The adrenaline faded faster than Elian expected. What remained was weight.
They didn't speak much for the rest of the day. Not because they were angry—but because everything felt newly fragile, like a bruise that hadn't fully surfaced yet.
When the final bell rang, Juni gathered his things more slowly than usual.
Elian waited. He always did.
They took the longer route home, away from the busier streets.
The afternoon sun cast soft shadows across the pavement. Somewhere nearby, a radio played faintly through an open window. Juni broke the silence.
"…Do you ever get tired of choosing things that make life harder?"
Elian considered the question. "Sometimes," he said honestly. "But I get more tired pretending something doesn't matter."
Juni nodded, staring at the ground."I used to think staying quiet was the same as staying safe."
Elian glanced at him.
"And now?"
Juni swallowed.
"Now I think it just made me smaller."
They stopped near the small footbridge that crossed the drainage canal. Water moved steadily beneath them, unbothered. Juni gripped the railing.
"…People like me learn early that attention is dangerous," he said.
"So when someone chooses me openly, I panic. Because I think—eventually—you'll realize I'm not worth the trouble."
The words came out flat. Practiced.
Elian felt something ache sharply in his chest. Redefining Strength. Elian leaned against the railing beside him.
"I grew up thinking strength meant control," he said.
"Being prepared. Being untouchable."
Juni listened.
"But today," Elian continued, "strength was standing there and not backing down—even though it would've been easier."
He looked at Juni.
"And staying doesn't make you weak."
Juni's fingers tightened. "…It makes you visible."
Elian nodded. "Yes."
A pause.
"And visibility isn't a flaw."
Juni's voice trembled slightly. "…What if I get tired of being brave?" Elian answered without hesitation. "Then you rest."
Juni looked up.
"You don't disappear," Elian added. "You don't apologize for existing."
Juni's breath hitched. "…You make it sound simple."
"It's not," Elian said. "But it's possible."
They crossed the bridge together. Neither rushed. As they reached the other side, Juni brushed his hand lightly against Elian's sleeve—an unconscious check-in.
Elian didn't move away. Didn't turn it into something bigger.
He stayed.
Later, alone in his room, Juni opened his sketchbook. He didn't draw faces. He drew a bridge—solid, plain, unremarkable. And beneath it, water flowing steadily forward.
He wrote one line at the bottom of the page: Staying is a choice I can learn.