Lydia walked into the kitchen and dropped into the chair by the island. "What's on the menu?"
Atlas was at the counter slicing a lemon. "Shrimp, salmon, roasted potatoes, salad." He looked up. "Anything you want added?"
Lydia grinned. "Sounds good."
Noah was at the sink peeling shrimp. Water ran over his hands. Atlas moved past him to grab the cutting board.
Their hips bumped.
Noah's hands stilled for half a second.
Atlas grabbed the board and stepped back. His pinky finger dragged across Noah's wrist as he pulled away.
Lydia scooped up Sunny from under the table. "Emily went on a date last week. Disaster."
"Yeah?" Noah kept peeling. His shoulders relaxed just slightly.
"The guy paid the bill—nice, right? Then immediately goes—" Lydia put on a deep voice. "I'm a feminist. Women should pay too."
Atlas snorted. He started dicing potatoes into uniform cubes. "After he already paid?"
"After! Like he wanted credit for being cheap."
Noah turned around wiping his hands. "Equality as cover for being cheap. That's new." He leaned against the counter beside Atlas. Their elbows touched.
Atlas didn't move away. Kept dicing.
"Right?" Lydia shifted Sunny. "And then—get this—he says his ex is still his best friend."
Noah pulled lettuce from the fridge. "Oh no."
"What's wrong with that?" Atlas asked, tossing the potato cubes into a bowl.
"Everything," Noah said. "If the ex is the 'best friend', they still text—too much."
Atlas drizzled olive oil over the potatoes. "Or they're on a break but nobody said it out loud yet." He glanced sideways at Noah. A quick look. Gone in a second.
Noah caught it. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Exactly!" Lydia leaned forward. "So that's a red flag, right?"
Atlas spread the potatoes on a baking sheet. "That's not a red flag. That's a flashing neon sign."
Noah laughed, tearing lettuce into a bowl. "With sirens."
"There's more," Lydia said. "He told her—I'm not a relationship person."
"On a date?" Atlas looked up. His hand rested on the counter. Noah's hand was three inches away, tearing lettuce.
Atlas's index finger moved. Once. Tapped the counter near Noah's knuckles.
Noah's tearing motion slowed for half a beat.
"On. A. Date," Lydia repeated.
Noah sliced a tomato. "What does that even mean?"
Atlas flicked water onto a pan. It sizzled. He added butter. "Means he won't text tomorrow."
"Basically solving a math problem that has no answer," Noah said.
Lydia grinned. "Oh! And people who say I don't like drama."
Atlas dropped salmon into the pan. "Anyone who announces that is the drama."
"Yes!" Lydia practically bounced. "They cause the problems but act shocked when—"
"When people react," Noah finished. He glanced at Atlas. "You sound like you've done research on this."
Atlas flipped the salmon. His free hand found the small of his own back, stretching. The motion lifted his shirt just slightly.
Noah's eyes dropped. Then back up. Fast.
Atlas caught it. His mouth curved.
"Just observation," Atlas said.
"Observation," Lydia repeated. "I bet you analyze people on dates."
Atlas shrugged. "First ten minutes, maybe."
Noah looked at him. "That's not normal."
Their eyes held. Atlas tilted his head just barely. A small challenge.
Noah's lips parted like he was about to say something. Didn't.
"Wait, so—" Lydia set Sunny down. "What's your red flag?"
Noah answered immediately. "Atlas being a control freak." But his voice was softer than the words. Almost fond.
"I prefer high standards," Atlas said, squeezing lemon over the salmon. He stepped closer to reach for the salt. His hand landed on Noah's hip as he moved past. Casual. Natural. Like he'd done it a thousand times.
Noah inhaled. Quiet. He could have stepped away. He didn't.
"High standards?" Lydia's eyebrows went up. "You literally twitch when someone uses the wrong olive oil."
Noah's breath evened out. "That's not high standards, that's a medical condition."
Atlas looked mock-offended. "I call it taste."
"You call it taste," Noah said. "Other people call it suffocating."
"They just weren't the right people," Atlas replied. He didn't look back but his shoulders relaxed. Open.
Noah snorted. "There it is. The confession."
"What about you?" Lydia asked Noah.
Noah added tomatoes to the salad. "I don't know... probably how I say nothing's wrong and then shut down." His hand rubbed the back of his neck. A tell.
Atlas saw it. Turned fully toward him.
"Oh my god, yes," Lydia said. "You're the I'm fine while having an internal crisis type."
"A little."
Atlas moved closer. One step. His voice dropped. "I noticed."
Noah felt his face warm. He focused on the tomatoes. But his free hand moved to the counter. Palm down. Fingers spread.
Atlas's hand came to rest beside it. Their pinkies overlapped.
Lydia was watching them. "The quiet red flags are the worst ones."
"What's yours then?" Atlas asked her, still not moving his hand.
