Noah woke to Atlas's hand moving across his back.
Slow. Warm.
He opened his eyes. Atlas was already looking at him.
"Morning." Atlas smiled—small, almost uncertain.
Noah blinked. "Morning."
How long has it been since—
Atlas pulled him closer. Kissed his neck, lingering there.
Noah's breath caught. Weeks. It's been weeks since he woke up like this.
Atlas's hand moved to Noah's jaw, tilted his face up. "Been waiting for you to wake up."
Noah smiled despite the tightness in his chest. "Wasn't expecting to find you here."
Atlas kissed him—soft at first. Then harder, his hand sliding under Noah's waistband.
Noah kissed back. His palm moved across Atlas's chest, feeling his heartbeat race.
Too fast. Atlas is nervous.
Atlas's mouth found the spot below Noah's ear. Kissed there—deep, focused—his hands gripping Noah's hips, pulling him closer.
I missed this. God, I missed us.
Noah's breath hitched. Small sounds escaped his throat.
Atlas pulled back. His eyes were dark, hungry.
"I love you." His voice roughened.
He kissed Noah again—consuming, possessive. Sucked Noah's bottom lip, bit down gently.
Noah barely got the words out. "I love you."
He hooked his foot around Atlas's leg, pushed at his sweatpants.
Atlas yanked Noah's shirt over his head. Kissed down his chest—hungry, frantic.
Noah's nails dragged down Atlas's back. "Don't—" He couldn't finish. "Don't leave again."
Atlas looked up. His face unguarded for just a second.
Then kissed him as if he could erase the last month.
Noah pulled him closer—if he held tight enough, maybe Atlas wouldn't slip away.
Clothes disappeared between desperate touches. Atlas's mouth on Noah's throat, his collarbone. Noah arching into him, fingers twisted in Atlas's hair.
Atlas moved over him. Their eyes locked.
"You're mine," Atlas said. Not a question. A fact. His hand cupping Noah's face.
"Yours." Noah pulled him down into another kiss.
They moved together—urgent, almost rough.
Noah's hands everywhere—Atlas's shoulders, his back, his hips—memorizing him. Atlas's forehead pressed to Noah's, breathing harsh.
"Look at me," Atlas said.
Noah did. Their gazes held as they fell apart together.
After, they lay tangled and breathless.
Atlas wrapped around Noah, kissed his shoulder while his hand traced Noah's ribs.
Noah watched him. Atlas's jaw was still tight. His fingers pressed a little too hard—holding on.
"I love you," Noah whispered.
Atlas looked at him. His face open, vulnerable. "I love you too."
They stayed like that. Silent. Close. Atlas's thumb moving back and forth across Noah's hip bone.
Minutes passed.
"You got in late last night," Noah said quietly.
"Yeah." Atlas's hand stilled.
Noah waited.
Nothing.
He won't say anything. He never does anymore.
Noah started to sit up.
Atlas's arm tightened around his waist. "Where are you going?"
"Shower."
"Without me?" Atlas's voice went soft. Uncertain.
Noah's smile died before it formed. "You can come if you want."
Atlas studied his face—really looked at him. His brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know." Noah's voice came out flat. "Is there?"
Atlas sat up slowly. Pulled his arm away. "I don't—what do you mean?"
Noah looked at him. At the man he loved. The man who'd become a stranger.
"I should shower."
He got up. Walked to the bathroom. Closed the door.
---
The water ran scalding hot.
Noah stood under it, hands pressed flat against the tile.
Each breath hurt.
We'd become strangers. When did that happen?
He thought about the sex. How Atlas had touched him—desperate, frantic.
Going through motions instead of real connection.
Noah turned off the water. Stared at himself in the foggy mirror.
We're pretending. Both of us.
His chest felt tight. He grabbed a towel. Got dressed.
---
Atlas was sitting on the edge of the bed when Noah came out.
"What's wrong?"
Noah didn't look at him. "Let's not do this right now."
"Do what?" Atlas stood, crossed to him. "Look at me."
Noah looked up. His face wouldn't stay steady.
"Talk to me," Atlas said. "What happened?"
