Noah woke to barking.
Sunny's face was right there. Wet nose inches from his. Her tail whipped back and forth, whole body wiggling.
"Morning." Voice scratchy. "Yeah, okay. I'm up."
Luna cracked one eye open from the pillow. Gave them both a look that said some of us are trying to sleep.
Noah sat up. His back protested—slept wrong, shoulder stiff. He gathered both animals into his lap. Sunny's weight surprised him. Not that fragile puppy lightness from weeks ago. Luna was a warm bundle of annoyance.
"You're getting big. When did that happen?"
Luna extracted herself, stalked to the far side of the bed, turned her back on them. Offended.
Noah carried Sunny downstairs.
---
The park was empty. Early enough that fog still clung to the ground between trees. Breath came out white. Sunny's too—little puffs as she panted, pulling at the leash.
She zigzagged from tree to bush to fence post. Following some invisible map only she could read.
Noah's mind was elsewhere.
Wednesday. Forty-eight hours ago. Atlas at the bar, their knees touching under the table. That elevator ride. The way Atlas's finger had traced his in the parking garage.
He'd almost called yesterday. Three separate times. Morning coffee. Lunch. Eleven PM, lying in bed with his phone screen lighting up his face.
Each time, his thumb hovered over Atlas's name. Each time, he locked the screen instead.
If I see him today, I'll talk to him.
But what would he even say?
Sunny stopped to sniff a tree root. Circled it twice. Decided it was uninteresting.
How do you start that conversation?
She trotted ahead, found a stick, brought it back with her tail going.
Hey, so about everything I said—
No. That sounded rehearsed.
I've been thinking—
Worse.
Sunny dropped the stick at his feet. Expectant.
He picked it up. Threw it. Not far. She raced after it anyway, joyful, uncomplicated.
What if he doesn't want to talk about it? What if he's moved on?
The thought made his chest constrict. Not metaphorical. Actual pressure. Ribs pressing inward.
He pressed his palm there. Felt his heart hammering underneath.
What if it's already over?
Sunny came back. No stick this time. Panting, happy.
Too many feelings. All of them heavy. Sitting on his shoulders, his chest, making everything harder than it should be.
"Come on, girl. Let's go home."
---
Lydia was at the kitchen counter when they got back. Coffee already brewing, that burnt-sugar smell filling the air. She was dressed—jeans, sweater, hair pulled back. Actual effort.
"Morning!" Bright voice. Morning person energy Noah had never understood.
He set Sunny down. She went straight for her water bowl, lapped at it, splashed it everywhere.
"Morning." Noah opened the cabinet. Dog food. Luna's bowl. "You're up early."
"Group project. Meeting at Jess's place in like—" she checked her phone, "—forty minutes."
"Look at you. Actually remembering your responsibilities."
She grinned. Poured coffee into a travel mug. "I'm very responsible. Sometimes."
He filled both bowls. Set them down. Sunny attacked hers immediately. Luna appeared from nowhere, began eating with delicate, offended precision.
"You okay?" Lydia asked.
Noah glanced up. "What?"
"You've been—I don't know. Weird. Distracted." She tilted her head. "Since like, yesterday."
"I'm fine."
She watched him. That look she got sometimes, the one that said I'm your sister, I can tell when you're lying. But she didn't push. Nodded. "Okay."
She grabbed her bag. Headed for the door. Stopped. "Whatever it is, you'll figure it out."
Then she was gone.
The apartment went quiet except for eating sounds, the coffee maker's final gurgle, the refrigerator's hum.
Noah stood there. Listening to nothing.
---
Upstairs, he turned the shower too hot. Let the water beat against his neck and shoulders until his skin went pink. Steam filled the bathroom, mirror fogging over.
The meeting today. Analysis presentation. Data review. Numbers and projections and all the things he was good at because they made sense, followed rules, added up correctly.
Then his mind drifted.
Atlas.
"I have to talk to him today."
Out loud. Water drowning out his voice.
"Today. I have to—"
But the words felt hollow. Saying them didn't make them real.
---
He got out. Stood dripping on the bath mat. Wiped the mirror with his palm—one clear circle in the fog. His face stared back at him. Hair wet and dark, tired around the eyes, jaw tense.
Looked away.
Got dressed. Black jeans, worn at the knees. Black button-down, sleeves he'd roll up later when his wrists got too warm. Comfortable. Professional enough for a Friday.
Stood in front of the mirror again. Friday. Last day before the weekend. Time moved weird lately—too fast and too slow at once.
