Elian didn't expect the fear to come this way.
Quiet. Unreasonable. Persistent.
Juni talked more about art now. Not constantly—but with a lightness that hadn't been there before. He mentioned portfolios, deadlines, ideas he wanted to try.
Elian smiled. Encouraged him.
And then, late at night, felt something tighten in his chest. What if he grows past me? The thought surprised him with its sharpness.
The reminder came during class. "Final-year exams begin next month," the teacher announced. "Your choices now will affect your future."
The room buzzed with tension. Elian felt it settle into his bones.
Expectations. Performance. Outcome.
He had always carried them well.
Until now.
They studied together in the library that afternoon. Juni sketched between notes, absentmindedly, eyes bright. Elian watched him for a long moment. "…Can I say something selfish?" Elian asked.
Juni looked up. "Always."
Elian hesitated. "…I'm scared," he admitted. "That if you move forward, I won't know how to stand beside you without holding you back."
Juni stilled. He closed the sketchbook gently. "You don't hold me back," Juni said quietly.
Elian shook his head. "I know that logically," he said. "But feelings aren't always logical."
Juni smiled faintly. "…You let me stay when I needed safety," he said. "Now you're letting me move when I need space."
Elian met his eyes. "That's not losing me," Juni added. "That's trusting me."
Something loosened.
Outside, the sky darkened early. Stacks of textbooks loomed between them. "…I'm not as calm about exams as everyone thinks," Elian admitted.
Juni blinked. "You? You're top of everything."
Elian huffed a humorless laugh. "That's the problem," he said. "There's no room to slip."
Juni reached out, resting his hand lightly over Elian's notes. "…Then we don't let you face it alone either." Elian smiled, surprised by how much he needed to hear that.
They studied side by side, silence companionable.
Different paths. Different fears.
But shared effort.
As they packed up, Juni spoke softly. "…We're both moving forward," he said. "Just in different ways."
Elian nodded. "And we're still choosing each other."
Juni smiled. "That's the part I'm not scared of anymore."
At the bus stop that evening, Elian watched Juni sketch the passing traffic, lines quick and confident. The fear hadn't vanished. But it had shifted.
Letting go didn't mean losing. Sometimes, it meant making space. And with exams drawing closer and futures taking shape, Elian realized something quietly profound:
Love wasn't about holding on tighter. It was about trusting what they were becoming.
Together—and apart.