"Does—" Noah stopped. Speaking felt like swallowing glass. "Does sex fix our problems?"
Atlas's expression shifted—confusion, then hurt. "What? What are you—"
"You've been gone for weeks." Noah barely got the words out. "I don't know where you are. I don't know what you're doing. You don't tell me anything."
Atlas went rigid, jaw working. "I've been dealing with work—"
"What work?" Noah stepped back. "What work keeps you out until midnight? What work has you leaving before I wake up?"
Atlas's hands clenched at his sides.
"I don't even know what happened with Richard and Thomas." Noah's throat closed. "You won't tell me anything."
Silence.
Noah looked at him—at the man he'd give up everything for. The man who'd become a ghost.
He moved to walk past.
Atlas caught his arm. "Wait—"
Their eyes locked.
"They were trying to remove me from the board." Atlas's voice came out tight. Controlled. "I was handling it."
"Did you? Handle it?"
"Yes."
"Good." Bitterness leaked into Noah's voice. "All this time. Over a month. And you couldn't even tell me that."
"Noah—"
"Let's talk," Atlas said.
"Talk?" Noah laughed—sharp, humorless. "I've been waiting for you to talk for over a month. I don't—" His throat tightened. "I don't want to anymore."
Atlas's expression hardened. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"I don't know. Whatever you want it to mean."
Atlas grabbed his arm again. Pulled him close—almost rough. They stood inches apart.
"Maybe we need time," Noah said. Every word cut him. "To think."
"Are you—" Atlas's grip tightened. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"Maybe you already left. You just don't realize it yet."
"You're being ridiculous—"
"Yeah." Noah's voice broke. "Yeah, I am. I'm being ridiculous."
"Do you know what I've been dealing with? What I've—"
"No. I don't." Noah wrenched his arm free. "Because you didn't tell me. You didn't tell me anything."
Atlas stared. His expression broke for just a second.
"I've been alone for weeks." Noah barely held it together. "In this giant fucking house. Alice is here. Sienna's here. But you? You're never here."
"I fixed everything. It was just—it was temporary—"
"Was it?" Noah looked at him. "Or is this what we are now?"
Atlas opened his mouth. Closed it.
"I need to leave." Noah moved past him.
"Noah—"
"Don't." Noah stopped at the door. Didn't turn around. "Just—don't."
He left.
---
Got in his car. Hands shaking so hard he could barely get the key in the ignition.
Drove too fast. Barely seeing the road.
Ten minutes later, he pulled over. Tears blurred everything.
Pressed his forehead against the steering wheel.
Everything hurt.
The last month. Atlas's absence. The silence. Slowly losing the one person he couldn't lose.
Tears poured down his face. He couldn't stop them.
We're supposed to be together. We're supposed to—
"Two people," he said out loud. His voice cracked. "Alone together."
He thought about Atlas this morning. The desperation in the way he'd touched him.
Holding on too tight because he was already letting go.
Someone else. The thought wouldn't leave.
What if that's why he can't look at me? Why he's never home?
Noah's chest squeezed tight—no air, no room.
He grabbed his phone with shaking hands.
Logan: Not coming in today. Call if urgent.
Sent.
Stared at the screen. 8:18 AM.
Typed: Clara, you up?
Three dots appeared immediately.
Clara: Yeah. What's wrong?
Noah: Can I come over?
Clara: Already making coffee. Come.
---
He pulled up outside her building twenty-five minutes later. Rang the bell.
Clara opened the door. Took one look at his face.
"Shit. Come in."
They went to her kitchen. She'd already made coffee—two cups on the counter.
Noah wrapped his hands around one. Stared at it.
Clara leaned against the counter. Waited.
"Atlas." His throat closed around the name.
"What happened?"
"He's—" Noah stopped. "He's gone, Clara. Every morning he's already left. Every night I'm asleep before he gets home." He looked at her. "I live with him but I never see him."
"How long?"
"Weeks. Over a month."
"Jesus." Clara set down her cup. "And he won't tell you why?"
Noah shook his head. "Richard and Thomas threatened him. Us. I don't know what happened after that. He won't—" His voice broke. "He won't tell me anything."
