The laughter surprised them both.
It slipped out without warning—quiet at first, then unrestrained—over something small and unimportant that neither of them would remember clearly later.
But they would remember the sound.
They sat on the bus, shoulders touching now without thought, as Juni leaned closer to show Elian something on his phone.
"It's ridiculous," Juni said, already smiling. "But my cousin sent it at three in the morning like it was urgent."
Elian glanced at the screen. Then snorted. Juni froze—then laughed outright, clapping a hand over his mouth.
"I knew it," he whispered. "I knew you'd laugh."
Elian shook his head, smiling despite himself."That's terrible," he said. "Why would you keep that saved?"
"Emotional support," Juni replied solemnly. Elian laughed again—softer this time. The sound seemed to loosen something in Juni.
He talked more on the ride—about a class he liked, a teacher who scared him less than most, a sketch he'd been working on but hadn't shown anyone yet.
Elian listened. Really listened. He didn't interrupt. Didn't rush. Just nodded when it mattered. Juni noticed.
They walked through the gates together. Not deliberately close. Not distant either. Just… aligned.
In class, Juni passed Elian a folded note when the teacher wasn't looking.
You still sit by the window because you like pretending you're not here, right? Elian unfolded it carefully, lips twitching. He wrote back:
Only sometimes.
He slid it back across. Juni grinned.
At lunch, they chose a table closer to the center of the room. Not exposed. But not hidden. Juni hesitated before sitting. Elian didn't comment. He just sat down first. Juni followed.
Nothing happened. No whispers. No stares that lingered.
Juni exhaled slowly."…This is nice," he murmured.
Elian nodded."It is."
Later, as they waited for the bus home, Juni leaned back against the bench and tilted his face toward the sun breaking briefly through the clouds.
"…Do you ever feel like you're borrowing a life?" he asked suddenly.
Elian considered the question."…Sometimes," he said. "But this one feels real."
Juni smiled at that. Didn't reply. Just let the moment settle.
The bus hummed steadily beneath them. Juni rested his head against the window, eyes half-lidded. After a moment, he shifted—careful not to draw attention—and let his head rest against Elian's shoulder instead.
Elian stilled. Then relaxed. He didn't move away. Didn't stiffen. Just stayed. For the rest of the ride, neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. For the first time, the quiet didn't feel like something to survive. It felt like something to keep.