Hi all! This is my first fanfic and is unbetaed so please bear with me. I added Frank Churchill to the end even though he hasn't shown up yet which might make this completely cannonballed in a few weeks but whatever, so be it. I love any feedback you have!

Alex doesn't know when it started—well, to be more precise, he thinks that it's existed for longer than he can remember; that it started so long ago that it never really did start, it's just always been there. Kind of like Emma, in fact.

"What's your first memory of me?" she'd asked him one day—her house, living room, couch, her feet tucked under her so that her toes just brushed his leg. 14, the summer before high school started. New beginnings always made Emma reflective, although even she didn't know that about herself.

"I don't remember," he answered. "I don't think I have one, you were always just sort of… there. What about you?"

"Nope, me neither." She paused for a second, wearing her considering face. "Kind of like with your parents. There was never a time when they weren't in your memories. Always and—forever." She refused to let her voice tremble, but Alex heard the tiny pause that came before the word, the realization that sometimes she talked so fast even she couldn't catch up, the quick dilemma—Don't say it and look weak, say it and feel the sharpness of the word?—and the even quicker decision.

"Yeah." He didn't know what else to say—he never knew what to say when she stopped being Emma Woodhouse or social, charismatic, friends-with-anyone Emma or even just funny, snarky, teasing Emma and became the Emma who he could honestly imagine crying, the Emma who said things late at night like "Yesterday I tried to remember her face and I couldn't, Alex, I couldn't."

Alex scooted a few inches closer on the couch, so that the balls of Emma's feet were pressed against his knee; he could feel their warmth through his jeans, and he wished she were closer so he could hug her. He wished they were the kind of… friends? neighbors? proto-siblings? who could hug. Instead he just laughed and said, "Not very dramatic, huh?"

"No."

"Oh well. This is enough drama for anyone, I guess." He gestured at the reality show on TV, where a man on his knee was declaring his eternal love for a woman in a frilly dress. In the background, fireworks went off.

"Their staging is all wrong," Emma said, frowning at the TV. "I mean, they're literally on a cliff with the entire ocean behind them, but they have the fireworks so close and fast that you can't even see it. Now, if the fireworks were further behind them, on a ship or something…"

"Sophie likes you, " Emma told Alex in tenth grade.

"She does?" Alex ran through their past interactions in his mind. He liked Sophie; she was nice, and quiet. She read books with interesting covers and whenever she talked in Lit and Comp, she had something smart to say. And she liked him? "Wait, how do you know? You guys aren't friends." Alex knew who all of Emma's friends were. Besides, Sophie was about as different from Emma as it was possible to be.

"Heard it through the grapevine. And yes, Alex," Emma cut him off, "it was from a reliable source."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you, I promised. But do you trust me?"

Alex sighed. "Yes, I trust you." That, at least, was one thing he was sure of. Sophie, on the other hand… "When you say 'likes,' are you sure it's, y'know, likes-likes?"

Emma laughed so loudly that by the time she finished, Alex's cheeks were the color of the raspberry sherbet in her bowl. "My God, Alex, you're going to have to do better than that if you're going to have a girlfriend!"

"Wait, hold up. Who said anything about me having a girlfriend?"

"Well, she likes you, so making it official is the next step."

"But—but what if I don't like her?"

All traces of laughter vanished from Emma's face, and she sat up straighter. "Why don't you like her?"

"No, Emma, wait!" Alex took a bite of sherbet and let it melt completely in his mouth before speaking again. "I'm not saying I don't like her. I'm saying… I'm not sure if I like her."

"Why?"

"Well, I don't—how do you know if you like somebody?" Alex could feel the tips of his ears, so hot he thought they might spontaneously combust, and he took another spoonful of sherbet to cool himself down.

"How do you know if you like someone," Emma repeated. "Well, there are a few ways. Do you like talking to her?" Alex nodded, still looking at his bowl. "Good. That's a start. Do you think she's pretty?"

"Um… I guess?" More sherbet.

"That's a yes. Okay, good. Do you want to… do you ever picture yourself doing things with her?"

"Emma!" Alex hadn't known it was possible to be this red.

"Ewwww ewww Alex get your mind out of the gutter I didn't mean it like that!" Emma stuffed her fingers in her ears, blush coming through ever her dark skin; Alex stared down determinedly, swirling his spoon in the last of the sherbet at the bottom of his bowl. "All I meant was do you think about doing date-y stuff with her. Like, for example, do you ever imagine taking her to your house to… I don't know… talk about politics or something?"

