THE GALA
THE YALE CLUB OF NEW YORK CITY
Noah's Ferrari pulled up to the entrance three minutes after Atlas's Aston Martin.
He watched Atlas step out. Black tuxedo perfect. Posture perfect. The valet took his keys.
Atlas didn't look back.
He knows I'm here.
Noah's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Relaxed. Tightened again.
He waited. Counted to thirty. Then stepped out.
The space between them felt like miles.
---
GRAND BALLROOM
Crystal chandeliers scattered light across polished marble—fractured, dancing, alive. The jazz band played something smooth, all velvet and smoke. Champagne glasses caught the glow, trembling slightly when waiters passed. The sound of the orchestra bounced off high ceilings, wrapped around conversations, made everything feel amplified.
The air smelled like expensive cologne and champagne and old money.
Noah stepped inside.
His collar felt too tight.
Atlas was already across the room. Surrounded by men in identical tuxedos, women in gowns that cost more than most cars. He laughed at something someone said.
Didn't look Noah's way once.
Of course.
Noah spotted familiar faces. His Yale group—scattered near the bar.
"Noah!" Someone called. "Jesus, is that you?"
He turned. Forced a smile.
The next hour blurred. Handshakes. Small talk. Work. Weather. The market. All the meaningless words people used to fill silence.
He laughed when expected. Nodded when appropriate. The champagne glass in his hand felt heavier than it should.
And he looked for Atlas.
Every time their eyes met across the room, Atlas looked away first.
Like strangers.
Noah's throat went dry. He drank. Tasted nothing.
---
"Noah!"
Two figures emerged from the crowd. Lucien and Silas—roommates from sophomore year.
Noah's smile turned real. Something loosened in his chest.
"Hey."
They hugged. Actually hugged.
"Look at you," Lucien said, stepping back. "You look—different. Good different."
"Really good," Silas agreed. "Like you finally figured something out."
Noah laughed. Tried to. "I don't know about that."
"No, seriously." Lucien studied him. "You look happy. It's—it's nice to see."
Something twisted in Noah's chest. Sharp. Unexpected.
Do I look happy?
A hand touched his arm.
Noah turned.
Emma.
His lungs forgot how to work.
She looked the same. Red gown. Hair up. That careful smile she always wore at events like this.
"Hi, Noah."
"Emma. Hi."
She greeted Lucien and Silas. They made polite conversation. Then drifted away—reading the room correctly.
"Can we talk?" Emma asked. "Just for a minute?"
Noah nodded. Couldn't find words.
They moved to the edge of the ballroom. Away from the crowd. The music softened here.
"You never called," Emma said. Not accusing. Just stating fact.
Noah swallowed. "I didn't know what to say."
"We were together three years. We were friends before that." She looked at him. Really looked. "I thought we could at least—"
"You're right." The words came rough. "I just—I didn't want to hurt you more."
Emma's hand touched his arm. Light. Familiar.
Noah looked down at her fingers.
Then across the room.
Atlas stood frozen. Surrounded by people. But his eyes—
Dark. Fixed. Burning.
Noah's breath stopped.
He stepped back. Emma's hand fell away.
Shit.
"I'm sorry," Noah said quickly. Turning back to Emma. His voice came from somewhere far away. "Not calling—it was for the best. For both of us."
"We could still be friends." Her voice was small.
"Maybe. Eventually. But not—" He stopped. "Let's give it time."
Emma studied his face. "You look good, Noah. Really good. Better than I've ever seen you."
Something in her voice—sad. Resigned. Understanding.
"I'm glad I saw you," she said.
Then she hugged him.
Quick. Friendly. Over in seconds.
"Goodnight, Noah."
She left.
Noah stood there. His heart racing.
He didn't see that. He couldn't have—
He turned.
Atlas was gone.
---
Noah found Lucien and Silas again. Joined their conversation on autopilot.
