Fragments of Us

Chapter Twenty-Five: Headache

Milo woke up with a pounding headache and the faint light of morning filtering through his curtains. He groaned, rolling over to see a breakfast sandwich and an Advil neatly placed on his bedside table. He assumed it was Richard’s doing, a small yet thoughtful gesture typical of his father.

He sat up, popping the pill and taking a bite of the sandwich, which tasted better than it had any right to. As he chewed, memories from last night crept in, foggy but persistent. He remembered being at the pub with Kiel, laughing, talking... and then Atlas.

Atlas.

Milo paused mid-bite, his mind running through the jumble of moments. Atlas had been at his house, had helped him upstairs. But surely he had left after Milo fell asleep. Right?

He shook his head, setting the sandwich down. Why had he drunk so much? He rarely did that anymore, not since college. Maybe it was the nerves of going on what could’ve been a date, or maybe it was something deeper.

Kiel was a great guy—kind, funny, easy to be around. But last night, as much as Milo wanted to focus on Kiel, he couldn’t stop thinking about Atlas. Every time Kiel made a move, Milo caught himself wondering what Atlas would’ve done instead.

Lost in thought, Milo didn’t notice his bedroom door creak open until Atlas stepped inside, holding a cup of coffee.

   “Morning,” Atlas said, his voice soft but steady. He placed the mug on the table beside Milo.

Milo blinked, startled. “You’re still here?”

   “Richard insisted,” Atlas replied with a small shrug. “Said it was too late for me to drive back. I slept on the floor. Don’t worry, your honor is intact.”

Milo couldn’t help but laugh at that, though his voice was hoarse. “You really didn’t have to.”

Atlas tilted his head, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “What, and miss the chance to see you in your post-hangover glory? Never.”

Milo rolled his eyes, picking up the coffee. “Thanks... for this. And for last night.”

Atlas leaned against the doorframe, his expression softening. “Anytime.”

After a few moments of silence, Milo set the mug down and stood up. “I need to get out of here. Clear my head.”

Atlas raised an eyebrow. “Where to?”

   “Your coffee shop,” Milo replied without hesitation. “It’s weirdly comforting there. Helps with the headaches.”

Atlas seemed amused but didn’t argue. “Let me grab my keys."

The drive to the coffee shop was mostly silent, but not awkward—just quiet enough for Milo to hear the low hum of the radio and his own thoughts. He kept sneaking glances at Atlas, trying to make sense of the strange push-and-pull he felt whenever they were together. Atlas, for his part, seemed completely at ease, one hand on the wheel and the other occasionally adjusting the radio.

When they arrived, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit Milo instantly, warm and inviting. The shop was busy but not chaotic, with the soft buzz of conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine filling the air. Milo headed to his usual spot by the window, the one with the best view of the street, while Atlas disappeared behind the counter.

A few minutes later, Atlas appeared with a mug of coffee in one hand and a plate of biscotti in the other. He set them down in front of Milo with a practiced ease, then leaned casually against the edge of the table.

   “Here you go,” Atlas said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on Milo a little longer than necessary. “The cure for all your bad decisions last night.”