Tuesday
Noah woke to Atlas's fingers moving through his hair.
Blinked up. Atlas's eyes were shut but his hand kept that slow drag—root to tip, root to tip.
Noah pressed his mouth to Atlas's cheekbone. "Morning, love."
"Love."
Atlas's lips curved. Drew Noah down by the jaw, kissed him—tongue sliding deep, taking time.
Noah's hands twisted in the sheets. Atlas's palm slid up his back, heat spreading through thin cotton.
"What're you thinking?" Noah's words came muffled.
"Nothing." Atlas's grip tightened. "Absolutely nothing."
Sunny shoved between them—wet nose, aggressive tongue.
They broke apart laughing. Luna's meow cut through from the doorway.
Noah scooped her up, rubbed his nose against her head. "Jealous, baby? Can't leave you out."
"I'll take Sunny out." Noah started sitting up.
Atlas caught his wrist. "Both of us."
---
They walked with hoods up. Sunny yanked ahead at every frozen leaf.
Noah slipped his hand into Atlas's pocket. Their fingers tangled.
"It's freezing."
"It's November." Atlas's grip tightened.
They walked without talking. The space between them felt crowded—his father's voice echoing, the boardroom's silence, Richard's face.
"You doing better?" Noah finally asked.
Atlas stopped. Turned, drew Noah close by his hood strings, their foreheads pressing together. "Are you?"
"When you're here." Noah's breath ghosted against Atlas's mouth. "Yeah."
Atlas kissed his forehead—stayed there, lips against skin.
"We'll be better. Yeah?"
Noah nodded against him. "Yeah."
---
Back home. Noah filled the dogs' bowls.
Atlas appeared behind him—arms sliding around his waist, mouth dragging up his neck.
"Shower?" Voice rough, smiling against Noah's skin.
Noah turned. Bit his shoulder through fabric. "You planning something?"
"Always."
They stumbled upstairs—tried to climb still wrapped together, laughing—"This is stupid"—"So stupid"—neither letting go.
In the shower, Atlas backed Noah against tile and kissed him like he was starving. Noah's hands yanked at Atlas's hair, dragging him closer, closer—
When they broke apart, water streaming between them, neither could breathe properly.
Noah grinned, eyes dark. "You're insane."
Atlas bit down on his earlobe. Hard. "You love it."
"I could behave." Noah's voice was wrecked. "If you really wanted."
"Absolutely fucking not." Atlas kissed him again—slower, filthier.
They stood there after, heads together. Water beating their backs.
---
Noah pulled on his black suit. Atlas was buttoning his shirt—white, crisp.
Noah reached over, took over the buttons. Kept his eyes down. Lasted three seconds before looking up.
Atlas caught him staring. "What're you thinking?"
"Nothing." Then he was kissing Atlas—graceless, urgent, his tie getting crushed between them.
Atlas made a rough sound. "Fuck, you—"
Noah stepped back. Straightened his tie. Winked. "Ready?"
---
Downstairs. Lydia burst through the kitchen door. "Morning!"
"Morning." They said it together.
Lydia stopped. Squinted at them. "How are you this energetic?"
Atlas and Noah made eye contact. Started laughing.
"Why are you laughing?" Lydia's hands went to her hips.
They didn't answer.
Breakfast—Atlas's palm on Noah's thigh under the table, thumb drawing circles. Noah leaning into him every few minutes.
"You two are disgusting," Lydia observed around a mouthful of eggs.
They smiled into their coffee.
"We're heading out." Noah kissed her head. "See you tonight."
---
The garage. Both their phones buzzed.
Noah reached for his. His hand stopped mid-air.
Thomas:See me in my office at nine. Bring yesterday's report.
Atlas's phone lit up beside him.
Richard:My office. Ten sharp. Don't be late.
Atlas's whole body locked—shoulders yanked up, jaw clenched. Noah's hand on his arm felt muscle turn to stone.
"Your dad?" Noah asked carefully.
"Yeah." The word came out flat. Dead. He turned his phone screen toward Noah.
Noah read it. Showed Atlas his own.
They stood there. Breath fogging between them in the cold.
Noah kissed Atlas's cheek—soft, deliberate. "Please don't defend me. In there. Don't—" His voice cracked. "Don't try to protect me."
Atlas looked at him. His mouth stayed closed but Noah saw the answer in his eyes—the set of his jaw, his shoulders squaring.
He's going to do it. And I can't stop him.
Noah gathered him close, face buried in Atlas's neck. "Please. Just stay calm. Don't get involved."
Atlas's arms came around him but his body stayed wire-tight. "You want me quiet."
"The responsibility's mine."
