Wednesday
MORNING - 6:00 AM
Noah woke first.
Atlas's arm lay heavy across his waist. His breathing slow, even. Face relaxed in sleep—no tension, no walls, just him.
Noah watched. The way morning light caught on Atlas's lashes. The way his chest rose and fell. The way his hair fell across his forehead, dark against the white pillow.
He tried to slip out of bed.
Atlas's arm tightened immediately. Pulled him back.
Noah froze. Smiled.
Tried again.
No luck. Atlas's arm was like a vice.
"You're not helping," Noah whispered.
Atlas's lips curved. Still asleep. Or pretending to be.
Noah leaned down. Pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Good morning, baby."
Atlas's eyes opened. Slow. Dark. Lazy.
"Good morning, beautiful."
Noah's face warmed. "You didn't go rowing today."
"Wanted to wake up with you." Atlas's hand slid up Noah's spine. Warm palm against bare skin. "Priorities."
Noah's breath caught. "I should get ready."
"Should you?" Atlas shifted. Rolled. Suddenly Noah was on his back and Atlas was above him. "Sure about that?"
"I have to." But Noah's hands were already sliding up Atlas's arms. Feeling the muscle there. "Presentation's at two."
"That's eight hours away." Atlas's mouth found his neck. "We have time."
"Atlas—"
"Shh." Atlas's teeth scraped his collarbone. Gentle. "You said whatever I want. Remember?"
Noah's mind went blank. "I—what?"
"Last night. You said whatever I want." Atlas pulled back. Looked down at him. Eyes dark with want. "Did you mean it?"
Noah swallowed. His pulse hammered in his throat. "Yes."
"Good." Atlas's mouth curved. Dangerous. "Then let me have you."
What followed was slow. Atlas taking his time. Learning every sound Noah made. Every place that made him gasp. Every way to make him fall apart.
By the time they finished, sunlight streamed through the windows. Noah lay boneless, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling.
Atlas propped himself up on one elbow. Traced lazy patterns on Noah's chest. "Still think you need to get ready?"
Noah turned his head. Looked at him. "I hate you."
"No you don't."
"I really do."
Atlas grinned. Leaned down. Kissed him soft. "Liar."
Noah's hand came up. Cupped his face. Thumb brushing his cheekbone. "I really have to go now, babe."
Atlas's expression shifted. "Babe?"
"Yeah." Noah smiled. Those dimples showing. "Problem?"
"No." Atlas kissed him again. Deeper this time. "But tonight—you're keeping that promise."
"What promise?"
"The one where you're mine all night." Atlas's voice dropped. "No work. No presentations. Just us."
Noah's breath caught. "Okay."
"Good." Atlas stood. Pulled Noah up with him. "Now go. Before I change my mind about letting you leave."
---
Steam still clung to the air from Atlas's shower. Noah stood at the mirror, adjusting his tie—charcoal grey, silk, his father had given him for his birthday.
Atlas appeared in the doorway. White towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets sliding down his chest, his stomach, following the line of muscle.
Noah caught his reflection in the mirror. Looked away quickly.
"You're early," he said, fumbling with the knot.
"You're avoiding looking at me."
"Because I need to function at work today."
"How's that working out?" Atlas stepped closer.
"It was fine until you walked in here half-naked." Noah finally got the tie right. Smoothed it down. "This is a distraction."
"A good one?"
"The worst one."
Atlas moved behind him. His hands settled on Noah's hips. Pulled him back against his chest. "Not even one glance?"
Noah met his eyes in the mirror. "You're terrible."
"You like terrible." Atlas's mouth found his neck. Right where his collar would cover. "Admit it."
"Not when I'm running late." But Noah tilted his head. Giving him access.
Atlas smiled against his skin. "You'll think about me all day."
"Not during the presentation."
"Especially during the presentation." Atlas turned him around. Backed him against the closet. "You'll remember this morning."
Noah's hands found Atlas's chest. Pushed weakly. "I really have to go."
"I know." But Atlas didn't move. Just looked at him. Something in his expression Noah couldn't name. "Kill it today."
"I'll try."
