FATED STROKES

Victor leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting from the glowing screen of his laptop to the quiet of his bedroom. He had been attempting to focus on his work, but his mind kept wandering, an image of Milo quietly pushing its way into his thoughts. He'd catch himself thinking about the little things—Milo's easy smile, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his art, or the quiet hum he'd make when he was lost in a painting.

It was strange. Ever since Milo had begun pulling away, Victor had found himself thinking about him more than ever. He missed the easy conversations, the warmth of their camaraderie. And yet, there was something else—something unspoken and unfamiliar that lingered each time he thought of Milo.

Sighing, he rubbed his temples, trying to brush off the thoughts. What is going on with me? He'd been asking himself the same question for days now, ever since Milo started to grow distant. It was frustrating, almost irritating, to realize how much Milo's absence affected him. He had friends and a busy life, yet Milo's absence left a strange emptiness he couldn't shake.

He closed his laptop, leaning back and staring at the ceiling, his mind slipping back to the last time they'd really talked. Milo had been distant, distracted, as if he'd purposely put up walls between them. It had been subtle, but Victor could sense it. And it bothered him—more than it probably should.

Maybe it was because, in such a short span of time, he had come to rely on Milo's presence. They'd shared countless moments that felt deeper than simple friendship, and every memory lingered in his mind, leaving him restless and questioning.

Why do I keep thinking about him like this?

His mind drifted to the way Milo looked in his studio just yesterday—covered in paint, wearing that old tank top and loose jeans, his hair messy and falling into his face as he worked. There had been something incredibly captivating about the sight, and Victor had felt drawn to him, a strange urge to just stay there, to simply be around him.

Victor couldn't help but chuckle softly, shaking his head as he remembered the way he had rested his chin on Milo's shoulder, completely forgetting how it might come across. He didn't know why he'd done it; it had just felt… natural. Being close to Milo felt easy, as if he could let go of his usual guarded self. And yet, there had been a brief moment—a flicker of something—when he'd noticed Milo's face flush, his body tensing under Victor's touch.

Now, thinking back on it, Victor found himself oddly flustered. It was a small thing, but seeing Milo blush had affected him in a way he couldn't explain. There was a gentle, quiet beauty in the way Milo had looked up at him, a look that lingered in Victor's mind even now, making his heart beat just a little faster.

He laughed at himself, trying to shake the feeling. "What am I even doing?" he muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Getting worked up over nothing."

But even as he told himself that, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe there was more to this. Maybe there was a reason he missed Milo so much, a reason he found himself thinking about him in quiet moments, wondering what Milo was doing, or if he'd even notice if Victor pulled back in the same way.

This isn't normal, he thought, frowning slightly. It was as if he'd been trying to ignore the hints, to brush off the lingering looks and soft laughter that felt just a bit too close, a bit too intimate. He'd always chalked it up to friendship, to their shared interests and easy rapport. But now, he wasn't so sure.

Victor leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers lacing together as he stared out at the night through his bedroom window. The city lights twinkled, casting a soft glow, and yet he felt strangely isolated, his mind circling back to Milo.

He wondered if Milo had noticed the change in his own demeanor. The gentle teasing, the way he often sought him out, or how he'd find reasons to spend time in Milo's studio. Perhaps he'd known, somewhere deep down, but had pushed the thought aside. Friendship, he told himself, that was all it was—comfort, familiarity, a companion in the long hours of their days. But somehow, Milo had become more than that. He was a constant, a quiet, grounding presence that Victor found himself reaching for without even realizing it.

He glanced at his phone, a small urge bubbling up to send Milo a message, to check if he was still awake. He shook his head, setting the phone aside, knowing it would just make things more complicated. But the desire lingered, and it was getting harder to ignore.

Victor exhaled, leaning back against his headboard, his mind racing. What if there's more to this than I thought? He'd never allowed himself to consider that possibility before, never questioned his own feelings this deeply. It wasn't something he was used to—an uncertainty, a flicker of something that felt too close to vulnerability.

But when he thought about Milo—the way he laughed, the quiet strength in his work, the warmth he brought into Victor's life—there was a part of him that couldn't deny it. He felt something, something that went beyond simple friendship. It was subtle, just beneath the surface, but it was there, growing with each passing day.

The realization left him feeling unsteady, unsure of what to do next. For the first time in a long time, Victor found himself caught off guard, wrestling with emotions he didn't fully understand. And as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't help but wonder what all of this meant—not just for him, but for whatever fragile connection he shared with Milo.

Could he risk exploring these feelings, or was he too late? The distance Milo had created was real, and Victor knew that. But now, the thought of losing Milo felt unbearable, the idea of going back to a time before they met almost unthinkable.

For now, he decided to keep his thoughts to himself, to stay silent and hope that the distance between them might close again. But deep down, Victor knew that things had already changed. And as he closed his eyes, he allowed himself a small, unguarded thought—a quiet, tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, Milo felt something too.