Saturday Morning
Noah woke wrapped in warmth.
Atlas's arms. Atlas's chest. Atlas's breathing steady against his back.
For the first time in years, peace settled into his bones. Complete. Absolute.
I'm safe here.
Then yesterday flooded back—the gala, the fight, Eagle Rock, and after—
Heat crawled up his neck. His smile came unbidden.
Oh God. We really—
He shifted slightly. Atlas was still asleep, face relaxed in a way Noah had never seen. Vulnerable. Young.
Noah tilted his head up. Pressed a soft kiss to Atlas's jaw.
Nothing.
Another kiss. His chin this time.
Atlas's breathing changed. Slower. Aware.
Noah kissed the corner of his mouth.
Atlas's eyes opened.
They stared at each other.
"Good morning," they said at the same time.
Noah's grin spread. Atlas's followed.
"Did I wake you?" Noah asked, mock-innocent.
Atlas's hand slid down his side. "Soft approach." His voice rough from sleep. "Could've been more aggressive."
"Noted for next time."
They lay there. Tangled. Neither moving.
Noah's fingers traced patterns on Atlas's chest—muscle, heartbeat, warmth.
This is real. He's real.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand. Had to stretch, Atlas's arms still around him.
Aimed the camera.
Click.
Atlas laughed. "Not like this. Let me give you better poses."
His voice dipped. Flirtatious. Eyes dark.
Noah's breath caught. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Noah switched to video instead. Captured them wrapped together, Atlas pressing kisses to his temple, both of them smiling like idiots.
"I'm starving," Noah said finally. "Let's make breakfast."
Atlas pulled him closer. Kissed him hard. Deep. Noah melted into it.
When they broke apart, both breathing harder—
"Me first," Atlas said. Grinned.
Noah laughed. "You're always hungry."
"Does that bother you?"
Noah kissed him again. Thorough. "Does that answer your question?"
Atlas's thumb brushed his lip. "You always answer questions with questions."
"I wonder who I learned that from." Noah widened his eyes. Innocent. Child-like.
Atlas laughed, the sound filling the room.
Noah sat up. Reached back. Grabbed Atlas's hand.
"Come on. Let's shower."
Atlas's eyebrows rose. "Together?"
Noah pulled. "Don't back out now."
Atlas moved fast—yanked Noah back down, rolled them, pinned him. "You might regret that invitation."
Noah looked up through his lashes. Blinked slowly. Deliberate.
"Try me."
---
BATHROOM
Steam filled the space. Water pounded against tile.
They stumbled in together, hands already everywhere, mouths finding skin—
God, I want—
Noah pressed Atlas against the wall. Water cascaded over them both. His hands mapped new territory—slick skin, hard muscle, places that made Atlas gasp.
"Noah—" Atlas's voice broke.
"What?" Noah's mouth moved down his neck. His chest.
Atlas's fingers tangled in his hair. Gripped. "Fuck—"
Noah smiled against his skin. Kept going.
Time blurred. Water ran cold then warm again. Everything was heat and pressure and the sounds they made echoing off tile.
When they finally emerged—
Both flushed. Breathless. Eyes bright.
White towels wrapped around their waists.
Atlas caught his reflection. Stopped.
Faint marks across his chest. His shoulders.
He turned. Found Noah's eyes in the mirror.
"You're fucking crazy."
Noah grinned. Unrepentant. "Reminders."
They both burst out laughing. Real laughter that doubled them over, steam still rising around them.
---
KITCHEN
They made breakfast together.
Noah cracked eggs. Atlas handled the coffee. Their bodies stayed in constant contact—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, stolen kisses between movements.
Noah bit into toast. Atlas's hand rested on his thigh under the table.
I could get used to this.
"We're going to the track this afternoon," Atlas said. Casual.
Noah's head snapped up. "You booked it?"
He practically launched himself at Atlas. Arms around his neck. Kiss hard and grateful.
Atlas caught him. Steadied him. Smiled wide.
"Yeah."
They sat back down. Noah couldn't stop grinning.
Atlas's expression shifted. Serious.
"Rules though. No sudden moves. No improvisation."
Noah leaned in. "I'll follow your commands."
"I'm serious."
"I know." Noah's smile turned softer. "Okay."
---
ON THE ROAD
Noah had his phone up. Recording.
"Look at the camera," he said.
