Side Story (1) - Chapter 2
The next day, Fayne boarded the train, her hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea she'd bought from a vending machine at the station. She settled into a window seat, watching the city blur into the outskirts as the train picked up speed. The rhythmic clattering of the wheels against the tracks filled the silence, and she found herself drifting into her thoughts. Her breath fogged up the glass as she traced circles with her finger, the landscape turning gray and distant outside.
What should I even say to him? she wondered, her mind racing with possibilities. She thought about their conversation the night before, how hesitant Milo had sounded when he finally agreed to meet. It had started with a simple message, her fingers trembling as she typed out the words:
"Hey, Milo. I know it's been a while, but do you have time to chat?"
She remembered the pause, the long moments where her message sat unread in the chat, the typing indicator blinking before disappearing again. She had almost given up hope that he would respond when the reply finally came:
"Hey. Sure, I guess. What's up?"
Fayne had taken a deep breath before responding, feeling the weight of the distance that had grown between them. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for being so distant. I've been caught up in my own stuff, but that's not an excuse. I know I've been reaching out only when I need advice, and that wasn't fair to you. If you're open to it, I'd like to meet up and talk properly."
The next pause felt even longer, each second stretching out like an eternity. Finally, Milo's reply came through, shorter and more restrained than she had hoped: "Okay. Let's meet up tomorrow."
She had felt a flicker of relief at his agreement, but the terseness of his response had lingered in her mind. He's not ready to forgive me, she realized, but she knew that this meeting was the first step, even if it wasn't an easy one.
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Now, as the train rolled into Milo's city, Fayne's thoughts lingered on the conversation, feeling the weight of the cold air that greeted her as she stepped off the platform. The winter landscape outside seemed endless, buildings coated in a frosty layer. It mirrored the chill she felt between them—one she hoped to thaw with this meeting.
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By the time she reached the restaurant, the warmth inside was a welcome contrast to the icy air outside. Fayne arrived early, as she often did, choosing a table near the window where she could watch the city's bustle outside. Her eyes drifted to the entrance every few seconds, a knot of nerves tightening in her chest each time the door swung open, letting in a brief gust of winter air.
After a few minutes, Fayne spotted Milo stepping through the door, his shoulders hunched slightly against the chill. He scanned the room, his eyes darting over the tables before landing on her. His expression shifted from blank to something more guarded, his brows furrowing slightly. He approached with measured steps, bundled up in a thick, slightly oversized navy hoodie and a worn-out winter jacket. She noticed how his sneakers, scuffed and slightly out of place for the weather, barely made a sound on the restaurant's tiled floor. His hands were stuffed deep into the hoodie's pockets, the ends of fingerless gloves just visible. He looked like he was bracing himself against more than just the cold.
The warmth of the restaurant enveloped him as he reached the table, but he didn't seem to relax. Fayne watched him, trying to gauge his mood. She offered a small, tentative smile as he reached her. "Hey, Milo," she said softly, her voice carrying a touch of uncertainty. The steam from the hot pot wafted up between them, its warmth contrasting sharply with the coolness of his demeanor.
Milo gave a short nod, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down with a slight sigh. "Hey," he replied, keeping his tone neutral. He glanced around the restaurant, avoiding her gaze for a moment before finally looking at her. There was a tension in the set of his jaw, a wariness that told her he hadn't yet decided if he wanted to be here. He drummed his fingers against the edge of the table, the rhythm quick and restless.
The silence stretched between them as Fayne fumbled for something to say. "Thanks for coming. I... I know it's been a while," she ventured, her fingers playing with the edge of her scarf. She adjusted it nervously, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks. She had been the one to suggest this, but now, under Milo's guarded gaze, she felt the weight of her own mistakes pressing down on her.
Milo shrugged, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Yeah, well. Guess we had to talk at some point, right?" He spoke the words casually, but there was an edge to them. He glanced down at the hot pot in the center of the table, steam rising in lazy curls, filling the space between them with a fragrant warmth. Fayne followed his gaze, the unease between them suddenly feeling even more tangible.
She reached for the ladle, her hand brushing against the edge of the hot pot. "I thought we could share this. It's been a while since we—" she caught herself, realizing how awkward the words sounded, and quickly refocused on ladling soup into his bowl. The gesture felt small, but it was all she could think of to bridge the gap between them.
Milo watched her in silence for a moment, then picked up his chopsticks, taking a bite. The warmth of the soup spread through him, but it did little to ease the tension coiling in his chest. He knew she was trying—he could see it in the way her hands shook slightly as she served him. But the bitterness he'd carried for so long wasn't so easily dispelled. He took a slow breath, forcing himself to look at her again. "So, why now, Fayne?" he asked, his voice softer but tinged with frustration. "Why reach out now, after all this time?"
Fayne fiddled with the ladle, her hands trembling slightly as she ladled another spoonful of broth into her own bowl. The steam from the hot pot created a thin veil between them, but it did little to hide the unease in her eyes. "I know I've been distant, Milo. It's just… everything after the tournament—it got overwhelming. School, work, trying to rank up… I didn't think you'd want to keep dealing with me."
