Dawn came quietly.
The city outside Elian's apartment was still half-asleep, streets washed pale by early light. Juni sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his jacket with movements that were practiced, familiar. They had done this before—early mornings, shared silence—but today carried a different weight.
First day.
Elian leaned against the doorframe, watching him. There was no rush between them, no last-minute scrambling. Their closeness had settled into something calm over the months since graduation—unlabeled, but steady.
"You'll be late tonight?" Juni asked.
"Probably," Elian replied. "Orientation runs long. And there's a briefing."
Juni nodded. He didn't ask what kind. He didn't need to. The word briefing had already begun to mean something different in Elian's world.
They stepped outside together, the cool air sharpening their senses. At the corner where their paths split, they stopped.
Elian reached out, fingers curling lightly around Juni's wrist. The touch wasn't possessive. It was grounding.
"Text me when you get there," Elian said.
Juni smiled faintly. "You too."
For a moment, neither moved. The city hummed softly around them—buses warming up, distant voices, the promise of motion. Juni shifted first, stepping back just enough to create space.
"This feels strange," he said. "Not bad. Just… different."
Elian nodded. "Yeah. Like something we haven't practiced yet."
They didn't kiss. They rarely did in public—not out of fear, but out of habit formed carefully over time. Instead, Elian rested his forehead briefly against Juni's, a private gesture in a public space.
Then they turned in opposite directions.
As Elian walked toward his campus, his phone vibrated.
Evelyn: First day. Be kind to yourself.
Evelyn: And tell Juni we're thinking of him.
Elian smiled, warmth threading through his chest. He typed back a quick acknowledgment before slipping the phone away.
The university rose ahead of him—broad walkways, stone buildings, banners welcoming new students by faculty and discipline. As he crossed the main quad, he felt it immediately: the subtle alignment of space around him. A professor greeted him by name. An administrator paused to confirm his schedule, already printed.
"Mr. Sorell, your materials are ready."
Ready.
Elian thanked her and kept moving, the word settling uncomfortably in his thoughts. Belonging offered before asking always felt heavier than belonging earned.
He thought of Juni, navigating unfamiliar halls alone.
The distance between them wasn't emotional. It was structural now—built into maps and timetables and expectations neither of them had written.
Elian adjusted the strap of his bag and walked on, carrying both the comfort of certainty and the quiet unease of scale.