Fragments of Us

Chapter Twenty-Six: Ghosts

Atlas leaned against the counter of the coffee shop, staring blankly at the last cup he'd made. The steam curled lazily upward, dissipating into the air, but he barely noticed. Milo had left an hour ago, but the lingering silence felt heavier than usual.

He hadn't meant to linger outside Milo's house the night before. He'd only wanted to drop off the fruits for Richard, exchange a few polite words, and leave. But then Richard had invited him to stay for dinner, and before he knew it, he was standing on the porch as Kiel dropped Milo off.

Atlas hadn't seen much-just the way Milo stumbled out of the car, laughing softly, with Kiel steadying him. That alone had been enough to ignite a storm in Atlas' chest.

Now, as the day wore on, those few seconds replayed in his mind like a haunting melody. His imagination filled in the gaps. He could see Milo smiling at Kiel, laughing at his jokes, leaning in a little too close. His heart clenched at the thought.

   "What are you doing to yourself?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

It didn't matter what had actually happened during their date. What mattered was that Milo was trying, moving forward, doing the one thing Atlas had spent years convincing himself Milo deserved: a chance at happiness with someone better.

But the truth was, seeing it unfold was far harder than Atlas had ever expected.

By mid-afternoon, the coffee shop was packed with customers, yet Atlas felt like he was moving on autopilot. He poured lattes and served pastries with the same practiced ease as always, but his mind kept drifting back to Milo.

Kiel wasn't a bad guy. Atlas didn't know him well, but he'd seen enough to know he was the type of person people gravitated toward-kind, confident, stable. The kind of man Milo deserved.

But the thought of someone else knowing Milo's quirks, someone else being the reason behind his laughter, someone else seeing that sleepy, soft side of him in the morning... it made Atlas' chest tighten unbearably.

He leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the register. "Stop it," he told himself firmly. "This isn't about you."

When the evening rush came and went, the shop finally emptied out, leaving Atlas alone with his thoughts. He sat in the corner booth, staring out the window at the dimming sky.

He thought about Milo's face when he'd come into the shop that morning, pale and tired but still managing a smile. Atlas knew that smile better than anyone-it was the one Milo used when he was trying to hide how he really felt.

Atlas closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his hand. He didn't deserve to feel this way. He didn't deserve to feel anything at all when it came to Milo, not after everything he'd done.

But he couldn't stop himself. The idea of Milo being with someone else, sharing the parts of himself that Atlas had once held so close-it was unbearable.

He thought about the way Milo had laughed that morning, his voice light and unguarded. Was that how he'd sounded with Kiel last night? Had he leaned into him, trusting and open, the way he used to with Atlas?

   "God," Atlas muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He hated this. He hated himself for feeling jealous, for wanting something he had no right to want.