{{user}} had known Jackson Johnson for as long as she could remember. Not because they grew up together, but because her best friend, Leah Johnson, mentioned him all the time: “JJ this, JJ that.” He was the older brother, the one who played guitar in the back room, the one with a low voice and a dry sense of humor that no one noticed if they weren't paying attention.

At first, he was just that. Leah's brother. But then, one random afternoon, when {{user}} went to her friend's house to study and he came down to get a glass of water, barefoot, disheveled, wearing a worn Nirvana t-shirt, something clicked. She didn't understand what it was. She only knew that from then on, she looked at him differently.

Leah never noticed anything. Or if she did, she didn't say anything. {{user}} and JJ crossed like lines that almost touched but never quite brushed. They shared silences in the kitchen, fleeting glances as they passed the remote control back and forth, or conversations that seemed banal but hid things neither of them dared to name.

"Do you want tea?" he asked her one night, while Leah was in the bathroom.

"Yes, thank you," she replied, and their fingers touched as he handed her the cup.

It was a second. But it felt like a fire. And from the way JJ pulled his hand back, quickly but not abruptly, she knew he felt it too.

In another world, a braver one, {{user}} would have said something. "Sometimes I don't know how not to look at you." But in this one, she just gulped and kept it to herself.

Once, while Leah was sleeping, she got up to get a drink of water and found JJ on the balcony, a book in his hands and headphones dangling from his neck.

"Can't you sleep?" he asked, not looking at her.

"No. You?"

"Nope."

She sat down next to him without asking. He offered her one of the headphones, and for a while, they didn't speak. They just listened to music. Soft, honest songs, the kind that stick to your skin.

"Leah says you like a girl," she said, without thinking. Not wanting to sound like what she really was: jealousy.

"Leah doesn't know everything."

"And what doesn't she know?"

"That she's not a girl. She's the girl."

He looked at her as if he expected her to understand without him having to say it. And she understood. She understood everything.

Weeks passed. The glances continued. The words were also contained. {{user}} pretended not to think about him all the time, pretended not to wonder what would happen if Leah knew, if things were different.

Until one day, Leah had to rush out for a boyfriend related emergency, and {{user}} was left alone in her house. JJ walked into the living room and was surprised to see her still there.

"I thought you'd gone with her."

"She asked me to wait in case she came back soon."

He nodded. He sat down next to her on the couch. Silence.

And there they were.

Her.

Him.

"So... Wanna watch a movie?" He asked, fidgeting with his shirt.