CHLOE BAILEY
The soft drizzle that had speckled the campus now fell in an angry hiss, turning the concrete beneath the bus shelter slick and dark.
Atlas had spent the last two hours spiralling, calling a phone that sent him straight to voicemail, searching a dorm room stripped of any trace of life. The silence was louder than any argument they’d ever had.
Against the bruising sky, he found Luka’s shivering figure on the bench, obscured by the vignette of fog cloaking the university. Atlas didn’t run; he crossed the pavement one slow step at a time, afraid Luka would dart away like a frightened rabbit if he came too quickly.
‘Why are you leaving?’ His voice barely carried over the rain that came pelting down against numb skin. The usual puppy-like optimism in his eyes had given way to desperate confusion. ‘Did I do something? Did you do something?’
Luka inhaled too quickly for someone pretending to be calm. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t care if I left.’ His grip tightened painfully on the suitcase handle.
Atlas took a sharp step forward, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob catching in his throat. He dropped to his knees harshly, anchoring himself to Luka’s legs.
‘That’s not how this works,’ he whimpered. He looked like he was sinking into the sidewalk. ‘You think I can just stop? You think I’m that easy to turn off?’
The distant thrash of thunder couldn’t break his gaze. He held Luka’s ice-cold hands.
‘Just tell me where you’re going. Please.’
Luka swallowed hard. ‘It doesn’t matter where I’m headed, because I'm doing this without you.’
Rain battered against the aluminium roof, the only thing willing to speak.
Atlas stared at him closely, noticing the water dripping from the end of his nose. Then he let an unsteady laugh break out.
‘You're impossible.’ Atlas scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand, half laughing, half crying. ‘You’re literally breaking up with me, and all I can think about is how you didn’t bring an umbrella.’
Luka stared at him, completely still, and for a second his mouth threatened to lift.
‘Baby, I can’t just let you go into a new life thinking you’re doing me a favour by leaving,’ he explained gently.
Luka picked at his hangnails until bright blood stained his pale fingertips.
‘I’m not who I was when this started anymore,’ he admitted. ‘I used to know what I was doing. I knew what to tell people when they asked me about my future.’
A painful lump grew in his throat.
‘Now I can barely get out of bed. Things became foggy.’
Atlas tasted the bitter acidity in his mouth, but he swallowed it down. While he’d been holding onto the future they’d imagined together, Luka couldn't even recognise the person who’d imagined it.
‘I don’t care!’ he snapped, forcing himself to look back up. His eyes were red, lips quivering with grief he wasn’t equipped to handle.
They’d drunkenly stumbled into this same bus shelter once before, leaving a party in the early hours of the morning. The sky was clear, scattered with stars. Luka had burst into tears after one too many shots, and as Atlas convinced him to sit down for a moment, he’d begun laughing at himself so hard he’d leaned against Atlas to stay upright. Even with his head spinning, he dragged Atlas to his feet to gracelessly sing the chorus with him.
The boy who had once been a tumultuous stormcloud of emotion and passion was now subdued; quelled.
A pair of glaringly bright headlights shone through the curtain of rain. They both stood up, as though the world beyond the bus shelter had started existing again. The bus jerked to a stop, doors folding open with a worn creak.
Reality, as cold and unforgiving as the rain, had alighted.
Atlas didn't try to block Luka’s path. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled something out. He held out his hand, a simple silver ring resting in his palm, a tiny glimmer of a future that Luka was trying to erase.
He wiped rain and tears out of his eyes with his sleeve.
‘This is so unfair,’ he muttered. ‘I had a whole speech.’
He stood there, drenched and shaking, waiting for any shred of hesitation on the other man’s face.
Luka cracked his knuckles.
The same anxious habit he'd had before every exam, before every presentation, before every difficult conversation.
Atlas realised then that this wasn't certainty; it was avoidance.
He forced a deep breath. ‘If you’re set on leaving, you should take it.’
He pressed the ring into Luka’s icy palm, closing his fingers over the metal with a firm pressure. Luka’s hand stiffened faintly beneath his touch, jaw clenched in silent deliberation.
‘It doesn’t have to be a promise, just a reminder.’
Luka studied the small fragment of their life together between his fingers.
‘I wasn’t counting down the days to this.’ His voice wavered. ‘I don't want to leave. I just… I can't help the fact that I'm different.’
Atlas's shoulders sagged.
His tone mellowed. ‘We’re not nineteen anymore. We don't have to keep pretending we’re the people we used to be.’
He reached for Luka’s hand again and squeezed gently.
‘If you're lost... that’s okay.’ His smile was small and unsteady. ‘I want to be lost right beside you.’
Luka shook his head. ‘You’re still stupidly optimistic.’
He looked down at the ring again. ‘Those parts don’t seem to fit together anymore. The new parts.’
Atlas let his hand fall away. ‘I would’ve spent my whole life trying to make them fit.’ He stepped back, leaving the space between them untouched.
The bus driver cleared his throat, acutely aware of the tension under the bus shelter, but impatient all the same.
Luka didn’t step towards the bus.
He didn’t step towards Atlas either.
He stood caught between them, suitcase handle clutched in one hand, the silver ring clenched in the other. The bus doors remained open, waiting.
‘I’m not sure this direction is the right one either.’
