The idea didn't arrive loudly. It waited.
Juni found himself staying later in the art room. Not because anyone asked him to. Not because he needed distraction. But because something inside him felt unfinished when he left.
He stayed after class, sunlight thinning into amber, sketchbook open, pencil moving almost on its own. He wasn't drawing fear anymore. He was drawing possibility.
A teacher paused by his table one afternoon. "You've been working hard," she said. "Have you ever thought about applying to an art program?"
Juni laughed reflexively. "…That's not really for people like me."
She tilted her head. "People who work this much?" she asked gently.
Juni froze. The thought echoed long after she walked away.
That evening, he showed Elian a sketch. It wasn't polished—just a concept, lines layered over each other, movement suggested more than defined. "…I keep thinking about what it would be like," Juni said carefully, "to do this somewhere that teaches it properly."
Elian studied the page. "You should," he said simply.
Juni blinked. "Should what?"
"Think about it," Elian replied. "Dream about it."
Juni swallowed. "…What if I fail?"
Elian smiled softly. "Then you'll have failed trying something you wanted."
The words settled gently.
Juni stared at the sketch. "…I've always planned around survival," he admitted. "Not happiness."
Elian nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "But survival doesn't have to be the end goal forever."
Juni let out a shaky breath. "…I don't know how to want things without feeling guilty."
Elian reached over, turning the page of the sketchbook. "Start small," he said. "Wanting doesn't take anything away from anyone."
That night, Juni lay on his bed and opened his laptop.
He didn't apply. He didn't even bookmark anything. He just searched.
art universities
portfolio requirements
scholarships
The words glowed quietly on the screen. His chest tightened—not with fear, but with something unfamiliar.
Anticipation.
At the bus stop the next day, Juni arrived with dark circles under his eyes and a smile he didn't quite recognize. "You didn't sleep," Elian said.
Juni shrugged. "…I was thinking."
Elian raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous?"
Juni laughed. "Maybe."
He hesitated. "…I think I want to try," he said. "Just to see."
Elian's expression softened. "I'll be right here," he said. "Whatever that looks like."
Juni leaned back against the bench, watching the sky lighten. For the first time, his future didn't feel like a threat. It felt like an open page. He didn't know what he would write.
He just knew—quietly, surely—That he was allowed to pick up the pen.