Alex looked up at her. "Really?"

"Whatever." Emma waved her hand regally. "Or going to a movie with her? Or sitting with her at lunch? Or kissing her?"

"Um… I don't know. I guess I'll have to, um, think about it some more?"

"Okay," Emma said with an indulgent smile, rolling her eyes as she got up to refill her bowl. "You do that."

It was only later, that night back in his own room, that Alex tried to picture having Sophie over to watch the entire Mission Impossible series with him—on the couch, bowl of popcorn, laughing and throwing it in each others' faces. But wait—if Sophie was on the couch with him, where would Emma sit?

Alex rolled over and realized with a start that he'd just taken that entire movie-night image straight out of last Friday afternoon with Emma. Even down to throwing popcorn at her. Oh. Well then. Alex sat up in bed and tried to think about all of the things he'd done with Emma recently. Studying for French at her house. Movies at his—he made sure they always had sherbet, because her dad wouldn't let her eat it and Alex's house was practically the only place Mr. Woodhouse let her go without calling to set down ground rules first. He'd gone over to her house for a fancy dinner with the family, which had ended with him and Emma beating John and Isabella at Stratego. They'd spent Sunday together, him just hanging out and studying as she tried on dresses for Winter Formal, paraded them around in front of him, and asked for his opinion on each one. And that was only the past two weeks.

Oh, Alex thought again. He crossed his arms and tried to figure it out. If he and Emma were doing everything together that a boyfriend and girlfriend would do—except the kissing part, of course—then what did that mean? If he started dating Sophie, would that mean that he'd have to stop doing all those things with Emma and start doing them with Sophie instead? Alex shook his head. "No," he said out loud to the dark of his bedroom. No way was he giving up Emma for some girl he barely knew, even if she was nice. Besides, he told himself, this was better. This way he wouldn't have to deal with anything dating-related for the rest of high school—he had everything he needed right next door; he was set to go, no drama required.

Satisfied with his decision, Alex scooted down in bed and pulled the covers up again, smiling as he fell asleep.

Alex had his first girlfriend in his senior year of high school. He'd been planning to wait until someone came along who he liked more than Emma; until what he'd realized back in sophmore year was no longer true. The fact that jerking off was no longer a good enough substitute for actual kissing might have had something to do with it, too. When Julia suggested they go get coffee sometime, Alex felt like he'd found just what he was waiting for.

But despite all that, when Julia broke up with him two months later, Alex was relieved. Now he didn't have to take her to Prom, didn't have to constantly drive over to her house, didn't have to deal with fighting with someone who didn't know him inside and out—but he'd still gotten some experience.

In college, Alex realized how good that experience was. Being a virgin was fine—most of his friends were, in fact. But never having kissed someone before? His two months with Julia had definitely been well-spent.

Another great thing about college was how many more people there were. He and Emma had picked a big school, and their high school had been relatively small, but Alex couldn't get over just how many students there were who he didn't know, but wanted to—as friends and as girlfriends. Within three months of arriving he'd met Michelle, who he liked a lot more than he'd ever liked Julia. And three weeks after meeting her, with Emma jabbing him in the ribs, Alex asked her out for coffee.

"Sure," she said, a grin splitting her face wide open, and Alex smiled back. As they walked off to class, he glanced back at their table, where Emma was sitting. Well done, she mouthed, and winked at him.

And for a while, it was good. It went well. He liked Michelle. She was smart, funny, kind—everything he wanted in a girl. And a good kisser and, about four months in, a good first time; it helped that it was hers too, and he felt afterwards that it made them special. After all, no matter what happened, she'd always be the one he'd lost his virginity to.

Three months later, Michelle broke up with him.

"Why?" Emma asked him. "Come on, Alex, focus. What did she say?"

"When?"

"When she broke up with you. What exactly did she say?"

"She said—she said that she didn't feel like I was really there," Alex responded dully. "In the relationship, I mean. She felt like she was just a placeholder."

"A placeholder? For who?"

"She didn't say. I don't think she meant anyone specifically. I don't know." But then, just like that, Alex did know. Emma frowned at him, her dark eyes full of concern, and Alex realized what it was that had been eluding him for the past few months, years, his whole life—that he'd been wrong, that night of sophomore year. Emma had never just been filling a hole until the right girl came along. Emma had always been filling the hole, period.

Fuck, Alex thought, and that's when he started to cry.

After that, he noticed it so much he felt like he'd been run over by a truck.

