TUESDAY MORNING
Noah woke to emptiness.
His hand reached across the bed. Found cool sheets. No Atlas.
He blinked at the ceiling. The apartment felt different without Atlas in it—bigger, quieter. Like he'd been living here for years instead of days. Like this was home.
Then reality crashed in.
The presentation. His father. Wednesday at 2 PM.
He sat up. His body still ached but less than yesterday. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Stood.
Shower. Now.
---
The water was hot. Perfect. Noah stood under the spray, let it run over his face, his shoulders. Washed his hair. His body.
He turned off the water. Reached for a towel.
Wrapped it around his waist. Opened the bathroom door.
And nearly collided with Atlas.
Atlas stood there in running gear—shorts, compression shirt clinging to his chest. Hair damp with sweat. Skin flushed. Breathing still slightly elevated.
They both froze.
Then smiled at exactly the same time.
"Morning," they said together.
Laughed.
Atlas stepped closer. His eyes traveled down Noah's body—water still dripping, white towel slung low on his hips.
"Rowing?" Noah asked.
"Yeah." Atlas closed the distance. Pulled him in despite being sweaty. His hands slid down Noah's bare back. "You smell good."
"You smell like—" Noah wrinkled his nose playfully. "—a gym."
"Thanks." Atlas grinned. His mouth found Noah's. Not gentle. Hungry. "Come shower with me."
Noah pulled back just enough to look up at him. Raised one eyebrow.
Atlas's grin widened. "Please?"
"I have to get ready for work."
"So do I." Atlas's hands tightened on his hips. "We'll be efficient."
Noah laughed. Pushed against his chest. "You're terrible."
"I know." But Atlas let him go.
Noah escaped to the dressing room. Grabbed the first suit he saw—dark navy, nearly black. White dress shirt. Got dressed quickly, fingers fumbling slightly with the buttons.
He paused at Atlas's side of the closet. The cologne collection—probably twenty bottles, all designer, all expensive.
He picked one. Light, citrusy. Not Atlas's usual. Sprayed once on his wrist.
Perfect.
He was tying his shoes when Atlas appeared in the doorway. Hair still damp. Grey slacks. White shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. No tie yet.
"You're leaving without breakfast?"
Noah stood. Grabbed his jacket. "Presentation's tomorrow. I need to prep."
"Noah—"
Noah crossed to him. Wrapped his arms around his waist. Tilted his head up. "I'll be fine."
Atlas's hands came up. Framed his face. Then he leaned down. Inhaled.
"You smell like me."
Noah's mouth curved. "That's the point. So I can think about you all day."
Atlas's eyes darkened. "You're dangerous."
"I'm learning." Noah kissed him once, soft. Pulled back. "I have to go."
"Text me when you get there."
"I will."
Noah grabbed his bag. Headed for the door.
"Noah."
He stopped. Looked back.
Atlas leaned against the doorframe. Arms crossed. That look on his face—possessive, satisfied, something else Noah couldn't name.
"You're very smooth, you know that?"
Noah grinned. Dimples showing. " I've had a good teacher."
Atlas's mouth curved. He caught Noah by the wrist, tugged him closer.
"Yeah? Who?"
Noah looked up at him, eyes bright, teasing.
"Take a guess."
Before Atlas could answer, Noah rose on his toes, kissed him—soft, quick, deliberate.
Then he pulled back, still smiling.
"See you tonight."
And then he was gone.
---
The traffic was a blur. Or maybe it wasn't. Noah couldn't tell anymore—his mind kept drifting back to Atlas leaning against that doorframe, that look in his eyes.
WELLIN TOWER - 7:30 AM
The office was empty. Just cleaning crew finishing up. The city spread out below—grey and waking up.
Noah dropped his bag. Pulled up the presentation on his laptop.
Henderson project. Forty-three slides. Three months of analysis. His work.
He started at slide one.
For the first time in his life, focus came easy. Natural. The numbers made sense. The projections flowed. His mind was clear.
When did this happen? When did I become someone who could do this? Three months ago I would've been drowning in these numbers. Now they're just... making sense. Is this what confidence feels like? Or is it just Atlas making everything feel possible?
