The requests multiply.
Not dramatically. Not aggressively.
A form here. A clarification there. A suggestion, framed as helpful: Perhaps a brief disclaimer would avoid misunderstanding.
Juni reads that line and feels something settle—not fear, but resolve.
They sit together that evening, laptops open, documents spread between them. The domestic ease from earlier weeks has tightened into focus.
"A disclaimer implies wrongdoing," Elian says quietly. "Or at least risk."
Juni nods. "And it frames visibility as something to be apologized for."
They sit with that.
A teammate messages Elian privately, well-meaning and cautious. It might be easier if you both step back publicly for a bit.
Elian shows Juni the message without comment.
Juni exhales. "They're not wrong about ease."
"No," Elian agrees. "They're wrong about cost."
Silence stretches. This is the moment where retreat would be simple. Where disappearance could be reframed as professionalism.
"I don't want to vanish," Juni says finally. "Not quietly. Not to make things smoother."
Elian looks at him, something steady and serious in his expression. "Neither do I."
They talk—not urgently, not emotionally. They talk like people making a decision that will shape the weeks ahead.
"We don't need to perform visibility," Juni says. "But we shouldn't surrender it either."
Elian nods. "Chosen, not reactive."
They draft their response carefully. No defensiveness. No apology. Clear boundaries. Transparent structure.
They submit it together.
Later, as they prepare for bed, the tension hasn't left—but it has changed shape. Juni feels it in the way Elian moves more deliberately, in the way their touch lingers longer than usual, grounding rather than seeking.
"Are you scared?" Juni asks quietly.
Elian considers. "I'm aware."
Juni smiles faintly. "That sounds like you."
They lie side by side, hands loosely entwined.
Visibility, Juni realizes, isn't just about being seen.
It's about deciding how you're seen—and refusing to let others decide for you.
As sleep approaches, he feels the pressure of the institution hovering just beyond the room. It doesn't recede.
But neither do they.