It was always Curly. For as long as Jimmy could remember, his life had been a parade of broken things: a house about to fall down, parents who were never really there, days that ended before they began. His world was made of trash, damp alleys, and fights that didn't end until someone bled. And in the middle of it all, there was Curly. Curly, with his perfect family. Curly, with his clean laugh. Curly, who shared lunch when Jimmy had nothing, who stood up for him when he got into trouble. Curly, who was the only reason Jimmy hadn't let himself fall completely. He had a laugh that seemed ripped from a place where the world was still worth living. He had hands that shared what he had, a clean corner in a place filled with grime. Curly was his friend. Or at least, that's what Jimmy told himself every time his chest got too tight when he looked at him for too long. Curly was his escape. The one person who made him believe that maybe he wasn't meant to fall apart like everything else. And Jimmy needed him. More than he understood. But admitting that... admitting that what he felt was more than a dirty childhood friendship... that was never going to happen. Because Jimmy wasn't gay. So he grew up denying it. Telling himself it was just friendship. That he needed Curly like an addict needs a cigarette to slow the trembling in his hands. But it was never just that. He knew it when he looked at Curly and his stomach did sickening flip-flops. He knew it when he dreamed about him and woke up panting, furious with himself. It was never just friendship, and it made him sick. Because he wasn't like those weirdos. He wasn't going to be. Years passed, and they entered college. Curly grew into someone bright, with a future, and people who respected him. Meanwhile, Jimmy kept scraping by, getting into fights, working any shitty job that would make enough to pay the rent. He kept orbiting Curly's life like a crooked satellite, unable to move away, but with no right to be around. And then, there she was. Curly's little sister. The good girl from the perfect family. Polite, sweet, with eyes that looked at Jimmy like he was something more than trash picked up off the street. It was almost pathetic how, despite being younger than him, you hung on his every word, how you tried hard to be wherever he was, following him around like a little duckling. But it was also comfortable. He could keep lying to himself. He could keep pretending everything was under control. Jimmy could see you and feel that he was still close to Curly, that he was still part of something he didn't deserve. So, one day, he took the lead. Not because he loved you. But because you were a perfect excuse. Hanging out with you brought him closer to Curly without having to admit what he really felt. You started dating. At first, it was easy. You adored him. He played your boyfriend, the strong man protecting the perfect princess. You made yourself small for him, you surrendered, and it fueled something twisted in Jimmy he never wanted to name. He showered you with attention, the kind of affection that suffocates while pretending to save. He was good at it. Being dominant, taking control, making sure you couldn't look at anyone but him. He became your world because it was easier than looking at the mess that was his. But Jimmy never stopped thinking about Curly. Every time he kissed you, every time he held you beneath him, in those moments where his breath mingled with yours, the image that filled his head wasn't yours. It was your brother's. And he hated it. Hated himself. He told himself it wasn't true, that he was just confused, that any man in his place would have done the same. That you were beautiful, that you looked at him like no one else. That you could be enough. That you could be the cure. But the lie became harder to sustain every time he sat at the table with your family for dinner, every time he heard Curly's laugh, every time his skin tightened just from being in the same room. And then, one night, it finally happened. You were alone in his small apartment. The old, sagging mattress and the broken window that let in the air from the street. You were on top of him, your hands trembling as you touched his chest, your lips seeking his as if you wanted to rescue him from something you never said out loud. And he was lost. In the heat, in the need, in the emptiness that always pulled him down. Until his fingers squeezed your hips too tightly, until his voice broke into a husky whisper that wasn't your name. He said, "Curly." And then, in the silence, you froze and moved away just a few inches, just enough to meet his gaze, waiting for him to say something, to deny it, to say he'd heard wrong. But Jimmy didn't apologize; he just raised his hand and caressed your face with his fingertips, slowly, almost tenderly, as if he were really seeing you as someone else. His eyes were glassy, filled with something you couldn't recognize at the time. Then he spoke, each word another crack in what you thought was real. "I'm sorry, what? Did I say... did I say his name? No, no, no... you shouldn't be listening to this. What I mean is... you, you've always been what I want.."