"Patience. With the wrong people."
"Everyone's favorite mistake," Noah said quietly. His pinky curled slightly. Pressed into Atlas's.
Atlas pressed back.
"But if you're patient with the right person one day, it stops being a red flag," Atlas said.
Lydia took a sip of water. "Okay, that was weirdly romantic."
"Yeah, serious poet energy right now," Noah said. His voice had gone softer. Almost teasing.
"Men who get emotional while cooking are usually right," Atlas replied, plating the salmon. As he moved, his shoulder bumped Noah's. Deliberate this time.
Noah smiled into the salad bowl.
"Wait—" Lydia set her glass down. "People who say I'm not toxic. That's a huge one."
Noah brought the salad bowl to the table. "If you have to say you're not toxic..."
"You're probably immune to your own poison," Atlas finished. He opened the oven. Steam rose. He pulled out the potato tray from the rack below and started spooning them onto plates at the island counter.
Lydia grinned. "That's actually good."
Noah sat down at the table on the side facing the kitchen. "Better than the poet thing."
Atlas set a plate in front of Lydia at the head of the table. "Thank you for the review." He moved to get Noah's plate. His hand brushed Noah's lower back as he passed—fingers spreading for just a second. Almost a caress.
Noah's hand gripped the edge of the table.
Atlas grabbed the plate like nothing happened. But his ears were pink. He set it down in front of Noah, settling into the chair beside him.
"What about exes who won't stop talking about their ex?" Atlas asked.
"Oh god." Lydia stabbed a piece of lettuce. "Nobody should turn their past into a TED Talk."
"Especially the but they were different lines," Noah said.
"Yes! Those always end with but you're good too, like you're the backup."
Atlas's knee pressed against Noah's under the table. Then stayed there. Firm. Warm.
Noah didn't move away. Instead, his knee pressed back.
Atlas's fork paused halfway to his mouth. Then continued like nothing happened. But his jaw relaxed.
"Or worse," Atlas said, cutting into his salmon. "They understood me."
"Classic comparison," Noah muttered.
Lydia looked between them. "Did they break up with you via PowerPoint?"
Atlas's mouth curved. "Some got the explanation they deserved."
Noah shook his head, smiling.
"Constant criticism," Noah said after a moment. "Not helpful. Just... pointless. Eventually they're judging what you wear, how you laugh."
"Oh, I love your smile," Lydia said. "Who then disappear for three days and act like nothing happened."
Atlas's jaw tightened. "Criticism is usually about control. So is comparison." He paused. His hand moved under the table. Found Noah's knee. Squeezed once. "The moment you compare them to someone else, you've already crossed a line—sometimes the body follows, sometimes it's just the thought."
Noah's hand covered Atlas's under the table. Laced their fingers together where Lydia couldn't see.
The air felt heavier.
Their hands stayed locked.
"So even thinking about someone else is dangerous?" Lydia asked. "Then we're all screwed."
Noah's grip tightened. His thumb rubbed across Atlas's knuckles. "Not you. Your thoughts are too chaotic for that."
Lydia gave a mock smile. "Thanks?"
Atlas raised his glass with his free hand. "Chaotic people are honest at least."
"So I'm not a red flag," Lydia said. "Just honest chaos."
"That could be a podcast name," Noah said.
Lydia tilted her head. "Honest Chaos... I like that."
Noah looked at Atlas. "How many bad dates does it take to get this wise?"
Atlas smiled. "Just one... if it's bad enough."
He took a drink. Set his glass down. Their hands separated as he moved. "Someone once hid their partner's favorite coffee mug. Which category does that fall into?"
Noah's face went red. "That was an accident."
Lydia snapped her fingers. "Nostalgic obsession! But it doesn't count for you two—you're past that phase."
Atlas's hand landed on Noah's shoulder. His thumb moved once against the fabric. Then twice. A pattern Noah recognized.
Noah's fork paused. His eyes closed for half a second.
"What about people who always agree with you?" Atlas asked, his hand staying. "No matter what. Yes, you're so right, constantly."
Noah turned to Atlas. Their faces were inches apart. "So stop agreeing with me all the time."
Atlas took an exaggerated breath. "Okay. That shirt is a terrible color."
He winked.
Noah's stomach flipped.
Lydia burst out laughing. "Perfect. But the biggest one? People who don't read. Nico said he doesn't have time for books but watches TikTok for four hours."
Atlas nodded. "Then I'm safe. I read reports."
Noah shook his head. "Very romantic."
"At least he's passionate about something," Lydia said. She paused, fork in the air. "Oh—ex obsession. People still listening to their ex's playlists."
Atlas responded fast. "I don't listen to them." He looked at Noah. "Definitely not."
Noah gave him a look. "Incredibly convincing."
Lydia raised her hand. "This is why dating apps are nightmares! Either guys calling their moms constantly or guys stalking their ex's Instagram."