Milo's gaze hardened, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, you were busy," he repeated, his voice flat. "But it's not like I wasn't there too. I was just… waiting, I guess. Waiting for you to remember I was around."
Fayne winced at his words, the honesty cutting deeper than she'd expected. "I didn't mean to make you feel like that. I thought—I thought you were okay with us drifting a bit. I never realized…"
"Yeah, that's the problem, Fayne. You didn't realize," Milo interrupted, his voice rising slightly, enough that a few heads turned their way. He caught himself and took a deep breath, pressing his lips into a thin line before continuing more quietly. "I know Raxian needed you, but I just… I thought maybe, after the tournament, you'd have time for the rest of us too. For me."
The rawness in his tone made Fayne's chest tighten, guilt clawing at her insides. She had always thought of Milo as steady, unchanging—a quiet presence she could rely on. But now, she saw how much she had taken that stability for granted. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft bubbling of the hot pot. "I never meant to hurt you, Milo."
Milo leaned back slightly, his hazel eyes meeting Fayne's with a steadiness that made her chest tighten. "You think I don't know that? I know you, Fayne. You don't do things to hurt people. But that doesn't mean it didn't happen."
Fayne flinched at the bluntness of his words. They stung, even though she knew he wasn't trying to hurt her; he was just speaking his truth. She looked down at her hands, tracing the rim of her cup with her thumb as she gathered her thoughts. "I… I never wanted to make you feel like you didn't matter, Milo. That's the last thing I'd ever want. I was so caught up in making sure Raxian was okay that I—I forgot to look around, to see what you might be going through too." Her voice trembled as she spoke, the weight of her own guilt pressing down on her shoulders.
Milo's expression softened, but the hurt in his eyes didn't fade. "You know, back then, during the tournament… I thought it was a chance to get closer again. Like, maybe things could be like they used to be before League took over everything. I wanted to believe that we could be more than just… teammates." He let out a bitter chuckle, glancing away toward the window. "But instead, I just felt like a spare part—like I was only there when you needed a strategy or someone to point out your mistakes."
Fayne's throat tightened, and she could feel tears welling up behind her eyes. She blinked them back, forcing herself to meet his gaze again. "I'm sorry, Milo. I should have seen how much it meant to you. I just—" She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. "I guess I was so afraid of failing, of letting everyone down, that I couldn't see how much I was letting you down."
Milo let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. His expression softened, though the pain lingered in his eyes. "It's not like I expected you to drop everything for me, Fayne. I just… I just wanted to matter too, you know?" He paused, his voice growing quieter. "You're always so focused on fixing things, on making sure everyone else is okay. But sometimes, it feels like you forget that you're allowed to care about other people too—people who aren't Raxian."
Fayne's hands clenched around the cup, her fingers trembling slightly. "I know. And I'm trying to change that—I really am. But I don't want you to feel like I'm only coming to you because I need something, Milo. You've been there for me more times than I can count, and I took that for granted. I should have been a better friend."
Milo watched her for a long moment, his gaze searching her face as if trying to gauge the sincerity of her words. He could see the guilt in her eyes, the regret that tugged at the corners of her mouth. He wanted to believe her—wanted to trust that she meant what she said—but the memory of being pushed aside still lingered like a shadow between them. "It's not that easy, Fayne," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can't just say sorry and expect everything to go back to the way it was."
"I know," Fayne replied, her voice breaking slightly. "I don't expect that. I just… I want the chance to make it right, to show you that I care. That I always cared, even if I didn't show it the way I should have."
Milo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he clasped his hands together. He looked down at the space between them, the quiet sound of the bustling restaurant fading into the background. "I guess the question is, Fayne—do you really want to make things right with me? Or is this just another way of trying to fix something you think is broken?" His tone was cautious, almost vulnerable, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Fayne's breath hitched, and she forced herself to meet his gaze head-on. "I want to make things right with you, Milo. Not because I feel guilty, or because I think I have to. But because you're important to me, and I don't want to lose you." Her voice grew steadier as she spoke, the sincerity behind her words shining through. "I know I've messed up, and I know it's not enough to just say I'm sorry. But if you're willing to give me the chance, I'll do whatever it takes to prove that you matter to me too."
For a moment, the weight of her words hung between them, fragile and uncertain. Milo studied her, the vulnerability in her voice touching something deep inside him that he hadn't let himself feel in a long time. He didn't know if he was ready to forgive her completely, but there was a small part of him that wanted to believe she meant it—that maybe, just maybe, she was willing to try.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Okay," he said softly, a hint of resignation in his voice. "I guess we'll see."
Fayne felt a small spark of hope ignite in her chest, but she knew better than to mistake it for a resolution. This was just the beginning—one step toward repairing what had been broken between them. But as she looked across the table at Milo, she couldn't help but feel like it was a step worth taking.