EVENING
Noah let himself in.
Empty apartment. Just the hum of the city below and that particular silence that meant Atlas wasn't home yet.
He dropped his bag. Stood there for a second.
The day felt heavy on him. The meeting. The almost-kiss in his office. Marcus's text still sitting in his phone like a ticking bomb.
Tell him. You have to tell him.
He headed to the bathroom.
---
The shower was too hot. He didn't adjust it. Let the water beat down on his shoulders, his bruised ribs, washing away the office and the pretending and the careful distance.
When he got out, steam filled the space. He wiped the mirror. Looked at himself.
The bruises were fading. Yellow-green now. Almost gone.
Almost.
He pulled on grey sweatpants. Black t-shirt. Barefoot. Ran a towel through his hair and left it damp.
The living room was cool. Big windows showing the city turning gold as the sun dropped.
Noah collapsed onto the couch. Let his body sink into the cushions.
His phone buzzed.
Mom calling.
He stared at it for two rings. Then answered.
"Hey, Mom."
"Noah! Finally. I've been trying to reach you all week."
"I know. Sorry. Work's been crazy."
"Are you eating properly? You sound tired."
He smiled despite himself. "I'm eating. I'm fine."
"Your father mentioned you've been working remotely some days?"
His stomach tightened. "Just a day. I had a climbing accident. Nothing serious."
"Climbing? Since when do you—"
"Mom." He kept his voice light. Easy. "It's nothing. Just some bruises. Already healing."
Pause.
"Alright. But you'll come for dinner soon? Your father wants to discuss the quarterly reports with you."
Of course he does.
"Yeah. I'll check my schedule."
"Don't check. Just come."
"I'll try."
"Noah."
"I'll be there."
"Good. I love you."
"Love you too."
He hung up.
Tossed the phone onto the coffee table. Stared at the ceiling.
Then Marcus's text flashed in his mind.
Friday. Scribner's Lodge. The guys.
Tell Atlas. Just fucking tell him.
But how? Just drop it casually? Hey, by the way, I'm leaving town with my friends for the weekend without mentioning it until now?
He'll be pissed.
Or will he?
Noah closed his eyes. Tried to imagine the conversation. Couldn't.
Hours passed. The light outside shifted from gold to purple to dark.
He must've dozed off because the sound of keys in the lock made him jolt awake.
The door opened.
Atlas.
---
Noah sat up. Ran a hand through his hair. Smiled.
Atlas walked in. Dropped his briefcase. Loosened his tie as he moved toward the living room.
He looked exhausted. Lines around his eyes. Jaw tight. The kind of tired that went bone-deep.
"Hey," Noah said. Soft.
Atlas's expression shifted when he saw him. Something loosened. "Hey."
He crossed the room. Didn't sit beside Noah.
He laid down. Put his head in Noah's lap.
Noah froze.
Oh.
Atlas's eyes were already closing. His whole body releasing tension like he'd been holding it all day.
Noah's hands hovered. Then settled in Atlas's hair. Gentle.
"Rough day." Not a question.
Atlas made a sound. Almost a laugh. "That obvious?"
"Little bit."
Noah's fingers worked through his hair. Slow. Soothing. He reached down. Loosened Atlas's tie all the way. Pulled it off. Started unbuttoning his shirt. Just the top few.
"Everything okay?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah." Atlas's eyes stayed closed. "Saw my father today. Always fun."
His voice was flat. Careful.
Noah's hands paused. Then continued. Gentle pressure against Atlas's scalp.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not really."
They stayed like that. Noah's fingers in Atlas's hair. The city lights coming through the windows. Quiet.
"How was your day?" Atlas murmured.
Noah smiled. "Better now."
Atlas's hand found Noah's knee. Squeezed.
Then he pulled Noah down. Kissed him.
Not gentle. Urgent. Like he needed it.
Noah kissed back. Let Atlas take what he needed.
When they broke apart, Atlas stayed close. Eyes still closed.
"Gonna shower," he said. Didn't move yet.
Noah ran his thumb along Atlas's jawline. "Go. I'll be here."
---
Atlas came back twenty minutes later. Hair damp. Grey joggers. White t-shirt. Glass of whiskey in his hand.
He sat beside Noah this time. Close. Thigh pressed against Noah's.
"Want some?" He offered the glass.
"I'm good."
They sat in comfortable quiet for a while. Atlas drinking slow. Noah's head on his shoulder.
Say it. Just say it.
"Atlas?"
"Mm?"
Noah sat up. Turned to face him. "I need to tell you something."
Atlas's eyes sharpened. He set the glass down. "Okay."
