The distance was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it.
Elian didn't.
They stood at the bus stop the next morning at the same time. Just not together. Juni leaned against the pole near the sign, earbuds in, gaze fixed on the street. Elian sat on the bench, hands folded loosely in his lap.
They acknowledged each other with a glance. Nothing more. The bus arrived. They boarded separately.
The window seat was still open. Elian hesitated—then took it. Juni chose a seat two rows ahead.
Elian didn't follow.
The bus lurched forward, engine rattling loudly in the silence Elian couldn't escape. He watched Juni's reflection in the glass instead of the city.
Juni didn't turn around.
In class, they worked efficiently—answers exchanged only when necessary. Juni's voice stayed careful. Polite. Elian mirrored it. It felt like balancing on the edge of something fragile. Neither wanted to be the one to tip it.
At lunch, Elian noticed Juni watching him from across the room. Just once. Just long enough. Then Juni looked away.
Elian finished his meal slowly, forcing himself not to follow. This is what he asked for, Elian reminded himself. So he stayed where he was.
After school, the bus stop was quieter than usual. Juni arrived late this time, slowing when he saw Elian already there. For a moment, it looked like he might turn away. Instead, he stopped a careful distance from the bench.
Elian stood.
Not to close the space—but to meet it halfway. "…Hi," he said.
Juni hesitated. "…Hi."
Silence stretched between them—not sharp, but uncertain.
Elian spoke again, voice steady. "I'm not angry," he said. "And I'm not going to make this harder." Juni swallowed. "I know."
"If you need space," Elian continued, "I'll give it. But… I'm still here."
Juni looked up then. Really looked. "…You don't have to wait," Juni said quietly.
Elian shook his head. "I want to."
The words weren't dramatic. They were honest. Juni's shoulders loosened, just a fraction. The bus arrived before either of them could say more. This time, Juni sat beside Elian.
Not close. But not far. Unfinished, Not Broken
They didn't talk on the ride. They didn't need to. As the bus rolled forward, Elian felt the tension ease—not gone, but softer.
Distance hadn't ended them. It had taught them how to stay.