FATED STROKES

The morning sun filtered softly into Milo's studio, casting a warm glow over the half-finished paintings and scattered art supplies. Victor was there, leaning casually against the wall, watching Milo as they talked. Their conversations had grown easier, more familiar. Milo cherished these moments, even though every laugh, every shared look felt like another thread binding him to a love he couldn't voice.

"So, what's next for this piece?" Victor asked, nodding at the painting Milo was working on—a colorful depiction of a mythical forest, vibrant with details and mystery.

Milo smiled softly, grateful for the distraction. "I'm still deciding. Maybe some highlights… something to bring it all together."

Victor nodded, his eyes lighting up as he studied the piece. "It's already stunning. You've got that magical touch."

Milo's heart fluttered at the compliment, and he was about to respond when Mr. Henry, Victor's father, entered the studio. His voice boomed in the quiet space, warm and filled with enthusiasm.

"Ah, here you two are! I was wondering where my son had disappeared to." Mr. Henry grinned, his presence filling the room.

Victor straightened, smiling as his father walked over. "Good morning, Dad. Just visiting the creative genius here," he said, gesturing to Milo with a friendly smile.

Milo chuckled, his heart beating a little faster at Mr. Henry's sudden presence. "Good morning, Mr. Henry."

Mr. Henry chuckled, looking between the two men. "It's nice to see you two getting along so well. You know, Victor, I've been thinking… when are you going to settle down? Find a nice girl and give your old man some grandkids?"

Victor froze for a moment, caught off guard by his father's words. He shot his dad a stunned look, then let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dad… where is this coming from?" he said, trying to keep things light.

Across the room, Milo felt his heart plummet, a deep, painful ache settling in his chest. He clenched his hand tightly, fighting to keep his composure, though he could feel the weight of sadness pressing down on him. It was like someone had taken the ground out from beneath him, leaving him unsteady, lost.

But he forced a smile, hiding the turmoil beneath his cheerful expression. He wanted Victor to be happy—of course, he did. And if happiness meant marriage and family, then who was he to stand in the way?

Victor's father turned to Milo, giving him a playful nudge. "You're close with Victor. What do you think? Doesn't he deserve someone by his side?"

Milo swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to smile. "Yes, absolutely. Victor should… he should try to get to know someone, at least. Maybe, if it works out, even settle down. Marriage wouldn't be a bad idea." His voice was steady, but inside, each word felt like a blade.

Victor's father smiled broadly, clearly pleased with Milo's encouragement. "See, even Milo agrees with me," he said, giving Victor a pat on the shoulder. "You young men think you've got all the time in the world. But before you know it, time slips away."

Victor's gaze shifted to Milo, and for a brief moment, he studied him intently. There was something in Milo's tone, something that didn't quite match the usual warmth in his voice. It was almost as if his words were forced, like he was saying something he didn't truly feel.

Mr. Henry talked a bit more about the importance of settling down, throwing in a few humorous remarks to lighten the conversation before he finally bid them both goodbye. "Alright, I'll leave you boys to it. Good luck with the painting, Milo," he said warmly as he left.

When his father was gone, Victor turned to Milo, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Milo… are you okay?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. "You sounded… off."

Milo gave a quick nod, not quite meeting Victor's eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… lost in thought, I guess." He forced another smile, feeling the weight of his own words press down on him. "Anyway, I should get back to the painting."

Victor watched him for a moment longer, clearly sensing that something wasn't right. But he gave a short nod, respecting Milo's need for space. "Alright. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Victor," Milo said softly, offering him a faint smile.

As Victor left the studio, Milo felt the walls around him close in, the silence growing heavier. He held his hand to his chest, feeling the ache that refused to ease. The image of Victor's soft smile and his father's words about marriage echoed in his mind, twisting the knife of longing even deeper.

He took a shaky breath, his hand coming up to his face as a single tear slipped down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, his heart pounding with a mixture of sadness and frustration. It was foolish to feel this way, foolish to fall so hard for someone who could never feel the same.

In the quiet of his studio, surrounded by his unfinished paintings, Milo let himself feel the weight of his unspoken love. He wished he could erase it, wished he could simply move on and keep things as they were. But it was too late; he was in too deep.

As he stood there, staring at his painting, Milo whispered to himself, "I wish things were different. I wish… you could see how much I care."

But he knew those words would never be spoken aloud, and he would have to carry this silent love alone.

***