His phone buzzed.
Atlas: lunch? the modern. 12:00.
Noah smiled at his screen. Couldn't help it.
Noah: yes
Atlas: good. miss you already
Noah: it's been an hour
Atlas: your point?
Noah: 😊
Noah is typing...
Noah stopped typing.
Noah laughed. Put his phone down. Went back to work.
---
Noah was deep in slide thirty-two when movement caught his eye.
He looked up.
Atlas stood in his doorway.
Noah's face lit up. He stood without thinking. Then caught himself. Tried to look casual.
Failed completely.
Atlas's mouth curved. He stepped inside. Closed the door behind him.
"Hi."
"Hi." Noah's voice came out softer than he meant.
Atlas crossed to him. One hand slid to Noah's hip. The other tangled in his hair—those dark curls Atlas couldn't seem to keep his hands out of.
He pulled Noah in. Kissed him.
Deep. Thorough. Taking his time.
Noah melted into it. His hands fisted in Atlas's shirt. Everything else disappeared—the presentation, the office, tomorrow.
Then his father's face flashed through his mind.
He pulled back. "Atlas—we're at my office."
"So?"
"So anyone could see."
"Let them." Atlas leaned in again.
Noah put his hand on his chest. "Are you trying to get me fired?"
"You'd come work for me." Atlas's grin was pure trouble.
"You're insane."
"About you? Yeah."
Noah's face went hot. He looked away.
Atlas laughed. Kissed his temple. "Come on. Let's go before I do something that actually gets you fired."
They walked to the elevator. Side by side. Not touching but close enough that Noah could feel the heat of him.
The elevator doors opened.
Thomas Wellin stood inside.
Noah's stomach dropped.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Stand normal. What's normal? How do I usually stand? Why can't I remember how to stand?
"Dad."
"Noah." His father's eyes flicked to Atlas. "Atlas."
"Thomas." Atlas extended his hand. They shook. Formal. Professional.
"How's the project coming along?" his father asked.
"Good. On track." Atlas's voice was smooth. Easy. "Noah's analysis has been invaluable."
"Has it." Not a question. His father's gaze shifted to Noah. "Where are you headed?"
"Lunch." Noah kept his voice level. "With Atlas."
"I see." His father's eyes narrowed slightly. "When did you two become close enough for lunch meetings?"
"We've been working together for months," Atlas said before Noah could answer. "It's easier to discuss project details over food than in a conference room."
His father studied them both. Long enough that Noah's palms started to sweat.
"I suppose that makes sense." He stepped out of the elevator. Turned back. "Atlas, good to see you. Noah, my office. After lunch."
"Yes sir."
The elevator doors closed.
Noah exhaled. His hands were shaking.
"Hey." Atlas's hand found his. Squeezed once. "He doesn't know anything."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm sure." Atlas pulled his hand back before the doors opened again. "Relax."
---
THE MODERN
The restaurant was packed. Lunch rush. They got a table by the windows. City sprawling below.
Noah was halfway through his salmon when someone stopped at their table.
"Atlas. Noah."
Noah looked up.
Julian. With three other guys Noah vaguely recognized from Atlas's circle.
"Julian." Atlas's voice went cooler. "Hey."
Julian's smile was easy. Friendly. But his eyes were sharp. "Haven't seen you around much lately, Atlas."
"I've been busy."
"I can see that." Julian's gaze flicked to Noah. Then back to Atlas. Something knowing in his expression. "So when did you two get so close? Last I checked, you couldn't stand each other."
"People change," Atlas said.
"Apparently." Julian looked at Noah. "We should play tennis again sometime. Been a while."
Before Noah could answer, he felt it—Atlas going completely still beside him. Not moving. Barely breathing. Just radiating tension.
"Yeah, maybe." Noah kept his voice casual. "Work's been crazy. But I'll let you know when things calm down."
"Do that." Julian grinned. "Good seeing you both. Enjoy your lunch."
He walked away.
Atlas didn't say anything. Just cut into his steak with precise, controlled movements.
Noah watched him. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"You don't seem fine."
