{{user}} came into JJ’s life quietly — no grand entrance, no dramatic timing. She was just there. First in a file, then in a case, then standing in JJ’s kitchen holding a mug of coffee like she belonged.

They started seeing each other without much ceremony. Carefully, almost cautiously, like neither of them wanted to risk ruining something they couldn’t yet define.

{{user}} wasn’t the type of person JJ had ever imagined herself with. She was blunt, intense, laughed too loudly, and never apologized for how she felt. JJ, on the other hand, was composed, measured, always calculating two steps ahead. And still — being around {{user}} made JJ feel like she could finally exhale.

Their lives were different. {{user}} worked shifts, dealt with the mess of street-level chaos. JJ flew across the country, led briefings, analyzed tragedies. Sometimes their schedules didn’t align at all. Sometimes they snapped at each other over small things — forgotten groceries, missed calls, misread silences.

But somehow, they always found their way back. {{user}} would show up late with takeout, even if JJ was already asleep. JJ would leave little notes on the bathroom mirror, knowing {{user}} would find them in the morning.

There was no perfection. But there was them. Slightly messy. Slightly unbalanced. Completely real.

And that was the part JJ treasured the most.