The first time was the next day, in the cafeteria. Emma was telling a story about her dad being overprotective, one of the millions she'd amassed over the course of 18 years.

"...And then he looked at me and said, 'Well, at least you used the non-toxic soap,'" Emma finished, and everyone at the table laughed. But Alex caught the note of worry in her voice and the tremble at the very righthand corner of her smile, where it was always the weakest. He wondered, for the millionth time, how it would feel to be Emma, to be smothered by the weight of her father's constant worry. He wondered when she had last called him; I should, he thought, since he knew that would take the pressure of her off for a few days. Alex stared at Emma as someone on the other side of the table started talking. She looked back at him and her smile slid off her face as slowly and inevitably as the top scoop on her ice cream cones did when they were little.

And just like always, Alex felt the sting of failure that came when she hurt and he was powerless to stop it. He sighed internally, wishing he could pick her up and plunk her down someplace soft and warm, where her father would be fine and her mother would be alive and everything would work itself out.

Then he sighed again. Fuck.

"My dad said you called," Emma told him a week later, barely knocking before walking into his dorm room.

"What? Oh, yeah. On Friday."

"Well, that was very sweet. Daddy really liked talking to you."

"Good, I'm glad. I know he worries, so I thought it might reassure him. Don't worry, I told him you were doing fine."

"I am doing fine!" He wondered if it was as obvious to everyone else when she was putting up a front.

"That doesn't mean it's easy." Emma walked closer, until she was standing just behind the couch. Alex shrugged. "I know you worry when he worries."

"Yes," Emma said quietly. "He sounded… calmer, when I talked to him this morning."

"Good," Alex said. After that, he called Mr. Woodhouse every Friday.

"Remember when we thought high school was hard?" Emma asked him, settling back into the couch for a second. Alex looked up from his piles of notes and laughed, leaning back next to her.

"Oh, man. Those were the days."

"Yes they were." Emma smiled at him through half-closed eyes, looking almost ready to fall asleep. Alex reached out and tucked a stray bit of hair back behind her ear. Her hair was soft between his fingers and the tip of her ear was warm. Emma's eyes were fluttering closed. Alex wanted to tuck that same piece of hair back in again. And again. Fuck. Alex sat up quickly.

"Come on, no time for sleeping! We have more studying to do! Have some sherbet, that'll wake you up."

"Is that a new perfume?" he asked her a few weeks later.

"It is, in fact! I thought I deserved it, what with successfully finishing the first semester of college. I'm impressed at your observation, Mr. Knightley!"

Alex laughed, hoping it was dark enough for her not to notice his blush. "You've tried out enough fancy smells on me, I should know by this point what they're like. Come on, let's go see how awkward it is to have siblings who are dating."

He took her arm and led her to the car—though she, of course, would be driving; Alex had given up on that battle years ago.

"Thank you," she said when he held the door for her. "You're quite the gentleman."

"Well," Alex said lightly, "we are all dressed up."

"Yes," Emma replied, getting into the car and handing him her phone. "Put on some classical, please."

Once Emma found a parking space, they walked up to the restaurant. Through the window, Alex could see his brother, holding Isabella's hand as they waited near the front desk. She said something and John turned, looking at her as if she were made of light as he answered. Watching, Alex opened his mouth, but couldn't find any words. Instead he turned to Emma, who was smiling hugely.

"I knew it," she said as she walked up to the restaurant doors.

"Emma, wait! Don't you think we should give them, I don't know, some time?"

"Of course not, silly! They'll have plenty of time later, once they're off on their world tour. Right now they need to talk to us, their loving siblings! And tell us all about how they finally realized that they're desperately in love with each other."

"'Desperately?' Really, Emma?"

She shrugged. "What can I say? Besides, I always knew they loved each other."

"They've only been dating for a few months. 'Love' might be a little strong, don't you think?"

"Nope!" And with that, she grabbed Alex's arm and pulled him inside.

John knew right away. Not the very first time they went out, the goodbye trip after he and Isabella had first started dating. That time Alex doesn't think he looked away from her for more than a second or two the whole evening, except at the very end. But the next time they saw each other (almost a year later—"I hate how far away they are," Emma complained frequently; "I don't know why they had to move all the way to Europe"), all in the same house for a week straight, Alex knew he didn't stand a chance.

It was the last night before he and Emma went back to school, the third official Highbury Partners Holiday Party at Mr. Woodhouse's offices. The party was just getting started when John walked up to Alex at the punch bowl. Alex was staring at Emma across the room, watching as she worked her way through the throng to her father and marveling at the fact that though her smile never left her face, it changed for each person she spoke to; Alex could see the intensity with which she listened.