"I'm fine."
They finished eating in silence. Atlas paid. They walked to his car.
Noah tried to make conversation. Cracked a joke. Got nothing back.
Finally, as Atlas pulled out of the parking garage: "You could've just made plans with him."
Noah frowned. "What?"
"Tennis. You could've set something up. Put it on your calendar."
"I—what are you talking about?"
"'I'll let you know when things calm down.'" Atlas's hands tightened on the wheel. "That's not saying no."
Noah stared at him. "What did you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Actually decline?"
"I did decline."
"That wasn't declining. That was keeping your options open."
"No it wasn't. What did you want me to say? 'Sorry, I can't, I have a boyfriend I haven't told anyone about yet'?"
Atlas's jaw clenched. "Would that have been so bad?"
"Yes. Julian would tell everyone. You know how he is."
"So you're ashamed."
"I'm not—" Noah stopped. Took a breath. "I'm not ashamed. I'm being careful. There's a difference."
"Is there."
"Yes." Noah turned in his seat. "Can we not do this right now? Please?"
Atlas didn't answer. Just drove.
They pulled up to Wellin Tower. Atlas put the car in park.
Noah reached over. Put his hand on Atlas's thigh. "Hey."
Atlas looked at him.
"I'm sorry. I should've been clearer with Julian. You're right." Noah leaned over. Kissed his cheek. "Please don't be mad."
Atlas exhaled. His hand covered Noah's. "I'm not mad."
"You seem mad."
"I'm not. I'm just—" He stopped. "Never mind."
"Tell me."
"It's nothing. Go. Your dad's waiting."
Noah hesitated. Then kissed him properly. "I'll see you tonight?"
"Yeah."
Noah got out. Watched Atlas drive away.
Then headed inside.
---
His father's office door was open.
"Come in. Close the door."
Noah did. Sat across from him.
"Tomorrow's presentation," his father said without preamble. "You're ready?"
"Yes."
"Good." His father set down his pen. Looked at him. "Why were you having lunch with Atlas?"
"We were discussing the project — it just happened spontaneously."
His father's gaze didn't waver. "That's all?"
"That's all."
"Noah." His father leaned back. Steepled his fingers. "I'm going to ask you something. And I want an honest answer."
Noah's pulse picked up. "Okay."
"Are you involved with Atlas?"
The question hung in the air.
Noah kept his face blank. "We're working on the same project. That's the extent of our involvement."
"Is it."
"Yes."
His father studied him. Long enough that Noah had to force himself not to look away.
"Keep your relationship with him professional," his father said finally. "Mixing business and personal matters never ends well."
"There's nothing to mix."
"Good. See that it stays that way." His father picked up his pen again. "That's all. Close the door on your way out."
Noah left.
His hands didn't stop shaking until he reached his office.
---
Noah packed up early. He'd review the presentation at home—Atlas's home.
The drive took twenty minutes. Traffic lighter than usual.
He let himself in with his key. Dropped his bag by the door.
"Atlas?"
"Kitchen."
Noah found him leaning against the counter. Dress shirt. No tie. Sleeves rolled up. Hair slightly messed like he'd been running his hands through it.
"Hey." Noah crossed to him. Kissed his cheek.
Atlas turned his head. The kiss landed on his mouth instead.
But he didn't lean into it. Didn't pull Noah closer.
Noah pulled back. "Everything okay? Work stuff?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
Noah studied him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"About what? About how you'll play tennis with Julian whenever your schedule opens up?"
Noah's eyes widened. "Are you serious right now?"
"Dead serious."
"Atlas—" Noah stepped closer. Put his hand on his waist. "You know that's not what I meant."
Atlas didn't answer.
"What did you want me to say?" Noah asked quietly. "Really. Tell me."
"I don't know."
"Yes you do."
Atlas was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Something that made it clear you weren't interested. That's all."
"I said I'd let him know when things calm down. That's code for no."
"Is it."
"Yes." Noah moved closer. Slid his other hand up to Atlas's chest. "You know it is."
Atlas's jaw worked.
"Hey." Noah tilted his head. Smiled slightly. "Are you jealous?"