Clara watched him. "Did you try talking to him?"
"I've been trying. For weeks." The cup shook in Noah's hands. "He just says he's handling it. That's it. That's all I get."
"And Richard and Thomas?"
"Silent. Completely silent." Noah looked at her. "There has to be a reason, right? Maybe Atlas—maybe he accepted their terms. Maybe he's just not telling me."
Clara was quiet for a moment. "Do you think there's someone else?"
Noah stopped breathing.
The words hung in the air.
"I don't—" He set down his cup. Stared at his hands. "Maybe."
"Noah—"
"We've barely been in the same bed in a month, Clara. This morning was the first time he—" Noah stopped. "The first time in weeks."
"That doesn't mean—"
"Then what does it mean?" Noah looked at her. His eyes burned. "What else explains it?"
Clara moved closer. Put her hand on his shoulder. "Every relationship has rough patches—"
"Rough patches?" Noah's voice came out sharp. "This isn't a rough patch. This is—" He stopped. "This is uncertainty. Loneliness. This is what happens before everything falls apart."
Clara's expression shifted. Concern. Worry.
"This is what happens before someone leaves," Noah said quietly. "Or before they've already left and just haven't said it yet."
He turned away. Wiped his eyes roughly.
His phone wouldn't stop buzzing on the counter.
Clara glanced at it. "Atlas?"
"Probably."
"You're not going to—"
"He's the last person I want to talk to right now." Noah's hands clenched. "I can't—I can't hear more excuses. More silence."
The phone kept buzzing.
Clara squeezed his shoulder and said his name softly. "Noah—"
"If it needs to end—" Every word felt like ripping something vital loose. "Then it ends. No point dragging it out."
"Don't say that—"
"Why not?" Noah looked at her. "It's true, isn't it? Maybe it's already over. Maybe I'm just the last one to realize it."
Clara pulled him into a hug. Tight. "Don't do this to yourself."
Noah held on. Each breath impossible.
They stood like that for a long time.
Finally, Noah pulled back. "I should—I need to go."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Anywhere but—" He stopped. "I can't go home."
"Stay here," Clara said. "As long as you need."
"I can't—"
"You can." She squeezed his arm. "Stay."
Noah nodded. Couldn't speak.
His phone buzzed again.
He turned it face-down on the counter.
Didn't look.
---
Atlas stood frozen. Eyes fixed on the door Noah had just walked through.
The click of it closing echoed in the silence.
He turned. Walked back into the bedroom.
His hands went to his head, gripped his hair. Pulled.
"Fuck." The word came out harsh. Raw. "Fuck. Fuck."
The last two hours played on repeat. The way he'd looked at Atlas after.
Already saying goodbye.
Does sex fix our problems?
Atlas's jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt.
He stripped. Got in the shower. Turned it scalding.
Stood there. Let it burn.
Noah's voice wouldn't stop.
Maybe you already left. You just don't realize it yet.
Atlas squeezed his eyes shut. The way Noah had looked at him—already gone. Already convinced.
I've been alone for weeks.
The words cut deeper each time.
Maybe we need time.
No. No, we don't need time. We need—
Pressed his forehead against the wet tile.
He'd had the chance. This morning. Noah asking if everything was okay.
Atlas could've said yes. Could've told him everything—Richard, Thomas, the documents, all of it.
Instead, he'd kissed him. Touched him. Used Noah's body to avoid using his words.
And now Noah was gone.
I fucked this up. I had everything and I destroyed it.
---
He got out. Dressed without thinking. Jeans. T-shirt. Didn't bother with socks.
Went downstairs.
Noah's coffee mug was still on the kitchen counter. Right where he'd left it.
His chest constricted.
"Atlas?"
He looked up. Alice and Sienna at the island.
Set down the mug. Grabbed a clean one. His hand wasn't steady.
Poured coffee. Didn't look at them.
"Jesus, Atlas." Alice's voice. "What happened to you?"
He took a drink. Too hot. Burned his tongue.
"Nothing."
Started to leave.
"Atlas." Not a request.
He stopped. Didn't turn.
Alice stood. Crossed to him. Took his arm—not gentle.
