THE PENTHOUSE - 1:20 PM
The elevator chimed. Ninety-two.
Atlas unlocked the door and stepped aside. Noah walked past without looking at him, went straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretched out below—grey and endless. Noah's arms crossed tight over his chest, fingers digging into his own biceps.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Atlas stayed near the entrance, keys still dangling from his hand. The metal felt cold against his palm.
"Can we talk about this?"
"About what?" Noah's reflection in the glass showed his jaw set hard. "Your ex?"
"About why you're upset."
"I'm not upset." The words came out flat. Dead. "So there's nothing to talk about."
"Then why won't you look at me?"
The silence stretched. Outside, a siren wailed somewhere far below.
Noah turned. His face was blank—not angry, not hurt, just empty. Like he'd scooped something out of himself and left the shell behind.
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking—" Noah stopped. His jaw shifted, muscle jumping under skin. "I'm thinking he touched you. And yeah, you pushed him away."
Atlas's hands clenched around the keys. The serrated edge bit into his palm. "That was different."
"Physical." Noah's voice went tight. Thin. "I know. You said. Just sex."
"Yeah."
"Right." Noah's laugh held no sound, just air. "I guess that's what you do."
"What does that mean?"
"Your relationships." Noah's fingers curled over the back of the couch, knuckles draining white. "They're all focused on that. On the physical."
The words hung between them.
Atlas moved closer, slow. Careful. "Is that what you think this is? What we are?"
"I don't know what we are." Noah's grip tightened on the couch until his hands shook. "You've never—we've never—"
"Said it." Atlas stopped three feet away. Too far. Not far enough. "We've never said it."
"Yeah."
"So you think this is just physical for me."
"I don't know what it is for you." Noah's voice cracked on the last word. "I don't—I don't know."
"How can you not know?" Atlas's voice rose before he could stop it. "How can you not—after everything—"
"Because you've never told me!" Noah spun around. His eyes were too bright, wet at the edges. "You've never said what this is. What I am to you. If I'm just another—"
"Don't." Atlas crossed the distance fast. "Don't finish that sentence."
Noah swallowed hard. Looked away.
"Damien was nothing," Atlas said. Each word scraped out of him. "Two years ago. Just—" He stopped. "Just sex. That's all."
"Okay."
"That's not what we are."
"Isn't it?" Noah's hands trembled now, visible shaking he couldn't hide. "We haven't—I don't know what makes us different. What makes this—" His breath hitched. "Different from that."
Atlas stared at him. Something cold settled in his gut. "You really think I see you the same way?"
Noah didn't answer. Just kept staring at the floor.
"Noah—"
"You must've done it with Emma too." Atlas heard his own voice shift, going careful. Testing. "Three years with her. You must've—just for the physical need. Just because you needed to—"
"No." Sharp. Defensive.
Atlas blinked. "What?"
Noah's jaw locked. His whole body went rigid. "I don't—I don't do that."
Silence.
"Emma." Atlas said it slow, like he was working through a puzzle. "Three years with Emma. You had—you must've had an active sex life. You didn't always—" He stopped. "It couldn't have always been about emotion. Sometimes it's just—you just need—"
"No."
"No?" Atlas frowned. "What do you mean, no?"
Noah's face flushed red. He turned back to the window.
"No, you didn't need to?" Atlas took a step closer. "Or no, you didn't—"
"No." Barely a whisper.
"No what?" Atlas's voice dropped low. "No, you didn't have sex? Or no, it always meant something?"
Noah's hands balled into fists at his sides. His shoulders hunched up toward his ears.
"Noah." Atlas moved closer. "Answer me."
"No." Noah's voice shook. "We didn't. We never—"
The words just stopped. Hung there.
Atlas went still. Completely, utterly still.
His mouth opened but nothing came out. His hands fell slack at his sides, keys clattering to the hardwood. The sound echoed too loud in the quiet.
"What?"
Noah's face was burning. He stared at the floor like he could disappear into it.
"You and Emma." Atlas barely got the words out. "Three years. You never—"
Nothing. Noah didn't move, didn't speak.
"Jesus Christ." Atlas took a step back. His hand came up, fingers pressing hard against his forehead like he could physically push the information into place. "Holy—" He stopped. His other hand gripped the back of a chair. "You—"
Noah still didn't move.
"How is that—" Atlas's voice cracked. Broke. "How—"
Noah's voice came out tight. Defensive. "It never felt—"
"You've never—" Atlas stopped. Stared. "With anyone?"
Noah's jaw clenched so hard Atlas could see the muscle jump. His face was on fire.
Atlas made a sound. Low. Shocked. Almost a laugh but not quite.
"I can't—" His voice broke completely. "I can't believe—"
"Now you know." Noah moved fast—jerky, panicked movements as he grabbed his phone from the coffee table, fumbled for his car keys. His hands were shaking so hard the keys rattled against each other. "So—"
"Wait—" Atlas's voice cracked. "Don't—"
"I need to go." Noah's hands wouldn't stop shaking. Wouldn't stop.
"Noah—"
"I have to go." Noah moved toward the door.
