Friday Morning
Noah woke to fingertips tracing patterns through his hair.
Still half-asleep, he pressed closer. Atlas's chest rose and fell beneath his cheek. Steady. Safe. The kind of safe that made everything else feel negotiable.
"A little longer," Noah mumbled into warm skin. "Please."
Atlas's hand stilled. Then continued. Slow circles that pulled Noah under again.
His other hand moved lower. Skating down Noah's spine. Up. Down. A rhythm that said I'm not trying to wake you up while absolutely trying to wake him up.
Noah smiled against Atlas's chest. "Trouble."
"Who?" Atlas's voice was rough. Amused.
Noah opened his eyes. Found Atlas already watching him with that look—like Noah was something he'd been missing without knowing what to call it.
"Morning," Noah whispered.
"Morning, beautiful."
Noah lifted his head. Cupped Atlas's face. Kissed him soft and slow. "Time?"
"Almost seven."
They stayed tangled. Atlas's fingers never stopped. Noah's pulse forgot how to behave.
Eventually: "Shower. Come with me."
"No."
Atlas pulled back just enough to see his face. "No?"
Noah's dimples showed. "Miss me first."
Atlas's eyes went dark. His smile turned sharp. "Careful."
He pressed one more kiss to Noah's forehead—then untangled himself.
Noah listened to water start in the other bathroom. Stayed in bed. Let himself exist in the warmth Atlas left behind.
His phone buzzed.
Work emails. Meeting reminders.
Reality, creeping back in like cold water.
He sighed. Threw off the covers.
---
Twenty minutes later, Noah stepped out. Red towel slung low. Water still dripping down his back.
He walked into the dressing room.
Atlas was there. Half-dressed. White undershirt clinging to shoulders that shouldn't be legal at seven in the morning.
He looked up.
Went still.
"Jesus," Atlas breathed.
Noah stopped. "What?"
"You—" Atlas's eyes tracked down. Up. Slow. "This is one of those moments where I have to remember how to be a person."
Noah laughed—light and surprised. "You started it. If you hadn't woken me—"
Atlas moved.
Three strides. His hand found Noah's waist. The other grabbed the towel's edge and pulled.
Their mouths crashed together.
Hard.
Noah wanted to pull back, say something clever. Couldn't.
Atlas kissed him like he'd been holding back for hours instead of twenty minutes.
Noah's hands pressed against his chest. "You're supposed to—" Kiss. "—be getting ready—" Another. "Atlas—"
"You did this on purpose." Low. Dangerous.
"You wanted me awake." Noah kissed back. Short. Teasing. "Not my fault you're weak."
Atlas's grip tightened. "I'm leaving. Right now."
"Scared?"
Atlas looked at him. Something predatory flickered—something that made Noah's stomach drop in the best way.
He should stop. He should let Atlas leave.
Then Atlas smiled. Slow. "I have a meeting. But tonight—" He kissed Noah once more. Slower. A threat and a promise. "We'll see who's scared."
He stepped back. Fixed his shirt.
"See you later," Noah called, voice light.
Like his heart wasn't still racing.
Atlas paused. Looked back.
That look. Dark. Patient. Inevitable.
"Yeah. Later."
---
WELLIN TOWER
Noah's morning was routine.
Conference call at nine. Reports at eleven. Lunch he didn't taste.
His phone buzzed twice. Both times something sharp kicked under his ribs.
But it was just Jerry. Just work.
He answered emails on autopilot. His mind kept circling back—the weight of Atlas's hands, that dangerous smile, the promise in his voice.
His phone lit up.
Dad's assistant:Mr. Wellin would like to see you.
Noah's stomach dropped.
He closed his laptop. Straightened his tie. Walked like he was headed to something he couldn't win.
His father didn't look up. Just kept signing papers. Making him wait.
Standard intimidation. Noah should be used to it by now.
Finally: "I heard you saw Lydia."
Noah's pulse kicked. He kept his face blank. "We had coffee."
She wouldn't tell him. She wouldn't—
"Good." His father set down the pen. Looked up. "The gala tonight. You're attending?"
"Yes."