His hands wouldn't stay still. He shoved them in his pockets.
"So you and Emma—" Lucien started.
"We broke up."
But Noah wasn't listening to himself. His eyes swept the ballroom.
Where—
There.
Atlas entered from the terrace. Straightened his jacket. Walked like nothing had happened.
Noah moved without thinking.
Their eyes met.
Noah smiled. Tried to. His face felt frozen.
Atlas smiled back. Cold. Practiced. The smile he used for business deals.
They met in the middle of the room.
"Can we talk?" Noah asked quietly.
Atlas nodded.
They grabbed drinks from a passing waiter. Moved to the far wall. Where the music was quieter and the crowd thinner.
Noah's fingers wrapped too tight around the glass. Cold. Slippery.
"Are you angry?" Noah asked. Had to ask.
"No."
The word fell flat.
They stood there. Watching couples dance. Watching people perform. All those careful smiles and calculated conversations.
Noah's shoulders felt like stone.
"What did Emma want?" Atlas's voice was too neutral.
"We ran into each other. First time since—" Noah stopped. "She wanted to talk."
Atlas looked at him. Just looked.
He saw. He definitely saw.
"She wants to stay friends." Noah kept his voice steady. "It's nothing."
"Okay."
That was worse than anger. That okay.
Noah's chest felt hollow.
"I should get back to my friends," Atlas said.
And left.
Just left.
Something cracked in Noah's chest. Physical. Like a bone breaking.
He drank his champagne. The glass shook in his hand. He set it down before anyone noticed.
Joined another conversation. Smiled. Laughed at jokes he didn't hear.
Every few minutes, he looked for Atlas.
Found him.
Their eyes would meet.
Atlas would look away.
Each time felt like a small death.
---
Noah checked his watch.
He couldn't breathe. The ballroom was too hot, too crowded, too performative.
His collar strangled him.
He pulled out his phone.
Noah:I'm leaving
No response.
He said goodbye to Lucien and Silas. Made excuses. His voice sounded normal. His body felt like glass about to shatter.
A hand caught his arm.
Atlas.
"Why are you leaving early?"
Noah looked at him. All that hurt rising up. He bit the inside of his cheek. Hard. "I saw my friends. That's all I came for."
Atlas's jaw worked.
"You're going home?"
"I don't know."
"Let's leave together."
Noah almost laughed. "Your friends are waiting for you."
He pulled away. Kept walking.
Outside, the air was cold. Sharp. He gave his ticket to the valet.
Atlas appeared beside him.
"Follow me."
"Why are you leaving early?"
No answer.
The cars arrived. Atlas got in his Aston Martin without looking back.
Noah stood there. Hand on his Ferrari's door.
I should go home. I should—
Atlas's taillights disappeared around the corner.
Noah got in. Started the engine.
Followed.
---
EAGLE ROCK RESERVATION
The city spread below them. A carpet of lights. Manhattan glittering like broken glass.
Noah parked beside Atlas. Cut the engine.
He got out.
Atlas was already at the edge. Hands in pockets. Silhouette sharp against the skyline.
Cold air cut across the overlook. Sharp. Clean.
Noah walked over. Stopped a few feet away.
The city breathed below them. A living thing made of light and steel.
Neither spoke.
Noah shoved his hands in his pockets. Not from cold. They wouldn't stop shaking.
Atlas's jaw was tight. Eyes fixed on the horizon.
The breeze grew stronger. It pushed between them, filled the space where words should be.
Finally Noah looked at him. "What's wrong?"
Atlas's eyes found his. Brief. Then back to the city. "You tell me."
"I don't understand why you're acting like this."
"Like what?"
"One minute you're close. The next you're—" Noah stopped. "I don't recognize you."
A plane crossed overhead. Distant. Silent.
Atlas took a deep breath. Too controlled.
Said nothing.
The city lights trembled.
Noah's fingers curled in his pockets. Nails biting into his palms.
