Elian noticed the change without naming it.
Juni didn't pull away completely. That was what made it easy to miss. He still came over. Still stayed the night. Still laughed at the same moments. But the ease that used to live in his body had shifted—subtle, like a breath held just a little too long.
Elian noticed it in the pauses.
In the way Juni lingered at the edge of conversations instead of settling into them. In how his hand hesitated before reaching for Elian's wrist, as if checking whether it was welcome—even though it always was.
Elian didn't ask.
He had learned, slowly and sometimes painfully, that Juni closed further when cornered by concern. Questions, however gentle, could feel like demands. What Juni needed first was steadiness.
So Elian stayed close.
He adjusted his schedule without comment, walking Juni to the train even when it meant a longer route home. He cooked more often, grounding evenings in routine rather than discussion. He sat beside Juni while he worked, present without hovering.
One night, Juni lay on the floor sketching, pencil moving more slowly than usual. Elian sat cross-legged nearby, reading, the room quiet except for the scratch of graphite.
"You don't have to stay up," Juni said suddenly.
Elian looked up. "I want to."
Juni glanced at him, searching—not for reassurance, but for truth. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him. He nodded and returned to his sketch.
Later, when Juni rested his head against Elian's knee without thinking, Elian didn't still or comment. He simply rested his hand in Juni's hair, light enough not to startle.
Juni exhaled.
The withdrawal didn't disappear. But it softened, loosened around the edges. It became something shared rather than hidden.
When Juni finally spoke, it wasn't a confession. It was an observation.
"I feel… quieter lately," he said one evening, voice low.
Elian nodded. "I've noticed."
"You don't seem worried."
"I'm paying attention," Elian replied. "There's a difference."
Juni absorbed that in silence.
For the first time in days, he leaned fully into Elian's side—weight committed, unguarded. Elian adjusted instinctively, arm secure around him.
Being seen didn't require explanation.
Sometimes, it only required patience.