He grabbed his cologne from the counter. The new one. Sprayed it once at his neck, once at his wrist. Citrus and cedar. Clean.
I love this smell.
The thought came automatic. Followed immediately by another: Does Atlas?
He set the bottle down too hard. It rattled against the counter.
---
Downstairs, he thought about making breakfast. Opened the fridge. Stared at eggs, bread, leftovers from two days ago. His stomach felt wrong. Tight. Like it couldn't hold anything.
He closed the fridge.
Grabbed his keys. Wallet. Phone—checked it, no messages, pocketed it.
Left.
---
In the car, the engine took two tries to turn over. Cold morning. He let it warm up, hands on the steering wheel, staring at his apartment building.
Someone walked past with a dog. An old man with a newspaper under his arm. A woman in scrubs, probably heading to a hospital shift.
Everyone knowing where they were going. What they were doing.
Noah put the car in reverse.
Started driving.
At a red light, he thought about what he'd say to Atlas. Ran through it.
I need to apologize for—
No. Too formal.
Listen, about what I said—
Worse.
I was wrong about—
The light turned green. Someone honked behind him. He drove.
Tried again at the next light.
I've been thinking about us and—
God. That sounded like a breakup line.
They were already broken up.
Knuckles went pale on the wheel.
This was impossible. He couldn't script this. Every version sounded fake, rehearsed, like a presentation he was giving to the board. Polished and empty.
I'll say what I feel. When I see him. If I see him.
The thought made his stomach drop.
He parked in the garage. Sat there for a minute. Breathing. The engine ticking as it cooled.
Got out. Went inside.
---
The office was dark when he arrived. He flipped switches. Lights hummed to life. Empty desks. Blank computer screens. The coffee maker's red light glowing.
He made coffee. The routine helped. Water. Filter. Grounds. Press start. Wait.
While it brewed, he stood at the window. Forty-third floor. The city spreading out below, still waking up. Traffic starting to build. Forty-three floors up, everyone looked small.
Phone buzzed.
He pulled it out. Marcus.
Marcus:you good?
Noah stared at it.
Noah:yeah
Marcus:liar
Marcus:but ok. let me know if you need anything
He pocketed it. The coffee maker beeped.
---
Clara arrived first. Twenty minutes later. Coat still on, bag over her shoulder, travel mug in hand.
"Morning."
"Morning."
She hung up her coat. Settled at her desk. Opened her laptop. Office sounds starting—keyboard clicks, mouse movements, her mug being set down.
Elias came in ten minutes after. Same routine. Coat, bag, coffee, desk.
"Morning."
"Morning."
They worked in comfortable silence for a while. Noah pulled up the presentation file. Reviewed slides. Made a note about the third quarter projections. Another about market analysis.
His mind wandered.
Wednesday. The bar. Atlas leaning close, breath near his ear. That moment in the elevator when their fingers had touched and everything else disappeared.
"Hey."
Noah glanced up.
Clara was standing at the coffee maker. Watching him. "You've been really in your head the past couple days."
His hand stopped on his mouse.
Elias swiveled in his chair. "Is it obvious?"
"Little bit," Clara said. Gentle.
Noah swallowed. "Yeah. I guess—yeah."
Elias stood. Walked over. Put his hand on Noah's shoulder—heavy, real pressure through his shirt. "Is there anything we can do?"
Noah glanced between them. Clara with her coffee, expression open, concerned. Elias with his hand still there, grounding.
These people who'd sat with him through the worst weeks. Who'd made bad jokes and bought him lunch and let him be quiet when he needed quiet and talked when he needed talking.
"No. I—" Stopped. Started over. "How do you apologize when you know you were wrong?"
Clara set her mug down. Came over. Leaned against the desk beside him.
Elias didn't move his hand.
They glanced at each other. Silent conversation Noah wasn't part of.
Then Elias spoke. Genuine, careful. "You tell them what you feel. Honest. No script."
Noah shook his head. "I don't know if I should even—what if it sounds stupid? What if—"
"It's not stupid," Elias said. "Stupid is staying quiet when you know you need to speak."
"But it's been so long. Weeks. What am I supposed to say? Walk up and say 'I'm sorry'?"
"Yeah." Elias squeezed his shoulder once. "Sometimes one sentence is enough."
"What if they don't forgive me?"
Silence. Clara and Elias exchanged another glance.
Then Elias said, "Even if they don't, it'll help you. Apologies aren't always for the other person. Sometimes they're for yourself."
Noah's chest ached. Vision blurred. He blinked hard.
"I'm scared."
