Monday
Noah woke wrapped in Atlas's arms.
He didn't move. Just watched the light filter through the curtains, felt Atlas's chest rise and fall against his back. Luna was curled at their feet, but Sunny was missing.
Carefully, he slipped out. Atlas's arm fell across the empty space, fingers curling into the sheets.
Noah found Sunny downstairs demolishing her breakfast. She looked up, tail going wild, kibble stuck to her nose.
"Morning, chaos," he murmured, clipping on her leash.
The park was empty. November cold bit through his jacket. Sunny investigated every frozen leaf while Noah's mind drifted to the budget meeting.
His shoulders pulled tight.
Just get through it.
Back home, the house was still quiet. He showered, letting hot water beat against his neck. Put on his charcoal suit—the one Atlas called his "boardroom armor."
In the kitchen, he started coffee. The machine hissed. Eggs sizzled in the pan.
Footsteps upstairs. He climbed back up and found Atlas still in bed, eyes closed but awake—that particular stillness that meant he was listening.
Noah kissed his cheek. "Morning, love."
Atlas's mouth curved without opening his eyes. "You smell good."
"It's just soap."
"Mm." Atlas caught his wrist and pulled him down for a proper kiss. His hand slid into Noah's hair, messing what he'd just fixed.
"Atlas—"
"What?" Another kiss, slower. "You look—fuck, this suit."
Heat spread through Noah's stomach. "I have to—breakfast—"
"It can wait."
"It'll burn."
Atlas released him reluctantly. "What time?"
"Two-thirty."
Atlas's eyes opened then. Dark. Calculating. "Both of them?"
"Yeah."
Silence stretched. Atlas sat up, sheets pooling at his waist. "Come here."
"The eggs—"
"Noah."
Noah went. Let Atlas pull him close, forehead to forehead.
"We'll handle it," Atlas murmured.
"I know."
"Together."
"I—yeah. Together."
---
Lydia appeared in pajamas, hair a mess. "You're back!"
She hugged Noah tight. He hugged back and noticed she smelled like cologne that wasn't hers.
"Good weekend?" he asked carefully.
"Few friends came over." Her smile was too bright. "Nothing crazy."
Sure, Lyd.
Atlas wore a navy wool suit layered over a white dress shirt and a cashmere overcoat. A dark silk tie, polished brown oxfords, and a classic wristwatch completed the look.
They ate mostly in silence. Atlas's thigh pressed against Noah's under the table. Every few minutes, his thumb would stroke Noah's knee. Small circles. Steady.
"See you tonight," Noah said to Lydia.
In the garage, Noah turned and pushed Atlas against his car. Kissed him hard, desperate, fingers twisted in his sweater.
"Jesus," Atlas breathed when they broke apart. "What—"
"See you at the meeting."
Atlas caught his wrist. "Noah—"
But Noah was already walking away.
---
Office
Clara had coffee ready. Elias was dissecting a croissant with surgical precision.
"Good weekend?" Clara asked.
"Yeah. Good."
"You're glowing," Elias observed. "It's unsettling."
Noah flipped him off, smiling.
He dove into reports. Numbers blurred. His phone buzzed.
Atlas:miss you
Noah stared at the screen. Typed back.
Noah:miss you too
Lunch came. Clara and Elias left. Noah stayed, reviewing quarterly projections.
The variance model looked...
No.
He checked again. Four-point deviation. The vendor data had duplicated. Three days old.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
His hands stayed steady as he noted the error. Fixed what he could. But the original report had already circulated to the board.
---
Sterlins Holdings - Boardroom - 2:30 PM
The boardroom smelled like leather and old money. Manhattan stretched beyond the windows, indifferent.
Noah entered first. Chose his seat. Middle of the table, direct sightline to the presentation screen.
Voices in the hallway. His father's laugh—that particular one that preceded executions.
Atlas walked in flanked by both fathers. Their eyes met for a heartbeat. Atlas's jaw was set, fingers drumming once against his thigh before stilling.
Thomas Wellin, Noah's father, took the head of the table. Didn't sit—stood behind the chair, hands resting on its back. Richard Sterlins sat opposite, already reviewing papers, glasses perched low.
"Shall we?" Thomas's tone was mild. Dangerous.
The CFO pulled up projections. Green lines, clean margins. Then—
"This quarter shows an interesting deviation." The CFO's voice wavered slightly.