"And you want me to just—" Atlas's breath hitched. "Then protect yourself. Not me."
Noah stepped back. Tried for a smile—didn't quite make it. "Hell, blame me. Call me unprofessional if you have to. Whatever keeps you safe."
Atlas moved away. His hands curled into fists, shaking slightly.
"Noah—"
"I don't want you getting hurt because of this." Noah's voice turned urgent, almost pleading. "You can't keep—you're sacrificing yourself."
"I'm taking responsibility." Atlas's jaw worked. "There's a difference."
Atlas kissed his forehead—hard, brief. "We need to go."
He walked to his car. Engine roared. Gravel scattered as he drove out fast.
Noah stood there. Watched taillights disappear.
He won't back down. He never does. And Richard's going to tear him apart for it.
Noah got in his car. Gripped the wheel hard enough his knuckles went white.
How do I keep him out of this?
But Atlas didn't know how to not defend what he loved. Never had.
Noah drove. His father's voice echoed—You let him. The boardroom's weighted silence. Richard's cold assessment. The way everyone's eyes had tracked their every movement.
His chest got tight. Tighter.
He cracked the windows. Cold air slapped his face.
Breathe. Just breathe.
At the building, he walked past his office without stopping. Straight to the elevator. Executive floor.
His reflection in the steel doors looked hollow—purple shadows under his eyes, mouth a thin line.
---
WELLIN HOLDINGS – THOMAS'S OFFICE – 9:00 AM
Morning light cut through floor-to-ceiling windows—sharp, cold.
The city sprawled below. Distant. Indifferent.
Thomas stood at the glass. Jacket hung up, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Yesterday's report sat on his desk like evidence at a trial.
Noah entered. Thomas didn't turn.
"Close the door."
Noah did. The click echoed.
"Did you sleep?"
"Some."
"It shows." Thomas finally turned. Two fingers gestured at a chair. "Sit."
Noah sat. His spine straight, shoulders back, but purple shadows lived under his eyes.
Thomas moved around the desk—slow, deliberate. Picked up the report. Let paper rustle in the quiet.
"Four-point deviation. Three days unnoticed." He set it down. Palm flat on top. "Three days. Mistakes don't survive that long here, Noah."
"I caught it. It's corrected."
"You caught it." Thomas leaned against the desk edge, arms crossed. "But Atlas caught it first. And defended you. At that table. In front of everyone."
The word defended twisted coming out. Like it tasted bad.
"A Sterlins protected you publicly." Thomas's eyes didn't blink. Didn't soften. "And you allowed it."
Noah's knuckles locked together. White. His face stayed blank.
"He didn't protect anyone. He stated a fact."
"Facts are weakness." Thomas pushed off the desk. "In our world, truth doesn't matter. Confidence does. Yesterday, we lost confidence."
Silence. Noah held his father's stare.
"The report was my responsibility."
"Atlas knew that. Spoke anyway because—"
"—because he's emotional. And you've grown comfortable with it."
Thomas circled the desk. Disappeared behind Noah's chair.
Noah's nails bit into his palm. Every nerve screamed turn around. He didn't.
"In this family, you owe no one, Noah." Thomas's voice came from behind his head. Close. Too close. "Especially not a Sterlins."
"I don't owe anyone." Noah kept his voice level. Barely. "But I'm grateful."
"Grateful." A pause. Weight in it. "Interesting choice. You'll learn—gratitude today becomes apology tomorrow."
Noah's jaw tightened. He didn't respond.
Thomas circled back into view. "His protection humiliated you. He doesn't understand that. But you should have."
"Maybe it wasn't about looking weak. Maybe it was about standing up."
Thomas's face did something strange—his mouth shifted, but his knuckles were white on the desk edge. "Don't bring your romantic delusions into this building. The world doesn't write poetry for the indebted, Noah."
"The world also swallows people who stay silent."
Silence stretched. Thomas's palm hit the desk once—sharp, final.
"Atlas is weakening you. Distracting you. And when you lose control—and you will—they won't blame you. They'll blame him."
"I can't let anyone carry my blame. This mistake was mine. If someone was going to stand at that table, it should've been me alone."
Thomas's voice dropped to almost-whisper. "And he protected you anyway. Why?"
Noah looked up. Met his father's eyes without flinching. "He gets me. That's—" His throat worked. "That's everything."
For one second—one heartbeat—Thomas's face softened. Then froze completely. Glacial.
"Understanding won't save you. Respect will. And respect grows from fear, not feeling."
Another silence. Thomas turned back to the windows. Hands clasped behind his back.
"Next board meeting, you go alone. You present. And I don't hear about this again."
