Noah woke to his alarm. Reached over. Hit snooze before remembering—no point.
Sunny still sleeping beside him. Her breathing slow and even.
He sat up. Rubbed his face. Today. Meetings. The investor contracts. Focus on that.
Don't think about—
Atlas.
Two weeks. Hasn't felt like fourteen days.
He stood. Walked to the bathroom. Turned on the shower. Hot first, then cold. Shock his system awake.
Under the spray, pressure built in his chest.
Fourteen days. Should feel like forever.
Why does it feel like yesterday?
He twisted the dial. Cold water hit like a slap.
Gasped. Forced himself to stay under it.
After, he stood at the mirror. Towel wrapped around his waist.
Looked at his chest. His ribs. Smooth. Unmarked.
Atlas used to leave bruises there. Proof he'd been real.
Now—nothing.
Noah's fingers found the counter. Knuckles went white.
"Gone." His voice cracked. "Like you were never here."
He got dressed. Jeans. T-shirt. Nothing special.
---
Sunny was waiting by the door. Tail wagging.
Noah crouched down. "Morning, girl."
She licked his face. He smiled despite everything.
They went to the park. May mornings in the city—still cool, sun just coming up.
Sunny ran. Noah watched her. Golden fur catching light.
His phone buzzed. Work. He glanced at it. Looked back at Sunny.
Saturday mornings. Atlas with coffee. Sunny dragging them both toward the fountain. Noah laughing. Atlas's hand catching his waist, pulling him back—
Noah's chest seized.
Stop. Don't go there.
He looked up. Sky pale blue. Cloudless.
"Has to end eventually," he said to no one.
But does it?
He called Sunny. Walked home.
Marcus was still asleep. Noah fed Sunny and Luna. Made coffee. Toast he didn't taste.
Checked the time. Seven forty-five.
Got dressed. Dark gray suit. White shirt. Simple.
Grabbed his keys. Looked at himself in the car mirror.
Smiled. Forced it.
"Everything's fine."
Who are you lying to?
---
The office. Emmett and Logan at their desks.
"Morning."
"Hey." Noah smiled. Small. Professional.
Meetings blurred together. Investor contracts signed. Lawyers nodding. Handshakes.
His mind wandered.
What's he doing right now?
Stop it.
Lunch with Sienna. Midtown restaurant. Conversations overlapped, bounced off glass walls. The lighting harsh and clinical.
They talked about work. Safe topics.
Sienna set down her fork. "You coming tonight? The gala?"
Noah nodded. "Yeah. Won't stay long."
"Alice and I are going." She paused. Watched him. "Should be fun."
Fun. Right.
Noah smiled. "Yeah."
Sienna's eyes said she knew. Didn't push.
Back to the office. More meetings. By five he was exhausted.
Drove home. Marcus wasn't there. He took Sunny to the park again.
Will he be there tonight?
Noah shook his head. Focused on Sunny.
Don't think about it. Don't hope for it.
---
Back home. He showered. Stood in front of his closet.
Black tuxedo. The one Atlas had never seen.
New cologne. Different from before. Citrus and cedar instead of—
He stopped that thought.
Sprayed it. Got dressed.
Checked himself in the mirror. Hair styled different. Everything different.
Like I'm someone else now.
Marcus came out. Grinned. "Damn. Looking good. You should talk to someone tonight."
"It's a work thing."
"Download Tinder then. Have some fun."
Noah actually laughed. "I'll think about it."
"That means no."
"Probably."
Marcus threw a napkin at him. "Go. Be social."
---
The venue. Glass and marble. Everything oversized, overstated—typical Manhattan excess.
Noah gave his keys to the valet. Walked in.
Crystal chandeliers threw golden light across marble floors. Glasses clinked somewhere to his left. Someone laughed—practiced, theatrical. Jazz drifted from speakers, sax and piano blending into background noise he barely registered.
Spring evening light filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Skyline just starting to glow.
Yale friends found him immediately. Hugs. Handshakes. Someone handed him champagne.
He drank. Bubbles felt wrong on his tongue. Forced himself to swallow.
Talk about work. Safe. Easy. Automatic.
His eyes scanned the room.
Stop looking for him.
Emma appeared. Blonde hair swept up. Red dress.
"Noah? Oh my god, Noah?"