Atlas moved faster. Stepped directly in front of him, blocking the exit. "No."
"Move."
"No." Atlas's voice came out firm now. Final. "You're not leaving."
"Atlas, move."
"No." Atlas's hands came up slow, palms out. Non-threatening. "Please don't—"
"I can't—" Noah's voice broke in half. "I can't be here right now. I can't—"
"Please." The word scraped out raw. Desperate. "Please don't go."
Noah's eyes were wet now. Shining. "Why not?"
"Because—" Atlas stopped. His throat closed up. "Because I need you to stay. I need—" His voice broke. "Please."
Noah's hands shook harder. The keys slipped from his fingers, clattered to the floor in a mess of metal and sound.
Neither of them moved to pick them up.
"I'm sorry," Atlas said. His voice didn't sound like his anymore. "I'm so fucking sorry."
"For what?" Noah barely whispered it.
"For being an idiot." Atlas's hands came up, framed Noah's face. Gentle. So gentle. "For not realizing. For talking about Damien like—for comparing—" His voice cracked. "For making you think this is the same. That you're the same. That—"
Noah's eyes squeezed shut. A tear slipped free, tracked down his cheek.
"Come here." Atlas pulled him in slow. Giving him time to pull away.
Noah stood frozen. His body rigid. Arms locked at his sides.
"Please," Atlas whispered against his hair. "Please don't run from me."
Noah's breath stuttered. Once. Twice.
Then his hands came up, fisted in Atlas's shirt, and he held on like he was drowning.
His forehead pressed hard against Atlas's shoulder. His whole body shook.
"I'm sorry," he said into Atlas's shirt. Muffled. Broken. "I'm sorry I said—"
"Don't." Atlas's arms tightened around him. "Don't apologize."
"But I—"
"Nothing." Atlas's voice came out rough. Fierce. "You don't apologize for anything. You hear me?"
Noah didn't answer. Just gripped tighter, his fingers twisting in the fabric.
They stood there. Noah shaking. Atlas holding him like he might vanish if he let go.
The keys lay scattered on the floor between their feet. The phone sat forgotten on the table. The door stayed closed.
"I didn't know," Atlas said after a long moment. Quiet. Honest. "I didn't realize."
Noah's voice came out muffled against his shoulder. "It never felt right. It never—" He stopped. His breath stuttered. "I thought something was wrong with me."
Atlas's chest constricted. His arms tightened. "And with me?"
Silence.
"With me." Atlas said it softer this time. Almost afraid. "Does it feel right?"
Noah pulled back just enough to look up. His eyes were red-rimmed. Wet. Devastated.
"Yeah," he whispered. "It does."
Something in Atlas's chest cracked wide open. His hands came up, cupped Noah's face. His thumbs brushed away tears with a touch so gentle it made Noah's breath catch.
"Then stay," he said. Raw. Desperate. "Please stay."
Noah's lips trembled. "Okay."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Atlas pulled him back in. Noah's arms wrapped around him finally, fully, and they stood there breathing the same air. Atlas could feel Noah's heartbeat against his chest—too fast, too hard.
Noah's breath hitched.
"And I—" Atlas stopped. Tried again. "I want to do this right. With you." He pulled back, made Noah look at him. "I just want you. That's it. Just you."
"I'm scared." The words tore out of him. Honest. Raw.
"Of what?"
"That I won't—" Noah's voice dropped. His face burned. "That you'll realize I'm not—that I can't—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "That I won't be enough."
"Noah—"
"You've been with people who knew what they were doing." Noah's voice got smaller. Quieter. "Who could give you what you—and I don't know anything. I don't—I'll mess it up. I'll disappoint you. I'll—"
"Stop." Atlas's voice came out firm. "Listen to me."
Noah looked up at him. Vulnerable. Terrified.
"I don't care what you don't know. I don't care about any of that." Atlas pressed his forehead against Noah's. "I want to figure it out with you. Just us.Just you."
Noah's breath shuddered between them.
"This is it for me," Atlas said quietly. "You. That's all I want."
"I want you too." Noah's voice broke. "I just—I don't know how to—"
"We'll figure it out." Atlas kissed him softly. Carefully. Like he was something precious. Breakable. "Together. I promise."
When he pulled back, Noah's eyes were still wet but something had shifted in them. Softened.
"Stay tonight," Atlas said.
"Okay."
"Tomorrow too."
"Okay."
"And the day after that."
Noah's mouth curved slightly. Small but real. "You planning to keep me hostage?"
"If you'll let me."
"Maybe I will."
Atlas pulled him to the couch. They sat and Atlas drew Noah against his chest, arms wrapped tight around him. Noah went willingly this time, curling into him. His head rested over Atlas's heartbeat. His fingers curled in Atlas's shirt, holding on.
"Thank you," Atlas said quietly into his hair. "For telling me. For trusting me with this."
Noah didn't answer. Just held on tighter, his breath evening out against Atlas's chest. Warm. Real. There.
Outside, the city hummed with distant traffic and sirens and life.
Inside, everything was quiet.
Safe.
Right.