The building was quieter than Juni expected.
No crowds. No chaos. Just a controlled hum—security at the entrance, staff moving with practiced efficiency, conversations measured and purposeful. The banner near the door read Sorell Foundation — Annual Education & Health Initiative.
Juni adjusted his jacket, suddenly aware of how soft it felt against the polished space.
Elian noticed immediately. "You okay?"
Juni nodded. "Yeah. Just… taking it in."
Inside, the event unfolded with seamless precision. Tables arranged perfectly. Speakers introduced with careful brevity. Everyone seemed to know where they were supposed to be—and why.
No one stared at Juni. No one questioned his presence.
That somehow made it harder.
Introductions came easily. "Elian Sorell," followed by nods of recognition. Juni was introduced simply by name. Sometimes with a quiet addition—"He's studying art."
People smiled. Asked polite questions. Listened attentively.
They were kind. They belonged.
As Elian spoke with a faculty representative about a scholarship initiative, Juni drifted a step away, watching from a distance. Elian moved with calm authority, answering questions without dominance, listening without deference. He fit here in a way that was effortless and earned.
Juni felt the difference settle into him—not as jealousy, but as awareness.
A woman approached him with a gentle smile. "You must be Juni. Evelyn speaks very highly of you."
Juni blinked. "She does?"
"She does," the woman confirmed. "You're lucky. She doesn't offer that lightly."
Juni smiled, the warmth unexpected.
Later, as the evening wound down, they stepped outside into cooler air. Juni exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders.
"That was… a lot," he admitted.
Elian nodded. "It usually is."
They walked in silence for a moment.
"I didn't feel unwelcome," Juni said. "Just… smaller."
Elian stopped and turned to face him. "You don't have to measure yourself against that world."
"I know," Juni replied. "But it's still there."
Elian reached for his hand—not as display, but as reassurance. "It doesn't get to define you."
Juni squeezed back, grounding himself in the contact.
As they headed home, Juni realized something quietly important: the Sorell scale wasn't cruel.
But it demanded steadiness.
And loving Elian meant learning how to stand within it—without losing himself.
That work, he knew, had only just begun.