MONDAY
Morning light sliced through the curtains and cut across the bed sheets like a blade.
Noah woke in Atlas's arms, his body feeling like someone had dragged him through concrete and left him there to harden. Everything hurt worse than yesterday—sharper, deeper, like his nerves had woken up angry and decided to remind him exactly what he'd done to them.
He looked down at the bruise on his arm. Purple bled into sickly green at the edges, the kind of color that made you look away.
The crash replayed without permission. Metal screaming. The world spinning. Fire climbing up the dashboard like it had somewhere to be.
What if I hadn't gotten out?
His heart kicked hard against his ribs.
Something inside him hissed shut up, but the thought kept circling back, clawing at the edges of his mind until he pressed his face into Atlas's chest and held his breath there, trying to suffocate it with warmth and skin and the steady thump of Atlas's heartbeat under his cheek.
Still here. I'm still here.
"Good morning."
Atlas's voice came out warm and sleep-rough, the kind of rough that made Noah's stomach do something complicated. He forced his mouth into something resembling a smile before lifting his head.
"Morning."
Atlas's hand moved up his back in slow strokes, like he was trying to memorize the shape of Noah's spine.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine."
Atlas's hand stopped. His eyes swept over Noah's face, taking inventory of every scratch and bruise like he was cataloguing evidence. "I want the truth."
Noah swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "If I take a painkiller, it'll be better."
Atlas kissed his forehead, soft as an apology, but his shoulders went rigid. The kind of rigid that meant he was biting back words Noah probably didn't want to hear.
Neither of them spoke. The morning stretched around them like something fragile, something that might shatter if they moved too fast.
"Stay home today," Atlas said finally. "Work from here."
"If I don't go in, my dad will get suspicious."
Atlas let out a long breath through his nose, looking away for half a second before his eyes came back, darker now, weighted with something Noah couldn't name but felt anyway.
Noah felt the tension radiating off him and leaned up to kiss him hard, trying to pull Atlas back from wherever he'd gone.
Atlas responded slowly, carefully, like Noah was made of glass. His palm pressed flat against Noah's back, warm and steady.
"I'm going to shower," Atlas said against his mouth. "I'll take you to the office after breakfast."
Noah nodded. "Okay."
---
Noah got up and went to the other bathroom, where the mirror reflected everything he didn't want to see.
The scrape on his cheek had scabbed over. Bruising spread along his ribs like spilled ink. Red marks from the helmet still lined his forehead in angry stripes.
Is this what my choices lead to?
No answer came. Just his reflection staring back, looking tired and beaten and somehow still breathing.
The pain flared when he moved—sharp and insistent, his shoulder pulling tight when he reached for his shirt. He breathed out slowly, pushing through the ache until he could shower and get dressed and pretend this was just another Monday morning.
Atlas was still in the bathroom when Noah finished. Longer than usual.
Noah knew the tension hadn't left him. Knew it probably wouldn't.
---
Noah made coffee and stood at the counter, staring at nothing while the machine hissed and dripped.
Maybe I should stay at my place tonight.
The thought felt easier, less complicated, like putting distance between them might give them both room to breathe. Might give Noah space to figure out what the hell he was doing with his life.
Atlas appeared behind him and wrapped his arms around Noah's waist, his chin resting on Noah's shoulder, and all those thoughts evaporated like smoke.
Just Atlas. Just this. Just the weight of him grounding Noah to the kitchen floor.
"What do you want to eat?"
"Omelet," Noah said quietly.
They ate together, side by side, Atlas's hand finding Noah's thigh under the table and staying there like he needed the contact as much as Noah did.
"Don't leave without putting this on." Atlas brought over the cream and applied it to Noah's face with careful, deliberate movements, his hand tightening slightly with each pass like he was angry at the injuries themselves.
Noah kissed him quick and innocent. "Thanks."
---
They talked about their schedules—meetings, deadlines, all the normal things that felt almost too normal after watching a car burn on a racetrack two days ago.
