By the third day, the missed lunches stopped feeling accidental.
Juni checked his phone between classes, thumb hovering over messages that arrived a little too late or too early. Their schedules overlapped only in theory—gaps that looked generous on paper but collapsed under the reality of walking distances and obligations.
He found a seat on a low wall near the edge of the courtyard and opened his sketchbook. The sun was warm, but not enough to quiet the faint ache in his stomach.
Across from him, a group of students shared food from paper containers, laughing loudly, bodies angled toward one another with easy familiarity. Juni sketched them quickly—loose lines, partial faces, the tilt of a shoulder mid-laughter. None of them noticed him watching.
He liked that.
When the bell rang, he packed up without hurry. Hunger dulled into something manageable.
Across the city, Elian sat in a lecture hall he hadn't expected to enter yet.
The invitation had arrived that morning—an orientation session marked optional, which in practice meant anything but. He took a seat near the front, listening as faculty outlined resources, research tracks, and collaborative programs spoken of as inevitabilities rather than possibilities.
"Many of you will find yourselves approached early," one professor said, eyes flicking toward Elian without quite landing. "Be mindful of how you choose."
Elian's phone vibrated once against his thigh.
Juni: Still on for lunch?
Elian typed back beneath the table.
Elian: In a session I didn't plan for. I'm sorry.
A pause.
Juni: It's okay. Tomorrow.
Elian didn't like how easily the word tomorrow slid into place.
When the session ended, he stepped outside and called immediately. Juni didn't pick up. Elian left a short message instead—nothing explanatory, just presence offered.
That evening, they met in the narrow kitchen of Elian's apartment. Juni leaned against the counter, watching Elian unpack groceries Evelyn had insisted he take.
"You don't have to do that," Juni said, nodding at the bags.
"I know," Elian replied. "She likes knowing you'll eat."
Juni smiled faintly. "Figures."
They ate together on the floor, backs against the cabinets, the quiet between them comfortable but edged.
"My campus feels like it already decided who I'm supposed to be," Elian said after a while.
Juni considered that. "Mine feels like it doesn't care yet."
They looked at each other and laughed softly—recognition easing the tension.
The imbalance was there. They both felt it.
But it hadn't tipped into resentment. Not yet.
For now, it simply waited.