Thomas tilted his head. Just that. The CFO's hands fumbled with the clicker.
"Four points. In the secondary investment branch."
"Interesting," Richard said softly. He removed his glasses and cleaned them with deliberate slowness. "How did we miss this?"
"The variance model was... adjusted."
"By?"
"Mr. Noah signed off."
Every head turned. Noah felt Atlas shift beside him—his knee pressed against Noah's under the table. Brief. Warning.
"The vendor data duplicated," Noah said. Voice steady. "Tuesday's subset integrated twice."
Richard put his glasses back on. "And this escaped notice for...?"
"Three days."
A pen clicked. Someone shifted papers. The silence stretched.
"I caught it in reconciliation this morning," Atlas said.
Richard's gaze shifted to his son. "Did you."
Not a question.
Thomas finally sat. Slow. Deliberate. "External exposure?"
"Core board only," the CFO rushed to say. "Nothing public."
"How fortunate." Thomas's fingers drummed once on the table. "For all of us."
Noah's father looked at him then. Really looked. Noah held his gaze, didn't flinch.
"It's been corrected," Noah said.
"Has it." Again, not a question. Richard folded his hands. "The numbers, perhaps."
The unspoken hung heavy: But not the impression.
"Gentlemen." Thomas stood. "Perhaps we should continue privately."
People filed out quickly, quietly. Nobody made eye contact.
Four remained.
---
Private Meeting Room
The door clicked shut.
Thomas walked to the window. Hands clasped behind his back. Richard stayed seated, studying his hands.
"This is..." Thomas paused, choosing words like weapons. "Disappointing."
Noah's stomach dropped but his face stayed neutral.
"The team should have—" Atlas started.
"Atlas." Richard didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to.
Atlas's mouth shut but his body angled toward Noah. Protective.
"The model was mine," Noah said. "The oversight was mine."
"Yes," Thomas agreed mildly. "It was."
Richard leaned back. "Your generation seems to think mistakes at this level are... learning opportunities."
"With respect—" Atlas's voice was controlled but Noah heard the edge.
"You're going to tell me," Richard continued as if Atlas hadn't spoken, "that the error's been fixed. That protocols are now in place." He smiled thinly. "How modern."
Thomas turned from the window. "The Morrison acquisition depends on our numbers being... unimpeachable."
"They are," Noah said.
"Were." Thomas corrected. "Past tense has significance here."
Atlas's hand curled into a fist on the table. "The correction was immediate—"
"Immediate." Richard tasted the word. "Three days late is immediate?"
"Dad—"
"You're defending him." Not accusation. Observation.
"I'm stating facts."
"No," Richard said softly. "You're proving my point."
The air went thick. Atlas and his father locked eyes. Something old and bitter passed between them.
"Perhaps," Thomas interrupted smoothly, "we should focus on ensuring this... anomaly... remains singular."
"Of course." Richard stood and straightened his jacket. "I trust we're all in agreement about that necessity."
It wasn't a question.
---
They walked out side by side. Atlas's eyes kept finding Noah, but Noah watched the floor—the marble pattern, the scuff marks, anything but Atlas's face.
At the elevator, Atlas moved closer. His fingers brushed Noah's knuckles. Just a graze. Noah didn't pull away but didn't acknowledge it either. His reflection in the steel doors looked hollow.
The parking garage echoed their footsteps. Noah's breathing was too controlled—the way it got when he was holding everything in. Atlas's hand twitched toward him twice before dropping.
In the car, Atlas turned to him. Noah was already looking out the window.
Atlas took his hand anyway. Laced their fingers. Noah's grip stayed limp for three blocks, then tightened. Just once. A squeeze that said I'm here or maybe I can't or maybe both.
The drive stretched. Buildings blurred past. Atlas's thumb moved against Noah's palm—small circles, steady rhythm. Noah watched the city and let him.
---
The living room felt too quiet. Sunny bounded over, tail wagging. Luna followed more cautiously, sensing the mood.
Atlas pulled Noah against him. No words. Just arms coming around him, chin resting on his head.
Noah stood rigid for a moment. Then melted. His forehead dropped to Atlas's shoulder.
Atlas kissed his forehead. Gentle. Noah turned his face, lips finding Atlas's jaw. Not quite a kiss. Just contact.
Atlas's hand moved up and down Noah's back. Slow. Rhythmic. Like he was trying to smooth out the tension living under Noah's skin.
