Page 42 of Canned & Coated

Which is maybe the more terrifying realization.

Because standing here, over a shower floor that’s seen too much, I realize I’m not only cleaning up the mess from last night. I’m also rinsing away the version of myself that would’ve never let it happen in the first place.

Some things don’t wash away that easily, but other things? They go. They slide right down the drain like they were never there at all.

The man I’m gonna be when I step out of this shower… I don’t think he’s afraid in the same way anymore.

Once I’m done and back outside, the sun has finally committed to rising, the world shifting from that cold, washed-out blue into something warmer. Gold creeping in at the edges. The air smells cleaner.

Back at the tent, Milo’s up. He’s doing that thing where he pretends not to notice me, focused a little too hard on whatever’s in front of him, but I can tell by the way his back straightens that he clocked me the second I came into view,

Tanner’s already there too, moving around the campsite with quiet efficiency. Between the two of them, they’ve made a dent in the mess we left behind.

The fire’s been cleared. Trash bagged. The pot of beans gone.

I don’t ask. I don’t think I want the answer.

I fall into step beside them, grabbing whatever needs grabbing, wiping down surfaces that don’t need wiping, all of us moving in that familiar rhythm. It’s quiet, but not strained. Moments underscored by the soft sounds of packing up a weekend that’s already starting to feel further away than it should.

For a minute, I almost believe we’re going to get through this without saying anything, then Milo glances between us.

“Should we talk about what happened last night?” he asks rolling up his sleeping bag.

The question hangs in the morning air between us, suspended there without landing. Somehow it doesn’t break anything.

After last night, you’d expect this to feel different. I thought maybe it’d be awkward in that painful, secondhand way where no one knows where to look or what to say.

I expected averted eyes and forced casualness. Maybe a joke that doesn’t land and then a long stretch of silence no one wants to claim. It’s not that though.

There’s an ease here I don’t quite trust. Something softer. Looser around the edges. It’s as if we already said the thing without actually saying it, and now we’re living in the aftermath.

I think maybe we crossed some invisible line in the dark and woke up on the other side of it. Instead of scrambling back, none of us seems in a hurry to move.

Tanner glances up, a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he tosses another bag into the back of the Jeep. “What is there to discuss?” he asks, his voice light but his eyes lingering on Milo a beat longer than necessary.

“What is there...” Milo echoes, caught between disbelief and something softer. “Maybe we could start with the... things that occurred between us.”

Milo hesitates.

There’s a flush creeping up his cheeks. It’s faint, but impossible to miss and for once he isn’t filling the space with noise or jokes or that easy confidence he leans on. He’s actually thinking about what he’s about to say.

Choosing his words.

Carefully.

It’s strange hearing it from him. Stranger still seeing it.

Tanner’s smile widens slightly, watching him struggle, and that’s new too.

“Things?” Tanner echoes. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Milo scoffs, throwing his hands up. “The kissing. The hookup. The… whatever the hell that situation was. The Eiffel Tower. The DP. The beans.”

“Can’t forget the beans,” Tanner fires back without missing a beat.

“How could any of us forget the beans,” I add.

Milo points at me. “Thank you. At least someone here understands the gravity of the situation.”