Noah stood. Adjusted his tie. Watched his father's back—rigid, unmoving.
"If you don't hear about it, then I finally did something right."
Thomas didn't turn.
Noah left.
The door closed.
Thomas stayed at the window. Stared at his own reflection—powerful, graying. But his hand trembled before he clasped it behind his back again.
He didn't move for thirty seconds. Just stood there. Alone.
---
STERLINS HOLDINGS – RICHARD'S OFFICE – 10:00 AM
Dark wood panels. The kind of quiet that pressed against eardrums.
Richard sat at his desk, pen in hand. Every movement deliberate—pen rotating, tap, rotate, tap. Always the same rhythm.
Atlas shut the door. Stood straight—spine rigid, chin level. Military bearing his father had drilled in since childhood.
"Close the door."
It clicked. Richard didn't look up from his papers.
"Yesterday's events..." He paused, choosing words like weapons. "Weren't pleasant. A Wellin errors, a Sterlins defends. Curious optics."
Atlas kept his mouth shut. Richard set down his pen—precisely centered on the desk. Steepled his hands.
"Speak plainly. What were you thinking?"
"That the report was being misread. Needed clarification, not execution."
"And that was your job? Defending him fell under your responsibilities?"
Atlas kept his voice low. Controlled. "I didn't defend. I clarified. The distinction matters."
"The distinction exists only in your head. Everyone else saw emotion."
Atlas tapped the armrest once. Quick. Restless. "Not emotion. Justice. There was an error. I corrected it. Does accuracy still mean anything here?"
Richard leaned back. Laughed—short, cold, dismissive. "Accuracy? Accuracy isn't a virtue. It's leverage. You use it when useful. Forget it when it's not."
"And trust? Is that disposable too?"
Richard paused. The question landed wrong—his pupils contracted slightly, hand twitching toward the desk edge.
"Trust is a luxury for winners. An excuse for losers."
"Maybe someone should try trusting before they win."
Richard's pen hit the desk. Loud in the quiet. "If I were you, I'd keep that idealism somewhere private. In this family, trust starts and ends with our name."
"Your name gave me everything." Atlas's jaw worked, muscle jumping. "Never made me feel like I earned any of it."
Richard's eyes sharpened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning sometimes doing right and belonging aren't compatible."
Richard stood—slow, deliberate. Came around the desk. "This belonging concern. Where's that coming from? Do I need to remind you where you belong?"
"No. I just want to see where I actually stand."
Richard moved closer. His voice dropped. "That boy is changing you."
"Maybe that's why I'm with him." Atlas met his stare without blinking. "He actually sees me. Not your version."
Richard's jaw clenched. Something flickered across his face—his breath caught slightly, hand curling at his side.
"Being seen is weakness. In this world, invisibility is power."
"In your world." Atlas spoke quietly but every word landed hard. "Not mine."
The clock ticked. Richard picked up his pen—precise, controlled. Didn't look at Atlas.
"If you want to stay a Sterlins by end of day, make this a mistake. Not a pattern."
Atlas was quiet. Then: "Trust isn't habit, Dad. It's earned. And he earned it."
Richard looked up. Really looked at his son—held his gaze for five seconds without speaking.
"Then I hope you're equipped for loss."
Atlas held his gaze. "As much as you are."
Silence.
Richard turned to the window.
Atlas walked out.
Richard stayed—alone, staring at his reflection. His hand trembled before he shoved it in his pocket.
"As much as me..." His voice barely made sound. "God, I hope not."
The door closed softly.
---
Noah went to the bathroom. Ran cold water, splashed his face. Gripped the sink edge hard enough the porcelain bit into his palms.
Looked at himself in the mirror.
Smiled.
I actually said it. Didn't just think it—said it.
His shoulders were still up by his ears, jaw tight. But underneath—something else. His reflection looked different. Tired, but solid.
He texted Atlas: miss you
Atlas replied instantly: miss you too
His mouth shifted. Soft.
Headed to his office. "Morning," he said. Voice came out too bright.
Clara and Elias looked up.
"You okay?" Elias's brow furrowed.
Clara was studying him—eyes tracking the shadows under his, the way he held his shoulders. "You look like hell."
"Morning meeting."
"Ah." Elias nodded knowingly. "Say no more."
They worked. Clara walked him through new reports. Elias presented research. Noah's eyes kept drifting to his phone, then back to the screen.
Around noon, he stood. "Lunch?"
Clara smiled. "Welcome back."
"Burgers?" Elias suggested.
They nodded together.
Walking to the restaurant, they talked work. Presentations. Timelines. Safe topics that didn't require thinking.