The engine hummed steadily beneath them. Atlas's hand stayed on the gearshift, and Noah watched the way his knuckles went white with each shift, tension bleeding through every movement like he couldn't quite let go of whatever was eating at him.
Atlas pulled up to Wellin Tower and turned to look at him, eyes searching Noah's face like he was trying to memorize it in case Noah did something stupid again.
"I'll call you later."
"Thanks for the ride."
Noah got out. Atlas didn't drive off until Noah had disappeared through the glass doors, which Noah only knew because he looked back once and saw the car still sitting there, Atlas watching through the windshield.
---
WELLIN TOWER
A few people stopped him in the hallway.
"What happened to your face?"
"Climbing accident. Fell."
He walked faster, not wanting more questions, and made it to his office before anyone else could corner him. The walls felt closer than usual when he closed the door, like the room was shrinking around him.
Emails piled up in his inbox. He scanned them without really reading, his eyes sliding over words that didn't register because his brain was still stuck on Saturday, on fire and metal and Atlas's face when he'd seen the wreck.
I don't want to be here.
He checked for anything urgent. Nothing that couldn't wait. Nothing that mattered more than getting the fuck out of this building.
His phone sat on the desk. A few unread messages he ignored. He opened the group chat instead.
Noah:Coffee? I need out.
Marcus:Come to mine.
Jared:Same, I'm dying here.
Noah:30 mins.
He sent a quick email to his father's assistant—Feeling under the weather. Working remotely today—and left the building before anyone could stop him or ask questions or look at him with that concerned expression that made his skin crawl.
---
MARCUS'S APARTMENT
Marcus opened the door, took one look at Noah, and froze.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Noah walked inside. "Small accident."
Jared looked up from the couch and whistled low. "Jesus Christ, Wellin. You get in a street fight?"
Noah dropped onto the couch and loosened his tie, his shoulder protesting with every movement. He breathed through it and pulled the tie off completely, tossing it on the coffee table.
Marcus and Jared stared at him. Nobody laughed.
Jared broke first. "So. Are you gonna tell us what actually happened?"
Noah took a breath and let it out slow. "Car accident."
Marcus leaned forward. "Where? How? When?"
"The track. Saturday. The car spun out. Caught fire."
Nobody said anything. Jared's coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth. Marcus just stared, face going pale.
Marcus's voice came out flat. "You have a death wish or something?"
"It just happened. I didn't—"
"Bullshit." Jared set his cup down hard. "You don't just accidentally almost kill yourself."
Noah opened his mouth. Closed it. Didn't know what to say to that.
Jared pulled him into a hug so tight Noah's ribs screamed. He didn't pull away. Just let Jared hold him while Marcus sat there looking like he wanted to punch something.
Noah told them the rest—the ambulance, the hospital, Atlas pacing outside like a caged animal, the way he'd looked at Noah when they'd finally let him in.
"And you came to work?" Marcus stared at him. "After that?"
"You know my dad."
"Fuck your dad," Marcus said flatly. "You could've died."
Jared sat back, studying him. "How are things with Atlas?"
Noah paused. Thought about it longer than he should have.
"I don't know."
"Why not?"
"I don't know why."
"Do you love him?" Jared asked.
"I do. But—"
"But what?" Marcus cut in.
"Sometimes I feel like a stranger around him."
"How?"
"When he's angry... his silence is unbearable." Noah's hand curled into a fist on his thigh. "Like he's somewhere I can't reach him."
Marcus looked at him for a long moment. "Dude. You love him?"
"Yeah."
"Then figure it out. You always do."
Beat.
"Or don't. But stop spiraling. You're driving yourself fucking crazy."
Jared nodded. "Can't think your way out of everything, Wellin. Sometimes you just gotta feel it."
The apartment settled around them, traffic humming faintly through the walls, and Noah felt something in his chest loosen just slightly.
"My life changed so fast."
"You happy?" Marcus asked.
