Chase Atlantic One Shots

It Can't Be

Words: 1144

Written: December 30, 2022

Summary: Mitchel tells Christian to meet him for lunch

I have failed smutmas 🙃 i tried, i still have one more story to edit and post, stay tuned

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   The water pours out of the sink faucet as Christian scrubs his breakfast plate clean. He scrapes away the egg bits and washes them down the drain in his stainless steel sink.

*BUZZ BUZZ*

   Christian strains his neck to look at his phone that lies on the counter next to the sink.

Mitchel: Hey do you have a moment?

   Christian sets his sink at the bottom of his second sink and shuts off the water. He grabs the towel next to the sink, wiping his hands on the soft cotton fabric. His phone buzzes again as he reaches for it.

Mitchel: I really need to see you today. Can we meet up?

Christian: Yeah for sure. What's up?

Mitchel: I'll tell you when we meet up. I can't do it over text.

   Christian stares at the message on the screen. Unsure of how to respond, he begins to type a response. Multiple clicks later and the message is deleted.

Christian: Where do you want to meet at?

Mitchel: How about that cafe down the street from my apartment?

Christian: Sounds good. What time?

Mitchel: At 1:30?

Mitchel: Or whatever works best for you.

Christian: 1:30 is perfect see you then!

Christian: I love you

   Christian stares at his phone. Seen. He sets down his phone and continues washing his dishes, attempting not to think about Mitchel.

   The towel wipes away the water droplets on the clean plate as Christian dries his now-clean dishes. He places the dishes in their designated spots in the cabinets before walking to his bedroom.

   An assortment of clothes greets Christian as he steps into his closet. The small walk-in closet is filled with hanging shirts and pants, everything hung on black velvet hangers. Christian's eyes glaze over the contents of his closet. On one side, each shirt is hung by color and season, on the other side each pair of slacks are organized by color and length.

   Christian sorts through his shirts and picks out a black and white striped button-up. He turns to the opposing wall and picks out a nice pair of black pants. The boy squats down in front of his shoe rack on the adjacent wall. He grabs the pair of nice black loafers from the bottom shelf and holds them in his left hand. The hangers cling to the skin of his left arm as he exits his closet.

   The shirt pries its way down Christian's body as he forces the garment on. He slides his hands down his chest, smoothing out the many wrinkles in the thin fabric. He lifts his legs, placing them into his pants, and pulls them up to his waist. In a matter of minutes, Christian is ready to go and meet Mitchel.

   -

   The glass of the cafe glimmers in the afternoon run. People come and go on the busy sidewalk as Christian stands in front of the store. He looks down at his phone. 1:37 PM.

   A deep sigh escapes his throat as he sees the back of Mitchel's head. The boy sits in the tiny metal chair holding onto a glass of water for dear life.

   "Here goes nothing," Christian mumbles under his breath as he reaches for the door.

   A bell rings as he steps into the small cafe. Mitchel's head turns at the sound of the door. The instant he makes eye contact with Christian his face drops. His eyes seem sad and his muscles tense up.

   Christian takes small steps toward Mitchel. With each step towards the other boy, the further the table seems to be getting.

   "Hey," Mitchel whispers as Christian pulls out a chair.

   The chair scrapes against the tile floor as Christian scoots himself closer to the table. Two place settings sit untouched on the top of the pale wood. Each napkin is delicately folded and placed onto the small porcelain plates.

   "Can I get you anything, sir?" a waiter walks over to the two boys.

   " Can I have a dirty matcha latte with oat milk?" Christian stares down at the table as he talks to the waiter.

   "For sure! Can I get you anything else?" the young waiter turns to Mitchel.

   "I'll stick with my water." Mitchel grabs onto his glass causing the ice inside to collide with the glass.

   The waiter nods and walks behind the counter to start on Christian's order. The machines grumble as they turn on. The gears of the machine echo through the quiet cafe.

   "So what did you want to talk about?" Christian rumbles with the napkin on the table as his gaze stays down.

   "About that..." Mitchel clears his throat, "this has been something that has been on my mind for a while now."

   Christian glances up and sees Mitchel digging through his pocket. For a quick moment, his mood lifts and his eyes catch a glimmer.

   "I don't feel the same as I used to," Mitchel pulls a tissue out of his pocket and daps his nose with it, "I don't feel the same attraction, the same spark, the same anything as I once did when I was with you. I don't know if it's been because of the sheer amount of time we have been together, or if it is the fact my mental stability is draining from the pressure of everything, but whatever it is, it isn't good for me. It's not good for you."

   Christian's eyes start to swell up as a tear falls down his soft cheeks.

   "I'm sorry Christian, I just can't do this anymore. I hope we can still stay civil and keep the band together. I know you need the money just as much as I do." Mitchel pushes his seat out and leans forward to gently grab Christian's hand before standing up, "I'm sorry."

   Christian watches as Mitchel walks out of the store and across the street. He's gone.

   "Here is your-," the waiter slowly walks up to Christian and quickly notices his tears, "I'll just leave it here for you."

   The cup clinks against the saucer as the waiter places it on the table. The young boy quickly shuffles away, leaving Christian by himself.

   Tears build up inside Christian, but he refuses to let them go. He digs through his pocket and pulls out a $20 bill. The table shakes as Christian slams the money into the center. He scoots his chair out from under the table and pushes himself up onto his feet. Christian takes a step away from the table, looking back at the last moments of his relationship.

   "Fuck," Christian whispers under his breath as he walks out of the small cafe.