FATED STROKES

Victor found himself standing in front of Milo's apartment door, his heart pounding in a way that felt entirely foreign. He didn't understand the full weight of what he was feeling, only that something between him and Milo had changed—and he needed to know why.

He took a steadying breath and knocked, listening as Milo's footsteps approached from the other side. The door opened, and Milo stood there, looking surprised to see him but quickly masking it with a casual smile.

"Hey, Victor," Milo greeted, stepping aside to let him in. "What brings you here so late?"

Victor gave a half-shrug, a small smile playing on his lips as he stepped inside. "Just thought I'd drop by. I realized I haven't seen much of you outside the studio."

Milo laughed lightly, brushing a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, been busy, I guess." His tone was nonchalant, but there was a tension in his body that didn't escape Victor's notice.

Victor wandered into the cozy living room, noticing the subtle signs of Milo's recent work scattered around—a canvas in the corner, tubes of paint, a half-finished sketch on the table. But tonight, none of that held his attention. Instead, he turned to face Milo, his expression soft but intent.

"Is something going on, Milo?" he asked quietly. "I mean… it feels like you've been a little distant lately."

Milo's smile faltered, and he looked away, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I haven't… I'm not," he mumbled, not meeting Victor's eyes.

Victor sighed, moving a step closer, his gaze searching Milo's face. "It just… it feels like it. Like you're pulling away." He hesitated, then added, "If I did something, you can tell me, you know."

Milo's shoulders tensed, and he glanced down at the floor, his jaw clenched. "It's not you, Victor," he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. "It's just… me. I'm dealing with some things. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Victor's gaze softened, and he took another step closer, closing the distance between them. "You can talk to me about it, Milo," he said, his tone gentle. "Whatever it is… I'm here."

Milo looked up at him then, and for a moment, something vulnerable flickered in his eyes—something raw and unguarded that Victor hadn't seen before. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. After a moment, he let out a shaky breath, shaking his head.

"I don't know if I can explain it," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I don't want to make things complicated."

Victor felt a pang in his chest, a sense of frustration mixed with something deeper—something he wasn't entirely ready to confront. He wanted to reach out, to reassure Milo, to tell him that whatever he was feeling, it was okay. But the words wouldn't come, tangled up in his own uncertainty.

Instead, he just stood there, close enough to feel Milo's presence, but unable to bridge the gap that had opened between them. "Milo," he murmured, his voice laced with something he couldn't quite name. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Milo's eyes flicked up to meet his, a mixture of pain and longing etched into his features. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had stopped, the air heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. Victor's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing with a strange, unfamiliar ache.

And then Milo looked away, the moment slipping through his fingers like sand. "I'm sorry, Victor," he whispered. "I just… I need some time."

Victor's chest tightened, but he managed a small nod, forcing a smile to hide the hurt that was building inside. "I understand," he replied quietly, though the words felt hollow. He wanted to reach out, to pull Milo into his arms and tell him that whatever he was going through, they could face it together. But he knew that Milo needed space, and he didn't want to push.

"Just… don't disappear on me, okay?" he added, his voice soft but filled with a quiet plea.

Milo looked up at him, and there was a hint of sadness in his gaze as he nodded. "I won't," he promised, though even as he said it, there was a trace of doubt in his eyes—a silent question of whether he could keep that promise.

Victor forced a smile, stepping back to give Milo the space he needed. "Good," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "Because I'm not giving up on you that easily."

Milo managed a small smile in return, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a heaviness between them now, a weight that hadn't been there before, and Victor could feel it pressing down on him, suffocating and relentless.

He turned toward the door, forcing himself to take a step back, to let Milo have his space. But as he reached for the handle, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was leaving something unfinished—that there were words left unsaid, emotions left unexpressed.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Milo, who was watching him with a mixture of sadness and longing that mirrored his own. "Goodnight, Milo," he said softly, his voice laced with a vulnerability he hadn't intended to show.

"Goodnight, Victor," Milo replied, his voice barely a whisper.

And with that, Victor left, the door closing softly behind him. But as he walked away, he knew that something had changed between them—that the distance Milo had created wasn't just physical, but emotional as well.

He had a feeling that things would never quite be the same. And yet, even as he tried to accept that, he couldn't shake the lingering ache in his chest, the quiet, unspoken hope that maybe, somehow, they would find their way back to each other.