Noah blinked.
The couch. When did—
Marcus was crouched in front of him. Jared on the armrest. Both staring.
"How long have they been here?"
"Hey." Marcus's hand hovered near Noah's shoulder. Didn't touch. "When'd we get here, you're asking?"
Was he? Had he said that out loud?
Noah's throat worked. No sound came.
Marcus and Jared traded a look. Not the quick, worried kind. The slow one. The scared one.
"You good?" Jared tried. His knee bounced. Stopped. Bounced again.
Noah's head tilted forward. Maybe a nod. His neck felt wrong—like the muscles forgot how to work.
Water appeared. Marcus's hand, steady. The glass sweating.
"Come on. Drink something."
Noah reached. His fingers wouldn't close right. The glass slipped, caught, tilted. Water hit his jeans. Cold spread across his thigh.
He looked down at it. The wet patch growing.
Doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
He lifted the glass. Water touched his lips. He forgot to swallow for a second. Then did. It hurt going down.
Jared's face was doing something. Mouth tight. Eyes too wide. He looked at Marcus, back to Noah. "You wanna—I don't know. Wash your face or something?"
"Okay."
The word came out flat. Dead.
Noah stood. The room swayed left. He grabbed for something—air, the couch arm, anything. His palm smacked the cushion hard.
Sat back down. His hand stayed there. Gripping.
Where is he? Where did he—
Marcus moved. Fast. Kitchen sounds—cabinet, freezer, running water.
Back in seconds. A bowl. Glass. Ice cubes knocking against the sides. Water so cold it steamed in reverse.
Dropped it on the table. Water sloshed out. Dark spots on the wood.
"Here."
Noah stared at the bowl. The ice. Atlas had brought him ice once. After that nightmare. Pressed it to his—
Stop. Stop thinking.
His hand went in. The cold shocked through his wrist, up his arm. He held it there. Needed the hurt. Needed something that wasn't—
Ice scraped his knuckles. He cupped water. Brought it to his face.
Again. Again.
The water ran down his neck. Inside his collar.
Atlas's fingers had traced that path this morning. Slow.
Noah's eyes burned. From the water. Had to be the water.
Something cold pressed his neck. Jared's hand. Ice in his fist. He dragged it down—collarbone, throat, back up.
Noah felt it. Didn't feel it.
"You're soaked," he heard himself say.
"Could drip it down your chest if you want." Jared's voice cracked halfway through. Trying to smile. Failing.
Marcus kicked his ankle. Hard.
Noah's mouth moved. Not a smile. Just—a shape.
"Thanks." He looked at them. Marcus's jaw tight. Jared's hands clenched. "Both of you."
"Yeah, well. Fuck this relationship." Jared's voice went rough. "Seriously."
Marcus reached over. Smacked his head.
Jared spun. "I'm just saying—"
Marcus held up one finger. Pressed it to his own lips.
Shut. Up.
They sat.
The silence had weight. Pressed down on Noah's chest. Made breathing hard.
Atlas's weight. This morning. On top of him. Inside him. Everywhere.
Gone now.
"Bathroom." Noah's voice barely made it out. "I need—"
He stood. Slower this time. The room held still.
Jared jumped up. Grabbed his elbow.
Noah pulled away. "I'm fine."
Each step took thought. Lift foot. Move forward. Don't fall.
Bathroom door. He pushed it open. Closed it behind him.
Mirror. His reflection—
He turned fast. Couldn't look. Couldn't see what Atlas had seen. What Atlas had left.
His stomach twisted. He lunged for the sink. Grabbed the edge. Bent over.
Nothing came up but water. Beer from earlier. Acid.
His throat burned. His eyes leaked. Not crying. Just—body betraying him.
He gripped the counter. Held on. Breathing through his nose. The smell hit him.
Atlas.
Still there. On his skin. His shirt. In his hair from when Atlas had buried his face there, whispering don't give up on us.
Noah ripped his shirt off. Threw it. It hit the wall. Slid down.
Pants next. His hands shook getting them off. Kicked them away.
The shower. He yanked the handle. Hot. All the way.
Stepped in before it warmed up. The cold hit like a fist. Then heat. Scalding. He didn't adjust it.
Water pounded his shoulders. His back. His face.
Shampoo. He dumped it. Too much. Scrubbed his hair. Scrubbed until his scalp hurt.
The smell. Still there.
More shampoo. Scrub harder.
Body wash. Everywhere. His chest where Atlas had kissed. His throat where Atlas had bitten. His—
He scrubbed. Skin turning red. Pink. Raw.