Here goes nothing.
"Friday night. I'm going to Scribner's Lodge. With Marcus and Jared and the guys."
He watched Atlas's face. Waiting for anger. For that closed-off look.
Atlas was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Okay."
Wait. What?
"How long?"
"We're coming back Sunday night."
More silence.
Noah studied him. No anger. No tension. Just... calm.
Is he serious?
"But no drinking," Atlas said.
Noah blinked. Then smiled. "What if I drink just a little?"
He made himself smaller. Cuter. That look that usually worked.
Atlas's mouth twitched. "Noah."
"Like one beer. Maybe two."
"You just got out of the hospital."
"That was days ago."
Atlas stared at him. Then shook his head. "You're impossible."
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a 'be careful.'"
Noah grinned. Couldn't help it. "So what are you guys doing up there?"
Atlas pulled him closer. "Sports. Nature. Drinking apparently."
"Just guy stuff."
"Just guy stuff."
Atlas kissed him then. Slow. Thorough. Like he was memorizing the taste.
When he pulled back, Noah was breathing harder.
He's not mad. He's actually not mad.
"What are you doing this weekend?" Noah asked.
Atlas shrugged. "Nothing planned."
"Oh." Noah paused. "Actually... I've been looking at apartments."
Atlas went still. "Why?"
"I'm kind of tired of my place." Noah kept his voice casual. Light. "Found a couple I like. Gonna check them out next week."
"Why don't you just stay here?"
The question hung in the air.
Noah looked at him. "I am staying here."
"Then why look for another place?"
Direct. Too direct.
Noah's hands fidgeted. "What would I tell my family?"
Something flickered in Atlas's eyes. His jaw tightened.
"Right."
The word fell flat.
Noah reached for him. Wrapped his arms around Atlas's neck. Pressed his lips to his throat.
"Hey," he whispered. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Go cold."
Atlas's arms came around him. Held him close.
"I'm not."
"You are."
They sat like that. Noah in Atlas's lap. Both holding on.
The silence stretched. Not comfortable anymore. Weighted.
Finally, they spoke at the same time:
"Should we sleep?"
"Let's go to bed."
They laughed. Small. Tired.
---
BEDROOM
They moved through the space without talking. Routine now. Familiar.
Noah pulled back the covers. Climbed in.
Atlas followed.
They lay facing each other in the dark.
Noah reached out. Touched Atlas's face.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For everything."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I do though."
He leaned in. Kissed him. Soft. Grateful.
Atlas pulled him closer. Wrapped his arms around him. Kissed his forehead.
"Sleep," Atlas murmured.
Noah pressed his face into Atlas's chest. Breathed him in.
Cedar and whiskey and something underneath that was just Atlas.
"Goodnight," he whispered.
"Night."
But neither of them slept right away.
Noah's mind was racing. The weekend. His apartment. That question—why don't you just stay here?
Because what would he tell his family?
That he was living with Atlas Sterling? That they were... what? Together?
What are we?
The question kept circling.
Atlas's breathing was steady but not sleep-steady. He was awake too.
Thinking.
About what, Noah didn't know.
Maybe his father. Maybe work. Maybe the same thing Noah was thinking about.
What are we doing?
Outside, the city hummed. Sirens. Car horns. The constant noise that meant New York was still alive.
Inside, just the two of them. Holding each other in the dark.
We'll figure it out. Eventually.
His eyes grew heavy. The warmth of Atlas's body pulling him under.
Noah fell asleep thinking about Scribner's Lodge.
About getting away.
About having space to breathe.
And feeling guilty for wanting it.
---
Atlas felt the moment Noah's breathing changed. Deepened. Sleep pulling him under.
He kept his eyes closed. Kept his arms around him.
Why don't you just stay here?
The question had slipped out. Too honest. Too soon.
And Noah's answer—What would I tell my family?
Like living with Atlas was something to hide.
Pulled Noah closer. Breathed him in.
Two days. Noah would be gone for two days.
Maybe that was good. Space. Time to think.
Or maybe it was the beginning of Noah realizing he wanted more distance than just a weekend.
Atlas opened his eyes. Stared at the ceiling in the dark.
What are we doing?
He didn't have an answer. His phone buzzed again. Persistent.
He reached for it carefully. Didn't want to wake Noah.
The screen lit up his face.
Father: We need to talk. Tomorrow. 9 AM. My office.
Atlas stared at the message.
Then at Noah sleeping against his chest.
Fuck.
He set the phone down. Face-down this time.
Tomorrow. He'd deal with tomorrow .
Tonight, he just wanted to hold on.