Thursday. Normal day.
Or it should've been.
Noah sat at his desk, staring at spreadsheets that blurred together after the third hour. Project timelines. Budget allocations. The usual.
His phone buzzed.
Emma: Still on for dinner tonight? 7:30? đź’•
Right. Dinner.
He'd forgotten. Or tried to.
Yeah. Where?
Emma: That Italian place downtown? The one with the candlelit tables?Emma: Haven't seen you in forever. Miss you ❤️
Guilt twisted in his stomach.
Sounds good. See you at 7:30.
Set the phone down.
Stared at the screen.
Numbers. Just numbers.
Couldn't focus.
7:30 PM.
Mercato Italiano occupied the corner of Fifth and Main. White tablecloths, soft lighting, the kind of place where people went for anniversaries.
Noah stepped inside. The host smiled.
"Reservation?"
"Wells. Table for two."
"Right this way."
Emma was already there. Red dress, hair down, smiling when she saw him.
Got up to hug him. Her perfume—something floral, expensive—wrapped around him.
"Hey, babe."
"Hey."
They sat.
Candle between them flickered. Cast shadows across her face.
"You look tired," she said. Not accusatory. Gentle.
"Long week."
"The Sterling project?"
"Yeah."
The waiter appeared. Took their drink orders.
"I'll have the Pinot Grigio," Emma said.
The waiter looked at Noah.
"Just water."
Emma's eyebrow lifted. "No wine?"
"Not tonight."
She didn't push. Just smiled. "Okay."
The waiter left.
Emma reached across the table. Her hand covered his.
Warm. Soft.
He should feel something.
Didn't.
"So," she said. "Tell me about this project. You've been working insane hours."
"It's just—complicated. Lot of moving parts."
"You're working with Atlas Sterling directly, right?"
His chest tightened.
"Yeah. He's... demanding."
"I bet." She laughed. "I've read about him. Business magazines love him. Youngest CEO in the industry or something."
"Something like that."
"Is he as intense as they say?"
You have no fucking idea.
"He's professional."
Emma squeezed his hand. "Well, I'm proud of you. Handling a project this big."
"Thanks."
Conversation moved. Her job—marketing campaign for some tech startup. Office drama. Her coworker Sarah's engagement.
Noah nodded. Smiled at the right moments.
But his mind kept drifting.
Monday night. That hallway. Atlas's voice: "Are you playing a game?"
"Noah?"
Blinked. "Sorry. What?"
Emma's smile faltered. Just slightly. "I asked if you wanted to split the tiramisu."
"Oh. Yeah. Sure."
Dinner wrapped around nine.
By the time they stepped outside, the air had turned sharp. He barely noticed.
Emma linked her arm through his.
"Come over?" she asked. "We could watch something. Just hang out."
He should say no.
Should make an excuse.
"Yeah. Okay."
Her face lit up. "Great."
Emma's apartment was exactly like her. Organized, tasteful, comfortable. Cream-colored couch. Bookshelves lined with paperbacks and candles. Photos on the walls—her family, friends, the two of them at some beach last summer.
"Make yourself comfortable," she said, heading to the bedroom. "I'm gonna change into something more comfortable."
Noah dropped onto the couch.
Stared at the blank TV screen.
His reflection stared back.
Emma returned in leggings and an oversized sweater. Hair still down. She'd taken off her makeup.
Pretty. She was pretty.
He knew that objectively.
So why did it feel like looking at a stranger?
"Movie?" she asked, settling next to him. Close. Her thigh pressed against his.
"Sure."
She grabbed the remote. Scrolled through options.
Picked some romantic comedy he'd never heard of.
The opening credits played.
Emma leaned into him. Her head on his shoulder.
He put his arm around her.
That's what you did. Right?
Her hand rested on his chest. Fingers played with the fabric of his shirt.
On screen, the main characters met. Awkward introduction. The usual setup.
Emma shifted. Her face tilted up toward his.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Hey."
She kissed him.
Soft. Familiar.
He kissed back.
Because that's what you did.
Her hand moved to his neck. Fingers threading through his hair.
She deepened the kiss.
His body responded automatically. Hands on her waist. Pulling her closer.