Get it off. Get him off. Get him out of my—
The smell wouldn't leave. Or it was gone and his brain was lying. He couldn't tell anymore.
He stood under the spray. Let it hit his face. Couldn't breathe right. Didn't care.
His chest hurt. Physical hurt. Like something tearing.
The water kept running.
He didn't know how long. Five minutes. Twenty. An hour.
Finally reached out. Turned it off.
Stood there. Water dripping off him. Pooling at his feet.
Towel. He grabbed one. Wrapped it around his waist.
Mirror. Fogged. He swiped it with his forearm. Hard.
His face appeared. Eyes red. Not from water. Skin pale. Lips almost blue.
"Get it together." His voice bounced off tile. "Fucking pull yourself together."
His reflection stared back. Didn't believe him.
He opened the door.
Marcus and Jared—right there. Backs against the wall. Like they'd been listening. Making sure he didn't—
"Clothes?"
Marcus disappeared. Came back with sweatpants. Grey. Too big. A t-shirt. Black.
Noah took them. Changed in the bathroom.
Came out. Walked to the living room. Each step deliberate.
Sat on the couch. Right where he'd been.
They followed. Watching him like he might break. Or explode. Or disappear.
He looked up. "I'm fine."
"No." Marcus sat forward. "You're not. And you don't have to be." His voice went hard. Desperate. "Break something. Scream. Punch the fucking wall. Just—don't do this. Don't go numb."
"Yeah." Jared's voice. Quiet. Wrong. "Anything we can do?"
"No."
Marcus stood. Kitchen. Back with water. A tablet. He dropped it in. It fizzed. Orange.
"Drink."
"I don't—"
"Drink it." Not asking.
Noah took the glass. Drank it. All of it. Tasted like chemicals. Like nothing. Like everything.
Set it down.
His body felt heavy. Wrong. Like gravity increased. Like his bones were concrete.
He lay back. Turned on his side. The couch cushion against his cheek.
Atlas's shoulder had been there. This morning. When Noah had woken up. Warm. Solid. Real.
Not real. Never real. Or too real. He didn't know.
Sleep pulled. He didn't fight it.
Couldn't think anymore. Couldn't feel.
Just—nothing.
---
Jared stood. Grabbed the blanket off the chair. Unfolded it. Spread it over Noah.
His hands shook doing it.
Tucked it around Noah's shoulders. Stood there. Looking down at him.
Noah's face slack. Finally. Not that awful blank stare.
Marcus jerked his head. Kitchen.
They walked. Quiet. Jared's sock sliding on the hardwood.
In the kitchen, Marcus gripped the counter. White-knuckled. His head dropped between his shoulders.
"Fuck," Jared breathed.
Marcus didn't look up.
Outside, a car alarm. Distant. Then nothing.
Just Noah's breathing from the other room.
Even now. Not peaceful. But steady.
Something.
Jared leaned against the fridge. Slid down. Sat on the floor.
Marcus stayed at the counter. Frozen.
"I've never seen him like that," Jared whispered.
Marcus shook his head. Once.
They stayed there. Listening.
Waiting for what, they didn't know.
---
The door shut.
Atlas stood there. Hand still raised where it had been holding Noah.
Turn around. Go back in. Make him listen. Make him understand.
His knuckles rapped the door. Once. Light.
No answer.
Inside—something crashed. Glass maybe. Or something heavier.
Noah.
Atlas's palm pressed flat. His forehead followed. Wood cool against his skin.
I need time.
Time for what? To forget? To move on? To find someone who doesn't fuck everything up?
His hand curled. Fist against the door.
Break it down. He's right there. Just break—
He pushed off. Stumbled back. Hit the opposite wall.
His legs wouldn't hold right. He slid down. Caught himself halfway.
The hallway. Empty. Beige walls. Ugly carpet.
This is where Noah lives without me. These walls. This floor. I've never been here and now I'm leaving and—
He made himself stand. One foot. Then the other.
The elevator. He pressed the button. Didn't remember walking there.
Doors opened. He stepped in. Leaned against the back wall.
The doors closed. His reflection in the metal.
Noah had looked at him like that. Wrong. Unrecognizable.
When did we become strangers?
Noah's voice in the car. Cracking. Breaking.
We didn't. I know you. I know everything about you. How you hold your coffee. How you breathe when you're sleeping. The sound you make when—
The elevator stopped. Lobby. He walked out.
Fluorescent lights. Too white. His hand found the wall. Followed it.
Outside. Night air. Cold.
Alice's car. Right there. How did she—
The driver was already moving. Out of the car. Toward him.
"Mr. Sterlins—"
Atlas's legs stopped working. Just—stopped.