"Good." Elias didn't waver. Certain. "If you're scared, it's probably the right thing. The things you're not scared of—those usually don't matter."
Clara shifted beside him. "If you know you were wrong, don't wait."
Noah met her gaze.
She didn't look away. "Don't put it off."
"It's hard."
"Yeah." She reached over. Put her hand on his back. Light pressure. "If it was easy, everyone would do it."
Elias added, "What matters is doing your best. Then letting it go. You can't control how they respond. You can only control what you say."
They stood there. The three of them. Office quiet around them except for the hum of computers, the distant sound of elevator doors, someone's phone ringing down the hall.
Then Clara smiled. Real. "Come on. Let's work."
---
The presentation meeting started at eleven.
They walked in together. Conference room on forty-five, floor-to-ceiling windows, long table, senior management already seated.
Noah set up the laptop. Pulled up slides. Took his seat between Clara and Elias.
They walked through everything. Market analysis. Growth projections. Risk assessment. Q4 targets. Noah spoke when it was his turn, heard his voice come out level, professional, like someone who had their shit together.
Someone asked about European expansion. Clara fielded it.
Someone else asked about vendor contracts. Elias answered.
Someone asked Noah about data methodology. He explained. Used the laser pointer. Referenced slide seven. Saw heads nod.
It went well. Smooth. Professional.
By the time they finished, the windows were almost darker. Afternoon bleeding into evening.
They walked back to the office together. Noah's shoulders were tight. He rolled them back, heard a crack.
"God," Elias said. "We didn't even stop for lunch."
"That meeting was endless," Clara said. Then turned to Noah. Studied him. "Did you decide?"
Noah blinked. "Decide what?"
Elias smiled. Said nothing.
They got to the office. Grabbed their things. Coats, bags, phones.
Outside, the air was cold. Sharp. Noah's breath fogged.
"You want to get a drink?" Clara asked. Casual. But watching his face.
Noah hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
---
They found a place two blocks over. Dark wood, low lighting, not too crowded for a Friday evening. Slid into a booth near the back.
Ordered beers. Ordered food—fries, wings, absorb-the-alcohol food.
Talked about the meeting. How it went. Who asked what. Whether they'd get approval.
Safe topics. Work topics.
Clara and Elias kept glancing at him. Not obviously. Checking in without words.
The beers came. Noah wrapped his hand around the cold glass. Condensation wet against his palm.
They ate. Talked. The bar filled up around them. Happy hour crowd. People loosening ties, laughing too loud, phones out taking pictures.
After a while, Clara set down her beer. Leaned forward. "Don't put it off."
Noah met her gaze.
She didn't blink. "Whatever you're planning to do. Don't overthink it."
He exhaled slow.
They finished their beers. Split the check. Left.
Outside, they hugged. Clara first, her arms tight around him, her chin on his shoulder. "You got this," she said. Quiet. For him alone.
Elias next. Longer hug. His hand on the back of Noah's head. "Let it go. You'll be okay."
Then they separated. Clara and Elias walking toward the subway. Noah walking toward his car.
---
He sat in the driver's seat. Didn't start the engine yet.
Phone in his hand. He didn't remember taking it out.
The clock on the dash said 8:04.
He unlocked his phone. Opened messages. Found Atlas's name.
Stared at it.
Thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Started typing.
I wanted to—
Deleted it.
Started again.
Can we—
Deleted it.
The shake in his hands wouldn't stop. He pressed them against his thighs.
Just fucking send it.
He typed: If you're free tonight, can we talk?
Stared at it. Cursor blinking at the end.
Hit send before he could change his mind.
Watched the screen.
Delivered.
Then: Read.
His heart kicked up. Blood pounding in his ears.
Nothing.
Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
He doesn't want to see me. He's done. He's—
Three dots appeared at the bottom.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Noah forgot to breathe.
The dots pulsed. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then:
Atlas:I'm at the boat. You can come here if you want. Or we can meet somewhere else.
Noah stared at the message.
Read it again.
His ribs expanded. He could breathe again. The tightness that had been there all day—weeks—loosened.
Hands still shaking when he typed back.
Noah:I'll come there.
Sent it.
Watched it deliver. Watched it change to Read.
Then:
Atlas:Okay.
Noah set his phone in the cup holder. Started the car.
Gripped the steering wheel. Needed the solidity. The realness of it under his palms.
He pulled out of the parking spot.
Drove.
Didn't let himself think. Focused on the road. White lines. Red lights. Turn signals. The mechanical parts of driving that didn't require emotion.
The marina was thirty minutes away.
He'd be there in twenty.