Waiting for food, Elias grinned. "You guys should come over sometime. Bring your partners."
Noah smiled. "Yeah?"
"Unless we're boring," Clara added, laughing.
Food came. They talked about social media, trending drama. Surface-level things that felt like oxygen after drowning.
Back at the office, Noah texted Marcus and Jared: Thursday?
Marcus: Everything okay?
Noah: I'll explain
Jared: Come to mine
Marcus: Approved
His mom texted: Lunch tomorrow?
Noah stared at his phone. Tomorrow his mother would say the same things his father said, just softer. More careful. But the message would be identical.
Noah: Sure
---
By six, they left together. "See you," they said, splitting to their cars.
Noah texted: heading home
Atlas: on my way
Noah drove. His father's voice echoed—Atlas is weakening you—and tomorrow his mother would frame it as concern. Worry. Love.
He exhaled slowly through his teeth.
---
Home. Sunny and Luna hit him at the door—paws on his legs, tails going wild.
Atlas was in the kitchen, sweats on, something simmering on the stove.
Noah stopped in the doorway. Just watched him for three seconds—the way Atlas moved, efficient, comfortable in their space.
"Hey."
Atlas turned. His whole face changed—softened, eyes warming. "Hey."
They met in the middle. Atlas drew him in—tight, possessive, face buried in Noah's neck.
"Bad?" Atlas's voice was muffled against his skin.
Noah nodded.
"Yours?"
"After dinner." Atlas leaned back slightly. "Let's eat first."
"Yeah." Noah kissed his jaw—gentle, lingering. "After."
Then Atlas was kissing him—deep, consuming, hand in Noah's hair. When they broke apart, their mouths were swollen, eyes glassy.
They laughed—chests still heaving, mouths still parted.
"I love you," Noah whispered against his ear.
Atlas bit down on his earlobe. "Love you."
"Let me change."
---
Noah came back in navy sweats, white sweatshirt.
Atlas looked at him. Grinned. "We're matching."
"Couple fashion." Noah kissed his shoulder, smiling against fabric.
---
Setting the table. Lydia appeared in the doorway. "Hey! Be right back." Vanished into her room.
"So much for romance," Noah said dryly.
Atlas's mouth shifted. Amused.
Lydia returned, launched into school drama—who said what, who's dating who, someone's party drama. Atlas and Noah nodded along, trading those quiet, teasing looks only they understood.
"You're not listening," Lydia accused.
"We're fascinated," Atlas said. His face was completely straight.
Noah looked at him. "You're convincing."
"I'm learning."
Lydia stood. "I'll take Sunny out."
"Avoiding dishes," Noah observed.
"Obviously." She grinned, grabbed the leash, left.
---
Loading the dishwasher. They finally talked—everything, word for word, what their fathers said.
"You weren't supposed to defend me," Noah said quietly.
"You weren't supposed to defend me either."
They looked at each other. Smiled—tired, fond. Embraced.
"Lunch with my mom tomorrow," Noah said against Atlas's shoulder.
"Same." Atlas's voice was dry. "Coordinated attack."
Noah kissed him—soft, grateful that Atlas understood without explanation.
Lydia appeared behind them. Cleared her throat. "Room. Now."
"You could announce yourself," Noah said.
"I always do! You two just never hear me!" She laughed. "God, you're disgustingly in love."
"You want to hear about our problems?" Noah asked.
"I'm an excellent therapist." Lydia grinned. "Free of charge."
They laughed.
"Homework." Lydia disappeared.
---
Upstairs. Laptops open in bed. Luna and Sunny curled at their feet, watching them with half-closed eyes.
Noah walked through budget reports—pointing at specific lines, explaining variances. Atlas added notes on revisions, typed comments in margins.
Hours blurred together.
Noah realized Atlas wasn't looking at his screen anymore. Was staring at Noah's mouth instead—eyes dark, lips parted slightly.
"You're not listening."
Atlas grabbed his hair—yanked him in, kissed him hard. Graceless. Desperate.
Laptops shoved aside—clattered against each other. They kissed like they'd been separated for weeks, like they were trying to prove something neither could articulate.
After, they lay tangled together. Breathing slowed. Quiet.
"Dinner tomorrow?" Atlas asked. His hand traced Noah's spine—slow, repetitive. "Just us?"
"Just us."
Atlas's touch kept moving. Up, down. Soothing. "Good."
They fell asleep like that—wrapped around each other, holding on tight.
Outside, the city hummed. Inside, they held each other and pretended the world couldn't reach them here.
For tonight, they could pretend everyone was on their side.
For tonight, the lie felt true.