The driver caught his arm. His other arm. Half-carried him.
"I got you. Come on."
The backseat. Atlas fell into it. Lay back. His arm over his eyes.
The driver's voice. Muffled. Phone call.
"—yes, I have him—heading back now—"
Atlas's hands came up. Covered his face. Pressed hard.
I need time.
How much? A week? A month? What if time doesn't fix this? What if he decides he's better off without—
His chest seized. Actually seized. Like someone reached in and grabbed his lungs.
He tried to breathe. Couldn't get air past his throat.
"I didn't—" His voice came out strangled. "I didn't do anything wrong."
Lie. You know it's a lie.
In the mirror, the driver's eyes. Quick glance. Back to the road.
Atlas's hands dropped. Hung at his sides.
You disappeared. For weeks. You let him think you were pulling away. You made him feel crazy for questioning you.
The car turned. Streetlights passing. Each one farther from Marcus's building. Farther from Noah.
I should tell him to turn around. Go back. Bang on the door until—
His phone. In his pocket. He could feel it.
Call him. Text him. Something.
His hand didn't move.
What would I even say? "Sorry I made you feel abandoned. Sorry I'm still doing it."
---
The car stopped.
Atlas opened his eyes. His house. Alice and Sienna on the steps.
How do they always know?
The door opened. Alice's face appeared. Her eyes scanned him. Clinical. Fast.
She looked at the driver. "Guest room. Downstairs."
Not a request.
The driver helped him out. Atlas's legs cooperated. Sort of.
Inside. The house smelled like—home.
They don't have a "their" anymore.
Down the hall. A room he never used. Guest bed. White sheets.
The driver guided him to sit. Atlas sat. His hands between his knees. Staring at the floor.
Noah's floor. In Marcus's apartment. That's where Noah is right now. On that floor probably. Or the couch where he—
"Atlas."
Alice's voice. Close. In front of him.
He didn't look up.
"Hey. Look at me."
His head stayed down.
Hands on his shoulders. Alice's. She shook him. Not hard. Firm.
"Come back. Right now."
His eyes lifted. Found hers. Took forever.
"There you are." Her voice softer now. "Breathe. Show me."
He tried. His ribs wouldn't expand. Stuck.
"Again. Deeper."
Air dragged in. Stuttered out.
Sienna. By the door. Face white. Hands clasped. She looked terrified.
Of me. She's scared of me.
Footsteps. The housekeeper. Water glass. Pills.
Alice took them. One pill between her fingers. Held it toward his mouth.
"Open."
He didn't.
She pushed it past his lips anyway. Against his teeth.
"Drink."
The glass touched his mouth. Water cold. He swallowed. Automatic.
Alice straightened. Handed the glass back. "Ice packs. Two."
The housekeeper left. Fast.
Sienna moved. Knelt at his feet. Started on his shoes. Her fingers fumbled the laces.
Alice's hand on his chest. Pushing him down. "Lie back."
He did. The ceiling. White. Plain.
Noah's ceiling had a crack. North corner. They'd joked about it. Said it looked like a lightning bolt. Noah said it was more like a river. They'd argued about it. Laughing. In bed. Two months ago. Before everything—
Ice. On his chest. Alice pressing it. Moving it.
The cold helped. Or didn't. He couldn't tell.
She moved it to his shoulder. His neck. Methodical. Like she was putting out fires.
Maybe she was.
Time dissolved. Could've been minutes. Could've been hours.
The cold kept moving. His breathing slowed.
His eyes opened without meaning to.
Alice. Still there. Sienna behind her.
Both watching him like he might shatter.
"What are you doing?" His voice came out sharp. Angry.
Alice pulled the ice away. Set it aside. Didn't answer.
His eyes closed again.
Sleep dragged at him. The pill. Or just—done. Being done.
He let it take him.
Easier than thinking.
---
Alice watched his breathing even out. His face smooth. Finally.
She stood. Looked at Sienna. Tilted her head toward the door.
In the hallway, the housekeeper waited.
"Every half hour. Check him. Anything—anything at all—you get me."
"Yes, ma'am."
They climbed the stairs. Alice's hand found Sienna's. Held tight. Too tight.
In their bedroom, Sienna turned. Walked into her arms.
Alice pulled her close. Kissed her forehead. Breathed her in.
"He still thinks it's about winning and losing." Her voice against Sienna's hair. "The relationship. Like if he leaves first, or stays, or fights—someone wins. Someone loses."
Sienna's hands fisted in Alice's shirt.
"He doesn't get it yet." Alice's throat tight. "That the only way you lose is if you stop trying."
Below them, Atlas lay in the dark.