"You build walls," Noah continued. Voice quiet. Breaking. "Every time you're upset. And I can't—I can't reach you."
I'm drowning in your silence.
The air lifted at the edges of Atlas's jacket.
More nothing.
Noah's throat tightened. "If you want to be alone, I can go."
Atlas didn't move.
Noah turned. Gravel crunched under his shoes.
Atlas grabbed him. Hard. Fingers digging in.
Pulled him back. Into his arms.
Noah froze. His heart slammed against his ribs.
What—
Atlas held him tight. Too tight. His chest rose and fell against Noah's back. Unsteady now.
Noah stood rigid. Uncertain.
Then slowly—his arms came up. Held back. His fingers found Atlas's wrists. Gripped.
Far below, an ambulance siren wailed. Faint. The city's heartbeat.
"Will we always be strangers?" Atlas asked. Voice rough. His breath warm against Noah's ear. "Outside that apartment?"
Noah's breath caught. "You think—" The words stuck. "You think I want this?"
It hurt. Everything hurt. Physical. Like his chest was caving in.
"Because from where I'm standing—" Noah's voice cracked. "You're the one who went cold the second we left your place."
Something wet hit his collar. Warm against cold skin.
Atlas felt it. His arms tightened. His breathing changed—faster, uneven.
He tried to pull back. See Noah's face.
Noah pressed closer. Hid against his chest. His hands fisted in Atlas's jacket.
"Noah. Look at me."
"No." His voice muffled. Broken.
"Please."
Noah shook his head.
The night pressed against them. Trying to pry them apart.
He tried to pull away. His hands pushed weakly at Atlas's chest. "I'm staying at my place tonight."
I just want to go home and fall apart.
"We're not done talking," Atlas said. His grip loosened. Ready to let go if Noah pulled harder.
"There's nothing to say."
"There's everything to say."
Noah turned away. "What do you want to talk about?" His hands shook. He crossed his arms. Held himself. "How you ignored me all night? How you built walls the second I asked for separate cars?"
The words came sharp. Controlled. Barely.
The sky had darkened. Deep blue turning to black. Stars like ice chips.
Atlas went still. His hands dropped. "I don't understand why we went to the same gala in different cars."
"You don't remember how you treated me at Yale?"
"I kept my distance. I never—" His fingers flexed. Curled into fists. "I never treated you badly."
"You acted like I didn't exist." Noah's voice rose. "When I said hello, you looked through me. Made me feel like—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Like I was nobody."
Silence.
Just the breeze. The city's distant hum.
Noah's hands wrapped around himself tighter. Holding himself together.
"I want to leave," Noah said. His voice hollow.
Atlas caught his hand. "I'm sorry."
The air died down for a moment. Like it was listening.
Atlas's thumb brushed over Noah's wrist. Once. Twice. Unconscious.
"I never meant to make you feel that way."
Noah's tears came silent. Hot against cold air. He turned his face away.
A drop slid down. Hit the ground between them.
Atlas's eyes filled too. He blinked hard. Looked away.
"You graduated first," Noah said. "After that, I kept my distance. Because of how you made me feel."
"Was it that bad?" Atlas asked. "What I did to you?"
"Every time we were in the same room, you made me feel like I didn't belong there."
"I never meant—" Atlas's hand tightened on his.
"Maybe it's just one of your masks." Noah's voice went flat. Empty. "And you don't remember which one you're wearing."
Atlas bit his lip. Hard enough to hurt. Fighting for control.
Noah pulled his hand away.
Stepped back.
Gravel shifted under his feet.
"You close doors the second things don't go your way. And I'm always on the outside."
His back was half-turned to Atlas. Tears falling. Silent. His shoulders curled inward. He stared at the city lights—each one flickering like a word he couldn't say.
I can't do this.
The cold cut between them again.
Atlas's hands hung at his sides. Empty. Shaking.
