Morning had a sound now.
The soft clink of a mug on the counter. The hiss of the kettle. The muted shuffle of bare feet across the floor.
Juni woke to it, eyes still closed, body heavy with sleep. Elian wasn't beside him anymore, but the warmth remained—imprinted, reassuring. Juni lay there for a moment, orienting himself not by place, but by presence.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
This was becoming something else.
In the bathroom, they brushed their teeth side by side, shoulders nearly touching. Elian reached for the toothpaste before Juni did, then paused and handed it over without looking. The mirror reflected them both—unremarkable, unposed.
Juni studied the image with quiet curiosity. They looked like people who lived together. The thought unsettled him more than any kiss ever had.
They ate breakfast standing at the counter—toast, fruit, the last of yesterday's coffee reheated without complaint. Conversation was sparse but comfortable.
"You have class early?" Elian asked.
"Studio," Juni replied. "Critique day."
Elian winced sympathetically. "I'll text you after my lecture."
Juni nodded, then hesitated. "Do you mind if I leave some things here?"
Elian looked at him, surprised only by the question. "No," he said simply. "Why would I?"
Juni swallowed. "Just checking."
Elian reached out, resting his hand briefly against Juni's lower back. "You don't need permission."
They parted at the door with a soft touch to the wrist, a brief meeting of eyes. Nothing dramatic. Nothing secret.
Walking to campus later, Juni replayed the morning in fragments—the mirror, the counter, the quiet coordination of space. Passion hadn't driven any of it.
Familiarity had.
That was what unsettled him.
Back in the studio, while others spoke nervously about their work, Juni found his thoughts drifting. He realized that waking beside Elian felt more intimate than anything they hadn't done.
It implied continuity. It implied tomorrow.
When his phone buzzed—
Elian: Surviving?
—Juni smiled.
Juni: Barely. But yes.
He added, after a moment—
Juni: See you later.
The words felt natural. Inevitable.
And as Juni returned his attention to the room, he understood something important:
This wasn't passion pulling him closer.
It was home, forming quietly—without asking to be named.