The elevator climbed. Noah watched the numbers light up, one after another.
Emma was saying something about the party, whose place this was, but her voice felt distant. Background noise.
Atlas Sterling would be here tonight.
Three years. That's how long he'd managed not to think about Atlas. Three years with Emma, convincing himself that high school was just high school. That the way he used to watch Atlas in the hallways—that didn't mean anything.
The doors opened.
Music first. Then voices, that easy laughter that comes with trust funds.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city spread out below. Fifty people, maybe more. He knew most of their faces—same schools, same circles, same everything.
Atlas was in the center of it all.
Noah's breath snagged in his chest.
Taller, somehow, though that made no sense. Same pale skin, same dark hair, but everything else was sharper. The black shirt with rolled sleeves showed forearms that definitely hadn't looked like that in high school. The watch on his wrist probably cost more than Noah's rent.
A woman in red had positioned herself close to him, whispering something. Her fingers traced up his arm.
Atlas wasn't even looking at her.
He was looking at Noah.
Their eyes met across the room.
Noah just stood there. Frozen like an idiot.
Atlas held his gaze—three seconds, four, five—then turned back to the woman. Said something that made her laugh. Then he was walking toward them, leaving her behind without a glance.
"Noah." That voice hadn't changed. Still low, still steady. "Emma."
Emma practically glowed. "Atlas! This place is incredible—"
"Thanks for coming." He turned to Noah. "Long time."
" Yeah. Three years, I think."
They shook hands. Atlas's palm was cool, dry. The handshake lasted just a fraction too long.
"How's New York treating you?" Noah asked, aiming for casual.
"I'm back now." Almost a smile. Not quite. "You're working for your father?"
"Yeah. About a year."
"Good." Atlas's gaze shifted to Emma. "Still together?"
"Three years," Emma said, beaming.
" That's good. Congratulations." Flat. Bored, almost. "Get a drink. Enjoy yourselves."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Emma leaned into Noah's shoulder. "God, he's still so intense."
Noah didn't answer. He was staring at the empty space where Atlas had been standing, trying to remember how to act normal.
---
The night blurred.
Emma found friends, caught up on gossip. Noah stood in conversation circles, nodding at the right moments. His champagne went warm in his hand.
But some part of him always tracked where Atlas was in the room.
Watching him move through the crowd with that easy confidence. Women gravitating toward him. Men watching him when they thought no one was looking.
That mask never slipped. Not once.
Around eleven, Emma yawned. "Should we head out? I've got that early meeting."
"Yeah. I should thank Atlas first."
"I'll grab our coats."
He checked the main room. Scanned the terrace. Nothing.
Upstairs, maybe.
---
The music was muffled on the second floor. Just bass thumping through the walls, rattling in his chest.
One door stood open. Light spilling into the hallway.
Noah's hand found the doorframe.
Walk away.
He pushed the door open instead.
---
Fuck.
Atlas was by the window. Shirt unbuttoned, hanging open. City lights on his skin, gold and shadow.
Some guy pressed against him. Tall, dark-haired. Both of them half-dressed.
Kissing. Not the gentle kind. Not soft or careful.
Atlas had one hand fisted in the guy's hair, controlling the angle, pulling him exactly where he wanted. His other hand slid under the guy's shirt, fingers spreading across his ribs.
The guy made a sound—low, desperate.
Atlas kissed him harder.
Noah stood there. His feet might as well have been nailed to the floor.
Leave. You need to leave—
But he didn't move.
He watched Atlas's hand grip the guy's waist, fingers digging in. Watched his mouth work—demanding, relentless. Watched the flex of his forearm when he pulled the guy closer.
The guy's hands scraped down Atlas's back, nails catching.
Atlas bit his lip. Hard.
The guy groaned.
This was Atlas Sterling. The same Atlas everyone called cold. Untouchable. Unreachable.
But this—
This was the opposite of cold.
Atlas's mouth moved to the guy's throat. The guy's head tipped back, exposing his neck.
"Fuck," the guy breathed.
Noah had spent his whole life being careful. Playing by the rules. Doing what was expected, what was safe.
And Atlas just—
He just took what he wanted. No hesitation. No shame.
Atlas's eyes opened.
Found Noah's.
The kiss didn't stop. His mouth kept moving, kept working. But his eyes—
Locked on Noah. Completely aware.
He knows I'm here.
He knows I'm watching.
And he doesn't give a shit.
The corner of Atlas's mouth curved. Almost a smile.
He pulled the guy's hair harder. The guy moaned, broke the kiss to gasp.
Atlas's gaze never left Noah's.
His hips rolled forward, deliberate.
Noah stumbled backward.
Stumbled backward. His shoulder slammed into the doorframe. Fuck, that hurt.
He closed his eyes.
Didn't help. The image was burned into his brain. Atlas in half-light. That stare. Those lips.
What the hell did I just see?
His legs finally listened.
He turned. Stumbled into the hallway. Down the stairs, one hand gripping the railing.
Get out. Just get the fuck out.
He tried to fix his face on the way down. Smooth out his expression.