"Yes."
"Then you're fine," Jared said. "Everything else is just noise."
Marcus grinned, breaking the tension. "Speaking of changes—I met someone."
Jared raised a brow. "Instagram or Tinder?"
"Instagram," Marcus said too quickly.
Jared laughed. "So… did you guys hook up yet?"
Marcus rolled his eyes. "We had coffee at Starbucks. What part of that sounds like sex to you?"
Jared smirked. "The disappointing part."
Noah smiled despite himself, watching them bicker like nothing had changed, like he hadn't almost died two days ago.
Jared turned to him. "What about you, Mr. Silent? How's your sex life?"
Noah froze. Heat rushed up his neck. His mind flashed back to Saturday—the way Atlas had looked at him, the way his hands had moved, the way Noah had—
He looked down. Didn't answer.
Marcus smirked. "He's blushing. Fucking burn."
They all burst out laughing.
Marcus leaned forward, threw an arm around Noah's neck, and pulled him close. "My guy," he said, still laughing. "Look at you being all shy and shit."
Noah couldn't help but laugh too, shaking his head, feeling lighter than he had in days.
The tension broke like a fever. Laughter filled the apartment.
Jared launched into a story about Alex's new boyfriend—how he ordered milk at a bar, corrected the bartender's grammar, and then tried to explain astrology using Excel spreadsheets.
Everyone lost it.
Marcus nearly choked on his coffee. Noah laughed until his ribs ached and he had to press his hand against them to breathe.
They laughed until their faces hurt, until tears streamed down their cheeks, until the room felt warm and safe and exactly where Noah needed to be.
When the laughter finally faded, Jared was wiping his eyes and Marcus was trying to catch his breath.
"Let's go somewhere this weekend," Jared said suddenly. "Get out of the city for a bit."
"Not a terrible idea," Marcus added. "You could use the break, Wellin."
"Yeah. You're right."
They pulled up vacation spots online, debating options while Noah sat back and let their voices wash over him.
"I'll message the group. We'll vote," Jared said.
"Works for me."
Noah smiled. "Thanks. For this."
"For what?" They said it at the same time.
"For always being here."
Marcus laughed. "You hit your head pretty hard, didn't you?"
"We're always here," Jared said. "That's the deal. You'd do the same."
They ordered food—pizza, burgers, too much of everything because none of them knew when to stop.
Alex and Sam showed up an hour later, and the apartment filled with more people and more noise and more stories that made Noah's sides hurt from laughing.
"I missed you guys," he said at some point.
"You're in a weird sentimental mood," Alex said. "Snap out of it."
"Maybe."
Alex told a story about the strangest fetishes their friends had admitted to recently. Sam described a Tinder date that ended with the guy trying to sell him cryptocurrency at two in the morning.
Everyone laughed until they couldn't breathe.
Noah's phone buzzed.
Atlas:How are you?
Noah:Good. You?
Atlas:Busy.
Noah:Work hard.
They finalized weekend plans. Leave Friday evening. Come back Sunday night.
The laughter lingered, softer now—just echoes between half-empty cups and someone's playlist fading in the background.
Noah leaned back, watching his friends talk over each other, their voices overlapping like home.
For the first time in a while, he felt steady.
But also tired. The kind of tired that comes after too much feeling, after holding yourself together for too long.
He smiled. "I should head home before I crash on your couch again."
"I'll handle the bookings," Marcus said, grinning.
Hugs all around. Tight ones.
"Take care of yourself," they said.
"You too."
---
NOAH'S APARTMENT
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, and the quiet hit him like a wall.
The space felt foreign. His things, his furniture, but none of it felt like his anymore. Like he'd moved on but the apartment hadn't gotten the memo.
The clock ticked loudly in the empty room. Each second sharp and distinct.
Still here. But not really.
He made coffee out of habit and sat on the couch, his fingers tracing the edge of the cushion over and over like a nervous tic he couldn't stop. The apartment was dark even with the lights on, shadows filling corners he'd never noticed before.
