Juni didn't plan it. That was the thing. It happened during group discussion in history class.
They were talking about regional cooperation—about Country J and Country S, about old agreements and newer tensions. The conversation stayed academic until someone laughed softly from the back of the room.
"Well," a boy said, glancing pointedly at Elian, "I guess some people have insider perspectives."
A few students snickered. Elian's expression didn't change. But Juni felt it—sharp and sudden—as if the comment had landed in his own chest.
For half a second, Juni almost stayed quiet. The instinct rose fast: Don't draw attention. Don't escalate. Let it pass. He felt it tug at him. Then he thought of the festival lights. Of Evelyn's calm voice. Of Elian standing beside him when silence had been easier.
Juni lifted his head. "That's not fair," Juni said.
The room went still. The teacher looked up.
The boy scoffed. "Relax. It was a joke."
Juni's hands trembled—but his voice didn't. "Jokes are supposed to be funny," he said. "That just sounded like you were trying to make him uncomfortable."
Elian turned toward him, surprised. Juni didn't look back.
The teacher cleared her throat. "Let's stay respectful," she said firmly, redirecting the discussion.
The moment passed. But something had shifted. Elian felt it as clearly as Juni did.
They walked out of class together. "…You didn't have to do that," Elian said quietly.
Juni shrugged, heart still racing. "I wanted to."
Elian stopped walking. He looked at Juni—not searching, not protective.
Grateful.
"…Thank you," he said.
Juni smiled, a little crooked. "Guess we're even."
Elian laughed softly. "I don't think that's how it works."
At lunch, someone slid into the seat across from them. "That was cool," the girl said to Juni. "What you said earlier."
Juni blinked. "…Oh. Thanks."
It wasn't applause. It wasn't approval.
Just acknowledgment. And somehow, that felt bigger.
That evening, walking home, Juni spoke softly. "…I didn't feel brave," he admitted. "I just didn't want him to be alone."
Elian nodded. "That's usually when it happens."
Juni glanced at him. "You mean courage?"
Elian smiled. "I mean love."
Juni's breath caught. But he didn't look away.
At the bus stop the next morning, they sat shoulder to shoulder. No whispers followed them. No explanations offered. Juni leaned back, watching the street wake up. "…If they talk," he said, "I think I can handle it now."
Elian smiled. "You don't have to handle it alone."
Juni nodded. "I know."
And this time—He really did.