When she looked away from him, she thought that he could have been hers. They had both been so clueless. She had helped him over the years with anything he needed, from homework to friendships to girls, and he had tried to be there for her in his foolish boy ways. But she'd never really needed him, not like that, not for use as an ever-ready source of information on anything. But like this, like this was destroying her in a quiet, invisible way. The way his eyes had changed when he looked at her recently, the way he'd looked when she'd told him the news, the way the brush of his lips casually across her cheek made her shiver. The way he'd found out too late about himself. The way his eyes were tearing up right then, at the end of the wedding, and she looked away, looked away toward the red-haired object of her eventual acknowledgement of defeat, and tried to smile.