"Hey," said John. Alex jumped a little.

"Oh, hey."

"We need to talk." John stood casually, one hand holding a glass, his eyes watching Emma, his face in profile to Alex.

"What's wrong?"

"Alex, there's no delicate way to put this, but…" His eyes flicked to Alex's face, then down to the glass in his hand, then back to Alex. "I can see you watching Emma."

Alex's cheeks blushed as red as the punch, but he didn't try to deny it. He hated lying, especially to those he cared about, and he knew his brother well enough to know that there was no point. Since there was no point, he continued watching Emma, now leaning over her father's chair and whispering in his ear.

Alex sighed. "John…" He shrugged. "I'm not dumb." He turned to look his brother full in the face. "I care about her. There's nothing I can do to change it. It is what it is. Trust me, I'm not expecting anything to happen."

For a long moment, John held Alex's eyes. Then he shook his head and gave a snort of disgust. "And that's your game plan? For how long, exactly, are you going to do that?"

"I don't know. As long as it takes."

"As long as it takes for what? For her to come around?"

"No, John! Look, I already told you I'm not hoping for anything. I'm waiting for as long—for as long as it takes for it to go away. Don't worry," Alex added with a lopsided half-smile, "I'm not arrogant enough to think I ever had a chance." He quickly turned away from John's gaze and fled, grabbing a half-full cup of punch as he did so.

The next morning, John found him at the breakfast table.

"Alex."

"Morning." Alex nodded up at him, then took another bite of cereal. Behind him, John poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Listen, I wanted to apologize for what I said last night."

"No, it's fine."

John walked to the table and pulled out a chair across from Alex, completely ignoring him. "You're a wonderful guy, Alex, and I'm proud to call you my brother. You'd be a great catch for a million girls. All I meant—and I didn't communicate this right, and I'm sorry—was that I don't think you're what Emma's looking for right now. Not that you're not wonderful."

"John," Alex said, "stop. I appreciate the apology, but it's fine. I understood what you meant."

"Okay." John's eyes tested him, and Alex stared back dead-on.

"Can we just put this behind us? It'll be at least another six months before I see you or Isabella again. Just… let me deal with it on my own."

"Okay," John said. "It's just because I care about you, little brother."

"I know, and I appreciate it." Alex raised his eyebrows at John, then looked down and took another bite of cereal as Isabella came down the stairs.

When they got back to school, Alex found himself another girlfriend—someone nice and pretty and smart, someone he liked hanging out with. Emma, though it had taken her a year and a half, finally got a boyfriend. Alex tensed when she told him that they had made it official and waited for what they had to stop—for her to stop coming over on weekends to study, to stop eating lunch with him every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, to stop texting him when he was in lecture. She didn't, although she did go off to kiss Bradley rather frequently. But Alex didn't have to see her doing that, and he found that he didn't actually mind. She was dating Bradley (and for that matter, he was dating Jennifer), but they still did the exact same things together that they'd been doing for as long as he could remember.

I can do this, he thought to himself the night after their first double date. It's going to be okay.

Alex was right, as it turned out. He could do it, and he did—in fact, he did it for the rest of college and beyond, through Emma showing up at his door with her crazy business idea, through starting a company, all the way into running it together. Everything is as it's always been, for the most part that means things are good—with some effort on his part, of course.

Alex does not fantasize about Emma. Ever. Not in a dirty way, not in a domestic way, not in a sweet way, not at all. He is smart enough to understand that once you've opened some doors, there is no going back.

And the thing is, Alex doesn't want to go back. He has porn and the odd girlfriend to fulfill his more carnal needs and, just like it's been through high school, Emma is enough for him in every other way. They have movie nights every Saturday. They work together. He plays chess with her father, for God's sake; their siblings are married. And, of course, the fact that Emma never dates doesn't hurt, either.

In a way it's easy; Alex has been training himself since birth not to notice the curve of Emma's lips in any way beyond platonically—and it's worked, because 99 times out of 100 he really, truly doesn't, and even the 100th time is dispassionate, the same way he might notice the fit of Annie's dress or the way Isabella's hair shines in the light, more like appreciating a good piece of art than actual lust.

But then Frank Churchill shows up. And Frank notices everything Emma does in a very, decidedly non-platonic way. Which Alex notices. And a million times worse than Alex noticing Frank noticing... is Emma noticing Frank noticing. And just like that, the basis on which Alex has built his life might be falling away.