The accident happened because neither of them was paying attention.
It was raining again. Not the loud kind—just a steady drizzle that softened the afternoon and slicked the pavement outside the bus stop. Juni arrived late, breathless, hair damp from the walk.
"Sorry," he said, sliding onto the bench beside Elian. "The bus before this—"
"It's fine," Elian said.
They boarded together as usual, shoes leaving faint wet marks on the floor. The bus was more crowded than normal. They stood this time, gripping the overhead rail as the vehicle lurched forward.
A sudden turn sent the bus swerving. Juni lost his footing. He reached out instinctively—and caught Elian's sleeve. Elian reacted without thinking, steadying Juni with one hand at his waist.
For a second, neither of them moved. Juni's forehead brushed Elian's collarbone. Elian could feel the warmth of him—too clearly, too suddenly. Juni inhaled sharply.
"I—sorry," he murmured, trying to pull back.
Elian tightened his grip reflexively, just enough to keep him from falling again.
"It's okay," Elian said quietly.
The bus straightened. But they didn't.
Juni realized where his hand was resting—flat against Elian's chest.
He froze.
Elian's heartbeat was steady beneath his palm.
Too steady.
Juni pulled away abruptly, face flushing.
"I didn't mean to—" he started.
"I know," Elian said immediately.
Their eyes met. Something charged passed between them—brief and undeniable.
Then the bus jolted again, breaking the moment. They didn't speak for the rest of the ride. Juni sat rigid in his seat, gaze fixed on the window.
Elian watched the city blur past, pulse louder now, his skin still remembering the weight of Juni's hand. When the bus stopped, Juni stood too quickly.
"…I'll see you," he said.
Elian nodded.
"Yeah."
All day, the closeness lingered. In the space between desks. In the way Juni avoided eye contact. In the way Elian caught himself replaying the moment—not for its intimacy, but for its rightness.
At lunch, Juni didn't sit beside him. He sat across instead. Close enough to stay. Far enough to breathe.
Elian lay awake longer than usual. He stared at the ceiling, replaying the feel of Juni's weight against him.
Not desire—something quieter.
Certainty.
The next morning, Juni arrived at the bus stop early. Elian was already there. They shared a glance. Juni spoke first.
"…I didn't hate it," he said softly.
Elian's breath caught.
"…Me neither."
Juni nodded once—decisive. Then sat beside him. The line had blurred. But it hadn't broken.