She made a small sound. Shifted onto his lap.
Her sweater rode up slightly. His hands found bare skin.
Warm. Soft.
Nothing.
He felt nothing.
Emma's lips moved to his jaw. His neck.
"I've missed this," she murmured against his skin. "Missed you."
His hands stayed on her waist.
Going through the motions.
She pulled back. Looked at him. Eyes dark, pupils blown.
Kissed him again.
Harder this time. Urgent.
Her hips shifted. Pressed down.
He should want this.
Should feel something.
But his mind was somewhere else.
Monday night. Backseat. Atlas's shoulder. That cologne.
Stupid expensive.
"Noah," Emma breathed.
Her hands went to his shirt. Started unbuttoning.
One button. Two.
His chest tightened.
This was wrong.
Not wrong like inappropriate.
Wrong like—
Like he was playing a role. Reading lines someone else wrote.
Emma's lips on his collarbone now.
Her hands spreading across his bare chest.
And he felt—
Nothing.
No spark. No heat. No pull.
Just—
Obligation.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
He caught her hands. Gentle.
"Emma."
She pulled back. Looked at him. Confused. Breathing hard.
"You okay?"
"I—" His throat closed. "I need to use the bathroom."
Disappointment flickered across her face. Gone before he could name it.
"Oh. Yeah. Of course."
He got up. Straightened his shirt.
Crossed to the bathroom.
Closed the door.
Leaned against it.
Breathing.
The mirror showed him someone he didn't recognize. Flushed. Eyes too bright. Hair messed up.
Someone who should want his girlfriend.
Someone who didn't.
What am I doing?
Turned on the faucet. Splashed cold water on his face.
Gripped the sink.
Met his own tired eyes in the mirror.
This is Emma. You love Emma.
You've been together three years.
What the hell is wrong with you?
The past two weeks crashed over him. Atlas. That party. The bar. Wednesday's meeting. Tomorrow night at Atlas's place—
Stop.
He was tired. That's all.
Stressed.
The project had his head fucked up.
Once it was over, things would go back to normal.
Right?
Dried his face. Met his own gaze in the mirror.
Didn't believe himself.
Opened the door.
Emma was on the couch. Had fixed her sweater. Remote in hand, movie paused.
"Hey." She smiled. Tentative. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry. I just—" He sat next to her. Not as close as before. "I've been running on fumes all week. Still catching up from Monday."
"The night you got drunk with your friends?"
"Yeah."
She studied him. Something careful in her expression.
"Are we okay?" she asked. Quiet.
His chest ached.
"Yeah. Of course. I'm just exhausted. Work's been insane."
She nodded. Didn't look convinced.
But didn't push.
"It's almost eleven," she said. "Want to just go to bed?"
Relief flooded through him.
"Yeah. That sounds good."
Emma's bedroom was dark. Blackout curtains blocked the city lights.
She got under the covers. Patted the space beside her.
Noah climbed in.
She moved closer. Her head on his chest. Arm across his stomach.
He put his arm around her.
Because that's what you did.
Held her.
Counted to sixty.
Then carefully—very carefully—shifted.
"Getting comfortable," he murmured.
Rolled to his side. Facing away.
Emma made a small sound. Didn't say anything.
A minute passed.
She turned over too.
Her back to his back.
Space between them.
He stared at the dark wall.
Listened to her breathing slow. Even out.
She fell asleep.
He didn't.
Just lay there.
Thinking about tomorrow night.
Atlas's place. Presentation review.
His pulse kicked up.
Stop.
He forced his eyes closed.
Eventually, sleep came.
Fitful. Shallow.
Broken.
6:00 AM.
Noah's internal alarm woke him before Emma's.
He slipped out of bed. Quiet.
Found his clothes. Got dressed in the dark.
Emma stirred. Mumbled something.
"Going to work early," he whispered. "Big day. I'll call you later."
"Mmkay. Love you."
The words were automatic. Half-asleep.
"Love you too."
He let himself out.
His apartment felt emptier than usual.
Dropped his keys on the counter. Went straight to the shower.
Hot. Almost scalding.
Stood under the spray.
Tonight. Seven PM. Atlas's place.
