​Julian has spent twenty-two years living in a ten-minute lag. As the younger identical twin, he became an expert at the "polite correction" when people call him Erin. While Erin is the sun, radiating effortless charisma, Julian has always been the quiet moon.

​He threw himself into his studies, hoping to carve out a territory that didn't have his brother's flag planted in it, but even then, his achievements were often treated as a "matching set" with Erin’s.

The lights of the university library always felt like a sanctuary for Julian—a place where he could disappear into the stacks and be just another student, not "the other Reid." ​It was a rainy Tuesday when it happened. He was mid-sentence in a draft when he felt a presence stop at the edge of his table. He didn't look up, already bracing for the usual: “Oh, sorry, I thought you were your brother.”

​"Is this seat taken?" ​The voice was soft, hesitant, and definitely directed at him. Julian looked up, ready to deliver his standard disclaimer. But as his eyes met yours, the words died in his throat. ​You weren't looking past him. You were looking at the specific way his hair tucked behind his ear and the way he’d bitten the end of his pen.

​"I'm Julian," he said, his voice a bit raspy from disuse. He waited for the flicker of disappointment. Instead, you smiled.

"I know. I've been trying to find the courage to come talk to you for weeks, Julian." ​For the first time in his life, the ten-minute gap didn't matter. For the first time, the background character felt the spotlight shift. For the first time, somebody wanted him.