Nothing shattered the next day. That, somehow, mattered most.
The bus arrived on time. The sky was clear, the pavement drying fast beneath the rising sun. Elian reached the stop first and took his usual seat on the bench.
Juni arrived a minute later. He didn't hesitate this time. He sat beside Elian as if the space had always belonged to both of them.
"Morning," Juni said.
"Morning."
Their shoulders brushed lightly. Neither moved away.
On the bus, they sat together—window and aisle, the arrangement familiar again. Juni stared out the glass for a while before speaking.
"…You didn't make it weird," he said quietly.
Elian turned toward him. "I didn't think it was."
Juni nodded, fingers twisting briefly in his sleeve. "Most people would've… said something. Or pretended it didn't happen."
Elian considered that. "I didn't think it needed fixing."
Juni glanced at him, surprised.
"…It didn't?"
Elian shook his head.
"No."
The word landed gently.
At school, nothing dramatic followed. They walked to class together. They shared notes. They sat where they always did. The normalcy eased something tight in Juni's chest.
At lunch, Juni sat beside Elian again. Not across. Beside. Elian noticed—and didn't comment.
After school, they lingered near the lockers, the hallway nearly empty. Juni leaned back against the cool metal, staring at the ceiling.
"…Sometimes I think if I acknowledge something," he said slowly, "it'll disappear."
Elian frowned slightly.
"Why?"
Juni shrugged. "Because that's how it used to be. Good things didn't last once they were noticed."
Elian listened. Didn't interrupt.
"…Yesterday scared me," Juni admitted. "Not because of what happened. But because it felt… safe."
Elian met his eyes. "Safe doesn't have to mean fragile."
Juni exhaled shakily. "I want to believe that."
Elian didn't say I won't leave. He didn't say nothing bad will happen. Instead, he said:
"Look at today."
Juni followed his gaze—down the hallway, toward the exit, toward the familiar shape of the afternoon.
"…It didn't break," Elian continued. "We didn't break."
Juni smiled faintly.
"No," he agreed. "We didn't."
They walked to the bus stop together. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the pavement. Juni bumped his shoulder lightly against Elian's.
Not accidental. Not heavy. Just enough.
Elian smiled.
Later, Elian lay in bed thinking—not about the moment they'd nearly crossed into something else, but about the morning after.
The ease. The lack of regret. Some connections didn't demand explanation. They proved themselves by staying intact.