Normal. You're fine. Everything's fine.
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
The cold air outside didn't help.
---
Emma was waiting by the valet stand, their coats draped over her arm.
Noah stopped a few feet away. Forced himself to breathe slower, deeper. Made his face do something that might pass for a smile.
"There you are!" She turned, then her expression shifted. "Noah? You okay?"
"Yeah. Just—headache. Too many people."
Her hand found his arm, warm and concerned. "We can stay if you need to sit down—"
"No." Too sharp. He softened it. "Let's go. You've got that meeting."
The valet brought the car. Emma drove, kept shooting him worried looks.
"You sure you're okay? You look kind of pale."
"Fine. Just tired."
He pressed his forehead against the window. Watched the city blur past, lights smearing together.
Everything felt wrong. His skin too tight, too sensitive. Everything felt wired. His nerves were all firing at once.
Emma's hand rested on his knee.
He barely felt it. Like there was glass between them.
"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?" Her voice was quiet. "If something was bothering you?"
"Yeah." The word came out automatically. "Just tired. Long week."
The lie tasted like copper in his mouth.
---
She pulled up outside his building. Studied his face.
"Get some rest, okay? Call me tomorrow?"
"Yeah." He kissed her. Quick, automatic.
"I love you."
Those words used to settle something in his chest. Ground him.
"Love you too."
He watched her taillights disappear into traffic.
Then turned toward his building.
---
Noah locked the door behind him. Stood in the entryway with his keys still in his hand, staring at nothing.
The silence felt thick.
He walked to the living room. Left the lights off. Just stood by the window while city glow filtered through, painting everything in shades of gray.
His reflection stared back at him from the dark glass. Pale. Eyes too wide.
He looked like he'd seen a ghost.
What the hell did I just see?
Atlas Sterling. Someone he'd known since sophomore year. Sweated next to on the court. Sat across from at those endless family business dinners.
Everyone thought Atlas was cold. Distant. Impossible to read.
That wasn't cold.
His legs gave out. He slid down the wall and just sat there.
Atlas Sterling is gay.
The words felt strange in his head.
Not because of what they meant—he had friends who were out. Happy, living their lives.
Strange because it was Atlas.
Because Noah had spent years not seeing it. Or maybe he had seen it, and just—
Never let himself look directly at it.
High school came back in fragments:
Atlas in the locker room after practice. Noah's eyes finding him, then jerking away.
Atlas's hand on his shoulder after a game, heavy and warm. How Noah had felt that touch for hours afterward.
The way Noah always knew where Atlas was. In a room. In a hallway. At those family dinners that seemed to stretch on forever.
I wanted to be like him, Noah had always told himself.
Strong. Confident. Self-assured.
But watching Atlas tonight—
The way he'd just taken what he wanted. No apologies. No second-guessing.
That certainty.
How the hell does someone get that free?
A memory surfaced. Junior year, locker room. Some seniors had cornered him after practice.
"Daddy buy your spot on the team?"
He'd just stood there. Frozen. Silent, like always.
Then Atlas's voice, cutting through: "Leave him alone."
Three words. The whole room had shifted.
Atlas hadn't looked at him after. Just grabbed his bag and walked out.
Noah had admired him for that. Wanted what he had—that easy authority, that presence.
Now, thinking about it—
Maybe what he'd wanted wasn't to be like Atlas.
Maybe it was something else entirely.
Something he'd never let himself think about too closely.
His phone buzzed on the floor next to him.
Emma: You sleeping? Love you so much 💕
Noah stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Three years. Patient, kind, everything you're supposed to want in a partner.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
He typed: Love you too
The words looked right on the screen.
Felt hollow.
He flipped the phone face-down. Got to his feet. Went to the bedroom and lay down on top of the covers, still fully dressed.
Stared at the ceiling in the dark.
Tomorrow would be normal. Atlas's life wasn't his business. What he'd seen tonight didn't change anything.
But he knew that was bullshit.
Something had shifted. Cracked open.
And he had no idea how to put it back together.
His phone buzzed again. He almost ignored it.
Calendar notification: "Wells Enterprises - Sterling Holdings Partnership Meeting. Tomorrow 2:00 PM. Conference Room B."
Shit. He'd completely forgotten.
The companies were finalizing some partnership. Both families would be there. His father, Atlas's father, all the executives.
Which meant he'd see Atlas tomorrow.
In a conference room. Professional setting. Normal.
After what he'd just witnessed.
After Atlas had looked at him like that—like he knew exactly what Noah was feeling, even when Noah didn't.
Noah rolled over. Pulled the pillow over his head.
It'll be fine. Just a business meeting. Professional.
Nobody will mention it. He won't say anything. You won't say anything.
Everything will go back to normal.
But sleep wouldn't come.
Every time he closed his eyes, Atlas was there.
Not the Atlas from high school. Not the Atlas from business dinners.
The Atlas from tonight.
Certain. Free. Shameless.
Everything Noah had never let himself be.
And one question kept circling through his head:
What would it be like to be that free?