He turned. "Emma. Hey."
She hugged him—tight, lingering. "You look—wow. Different."
"Haircut."
"It's more than that." She stepped back. Looked him over. Her hand light on his arm. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm good."
Her eyes said she didn't believe him.
"We should catch up. Dinner?"
"Maybe. Yeah."
She smiled. Squeezed his arm. "I'll text you."
Emma hugged him again. Started to walk away.
Noah turned—
Saw him.
Atlas.
Across the room. Mid-conversation with someone in a gray suit. Then stopped. Mid-sentence.
His gaze locked on something.
On Noah.
Atlas's hand tightened around his glass. Thumb pressed white against the rim.
Noah couldn't breathe.
The room narrowed. Just Atlas. Just those eyes.
Two weeks of not seeing him and suddenly—there.
Atlas in a black tuxedo—the one that made his shoulders look broader, his waist narrower. Hair pushed back. Jaw defined. That look on his face Noah knew too well.
Hunting.
Their eyes met.
The voices around them, the glass clinking, the jazz—all of it faded to static.
Just that look. Dark. Focused. Starving.
Noah looked away first. Fast. Heart slamming against his ribs.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Emma was still smiling. Waving. Walking away.
Atlas turned back to his conversation. But his shoulders stayed tense. His jaw set.
Noah found his friends. Talked. Smiled. Laughed when he was supposed to.
Saw Atlas again. Near the bar.
Atlas's eyes found him immediately. Held for half a second.
Noah looked away. His pulse jumped.
Saw him by the windows.
Their gazes caught. Brief. Electric.
This is torture.
Twenty minutes of this. The room felt too small. Too hot.
Sienna and Alice found him. Alice hugged him. Kissed his cheek.
Leaned close. "You look way too good."
Noah smiled. Small. "Thanks."
"Heard the investor news." Alice squeezed his arm. "Three more signed?"
"We're working hard," Noah said.
"You're killing it." Alice started listing names. Connections. Introductions she could make.
Noah listened. Nodded. Responded when needed.
Then he felt it. That awareness. Someone watching.
The air shifted.
Turned his head.
Atlas stood beside Alice. Looking directly at him.
Fuck.
"Atlas." Alice turned. Smiled. "There you are."
Stay professional. You can do this.
"Hi." Atlas's voice.
Noah's throat tightened. Dry. He swallowed. Nothing.
"Hi."
Atlas hugged Alice. Kissed her cheek. Turned back to Noah.
Their eyes met. Something passed between them. Recognition. Memory. Want.
"How are you?" Atlas asked.
"Good. You?"
"Good."
The lie hung between them.
Noah couldn't look at him directly. Kept his gaze somewhere near Atlas's shoulder.
But then he did look. Just once. Couldn't stop himself.
Atlas in that tuxedo. Hair perfect. That mouth—the one that used to—
Stop.
How does he look even better?
"Heard about your success," Atlas said. His voice steady. Controlled. "Congratulations."
"Thanks." Noah kept his tone level. Professional.
Alice and Sienna watching them. Noah could feel it.
He looked out at the room instead. People everywhere. Talking. Laughing. Living normal lives.
"It's been a while," Atlas said. Stepped closer. Just slightly.
Noah looked at him. Those eyes. The same ones that used to watch Noah like he was the only person in any room.
Still looking at him that way.
Fuck.
Noah didn't answer.
Someone called Atlas's name. He turned. But his hand clenched briefly at his side before he walked away.
Noah watched him go. Caught himself. Looked away.
Alice touched his arm. Her expression soft. Understanding.
Said nothing.
Noah found more Yale friends. Talked. Drank champagne he couldn't taste.
Kept seeing Atlas. Always somewhere in his peripheral vision.
Their eyes met again. Atlas across the room talking to someone. But his attention—all of it—on Noah.
Half a second of eye contact.
Noah's pulse kicked hard.
He looked away. His hands slightly unsteady.
How long had he been here? Felt like hours. The room getting smaller with every Atlas sighting.
Finally. He said goodbye to Alice and Sienna. His friends. Started toward the exit.
Outside. Cold air hit his face. Relief.
He stood there. Breathed deep. Let the chill clear his head.
The valet jogged toward the stand.
"Can we talk?"
Noah knew that voice.