"With whom?"
Noah's throat went dry. "Alone."
His father's eyes held his. Searching.
"I see."
Noah forced himself not to move. Not to blink. Not to give anything away.
He knows. He has to know.
"That's all."
Noah left. Didn't breathe right until he was back in his office with the door closed.
He pulled out his phone.
Noah:how was your meeting?
The response came fast.
Atlas:done. finally. why?
Noah:miss you. when will you be home?
Three dots. Gone. Back.
Atlas:I miss you too. probably around 5
Noah:okay. see you then
He stared at the screen. That simple exchange shouldn't fix anything.
But somehow it did.
He checked the time. 3:15.
An hour forty-five until Atlas was home.
He could finish reports. Or—
He grabbed his jacket.
Fresh air. That's what he needed.
He ended up on Fifth Avenue without planning it. The Sephora sign caught his eye.
He paused. Remembered this morning—the way Atlas had looked at him like Noah was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
This is stupid.
Before he could overthink it, he walked inside.
---
SEPHORA
Noah stood in the skincare aisle feeling lost.
Face masks. Serums. Things with names he couldn't pronounce.
He picked up a bottle. Read it. Put it back.
What am I doing?
But then he thought about Atlas. The way his skin looked in morning light. That casual mention of "professional facials."
Of course Atlas gets facials.
Noah grabbed the bottle again.
By the time he left, his bag held six products he'd never used and wasn't sure how to apply.
Worth it.
Outside, sun too bright. He hailed a cab.
Traffic was heavy. Friday rush. The driver took the long way past Central Park.
Noah watched the city slide by. Bags in his lap.
His phone buzzed.
Atlas:leaving now. see you soon
Noah smiled.
He shouldn't feel this happy about a text.
Noah:hurry
---
ATLAS'S PENTHOUSE
Noah let himself in. Quiet. Empty.
He went to the bedroom. Stripped. Stood in just his briefs looking at himself in the mirror.
Sephora bags on the table.
Before he could think too hard, he grabbed red sweatpants. Pulled them on. Left his chest bare.
He'd never done this—walked around someone else's space this exposed.
He checked his reflection.
Different.
Atlas would approve.
The thought made him grin like an idiot.
Coffee machine humming. He was pouring a second cup when the door opened.
Atlas stepped inside.
Stopped.
His eyes went dark.
They stared.
Noah smiled. Couldn't help it. "Hi."
"Hi." Atlas's voice was rough. His gaze tracked down. Up. "You don't usually—"
"I know." Noah tilted his head. Winked.
Playing with fire. He knew it. Didn't care.
Atlas moved.
Fast.
Crossed the room and pulled Noah against him. "You're having fun."
"Maybe." Noah kissed him soft.
Atlas's hands settled on bare skin. Warm. Possessive. He kissed back—slower, deeper.
Noah forgot what they were supposed to be doing.
When they broke apart, Noah stayed close. Fingers playing with his collar.
"I bought something today."
"Yeah?" Atlas's thumbs traced circles on his hips.
"Skincare stuff. Face masks. This serum that's supposed to be—I thought maybe after the shower we could—"
Atlas laughed. Actually laughed. "You're joking."
"I'm serious, baby." Noah's dimples showed. "Come on."
Atlas looked at him. Something soft flickered. "We'll see."
Translation: yes.
---
BATHROOM
The shower was steam and hands and Atlas's mouth on his neck.
Noah tried to help with the soap.
Atlas caught his wrists. "Stay still."
"I can—"
"I said stay still."
Noah wanted to argue. Couldn't find the words.
So Noah did. Let Atlas wash him. Let himself be taken care of.
When they stepped out, the bathroom was thick with fog.
Towels. Steam. Noah caught his reflection—flushed, relaxed.
Happy.
When did that happen?
He turned. "Okay. Now the masks."
Atlas groaned. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious." Noah opened the cabinet. Held up foil packets. "Please?"
"I get professional facials—"
"You what?"
"Obviously."
"I shouldn't be surprised." Noah moved closer. "Please?"
Their eyes met.
Atlas's jaw worked. Then: "Fine."