"Every negative word makes me feel like I'm losing you," Atlas said quietly. His voice broke on the last word.
Noah turned his head slightly. "You don't always have to be right."
"This isn't about being right."
"Then what is it about?"
The city seemed to hold its breath.
Noah faced him fully. "When my mom criticizes me. When Lydia teases me. When my friends say no—" His hands gestured. Sharp. Frustrated. "I don't think they hate me. I don't think they're leaving." His voice steadied. "That's what healthy relationships look like."
Atlas looked at him. "Have you ever wanted something for a long time?"
Their eyes met. Both red-rimmed. Raw. Wet.
A car passed on the road below. Headlights swept across them briefly. Illuminated the tears on both their faces.
Then darkness again.
Noah looked away. "Yes."
Quiet.
The breeze whispered through bare trees.
"Sometimes you learn to stop wanting."
Atlas moved. Arms around Noah's shoulders. Pulling him close.
Noah's head rested against Atlas's shoulder. His hands clutched Atlas's jacket. Holding on.
They stood like that. The city watching. Patient. Both of them breathing too fast.
"When I'm stressed, I need space to calm down," Atlas said. "But my door is never closed to you."
"In that moment," Noah whispered. "It feels like I don't exist in your life."
"Don't think that. Ever."
"I don't think it. I feel it." His fingers tightened. "Here." He pressed his hand to his chest. "I feel it here."
Atlas's grip tightened. "I never meant to make you feel that way. I'm sorry." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry."
Another tear fell. This time Atlas's. It landed on Noah's shoulder.
"You're difficult," Noah said. His voice muffled against Atlas's chest.
"Did you accept my apology?"
"I don't know."
Atlas turned him around. Both their eyes were red. Swollen. Real. His hands shook as they framed Noah's face.
The city lights blurred behind them.
"I'm sorry. For everything."
"Okay." Noah's voice barely there.
"What does okay mean?"
"Fine."
"Do you accept my apology or not?" Atlas's thumbs brushed Noah's cheekbones. Wiping tears. His own falling at the same time.
Noah smiled. Small. Sad. Broken. His lips trembled. "I do."
Atlas pulled him close. Held him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. His face buried in Noah's hair.
"I'm sorry for being stupid at Yale," he said against Noah's hair.
Noah lifted his head. Met his eyes. "Did you—back then—did you like me?"
Silence.
Just breathing. Just night air. Just hearts beating too fast.
"When you like someone," Noah said, his voice soft, broken, "you don't ignore them. You at least say hello back. Modern humans do that."
"Sometimes feelings come out backwards."
Noah almost laughed. Bitter. Exhausted. "You're giving me political answers again."
Atlas's hands framed his face. Trembling.
And kissed him.
Hard. Desperate. Apology and promise and everything they couldn't say. His fingers slid into Noah's hair. Gripped. Noah's hands fisted in his jacket. Pulling him closer. Closer.
Up here in the dark with the city below—they kissed like they weren't hiding. Like the whole world could see and it didn't matter.
When they pulled apart, both gasping, foreheads pressed together—
The air between them had shifted.
Calmer. Clearer.
Like the storm had passed and left something new in its wake.
Noah leaned against Atlas's shoulder. His fingers found Atlas's hand. Threaded through. Held tight.
The breeze brushed their faces. Softer now. Gentler.
Together they watched the lights. Each one a heartbeat. Each one a possibility.
They didn't speak.
The night carried everything they hadn't said, out over the city.
Atlas's thumb traced circles on Noah's wrist. Slow. Steady. Real.
"I'm still mad at you," Noah said finally. Quietly.
Atlas's laugh was soft. Broken. Relief. "I know."
"Good."
The city stretched endlessly below. Alive. Breathing. Waiting.
And for the first time that night—
Noah could breathe too.
They stood there. Minutes passed. Maybe more. Neither moved.
The breeze kept blowing. The city kept glowing.
And they held on.