It happened without agreement.
No conversation. No marking of the calendar. Juni stayed over on a Tuesday because it was raining, and then again on Thursday because it was late, and then on Sunday because neither of them felt like moving.
By the following week, it no longer registered as a decision.
Juni noticed it first in the small things—the way he began keeping a spare charger on Elian's desk, the familiar rhythm of setting his bag down by the door without asking where it should go. He stopped counting how many nights he stayed. He started noticing how odd it felt when he didn't.
The apartment adjusted quietly. Elian shifted his routines without comment, clearing a drawer, moving his books to make space. Nothing was announced. Nothing was offered ceremonially.
It simply made sense.
One evening, Juni arrived after studio with paint still faintly smudged along his knuckles. Elian looked up from his laptop and smiled, that easy recognition settling Juni immediately.
"Long day?" Elian asked.
Juni nodded. "The kind where you forget what time it is."
Elian closed his laptop. "I ordered food."
Juni felt a warmth spread through his chest—unexpected, disproportionate. Not excitement. Relief.
They ate on the couch, knees touching, the television playing something neither of them watched. Juni leaned sideways without thinking, head resting against Elian's shoulder. Elian's arm came around him automatically.
No one commented on it.
Later, when the night deepened and the city quieted, Juni stood by the window, watching lights flicker across buildings. Elian joined him, their shoulders brushing.
"You can stay," Elian said—not as invitation, but as statement.
Juni glanced at him. "I know."
That was the moment that surprised him—not the permission, but the certainty.
They went to bed without ceremony. Juni turned onto his side and felt Elian settle behind him, warmth steady, familiar. The day's tension dissolved without effort.
As sleep approached, Juni realized something quietly profound: anticipation had been replaced by expectation.
Staying over no longer carried weight.
Leaving began to feel like interruption.
The thought didn't frighten him.
It steadied him.