Turned.
Atlas. Standing close. His shoulders tense. Jaw working.
Like he was walking into something he couldn't stop.
"About what?" Noah's voice came out rougher than he meant.
Atlas took another step. Leaned in. His mouth near Noah's ear.
Noah caught it then. The scent. Bergamot and smoke.
The same cologne from two weeks ago. The same one that used to cling to Noah's sheets.
His stomach dropped.
"Whatever you want." Atlas's voice low. Warm breath against his skin.
Noah's heart kicked. Hard.
He looked at Atlas. Really looked.
Those eyes. Dark. Something desperate there under the control.
Say no. Just say no.
"No."
Atlas moved closer. Inches between them now. Close enough Noah could feel his body heat.
"This cologne." Atlas's voice roughened. Dropped lower. "Suits you better."
When he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide. Looking at Noah like—
Like two weeks changed nothing.
Noah's jaw clenched. He smiled. Tight. Fighting every reaction trying to surface.
Don't. Don't give him this.
"Thanks."
Atlas held his gaze. "Have dinner with me tomorrow." Not quite a question. "That new French place."
Noah stared at him.
Why are you doing this? Why now?
"Why?"
Something cracked in Atlas's expression. Raw for just a second.
"I miss you." Quiet. Rough. "Every fucking day, I miss you."
Noah's heart stopped.
"Atlas—"
"Dinner. Please." Atlas stopped. Swallowed. "Just dinner."
Where's the car?
Noah glanced toward the valet stand. His hands felt cold. Shaky.
Finally. His car pulled up.
"There's my ride."
He walked to it. Got in. Didn't look back.
Couldn't.
Atlas stood there. Hands sliding into his pockets. Fists clenched inside the fabric.
Watched the taillights disappear.
---
Noah started driving. Fast. Too fast.
Three blocks later couldn't see. Couldn't breathe right.
Pulled over. Gripped the wheel.
His hands shaking so hard the keys rattled.
Atlas looking at him like that. "I miss you."
Like nothing had changed. Like two weeks apart meant—what? Nothing?
Everything?
Fuck.
He rolled down the window. Cold air rushed in. He gulped it down.
Tried to breathe normally.
Can't do this. Can't go back to—
To what? To feeling like this all the time?
But his heart was still racing. His face hot.
Started the car again. Drove home.
Inside, he dropped his jacket on the couch. Loosened his tie.
Sunny ran to him. He kissed her head.
"Saw him tonight."
Sunny's tail wagged hard. She barked once. Loud.
Noah sat. Sunny pressed her whole body against his leg.
"Why can't I let him go?"
His phone vibrated.
He grabbed it. Heart jumping into his throat.
Atlas: Tomorrow night? I'll pick you up at six.
Noah stared at the screen. Read it twice. Three times.
His hands shook.
Another message.
Atlas: Goodnight Noah.
What do I say? What do I—
He typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Finally: Goodnight.
Sent it.
Set his phone down. Face up on the couch.
Stared at it.
Picked it back up. Read Atlas's messages again.
And again.
Went to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror.
His face flushed. Ears burning hot. Lips parted slightly.
Fuck.
He washed his face. Cold water. Didn't help.
Changed clothes. Fell into bed.
Touched his face. Still warm.
Closed his eyes.
Saw Atlas. That look. That voice dropping low.
"This cologne suits you better."
His breath coming uneven.
Saw Atlas leaning close. His mouth near Noah's ear. That scent—bergamot and smoke wrapping around him.
"I miss you. Every fucking day."
Noah's hand moved to his chest. Heart hammering.
How close they'd stood. Close enough to feel Atlas's body heat. Close enough to—
He rolled over. Pressed his face into the pillow.
This is not happening.
Tomorrow night.
French restaurant.
Was he actually going to say yes?
His body had already answered. Heart still racing. Skin still hot where Atlas's breath had touched.
He fell asleep thinking about Atlas in that tuxedo.
The way his voice had roughened. Gone dark.
How close they'd stood—close enough Noah had breathed him in. Bergamot and smoke and want.
That final inch between their mouths. How his whole body had ached to close it.
Tomorrow night.
The dinner invitation burning unanswered in his phone.
The question of whether he was strong enough to refuse.
The worse question: whether he wanted to anymore.