Atlas glanced over. Smiled. Kept driving.
"Come on. Give me something."
Atlas raised one eyebrow. Smirked.
Noah laughed. "That's your sexy face?"
"That's my 'you're distracting me while I drive' face."
"Do it again."
Atlas did. Added a wink.
Noah zoomed in. "Oh my God. Stop. You're ridiculous."
"You asked for poses."
"I asked for good poses."
Atlas stuck his tongue out. Quick. Playful.
Noah nearly dropped the phone. "Did you just—"
"What?" Atlas's face innocent. Eyes on the road.
"You stuck your tongue out!"
"Prove it."
Noah played back the video. Showed him. "See? Caught on camera."
Atlas grinned. "Guess you'll have that forever now."
"Oh, I'm keeping this. Blackmail material."
"Good luck. No one will believe it's me."
Noah shifted the angle. Got Atlas's profile. The way his jaw tightened on turns. How his hands moved on the wheel.
"You're beautiful, you know that?"
Atlas's smile softened. His hand reached over. Found Noah's thigh.
"Keep talking like that and we won't make it to the track."
Noah's breath caught. He lowered the phone slightly.
"If I win, what's my prize?"
"We're not racing."
"Why not?"
"Forget racing. We're just riding together."
Noah's smile turned sly. "Together."
"I know that look." Atlas squeezed his thigh. "Don't even think about it."
Noah raised the phone again. Zoomed in on Atlas's face.
"Say hi to the camera."
Atlas glanced over. "Hi, camera." Then to Noah. "You're obsessed with filming me."
"Maybe I like having proof you're real."
Something shifted in Atlas's expression. Softer. His thumb rubbed slow circles on Noah's leg.
"I'm real."
Noah swallowed. Lowered the phone.
"Yeah. You are."
---
THE TRACK
They suited up side by side.
Noah—red racing suit. Atlas—white.
Track officials bustled around. Their rented cars gleamed under fluorescent lights.
Noah stopped in front of a massive mirror. Stared.
The person looking back felt new. Different. Free.
When did I become this?
Atlas appeared behind him. Wrapped one arm around his shoulders, hand curving around his neck. Kissed his hair.
They stood there. Reflected together.
Noah pulled out his phone. Captured it.
Walking to the cars, Atlas caught his arm.
"No sudden moves. I mean it."
Noah turned. Hugged him tight. "I know."
Atlas held him back. One hand in his hair, the other around his waist. Secure.
Noah climbed into the Ferrari. Atlas into the Porsche.
The radio crackled.
"Ready?"
"More than I've ever been."
---
THE TRACK — FIRST LAPS
They moved together.
Side by side. At the limit but controlled.
Every glance through the mirror—connection. Every gear change—synchronized. Every turn—perfectly matched.
Not two cars. One rhythm.
"You're holding back," Noah said through the radio.
"Maybe I'm letting you lead."
They laughed together. The sound crackling through the speakers.
"Will you add me to your team?"
"I'll think about it."
"Really? You won't?"
Atlas's laugh came through. "We'll see."
Three laps. Four.
Noah accelerated.
The Ferrari leapt forward.
"This isn't a game." Atlas's voice sharp.
"It's incredible though!"
Noah watched his mirror. Atlas closing the gap fast.
"Slow down."
"One race. Just one lap."
"We agreed. No racing."
"Please. One lap."
Silence.
Then—
"Fine. One."
Noah's heart kicked. He pressed the accelerator.
The world narrowed. Speed. Wind. Engine roar.
He gained on Atlas. Pulled ahead.
The radio crackled. "Noah. Blind corner ahead. Slow down."
But the adrenaline sang in his veins. He pushed harder.
The corner approached—
For one heartbeat, the world went silent. Engine noise faded. Wind died.
He's always right. But just this once—
Too late.
Sparks sprayed. Then heat.
Then flame.
It burst fast — one flash, then another — the front hood blooming into fire.
The roar hit like thunder, swallowing the air.
Atlas saw it — the orange light swallowing red, the shape of Noah's car disappearing inside it.
His chest locked. His brain refused to understand what his eyes already knew.
Everything happened in seconds. In an eternity.
---
ATLAS
He saw it before it happened.
Noah's car. The angle. The speed.
No. No no no—
His foot slammed the brake. The Porsche spun. Stopped.
He threw the door open. Ran.