"No."
"You are." Noah's smile grew. "You're jealous of me."
"I'm not—"
"You are. Oh my god." Noah laughed. Wrapped his arms around Atlas's waist. "That's so cute."
"It's not cute."
"It really is." Noah pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I like it when you're jealous."
"Well I don't." But Atlas's hands finally came up. Settled on Noah's hips. "It's not fun."
"No?" Noah kissed his jaw. "Not even a little?"
"No."
"Bad liar." Noah pulled back. Looked up at him. Green eyes bright. "Do you have plans tonight?"
Atlas's expression shifted. "Why?"
"Because if you don't, you're mine until morning." Noah's voice dropped. Teasing. "What do you say, baby?"
Atlas blinked. Then started laughing. Actually laughing. "Baby?"
"Yeah." Noah grinned. Dimples showing. "Baby."
"You can't call me baby."
"Why not?"
"Because—" Atlas pulled him closer. "Because you're the baby."
Noah laughed. Pushed against his chest. "I need to shower."
"Want company?"
"You'll regret it."
"Will I?" Atlas pulled him back in. Wrapped his arms around him. "Who's going to regret it?"
They stayed like that for a moment. Then Noah pulled back slightly. Looked up at him with those bright green eyes. Grinned.
"Let's go, baby."
Atlas laughed, shaking his head. "You did not just call me that."
"Too late." Noah's grin widened, dimples deepening. "It suits you."
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
Atlas leaned in, brushing a kiss against his forehead. "Yeah. Unfortunately."
---
The shower was all steam and heat and slick skin.
Atlas backed Noah against the tile. Water cascading over both of them. His mouth on Noah's neck, his shoulder, that spot behind his ear that made Noah's breath hitch.
"Atlas—" Noah's hands found his shoulders. Gripped. "Be good."
So much for keeping things professional.
"Make me." Atlas's hands slid down his sides. Slow. Deliberate.
"You're asking for trouble."
Atlas's mouth curved against his skin. "That's the point."
Noah laughed. Breathless. "That's not—"
Atlas kissed him. Swallowed whatever he was going to say. His hands everywhere—mapping, claiming, learning what made Noah gasp.
Noah gave up trying to be responsible. Let Atlas press him harder against the wall. Let his own hands explore—tracing muscles, following water trails, discovering what made Atlas's breathing change.
Time blurred. Water ran cold before they noticed. Noah's legs went weak. Atlas held him up.
When they finally stumbled out, both flushed and breathing hard, Noah couldn't quite meet Atlas's eyes.
"So." Atlas wrapped a towel around his hips. Grinned. "Still think I'd regret it?"
Noah threw his towel at him. "Shut up."
Atlas caught it. Pulled Noah in by the waist. Kissed him once more. Soft this time. "For the record—no regrets."
Noah's face went red. But he smiled. "Me neither."
---
After, they ordered Thai food. Ate on the couch. Noah stealing bites from Atlas's plate. Atlas stealing them back.
"I need to go through the presentation one more time," Noah said eventually.
"Show me."
"I can't. You'll distract me."
"I won't."
"You will."
"Try me." Atlas settled back. "I want to hear it."
Noah hesitated. Then grabbed his laptop. Pulled up the slides.
"Okay. So the Henderson Project is a comprehensive analysis of—"
He talked for forty minutes. Atlas listened. Actually listened. His eyes never leaving Noah's face. Occasionally nodding. Taking it all in.
When Noah finished, Atlas leaned forward. "Slide seventeen. The Q3 projections. Walk me through your methodology again."
Noah blinked. "I—okay." He pulled up the slide. Explained.
Atlas asked another question. Then another. Each one sharper than the last. Digging into details Noah had glossed over. Finding gaps Noah hadn't even noticed.
"Wait, hold on." Noah scrolled back. "You're right. I need to—how did you catch that?"
"You mentioned the variable costs increasing but didn't account for the seasonal adjustment factor." Atlas's eyes gleamed. "Your numbers would be off by at least three percent."
"Shit." Noah stared at the screen. "I need to fix this before tomorrow."