"You will." Atlas kissed him. Once. Hard. "Now go before I make you late."
Noah grabbed his jacket. His bag. Headed for the door.
Stopped. Looked back.
Atlas stood there in just that towel. Hair still damp.
"Tonight," Noah said.
"Tonight," Atlas agreed.
---
WELLIN TOWER
The elevator doors slid open on the twenty-third floor.
Noah's reflection in the glass looked calm enough—but his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
He took a slow breath. Tried to steady them.
His phone buzzed.
Atlas: good luck today 🔥
Noah: trying not to mess up 😅
Atlas: you won't. you're brilliant 😘
Noah: stop flirting at work, baby 😂
Atlas: can't help it 😇
A smile broke across Noah's face before he could stop it.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, that familiar warmth settling somewhere in his chest.
The conference room was just ahead.
Time to prove Atlas right.
The conference room was packed. Twenty people. Maybe more. All eyes on the screen.
Noah stood at the front. Remote in his hand. His father sat in the back corner. Arms crossed. Face unreadable.
"Slide seventeen," Noah said. His voice steady. Clear. "Q3 projections show a fifteen percent increase in operational efficiency if we implement the Henderson protocols across all three divisions."
Someone asked a question. Noah answered. Another question. He fielded it easily.
The presentation lasted forty-three minutes. When he finished, silence filled the room.
Then his father stood. "Impressive work. Thorough analysis. No gaps I can see."
Noah exhaled. His hands were shaking. He hid them behind his back.
"Questions?" his father asked the room.
A few more. Noah answered each one. Confident. Prepared.
When it ended, people filed out. His father approached.
"Well done."
"Thank you."
His father studied him. "You've been different lately. More focused."
Noah's stomach tightened. "Just—trying to step up."
"It shows." His father's hand landed on his shoulder. Brief. "Keep it up."
Then he left.
Noah stood there. Heart pounding. Hands still shaking.
He'd done it.
---
Penthouse
Noah let himself in. Earlier than usual. The presentation was done. His father had actually praised him. He felt—
Light. Like he could breathe.
Atlas's jacket hung by the door. But the apartment was quiet.
Noah changed into red sweats and one of Atlas's hoodies—navy blue, worn soft, smelling like cedar and something distinctly Atlas.
He was pouring water when the doorbell rang.
Probably takeout Atlas had ordered.
He opened the door.
Evelyn stood there.
They stared at each other.
"Noah." Her smile was sharp. Surprised. "Wasn't expecting you."
"I—Atlas isn't here yet."
"I can see that." Her eyes traveled down. Took in his bare feet. The oversized hoodie. The key in his hand. "May I come in?"
Noah stepped aside. She moved past him. Heels clicking on hardwood. Taking in everything—the way he belonged here, the casual intimacy of it.
"Coffee?" Noah offered. His voice steadier than he felt.
"Please."
The kitchen felt smaller with her in it. Noah worked the espresso machine. Muscle memory. He'd made coffee here dozens of times now.
"How long?" Evelyn asked.
Noah's hands didn't falter. "What?"
"You and Atlas. How long has this been going on?"
His neck went hot. "That's—"
"Recent then." She accepted the mug. "The family dinner makes more sense now."
Noah said nothing. Just made his own coffee. Gave his hands something to do.
"Does anyone else know?"
"No."
She studied him over the rim of her mug. "I came to talk to my brother. But this is—interesting."
The lock turned.
Atlas walked in. Loosening his tie. His eyes found Noah first—something soft crossing his face, relief, warmth.
Then he saw Evelyn.
Everything went cold.
"What are you doing here?"
"Visiting." She gestured between them. "Though I see you have company."
Atlas moved to Noah's side. Didn't touch him. But close. Protective. "You should have called."
"Would you have answered?"
Silence.
Evelyn set down her mug. "You two really thought this would stay hidden?"
"It's not your concern," Atlas said flatly.
"It is when I see my brother standing in front of a loaded gun."
Noah's stomach dropped.
"You think Father will look at this and see love?" Evelyn's voice was quiet. Measured. "Or Thomas Wellin? They'll see leverage. Scandal. Weakness."
