Fragments of Us

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Relapses

Milo’s heart skipped a beat. “Atlas? What are you doing here?”

Atlas straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was nearby and figured I’d wait to see if you were still here.”

   “You said you weren’t coming,” Milo said, still trying to process the surprise.

Atlas shrugged, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t. But then I thought... maybe I should.”

Milo walked closer, the faint glow of the streetlights catching the hesitant expression on Atlas’s face. “Why?”

Atlas hesitated, looking down for a moment before meeting Milo’s eyes. “Because I wanted to see you.”

The sincerity in his voice made Milo pause. He didn’t know what to say, so he settled for the simplest response. “Well, you found me.”

Atlas chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the night air cool and still around them.

   “You want to walk for a bit?” Milo asked finally, surprising even himself.

Atlas nodded, his smile softening. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And so, they walked, their footsteps echoing quietly on the empty street, the space between them filled with unspoken words and the beginnings of something new.

As they walked, Atlas kept the conversation light. He talked about mundane things—a funny encounter at the coffee shop, a stray cat that kept showing up at his apartment complex. Milo nodded along, responding here and there, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t help but notice the way Atlas’s voice would falter slightly or how he’d glance over at him, as if debating whether to say something more.

Milo tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to dive into the past. But the tension was palpable, building with each step they took.

Finally, after a stretch of silence, Atlas cleared his throat. “Milo, can I ask you something?”

Milo’s heart tightened, but he kept his voice even. “Sure.”

   “When will you leave Portland?” Atlas’s tone was careful, his hands still buried deep in his pockets.

   “In two weeks” Milo uttered.

Atlas nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Right.”

There was something in his voice—soft, almost wistful, but you can feel the emotions—that made Milo’s chest ache. He could feel the walls he’d built around himself starting to crack, and he hated it.

   “You know,” Atlas continued, his voice quieter now, “when I saw you at the bookshop, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to invite you for a coffee, but I didn’t think I had the right to.”

Milo glanced at him, frowning slightly. “Why would you think that?”

Atlas let out a humorless laugh, finally stopping in his tracks. He turned to face Milo, his expression a mix of vulnerability and regret. “Because I’m the one who ruined everything. I didn’t think you’d want to see me, let alone talk to me.”

Milo stayed silent, his breath catching. He could feel the conversation teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Atlas shifted on his feet, the nervousness now evident in the way he avoided Milo’s gaze. “That’s why I didn’t come tonight. When Jason said you weren’t going to be there, I figured… what’s the point? The truth is, Milo, I’ve only been showing up because of you. Because I wanted to be near you, even if it’s just as a friend.”