Fragments of Us

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Ride II

Atlas never imagined last night would happen. He had spent five years convincing himself that the past was unreachable, that Milo was someone he could only love from afar. But then, under the stars, under the weight of everything they had been through, Milo kissed him

It was familiar yet new. Nostalgic but timeless. A kiss that spoke of everything they had lost and everything they could still be.

Atlas didn’t know if he deserved this second chance, but he did know one thing—he would not waste it. He would make sure that nothing, not his mistakes, not his fears, not time itself, would ever come between them again.

He needed Milo. And this time, he would love him the way he should have loved him before.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over the campsite. The air smelled of damp earth, pine, and something warm and sweet—pancakes.

Atlas stood by the portable stove, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. He had woken up before everyone else, slipping out of the tent quietly, his heart still full from the night before.

As he worked, Sally emerged from her tent, stretching with a yawn. She paused when she saw Atlas cooking.

   “Oh, you got up early,” she said, stepping closer. “Good morning. And thanks for making breakfast.”

Atlas offered her a small smile. “Good morning.”

He placed a pancake onto a plate, adding a pat of butter before drizzling maple syrup over it.

   “Amazing smell!” Ali’s voice came from behind as he approached, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

   “Good morning,” Atlas greeted him.

Sally’s eyes gleamed as she reached for the finished plate. “Can I eat this? I’m starving.”

   “No, Mom!” Atlas stopped her, quickly moving the plate out of her reach. “That’s for Milo.”

Sally and Ali exchanged a look.

   “Oh… okay,” Sally said, biting back a smile.

Atlas, completely unbothered, went back to flipping the next batch. “Here, the rest are done. Make a plate,” he said, nodding toward the stack of pancakes.

Then, without another word, he wiped his hands on a towel and started toward Milo’s tent.

Sally turned to Ali, nudging him playfully with her elbow. Ali chuckled, shaking his head.

   “Stop eating what’s not yours,” he teased.

The tent was dim, the fabric filtering the golden morning light into something softer. Inside, Milo was still curled up in his sleeping bag, his face half-buried in the pillow. His breathing was slow and steady, completely unaware of the world outside.

Atlas crouched beside him, watching him for a second longer than necessary. It was still surreal—seeing Milo here, being this close to him again, waking him up like he used to back then.

He hesitated before reaching out, placing a hand on Milo’s shoulder.

   “Hey,” Atlas whispered, shaking him gently. “Wake up, breakfast is ready.”

Milo groaned, shifting slightly but keeping his eyes shut. “Five more minutes.” His voice was thick with sleep.

Atlas chuckled. “Come on, I made pancakes.”

Milo peeked one eye open. “You?”

   “Yes, me.” Atlas smirked. “And if you don’t get up now, my mom might steal your plate.”