"Maybe we should—" Noah started.
"No." She cut him off. "You should both listen. If this is temporary, end it now. Before anyone gets hurt. If it's not—" She looked at Atlas. "—be prepared to lose everything."
Atlas's jaw clenched. "Are you done?"
"Atlas—"
"Get out."
"I'm trying to protect you."
"I don't need your protection."
"No?" Her eyes flicked to Noah. "What about his?"
She left. The door clicked shut behind her.
Silence filled the apartment. Heavy. Suffocating.
Noah moved to the window. Wrapped his arms around himself. The city spread out below—millions of lights, millions of people, none of them facing this.
"Hey." Atlas came up behind him. "Don't listen to her."
"Maybe she's right."
Atlas turned him around. Hands on his shoulders. "Right about what?"
"The consequences. Your father. Mine. What they'd do if—" Noah stopped. "If they knew."
"We'll handle them."
"You don't know my father." Noah's voice came out small.
"Then tell me."
Noah looked away. Out at the city. "You already know."
"Say it anyway."
"Why?"
"Because I need to hear what you're actually afraid of."
Noah's throat tightened. "Separation."
The word hung between them.
Atlas went very still. His hands tightened on Noah's shoulders. "You're thinking of leaving me?"
"That's not what I—"
"Then what?" His voice was rough now. Raw. "What are you saying?"
"That he'd make me choose." Noah finally looked at him. "My father. He'd make me choose between—" He stopped. "Between you and everything else."
"And?"
Noah's eyes filled. "Don't."
"And you'd choose him?" Atlas's hands fell away. "Is that what you're telling me?"
"Atlas—"
"Answer me."
"I don't know!" The words exploded out. "I don't know what I'd do if he—if everyone—" He stopped. His whole body trembling. "I don't know."
Atlas stared at him. Something fractured in his expression. Pain. Anger. Fear.
Then he moved.
Pulled Noah in hard. Desperate. Their mouths crashed together.
Not gentle. Not sweet. This was need and panic and possession all tangled up. Atlas's hands in his hair. Noah's fisted in his shirt. Both of them trying to prove something, say something they didn't have words for.
When they broke apart, both breathing ragged, Atlas pressed their foreheads together.
"Don't," he said roughly. "Don't think about leaving. Don't say it. Don't even—"
"I'm not. I won't." Noah's hands tightened in his shirt. "I'm just scared."
"Then be scared." Atlas's arms locked around him. "Be terrified. But be here. With me."
Noah nodded against him. The fear was still there. Evelyn's words echoing. His father's face in his mind. The weight of everything they stood to lose.
But Atlas was solid. Real. Holding him like he'd fight the whole world to keep him.
Maybe that would be enough.
Maybe.
LATER - BEDROOM
They lay in the dark.
Noah's back to Atlas's chest. Those strong arms wrapped around him like armor. The city glowed beyond the windows—amber and white and gold bleeding through the glass.
"She's not wrong," Noah said quietly.
Atlas's lips pressed to his neck. "Don't care."
"You should."
"Why?"
"Because she's right about what they'll do. Your father. Mine. The companies—"
"Noah."
"What?"
"Shut up."
Noah almost smiled. "That's your solution?"
"For tonight? Yeah." Atlas's hand found his. Fingers interlacing. "Tomorrow we'll plan. Tonight just—be here."
Noah squeezed his hand. "Okay."
"Promise?"
"Yeah."
Atlas pulled him impossibly closer. His other hand splayed across Noah's stomach. Holding him. Claiming him. "Good."
They stayed like that. Breathing synchronized. Noah could feel Atlas's heartbeat against his back. Steady. Strong.
The fear was still there. Waiting. Patient. Just beyond the door.
His father would find out eventually. Atlas's father too. There would be consequences. Choices. Pain.
But right now, in the dark, with Atlas wrapped around him—Noah let himself believe.
That love might be enough.
That they might survive this.
That morning wouldn't come with its questions and demands and impossible choices.
But deep down, he knew better.
Morning always came.
And when it did, everything would change.
For now though—just for these stolen hours—he had this.
He had Atlas.
And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
It had to be.