"Want help?"
"No, I—" Noah looked at him. "Actually, yes. Can you—"
They spent the next hour fixing the projections. Atlas explaining. Noah adjusting. By the time they finished, the presentation was airtight.
"There." Atlas leaned back. "Now it's perfect."
How does he do that? See things I miss? Make me better without making me feel small? My dad never—no, don't think about him. Not now. Not when everything feels this right.
Noah closed his laptop. Turned to look at him. " You're really—fuck, how do you know all this stuff?"
"I know."
"And so humble."
Atlas grinned. Pulled Noah into his lap. "You're not so bad yourself."
"Not so bad?" Noah straddled him properly. Settled on his thighs. "That's all I get?"
"What do you want? A medal?"
"Maybe." Noah leaned down. Kissed him. "Or this."
Atlas's hands hesitated, then found their way up his back. "This works too."
They kissed for a while. Slow. Deep. Noah's fingers tangled in Atlas's hair. Atlas's hands mapping the lines of Noah's back through his shirt.
When they finally broke apart, Atlas kept his forehead against Noah's.
"What did your father say? After lunch."
Noah blinked. "What?"
Atlas's voice was quiet, careful. "He stopped me on the way out. Looked... curious. What did he say to you?"
Noah hesitated. "He asked if there's... something between us."
Atlas went still. "What did you tell him?"
"That we're colleagues. That's all."
Atlas didn't respond. He just pulled Noah closer, his jaw tightening against Noah's shoulder.
"Hey." Noah lifted his head. "My worry yesterday—about him suspecting—maybe it wasn't so crazy after all."
"Maybe." Atlas's thumb traced circles on Noah's lower back. "We need to be more careful."
"I know."
They were quiet for a moment. Just holding each other.
Then Noah shifted. Grabbed his phone from the coffee table. "Why don't you follow me?"
Atlas frowned. "What?"
"On Instagram," Noah said. "Why don't you follow me?"
Atlas raised a brow. "You're kidding, right? You sent me a request first. Then canceled it."
"You saw that?"
"Of course I did." Atlas's mouth curved. "The notification popped up. Then disappeared like 2 seconds later"
Noah's face went pink. "I might've… sent it and panicked. Then deleted it immediately."
"might've?"
"okay fine I definitely did"
Atlas stared at him. Then started laughing. His hands came up, cupped Noah's face. "You're always playing games."
"I'm not playing games. I'm—" Noah stopped. Smiled. "Okay maybe I am. A little."
"A little." Atlas kissed him.
"I want you to accept my request."
Atlas pulled out his phone. A few taps. "Done. Happy?"
Noah's phone chimed. He accepted. "Very. Now we're official."
"On Instagram."
"It's a start." Noah scrolled through Atlas's profile. "Your photos are really good."
"Yours are very cute."
"Cute?" Noah looked up. "That's all?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. That they're artistic? Thoughtful?"
"They're selfies with your friends."
"So?"
"So they're cute." Atlas's mouth curved. "Very cute. Those dimples show up in every single one."
Noah's face went red. "Shut up."
"Make me."
Noah kissed him. Hard.
Atlas laughed against his mouth. Kissed him back.
They stayed like that for a while. Trading kisses. Scrolling through each other's photos. Making jokes. Being ridiculous.
Eventually they migrated to the bedroom. Changed for bed. Climbed in.
Atlas pulled Noah against his chest. "You're gonna kill it tomorrow."
"You think?"
"I know." Atlas pressed a kiss to his temple. "Your dad's gonna be proud."
"Maybe." Noah's eyes were already closing. "Thanks for helping me."
"Anytime."
Noah was asleep within minutes.
Atlas stayed awake longer. Watching him. The way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. The way his lips parted slightly. The way his curls fell across his forehead.
His hand traced idle patterns on Noah's back. Over his shoulder blades. Down his spine.
Tomorrow was going to be big. Noah would present. His father would watch. Everyone would see what Atlas already knew—that Noah was brilliant.
And maybe, just maybe, things would start to change.
Outside, the city lights blinked.
Inside, everything was quiet.
Perfect.
Safe.