His stomach twisted.
Just a work meeting. Professional.
Review the presentation. Discuss strategy.
That's all.
But even thinking about it—
His pulse raced.
Stop.
He turned the water cold.
Gasped. Stayed under it anyway.
Trying to shock his system back to normal.
Got out. Towel. The fogged mirror showed someone he didn't quite recognize anymore.
Two weeks.
Two weeks since that party.
And everything felt like it was slipping.
His relationship. His focus. His control.
Get it together.
Just get through today.
Then the weekend. Two days. No Emma. No Atlas.
Just you and normal life.
Basketball with Marcus and Jared. Maybe hit a bar—no, not a bar. A movie. Something mindless.
Two days to reset.
Then everything would be fine.
Right?
Walked to his closet.
Stared at his clothes.
Grabbed the blue shirt. Then paused.
Put it back. Grabbed the gray instead.
Then paused again.
What are you doing?
It was Friday. Casual Friday at the office.
Just wear whatever.
Grabbed a black henley. Jeans.
Went to the bathroom.
Cologne on the counter.
The same one he always wore.
Reached for it.
Stopped.
Stared at the bottle.
Then grabbed a different one. Something he'd gotten last year. Barely used.
Sprayed it.
Woody. Different.
Better.
Why are you changing it?
Because I'm sick of everything. That's why.
Sick of routines. Sick of expectations. Sick of—
This is normal. People change things up. That's normal.
Right.
Normal.
Grabbed his keys.
The office felt the same as always.
Glass. Chrome. The low hum of productivity.
Noah's father caught him in the hallway.
"Morning meeting. Conference A. Twenty minutes."
"Got it."
The meeting was standard. Quarterly projections. Market analysis. His father talking strategy.
Noah sat there.
Took notes he wouldn't remember.
Nodded at the right times.
But his mind—
Somewhere else.
The meeting ended.
People filed out.
Noah stayed in his seat.
"You coming?" someone asked.
"Yeah. One sec."
They left.
He sat there.
Staring at nothing.
Then got up. Made his way out.
Elevator. Roof access.
The company terrace was empty.
City spread out below. Morning sun turning everything gold.
He leaned against the railing.
Breathed.
Last night came back.
Emma. Her hands on him. Her lips.
And—
Nothing.
He'd felt nothing.
Three years. Three years together.
And he'd felt nothing.
That's not normal.
You love her. You care about her.
So why—
He did care. That was the thing.
Emma was smart. Kind. Patient. Everything you'd want.
But—
Was it love?
Or was it—
Comfortable?
Safe?
The kind of affection you'd feel for a close friend?
Stop.
You're stressed. Work's been crazy. That's all.
Your sex drive is just—affected. That happens.
Once things calm down—
But even thinking that—
His mind went to Monday night. That hallway. Atlas's hand on his arm.
The heat.
His body's response now—
Immediate.
Undeniable.
No.
He pushed off the railing.
You're not—
This isn't—
Atlas is your boss. Your supervisor. That's all.
Whatever you think you felt—it's just stress. Projection. Confusion.
You're with Emma. You love Emma.
Right?
The question hung there.
Unanswered.
Maybe—
Maybe he should talk to Emma. Tell her he needed space. Just for a bit. To clear his head.
Or—
Maybe they should—
Break up?
The thought sent panic through him.
No. That's insane.
You're just stressed.
After this project—after tonight—
Everything will go back to normal.
He stood there.
City below. Sky above.
Wind in his hair.
Tonight. Atlas's place.
Get through it.
Professional. Quick. Done.
Then the weekend.
Two days with no one.
Reset.
Everything would be fine.
Right?
His phone buzzed.
Emma: Hope you're having a good morning! Dinner tonight? Or are you still swamped with work? ❤️
His stomach dropped.
Working late tonight. Presentation prep. Can we do something this weekend instead?
Emma: Of course! Miss you though đź’•
He stared at the message.
Couldn't bring himself to reply.
Put the phone away.
Turned back to the city.
Just get through today.
That's all.
One more meeting.
Then two days to figure this out.
The wind picked up.
Colder now.
He stayed there anyway.
Trying to remember what normal felt like.