Victory.
Noah's whole face lit up. He unfolded the first mask carefully. Pressed it to Atlas's face with gentle fingers.
Atlas sat on the tub's edge. Perfectly still.
He looks ridiculous. Noah loved it.
When it was secure, Noah grabbed the second.
Atlas reached up. Took it. "Sit."
Noah sat.
Atlas pressed the mask to his face the same way—careful, deliberate.
When he finished, Noah leaned against his shoulder.
They sat there. Two grown men with sheet masks. Steam dissipating around them.
Noah started laughing first. Quiet. Then louder.
This was absurd. Perfect. Everything.
Atlas tried to hold it. Failed. His shoulders shook.
"How long?" Atlas managed.
"Few more minutes."
"You always get what you want."
"Do I?" Muffled. Still laughing.
"Always."
They looked at each other. Ridiculous. Both trying not to smile and failing completely.
The laughter came harder.
"Okay," Atlas said finally. "Enough. Let's get ready."
They peeled off masks. Washed faces.
Noah patted his skin dry.
It did feel softer.
"See? Worth it."
Atlas touched his own face. Shrugged. "Maybe."
But he was smiling.
That smile did things to Noah's chest.
They moved to the bedroom. Pulled out tuxedos.
---
DRESSING ROOM
Getting dressed together felt—different.
Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex.
Noah watched Atlas button his shirt. The way his fingers moved. Efficient. Sure.
Beautiful, even in something as simple as getting dressed.
Atlas caught him staring. "What?"
"Nothing." Noah looked away. Started on his own shirt.
---
Noah adjusted his bow tie. The tuxedo fit perfectly. Same cut as Atlas's. Black on black.
He studied his reflection.
Something was different. He couldn't name it. But he looked—
Older? Surer? More himself?
"What are you thinking?"
Noah turned. Atlas watching from across the room.
"How good I look." The words escaped before he could stop them.
Honest. Too honest.
Atlas's mouth curved. "You're insane."
"I'm not sexy?"
"I'm not answering that."
Noah crossed to him. Stopped close. Close enough Atlas had to look down.
"I asked you a question."
Atlas's hand found his hip. The other slid into his hair. Pulled him in hard.
The kiss was bruising.
Noah should breathe. Couldn't remember how.
Atlas's teeth caught his bottom lip. His tongue didn't ask—it took.
When he pulled back, Noah was breathing hard.
"Save that for after," Atlas said against his mouth. Smiling. Dangerous.
Noah's face went hot.
He wanted to say something clever. His brain had stopped working.
Atlas moved to his dresser. Selected cologne—dark, woody, familiar.
Noah reached for his own. The new one. Softer. More expensive. Something that felt like him.
He sprayed wrists. Neck.
Atlas paused. Turned.
Noah felt his gaze before he saw it.
Crossed back. Leaned in. His nose traced Noah's throat.
"You changed your cologne."
Not a question.
"Do you like it?"
Atlas's eyes met his. "I'll show you how much when we get back."
Noah's pulse forgot how to work.
This man would be the death of him.
Atlas stepped back. Checked his watch. "We should leave. Gala starts at eight."
Noah nodded. Tried to breathe normally.
Atlas grabbed keys. Wallet. Phone.
Noah watched him prepare to leave like they did this every day.
Like this was normal.
Like it could last.
It won't. You know it won't.
His chest tightened.
"Atlas."
Atlas turned. "Yeah?"
Noah swallowed. "We should take separate cars."
"Why?"
"At Yale we weren't close. Arriving together—people would notice."
Atlas studied him. Something shifted. Not anger.
Resignation.
He'd expected this. Of course he had.
He nodded once.
Noah's chest hurt. "Atlas—"
"It's fine." Atlas kissed his forehead. Quick. "You're right. Safer."
But the warmth from earlier had dimmed.
Noah wanted to take it back. Couldn't.
Noah watched him walk away.
Wanted to call him back. Explain.
Instead he checked his reflection.
The stranger looking back wore a perfect tuxedo and a careful smile.
And suddenly Noah wasn't sure who he was trying to protect anymore.