*
By the time they reached the dorm, the rain had waned to a miserable shower. Atlas shoved the door open, halting once he saw the state of the room. The ceramic ladybug Luka had bought from a thrift store was missing from the windowsill. So were the dried flowers Atlas had tucked into the frame of their favourite photograph, the one where Luka had just gotten wiped out by a wave and Atlas was squinting too hard at the sun. Even the scuffed little clay bunny Luka had made in their first year was missing from his desk.
Luka kept his head down as he walked through, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving a trail of water behind him. He kept the door cracked open, and seconds later the pipes groaned. Hot water crashed into the bath, the rush loud enough to block out the rain still tapping persistently at the windows.
Atlas peeled the soaked hoodie off his skin, and it hit the floor with a heavy slap.
‘Go wash up,’ he called, searching Luka’s half-packed suitcase. ‘I’ll find blankets and dry clothes for us.’
He breathed out with a tired laugh. ‘Although I’m pretty sure none of your pants would actually reach my ankles.’
He waited for a giggle, but as the faucet screeched off, the bathroom went quiet.
‘Okay in there? You didn’t slip, did you?’
Atlas bit his lip and glanced up at the doorway.
Luka’s words were so small they barely escaped through the crack in the door. ‘Stay with me?’
‘Yeah,’ he answered almost too quickly, padding across the room without another thought.
He just about slipped on the slick bathroom floor, grabbing the doorframe to catch himself. ‘Yeah, of course.’4q
The room was warm enough to sting. Steam clouded the mirror until neither of them had a reflection anymore. Condensation blurred the tiles until their edges dissolved, leaving Luka with nothing clear enough to hold onto.
Luka sat curled in the bathtub, knees pulled to his chest beneath cloudy water. His hair stuck to his forehead in wet curls, cheeks flushed from the overwhelming heat.
‘You should be angry.’ Luka stared at the ripples his fingers made across the bathwater. ‘You should yell at me for trying to leave you like that.’
Atlas sank to the floor beside the tub, leaning his side against the porcelain.
‘Why would I waste my time resenting you?’
Luka didn't answer, slinking back to submerge himself deeper.
‘I was terrified, Luka,’ Atlas blurted. ‘I thought I’d spend the rest of my life wondering where you went. Now you’re here...’ He swallowed. ‘There’s no room left for anything else.’
‘What if the new me isn’t someone you like?’
Atlas just laughed. ‘I’ve never been in love with an easy version of you.’
Luka sat up. His eyelashes were wet, and it was impossible to tell whether it was bathwater or the beginning of tears.
‘What if I change so much you don’t recognise me anymore?’ Luka asked. ‘What if I just... fade away?’
Atlas smiled, steady and absolute. ‘Then I’ll get to know you all over again. I’ve already fallen for you once. I can do it a thousand more times.’
Luka's lip trembled before the tears came.
He covered his mouth with the heel of his hand, as if he could trap the sound inside himself.
The sobs escaped anyway.
His hand surfaced hastily, bath water running down his wrist. He reached for Atlas's fingers as if he wasn't entirely sure he was still allowed to. Atlas turned his hand over without thinking, letting Luka lace their fingers together. Only then did he feel something cool press against his knuckle. The ring’s silver glinted beneath the bathroom light. Atlas stroked the chilled metal once over with his thumb as he listened.
‘I stopped going to classes.’
Atlas didn't flinch, nor did he lecture. He didn’t ask about missed credits or failed assignments.
‘I noticed,’ he admitted softly. ‘I didn’t know why, but I should’ve asked. I just wanted you to be okay.’
He didn't see a failure or a dropout; he saw someone struggling.
He pressed a soft kiss to the back of Luka’s damp hand, lips lingering there. ‘If you can’t go back, you can’t go back. We'll figure it out.’
‘I haven't really been around anyone else in months.’ The confession seemed to fog the room further. ‘Whenever I told you I was with friends... I was lying, because I didn't know how to show you this version of me.’
Atlas’s hold on Luka’s hand didn't falter, but the rest of his body tensed.
‘I knew something was off,’ he started. ‘I just kept thinking you’d tell me when you were ready.’ His tone broke instead of rising.
Luka kept speaking through raw breaths. ‘I miss who I was before it got like this.’
Atlas's expression crumpled. He rested his forehead against the edge of the bathtub, hiding his eyes for a moment.
‘I miss him too,’ he quietly admitted.
He cautiously brushed a stray, wet strand of hair from Luka’s temple with an aching tenderness. ‘But I don’t think he’s the only version of you worth loving.’
‘I'm not going to spend my time looking for a ghost, Luka. If the old you is gone, then I'll just get to know the new one.’ He leaned in, pressing another slow, burning kiss to the back of Luka's hand.
‘I wanted the easy way out.’ Luka laughed weakly through another tear. ‘I was being selfish.’
He looked exhausted confessing it.
‘I'm a real mess, aren't I?’
Atlas shook his head in hushed amusement. ‘I’ve been a mess since we first met.’ He grinned. ‘You’re just catching up to me.’
The water had begun cooling around Luka’s shoulders, but the room remained warm. Beyond the fogged glass, the storm lingered, unseen.
Chloe Alyce Bailey writes literary fiction exploring the complexities of human relationships. When she is not studying Medical Science, majoring in Genomics and Medical Informatics, she is composing stories from the strange, tender logic of sleep. She spends half the day dreaming and harvests those dreams for writing inspiration.