"Study. Now."
She looked at Sienna. "Be right back."
Atlas pulled his arm free. "I don't—"
"Now."
---
They walked to the study. Alice closed the door.
Atlas took another drink. The mug shook slightly in his hand. He gripped it tighter, knuckles white.
Alice leaned against the desk. Arms crossed. Waiting.
"You going to tell me or—"
"Noah left." Atlas's voice came out flat.
"Left or—"
"I don't know." He looked at her. "Maybe both. I don't fucking know."
Alice waited.
Atlas couldn't stay still. Walked to the window. Back to the desk. To the door.
"He thinks—" He stopped. Drank more coffee. "He thinks I'm leaving him. That there's someone else. I don't know what he thinks."
"What did he say?"
Atlas told her. The fight. Every word Noah had thrown at him like knives.
Alice listened. Didn't interrupt.
When he finished, she said, "What did you expect?"
Atlas's grip on the mug tightened. He stared at her.
"You know what I've been dealing with—"
"Noah doesn't."
"I've been coming home late. Leaving early. Because I was—" He stopped. "I was fixing everything. For us."
"He doesn't know that either." Alice's voice stayed level. "So what was he supposed to think?"
Atlas turned away. Looked out the window at nothing.
"Not that," he said finally. "He wasn't supposed to think that."
"Why not?" Alice pushed off the desk. "You disappeared for a month. No explanation. What else would he think?"
Silence.
"If he finds out about Richard and Thomas on his own—" Alice paused. "He'll leave for real. You know that, right?"
Atlas's shoulders went rigid.
"You can't have a real relationship with someone you don't trust," Alice said quietly. "So what do you want? A real relationship or—whatever this is?"
Atlas looked at her. "You could—I don't know, maybe support me? For fucking once?"
Alice almost smiled. "You want me to lie to you?"
"That's not—"
"What then?" She crossed her arms. "Tell you it's fine? That keeping him in the dark was the right move?"
Atlas turned back to the window.
His throat tightened.
Noah. God, Noah. I need you to understand. I did this for us. For you.
"What do I do?"
"You talk to him."
Silence.
"Or you don't." Alice moved toward the door. "Sienna's waiting. Call if you need anything."
She left.
Atlas stood there. Alone.
Pulled out his phone. Called Noah.
Straight to voicemail.
"Come on. Come on, Noah." He ran his hand through his hair. "Pick up."
Called again immediately.
"Please. Fuck—please just—"
Voicemail.
His hand shook as he dialed again.
Nothing. Just that automated voice. Cold. Impersonal.
He opened messages.
Atlas: We need to talk. Please.
Sent.
Stared at the screen. No response. No read receipt.
Atlas: I'm sorry. Just—call me back.
Nothing.
Atlas: Noah. Please.
Still nothing.
He couldn't stop checking. Screen still blank. No dots. No nothing.
Walked to the bar cart. Grabbed the whiskey bottle. Didn't bother with a glass.
Drank straight from it. The burn felt good. Real.
Poured into a glass this time. His hands still shaking.
Drank again.
This morning flashed back.
Don't leave again.
And Atlas had kissed him instead of answering.
Does sex fix our problems?
"No. No, it fucking doesn't."
He set down the glass. Too hard. Whiskey splashed.
Looked at his phone again.
Nothing.
He's really leaving. Noah is actually leaving me.
Atlas's chest squeezed tight.
No. No, he can't. I can't—
All the secrets.
And Noah thought Atlas didn't want him.
Thought there was someone else.
Thought—
This is my fault. All of it. I did this.
His hand tightened around the mug.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
Atlas hurled it at the wall.
It shattered. Ceramic exploded. Pieces scattered across the floor, the desk.
He stood there. Chest heaving. Staring at the broken pieces.
I can't lose you. I can't.
Grabbed his keys. His jacket.
Left.
---
The doorbell rang.
Noah's eyes went to the door. He'd been staring at nothing.
Clara went to answer it. Male voice in the hallway. Low. Familiar to her.
A moment later, she came back with a guy. Tall, dark hair, easy smile.