Didn't remove his helmet. Didn't think. Just ran.
His chest burned. Throat locked.
Track marshals waved yellow flags. Someone's voice crackled through the radio:
"Car 23 at West Bend! Fire!"
The first marshal hit the flames with the extinguisher. White foam exploded.
Atlas pushed through.
A marshal grabbed his arm. "Sir, back!"
Atlas jerked free. Elbowed past. His shoulders shook.
Another marshal shoved his chest. He stumbled back.
The heat slapped his face.
He tried to run, but the air itself pushed him back.
The sound of burning metal drowned his heartbeat.
All he could do was watch.
Ambulance sirens.
Marshals pried the door open. Smoke poured out. An arm emerged.
Atlas's knees gave.
They pulled Noah out. His head lolled but his chest moved. Breathing.
Atlas tried to step forward. Marshals blocked him.
His shoulders collapsed. Hands on his knees. Fingers white.
Couldn't breathe. His lungs didn't work.
Jaw clenched. Eyes on the flames.
He took another step. Then his knees hit the ground.
Silence pressed down. Heavy. Suffocating.
The ambulance door closed. Siren wailed again.
Atlas's head dropped into his hands. His shoulders trembled.
No tears. Just emptiness.
Like everything stayed behind in that corner.
A paramedic turned. "Are you family?"
Atlas looked up. At Noah being loaded. At the closing doors.
"Yes."
The medic nodded. "Come with us."
---
AMBULANCE
The door slammed shut. Space contracted.
Noah on the stretcher. Oxygen mask fogging. Heart monitor beeping steady under the siren.
Atlas sat across from him. Knees touching the stretcher edge.
His hands clasped together. Knuckles white. Nails cutting into palms.
He couldn't look away. Searching for movement. A sign. Anything.
His breathing was wrong—chest barely moving. Just shoulders rising and falling.
Noah's laugh from this morning replayed in his head.
"You're always hungry."
"Does that bother you?"
The sound of it. Warm. Real. Right there in the kitchen an hour ago.
Atlas's fingers tightened.
I know what I want.
Noah's voice from last night.
I've never been more sure.
---
HOSPITAL — EMERGENCY ENTRANCE
The ambulance stopped. Doors opened. Cold air and antiseptic.
Paramedics moved fast. Noah's mask still fogged.
Atlas followed. Silent. Just footsteps.
White lights. Metal wheels on linoleum. Doors opening. Nurses stepping back.
He walked behind until a final door.
"You can't go further, sir. They're starting intervention."
Atlas nodded. Said nothing.
The door closed.
The metallic click echoed.
He sat on a hallway bench. Elbows on knees. Hands clasped.
Time stopped. Minutes blurred. Only the wall clock's ticking.
A nurse set water in front of him. "Are you alright?"
No answer.
He didn't touch it.
Hours passed. Every sound—every footstep, every wheel—squeezed his heart.
Then—
"Mr. Sterlins?"
Atlas's head lifted.
The doctor stood there. Tired but calm.
"He's stable. Concussion, but conscious. CT scan shows nothing serious. He just needs rest."
The words came from far away. Atlas couldn't process them.
"How long?"
"Twenty-four hour observation. To be safe."
Atlas nodded slowly. Put his hand over his face. A breath escaped between his fingers.
His shoulders dropped.
First full breath since the track.
His hands still shook.
The doctor left.
Atlas sat back down. Alone in the corridor.
He pulled his hands from his face.
Something pressed against his thigh. Hard edge in his pocket.
He reached in. Pulled out a phone.
Noah's.
He stared at it.
How did I—
He must've grabbed it. At some point. Without thinking.
The screen lit up at his touch.
No password.
His thumb hovered.
Then he opened the gallery.
The breath left his lungs.
Hundreds of photos.
Him.
Sleeping. Drinking coffee. Driving. Just existing.
He scrolled. Further back. Weeks of them.
Moments he didn't know were being captured.
His hand at a red light. His profile at dinner. His eyes in the mirror.
The last ones—this morning.
In bed, tangled together, laughing into the lens.
A short video—his voice, his laughter.
Then at the track, side by side in their suits.
Both smiling, unaware of what was coming.
Atlas's throat closed.
He'd been seeing me. All this time.
The phone shook in his hand.
He pressed it to his forehead. Eyes shut.
Breathing hurt.