"You held it together." Atlas's voice was barely there.
"Barely."
"You shouldn't have taken all of it."
"I did though."
"You didn't have to."
Noah's fingers curled in Atlas's shirt. "I know."
Atlas pulled back enough to rest his forehead against Noah's. "Then why?"
"Because it was mine to take."
The quiet stretched. Atlas's breathing changed—deeper, like he was swallowing words.
"You can't keep doing that."
"And you can't keep—" Noah's voice caught. "In front of them. You can't keep defending me like that."
"That's what partners do."
"Not in boardrooms. Not with them watching."
Atlas's mouth quirked. Tired. Fond. "That's exactly where I do it."
Noah lifted his head. His eyes were bright but clear. "You don't need to save me."
"I'm not—"
"Just... stand with me. That's all."
Atlas's fingers found Noah's jaw. Tilted his face up. "I always do."
Noah's throat worked. Atlas leaned down, kissed him properly. Soft. Careful. Like Noah might shatter.
Neither spoke after.
Atlas left him on the couch. Noah heard water running in the kitchen. Glass clinking.
He came back with two waters. Handed one over. Didn't sit. Just stood there, watching Noah drink.
"You're still angry," Noah said to the glass.
"No." Atlas's voice was quiet. "I'm proud."
Noah's gaze flicked up, then away. "For what?"
"For standing there. Taking it. Not breaking in front of them."
Noah's mouth twisted. "I broke. Just... quietly."
Atlas set Noah's water on the table. Sat down, pulled Noah back against him.
"Then break here."
Noah's hands found Atlas's arms wrapped around him. His breathing slowed, syncing with Atlas's.
They didn't talk. Sunny wedged herself between the couch and coffee table. Luna curled at their feet. The light outside shifted from afternoon to evening.
Noah's weight gradually settled into Atlas. Real. Solid. Here.
"I hate them sometimes," Noah whispered eventually.
Atlas's arms tightened. "I know."
"They looked at us like—"
"I know."
Noah turned his face into Atlas's neck. Breathed him in. "This is worth it though."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Atlas pressed a kiss to his temple. "Good."
They stayed like that. No more words. Just breathing. Existing in the same space. Together.
---
They shed their clothes in silence. Suits left in careful piles. The armor they wore in boardrooms.
Noah climbed into bed first. Atlas followed and pulled him close.
They lay there. Face to face. Just looking at each other.
Atlas's hand moved up Noah's side. Over his ribs. His shoulder. Into his hair.
Noah leaned in and kissed him. Gentle.
Atlas responded immediately. His hand tightened in Noah's hair. The kiss deepened.
They moved together. Slow. Deliberate. Relearning each other after the day's chaos.
Noah's leg hooked over Atlas's hip. Atlas rolled them so Noah was beneath him.
"Okay?" Atlas asked quietly.
"Yeah."
Atlas kissed him again. Then his jaw. His neck. Down his chest.
Noah's breath caught. His hands slid into Atlas's hair.
They took their time. No urgency. Just the need to be close. To remember this was real when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
Noah's hands came up to frame Atlas's face. "I love you."
Atlas's eyes closed. "I love you too."
They moved together. Slow and steady. Atlas's forehead pressed to Noah's. Their breathing synced.
"We're okay," Noah murmured. "We're okay."
Atlas nodded. Couldn't speak.
When they finished, they stayed connected. Neither wanting to let go yet.
Noah pressed his face into Atlas's neck and breathed him in.
"I meant it," Noah said quietly. "Fuck what they think."
Atlas's arms tightened. "I know."
"Your father—"
"Is ashamed of me." Atlas's voice was matter-of-fact. "Has been for a while. This just confirms it."
Noah lifted his head. "Atlas—"
"It's fine." But his eyes were too bright. "I'm used to it."
"It's not fine."
Atlas looked at him. "No. But it's true."
Noah kissed him. Soft. Then again. And again. Until Atlas finally relaxed into it.
"I've got you," Noah said against his mouth.
Atlas made a sound. Broken. Relieved.
He pulled Noah impossibly closer. Like he was trying to crawl inside him. Like if he held on tight enough, nothing else could touch them.
They fell asleep like that. Tangled together. Sunny and Luna curled at their feet.
Outside, the city hummed. Inside, they held each other and pretended the world couldn't reach them here.
For tonight, that was enough.