Atlas leaned closer to Noah. His voice dropped. "I never called your dad, right?" His breath brushed Noah's ear.
Noah swallowed. "No... but you talked about me at that business dinner."
Atlas's lips curved against Noah's temple. Not quite a kiss. Just close.
Lydia snapped her fingers. "Family criticism! Huge red flag!" She smiled. "But yours turned into a green flag."
She was watching them. Really watching.
Atlas's hand slid from Noah's shoulder to his waist. His fingers pressed into Noah's side. Possessive but gentle.
Noah's hand found Atlas's thigh under the table. Rested there.
Atlas's breath hitched. His hand tightened on Noah's waist.
"What's a green flag?" Atlas asked, voice slightly strained.
Noah's voice came out quieter than he meant. "Learning to cook." His fingers curled slightly. "Listening to your sister's ridiculous date stories."
Lydia grinned. "There it is. You guys are too sweet. Boring, but sweet."
She paused. "Actually... you're not boring. You're disgustingly in sync."
Noah coughed into his water glass. His hand retreated from Atlas's thigh.
Atlas's hand stayed on Noah's waist. Didn't let go.
The kitchen went quiet except for the oven ticking. Sunny snored softly.
Lydia sighed. "I went out with Jamie last week."
"Jamie?" Noah rolled his eyes. Atlas's thumb rubbed a slow circle on his side through his shirt. Noah cleared his throat. "Instagram Jamie?"
"Yes! We went to the movies. Normal, right? We leave, and he goes—Dating you raises my social status. Then laughed."
"He actually said that?" Atlas kept cutting his salmon, voice calm.
"Word for word."
"Did he even see you?" Atlas asked. "Or did he just want an accessory?"
Lydia blinked. "Wow... that's actually really accurate."
Atlas shrugged. "If someone uses you to look a certain way instead of actually being with you, they're not dating you. They're dating their own reflection."
Noah looked at him. Atlas's hand shifted on his waist. Pulled him closer. Just an inch.
Noah's chair scraped slightly against the floor.
"Where'd you learn that?" Noah asked softly.
Atlas glanced at him. Their noses almost touched. "Bad parties."
"Okay, I need more," Lydia said. "What are other ones?"
Atlas's hand finally left Noah's waist. Noah immediately felt the absence.
"If they're looking at their phone while you're talking, they're on a date with their notifications, not you."
Lydia nodded. "Note: phone equals no."
"If they call your friends over-emotional or too dramatic..." Atlas paused. "One day they'll dismiss your feelings the same way."
"That's true," Noah said quietly.
Lydia went serious. "I need to remember this stuff."
Atlas pulled more potatoes from the oven. "And if they don't hear you say no—no matter how nicely you say it—they don't want to respect your boundaries. They want to control you."
Lydia was quiet.
Noah touched her shoulder. "You're valuable, Lyd. Saying no to anything that makes you feel small takes courage. But you have that."
Lydia smiled. "Thanks... but you guys got scary. Make it funny again."
Atlas paused. Then said completely seriously, "If someone brings an ideal partner checklist to the first date, they're probably kissing an Excel file, not you."
Lydia burst out laughing. "What? That actually happens?"
"I've heard stories," Atlas said.
Lydia was still laughing. "Wait—Excel file. That's genius." She pulled out her phone, typing quickly. "I'm writing this down. This needs to be my podcast name."
"Your what?" Noah asked.
"My podcast! About dating disasters." Lydia's thumbs flew across the screen. "Honest Chaos—Episode One: Exes, Egos, and Excel Sheets."
Noah grinned. "That's actually perfect."
Atlas raised his glass. "I want credit."
"Absolutely not," Lydia said. "This is mine now."
She put her hands over her ears. "Okay, food's ready! No more red flags!"
The kitchen settled around them—oven ticking, Sunny snoring, the plate steam fogging Lydia's glasses.
Noah reached for the bread basket. His hand collided with Atlas's.
They both froze.
Atlas's fingers curled around Noah's. Held them. His thumb brushed across Noah's knuckles. Once. Twice.
Noah's breath stopped.
Atlas leaned in. His lips brushed Noah's ear. Barely a whisper. "Later."
Then he let go.
Lydia was looking at her plate. Smiling into her food.
The kitchen felt warm. Too warm maybe.
Noah's hand was still suspended over the bread basket. Trembling slightly.
Atlas picked up a piece of bread. Handed it to him. Their fingers touched again.
This time Noah took it. His fingers lingered against Atlas's.
"Thanks," Noah murmured.
Atlas's eyes were dark. "Anytime."
Lydia coughed. "Okay. You two need to get a room."
"We have a room," Atlas said, not looking away from Noah.
"Several actually," Noah added.
"Disgusting," Lydia said. But she was grinning.
None of them moved to leave.