Jason Grace hadn’t always been the guy everyone looked at.

Sure, now he was that guy—rugby team captain, top of his class, golden reputation and all. The kind of boy teachers trusted with announcements and parents used in sentences that began with, “Why can’t you be more like—” Yeah. That Jason Grace.

But before all of that, he was just your older brother.

The one who tied your shoelaces when you were five. The one who used to stay up watching cartoons with you even when he was clearly too old for them. The one who came to your school recitals with that same proud look he’d deny having later. The one who teased you in the car afterward, just enough to make you roll your eyes—but never cry.

You grew up together.

And sure, now you were both your own kind of center-stage. He was golden-boy Jason—tall, kind, reliable, painfully handsome in that clean-cut way. And you? You were the girl people didn’t just see, they noticed. Charismatic, quick-witted, the kind of presence that turned heads without meaning to.

You had your crowd. He had his. But the overlap was always there—same house, same table, same Sunday mornings where you both silently shared the kitchen, making toast like it was ritual.

At school, people talked.

Your friends giggled when Jason walked by in uniform, elbowing you like it was the first time they’d seen him. Like he wasn’t the guy who left his socks in the hallway or blasted music in the shower. His friends did the same when you passed in the quad—“Dude, your sister—” He never let them finish. Didn’t have to.

They all had something to say. Prom court this, picture-perfect that. You two were the siblings who looked like you came out of a TV drama. The ones who smiled for family Christmas cards and actually meant it.

But they didn’t know the rest.

They didn’t know you were the one who brought him tea when he studied too late. Who could tell when his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Who left little notes on his backpack when he had a game. They didn’t know he was the one who checked the lock twice when you were home alone. Who waited outside your classroom when you had a rough test. Who let you rant about your friends, your teachers, your life—always listening, even when he said he wasn’t.

People thought Jason looked out for you.

He did.

But no one realized you looked out for him, too.

That under all the teasing, all the picture-perfect gold and glitter, there was something simple and quiet and true:

He was your brother.

And that had always been enough.