlas inside. The smell hit him first—perfume, cologne, whiskey, something floral from the centerpieces.
Atlas moved through the crowd like he belonged there. Smiling, shaking hands, laughing at jokes Noah couldn't hear. His whole body changed—shoulders back, posture open, voice easy.
Noah stayed a few feet behind. Watched.
Does he do this with me?
He couldn't remember anymore.
Atlas introduced him to a couple people. Noah smiled, shook hands, said the right things. He ran into some people from school—Emma and Jordan, both in finance now. They talked about work, someone's engagement. Noah laughed when he was supposed to.
Then he walked back to Atlas.
Atlas was talking to an older man in a gray suit. He glanced over when Noah came up. "You bored?"
Noah shook his head. "No. I'm good."
Atlas looked at him for a second. His jaw shifted. Then he turned back to the conversation.
Noah stood there.
A waiter passed with a tray of champagne. Noah grabbed one. Took a sip. Watched the room.
Then he saw him.
Tall—maybe six-two. Dark hair, pushed back. Strong jaw, broad shoulders. Wearing a fitted navy suit. Walking through the crowd with the kind of ease that came from knowing people would look.
He was heading toward them.
Noah's stomach dropped.
Atlas turned.
His whole body changed.
Shoulders pulled in. Just slightly. His weight shifted back. His hand, holding a glass, went white at the knuckles.
The guy stopped in front of them. Smiled. "Atlas."
Atlas's expression didn't change. "Liam."
Liam didn't look away. Didn't blink. Just kept his eyes on Atlas. "Been a while."
"Yeah." Atlas's tone was even—no warmth, no edge.
Someone laughed nearby. The jazz trio shifted into a softer rhythm. A woman in red passed, her perfume lingering for a beat too long.
Liam turned to Noah. Extended his hand. "Liam Benjamin."
Noah shook it. "Noah Wellin."
Liam's grip was firm, deliberate. Atlas watched, polite but detached.
"I moved to New York," Liam said.
"Good for you." Atlas's reply came easy, without pause. His glass stayed steady in his hand.
"You said you'd never live here," Atlas added, not accusing—just stating.
"People change," Liam said, that familiar half-smile returning.
Atlas nodded once. "They do." His jaw relaxed; his shoulders didn't move.
The waiter came by. "Champagne?"
"No, thank you," Atlas said before Liam could answer. His voice carried quiet authority, final.
Liam's eyes flicked toward him, curious.
"We should get dinner," Liam said finally. He touched Atlas's forearm—brief, almost testing.
Atlas didn't flinch, didn't react. He simply looked down at the hand, then back up. "Maybe. Take care, Liam."
The words were calm, almost kind, but they closed the door.
Liam hesitated, nodded once. "Nice to meet you," he said to Noah.
"You too."
Liam walked away.
Atlas didn't watch him go—he was already scanning the room, eyes landing on the bar, his expression unreadable but entirely at ease. Someone called his name from across the room.
He blinked. Turned to Noah. His voice came out flat. "Old friend. From school."
Noah nodded. Smiled. "Cool."
Atlas looked at him for a second. His mouth opened. Closed. Then he walked off without another word.
Noah stood there. The jazz trio kept playing. Someone laughed too loud nearby.
He pulled out his phone. Opened Instagram. Typed Liam Benjamin into the search bar.
Found him immediately. Public account. Lots of followers.
Noah scrolled.
Recent photos—New York skyline, coffee shops, gym selfies. Then further back. Stanford. Parties. A photo on a boat. Another at someone's wedding.
Then: a photo of Atlas. Laughing, head thrown back, Liam's arm around his shoulders. Caption: good times.
Another. The two of them on a hiking trail. Close. Familiar.
Noah's thumb hovered over the screen. His hand was shaking. Just a little.
He put the phone away.
So that's him.
He looked across the room. Atlas was talking to someone else. Smiling. Nodding. Normal.
Noah took a sip of his drink. It tasted like nothing.
Atlas didn't come back for twenty minutes.
When he finally did, he rubbed his eyes. Didn't stop rubbing. "You wanna go?"
"Yeah."
---
In the car, Atlas didn't say anything. His hands were on the wheel—ten and two. Knuckles pale. His breathing was shallow, controlled.
Noah watched the streetlights go by.
"You have a bad time?" Atlas asked. His voice was tight.
"No."
Atlas's throat moved. He turned back to the road.
They were almost at Atlas's place when Noah said, "I'm staying at mine tonight."
Atlas's foot hit the brake. Not hard. Just—sudden. He pulled over. Put the car in park.
His hand stayed on the wheel. He stared straight ahead.
"Why?"
"No reason."
Atlas blinked slow. Like his eyelids were heavy. He turned his head. Looked at Noah.
Took a breath.
"Okay."
Noah looked at him. Atlas's eyes were shadowed. He looked—something. Tired. Guilty. Scared. Noah couldn't tell.
"Thanks for tonight," Noah said.
He opened the door. Got out.
Atlas didn't say anything.
The door shut. The engine revved. Taillights disappeared down the street before Noah even stepped onto the sidewalk.
Noah stood there. Watched the empty road.
Then he raised his hand for a cab.
---
When he got home, he shut the door. Locked it. Set his keys on the counter.
The apartment was silent. No music. No traffic noise. Just—nothing.
He took off his jacket. His hands were shaking again. He dropped it on the floor. Walked to the couch. Sat down. Elbows on his knees. Hands in his hair.
His face still had that smile. The one he'd worn all night. He could feel it—tight, unnatural. He tried to relax his mouth.
Couldn't.
His eyes started to burn.
No. Don't.
He pressed his palms against his face. Breathed in. Out.
The first tear came anyway.
Then another.
Then he couldn't stop.
His shoulders shook. He curled forward, face in his hands, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. No sound. Just his body, breaking.
Breathe. Just breathe.
He couldn't.
He stood up. Stumbled to the window. Shoved it open. Cold air rushed in, sharp and clean. He gripped the sill. Knuckles white.
Stood there. Crying. Silent.
He didn't even know why. He just—felt it. All of it. The distance. The silence. The way Atlas looked at Liam. The way he didn't look at Noah anymore.
After a while, his legs gave out. He sank onto the couch. Still dressed. Shoes still on.
He lay there. Stared at the ceiling.
His chest ached.
Eventually, his eyes closed.
Sleep came.
The ache didn't leave.