Empty. Like no one lived here anymore. Like this was just a place he kept his things.
He went to the bedroom and lay down, staring at the ceiling until tears came without permission or warning.
His fingers gripped the blanket and twisted it tight, holding on like it was the only solid thing left in a world that kept spinning too fast.
He didn't know how long he lay there. Time stretched and compressed until it didn't mean anything.
His phone rang.
Atlas.
He cleared his throat twice, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and answered. "Hey."
"Where are you?"
"I came home. My place."
"I'll come get you."
Noah wanted to say I'll come to you or I'm staying here tonight, but what came out was: "Okay."
He went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Red eyes stared back. Blotchy cheeks. He looked wrecked.
He splashed cold water on his face until his skin went numb, trying to smile at his reflection.
Failed.
The doorbell rang.
Atlas can't be here this fast.
He opened the door.
Atlas stood there, still in his work clothes, hair slightly messed like he'd been running his hands through it.
Noah blinked and tried to smile. "Hey."
Atlas smiled back, softer. "Hey."
He stepped inside and closed the door, pulling Noah into his arms and kissing him hard. His hand slid up to cup the back of Noah's neck, holding him there like he was afraid Noah might disappear if he let go.
Then his hands came up to cup Noah's face, his thumb tracing Noah's cheekbone. His eyes searched Noah's face, seeing everything Noah had tried to hide.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Atlas's breathing changed. His jaw worked. "If you need to talk—"
He stopped. Couldn't finish the sentence.
"I'm here."
Noah's chest tightened. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me."
Beat.
"Just... know it."
Atlas kissed him again, gentle this time, his forehead pressed against Noah's like he was trying to absorb whatever pain Noah was carrying. "I missed you."
He breathed out slowly, deliberately, like he was trying to steady himself and failing.
"Let's go?"
He walked out.
Noah followed without looking back.
As he closed the door, he said it out loud: "I need to move out of here."
Atlas stopped. Turned. "Then move out."
"It's not that simple."
"It is." Atlas's hand found his. "Move in with me."
Noah stared at him. "Atlas—"
"Think about it." Atlas squeezed his hand once. "Just think about it."
---
Noah got in and Atlas took his hand immediately, threading their fingers together like he needed the contact.
"What do you want for dinner?"
Noah smiled despite everything. "Doesn't matter."
"What did you do today?"
"Went to work. Then decided to just leave. Went to Marcus's."
"Marcus?"
"Yeah. The whole crew showed up." Noah looked out the window. "It was good. I needed it."
Atlas's thumb traced Noah's knuckles. "Good. I'm glad."
They drove to Atlas's place, the city lights blurring past in streaks of gold and red, and Noah felt himself breathing easier with every mile they put between him and that empty apartment.
They ate together, side by side, Atlas's leg pressed against Noah's the whole time like he needed to maintain that point of contact.
Atlas noticed the sadness tucked into the corners of Noah's smile and tried to make him laugh—told stupid stories from work, made exaggerated faces that were so ridiculous Noah couldn't help but crack.
Eventually, Noah fell asleep against his shoulder, exhaustion finally winning.
Atlas watched him, his hand moving to Noah's hair in gentle strokes, like he was afraid Noah might disappear if he stopped touching him. Like if he kept his hands on Noah, he could keep him safe.
Later, he woke Noah gently. "Come on. Bed."
Noah moved on autopilot, barely conscious, and collapsed onto the mattress.
Atlas climbed in beside him and pulled Noah close—one arm around his waist, his hand pressing flat against Noah's spine, warm and steady and real.
He held him like he could quiet the storm inside both of them.
His chin rested on top of Noah's head. 1:27 glowed on the bedside clock. Atlas stared at it, watching the minutes change.
Still counting. Still here.
Noah's breath evened out against his chest. Slow and steady and alive.
Atlas closed his eyes and tried to believe that was enough.