"Noah, this is Simon. My boyfriend." Clara touched Simon's arm. "Simon, this is Noah."
Simon crossed the room, extended his hand. "Clara talks about you all the time. Good to finally meet you."
Noah stood. Shook his hand. His mouth wouldn't cooperate. No smile came.
"Yeah. You too."
Simon studied his face for half a second. Didn't comment.
"We should eat something," Simon said. Glanced at Clara. "Breakfast?"
"I should—" Noah stopped. Looked at the door. Back at Clara. "Maybe I should go?"
"Not without eating." Clara's voice left no room for argument. "Come on."
Simon grinned. "You won't regret it. I make a mean omelet."
---
They moved to the kitchen. Simon and Clara worked around each other—easy, natural. He cracked eggs. She chopped vegetables. Handed him the whisk. He took it without looking.
They'd done this a thousand times.
Noah sank onto the counter stool. His whole body felt heavy. Even sitting up took effort.
Watched them move together.
Simon handed Clara the whisk. She smiled. Took it without looking.
Noah's chest squeezed.
He and Atlas used to—
No. Don't think about it.
But he couldn't stop. The kitchen. Atlas making coffee. The way he'd kiss Noah's temple while passing him the mug.
When did we lose that?
Noah stared at the counter. His vision blurred.
"Plates?" Simon asked.
Noah blinked. "Yeah. I'll—" He stood. Got them.
They set the table together. Simon was talking. Something about a movie. Or work? The words reached Noah but didn't connect. He nodded anyway.
Sat down. Food in front of him.
His fork kept moving—up, down, up again. Couldn't settle.
Put food in his mouth. Swallowed without tasting it.
His chest hurt. Actual pain. Like something cracked inside and wouldn't stop bleeding.
His phone wouldn't stop. Pocket vibrating against his leg.
He pulled it out.
Sienna: You okay? Need anything?
Noah: I'm fine. Not coming in today.
Logan: Everything good?
Noah: Yeah. All good.
Atlas: We need to talk. Please.
Atlas: I'm sorry. Just—call me back.
Atlas: Noah. Please.
Noah stared at Atlas's name. His thumb traced his phone case—back and forth, back and forth.
He told himself not to type anything.
Typed anyway: I need time.
Sent.
The phone lit up immediately. Atlas calling.
Noah declined it. Put the phone face-down.
Pain shot through his chest again.
"Sorry," he said. Stared at his plate. "Just—work stuff."
Simon nodded. Kept talking. Something about—Noah didn't know. Couldn't focus.
Everything felt distant. Muffled. Like he was underwater.
He forced himself to eat. The food had no taste. Just texture. Just motion.
His leg bounced under the table. Couldn't stop.
Noah: You home? Can I come over?
Marcus: Yeah man. Come.
Noah: Be there soon.
Then: Atlas: Where are you?
Noah looked at it. His throat closed.
Put his phone in his pocket.
Clara was staring at him when he glanced up.
"I need to go."
"Where?" Clara set down her fork.
"Marcus's. Maybe—" Noah stopped. "Maybe I'll stay there a few days."
"Don't make decisions before you talk to him."
Noah nodded slightly. Didn't mean it.
Stood. Clara stood with him. Pulled him into a hug.
Noah held on. His chest squeezed tighter.
"You can stay here too," Simon said. "We have a guest room."
"Thanks." Noah barely got the words out. "I—thanks."
He left.
---
Got in his car.
Both hands on the wheel. Gripped tight. Didn't move.
His chest hurt. His throat hurt. Everything hurt.
"How did we get here?" The words cracked coming out. "How the fuck did we get here?"
He started the engine. Pulled out.
Drove on autopilot. Didn't think about the route. Couldn't think about anything except—
Atlas. This morning. The desperate way he'd touched Noah. Like he was trying to hold on to something already slipping away.
"When did we become strangers?" Noah said out loud. His voice broke. "When did we—"
He couldn't finish.
His eyes burned. He blinked hard. Kept driving.
Traffic light. Red. He stopped.
Pressed his palms to his eyes.
"Fuck." Barely a whisper. "Fuck."
The light turned green. Someone honked.
Noah drove.