Chris ignored the faint ringing of his phone that he'd left to charge in his room.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he did pushups the next morning, right hand placed firmly on the tiled floor, the other behind his back. It had stopped being effortless after the fifth rep, but he had to shake off the hangover, and nothing worked better for him than a strenuous workout session.

Alcohol, Chris learned the hard way, wasn't for him. The first time he'd tried it was before the legal age of twenty-five while he was still in college. His system had rejected the liquid, and he'd thrown up endlessly the next day. Considering himself lucky to be alive, he'd sworn off every toxic beverage after that day.

But last night was an exception. Last night was the snapping of his final thread of patience. He was a simple man who didn't like to complicate things. So, when Giselle's devil of a mind was set yet again upon making his life miserable, he'd made a simple plan--reject every girl she chose for him. He'd long stopped hoping for her to return his love, but dating someone else only added to his misery, not to mention how unfair it was to the other person, so he liked to steer clear of that.

He didn't know how or when he'd given up on Giselle. Maybe it was because she was the most oblivious person on Earth, and all his advances and hints were useless in front of her. Or because he was too afraid to mess up the friendship they'd built over the years. Whatever it was, the idea of having her in his life as a friend sounded better than losing her in hopes to be more than what they were.

Chris switched his hand from right to left. His arm wobbled a little at the first few attempts, but he pushed himself.

The main reason, he continued his terrain of thoughts, was maybe because he wasn't good enough for her to think about him as more than a friend. She'd never given him any indication that his advances were well-received, although he did feel it in her body language every once in a while that maybe there was love buried deep within. But maybe it was just wishful thinking. Whether she returned the love or not didn't matter because she chose to remain clueless about whatever Chris had in her heart for her, and he could take a hint. So, he remained friend-zoned, waiting for the day she'd finally see that maybe Chris wasn't all that bad.

Grunting at the effort it took to exercise that morning and with the company of his usual musings, he moved up and down in his spare room of the house that he'd turned into a gym. His parents had left him all of their earthly possessions, him being the only child, though he wished he'd gotten no inheritance if it meant them being alive.

He sighed. Nothing became of these thoughts except an addition to his spoiled mood.

The door opened and he braced for the impact. Giselle didn't launch herself at him, however, to knock him off balance the way she normally did whenever she found him doing push-ups.

"What are you doing, Shrek?" she asked instead.

His breath came short as he said, "Gravity stopped working, so I'm trying to stick myself to the ground."

He could feel her narrowing her eyes. "Very funny."

Chris smiled. He knew she'd say that.

She asked, "Why didn't you pick up my call? You were too busy enjoying your Taylor Swift ringtone, weren't you?"

He rolled his eyes, placing both his hands on the floor and continuing his workout. "I'll change it."

"No," she whined. "I love calling you when you're with me just so I can listen to You Belong With Me." She ended her sentence by singing it.

"Is that why you set that abomination with your contact number?"

"Yup. You're not allowed to change it."

"And how long is this obsession gonna last?"

"Forever! Because she's the best, unlike Lewis Capaldi you love so much. I wish she would come here, though. I don't wanna fly to the US for her concert."

There was something satisfying in teasing her, so he said, "Keep dreaming, Pigtails."

She huffed. "Don't call me that!"

But he loved calling her that. She was only five years old when he first saw her, and all he wanted to do at that time was pull on her pink-bowed pigtails.

He stopped the workout, his head still pounding, and sat on the floor with crossed legs. He could feel the heat oozing out from each pore of his body. Grabbing the towel beside him, he wiped his face, and said, "What, Pigtails? You don't want me to call you Pigtails? Fine, if you don't want me to call you Pigtails, then I won't call you Pigtails. The word is pigtails, right? I won't say pigtails. Okay, Pigtails?"

She groaned, but the corners of her mouth pulled up. "You're insufferable!"

He grinned, still breathing heavily, and stared at her as she sat across him on the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees over the pink shirtdress she wore. Her long face was flushed, as always. It was as if she was always embarrassed or blushing. It ached to watch her for long, so he looked away.

"Anyway," she said, "you weren't picking up, so I came to tell you that I'm leaving soon, in case you've forgotten."

His smile faded. Of course. Petrichor. Xavier. The reason he'd been drinking last night. "Oh, yeah, your boyfriend must be waiting for you."

"And it's mom's second death anniversary," she said.

Shit. He sighed internally, closing his eyes, then looked at her. "I'm sorry." She smiled at that, and his tense shoulders relaxed.

She said, "How's your hangover? I've heard it's not a good feeling."

He rubbed his forehead. "What happened last night?"

"You made a new friend," she said in a sing-song voice.

Chris groaned. "Will you ever stop trying to set me up?"

"I think this was the last time. I really like her!"

"You date her then!"

"See, I would. But something tells me that Xavier won't be happy about it."

He ignored her. "I don't even remember her name."

"Abigail. You kissed her hand."

He squinted at her. "Nice detail to remember."

She stuck her tongue out in a childish way, then grinned. It made him smile.

"Keep smiling, Dracula," he said.

She bared her teeth, showing off her pointed, vampire-like canines, and his entire body warmed up with bliss. It had taken him a long time to restore her confidence after her mother had died. Insecurities had gripped her tightly during that time, and now that her faith was finally restored in her beauty despite the "flaws" she thought she had, he couldn't help but feel proud. He planned on never telling her, though.

"I gotta go. I haven't even started packing yet."

Again with the talks of leaving. He shrugged in reply, gesturing for her to do as she wished.

She stood up and said, "Meet me at my house before I leave. And you can totally bring me coffee."

He sighed dramatically, and she left with a grin.

He lay on his back and closed his burning eyes, his heart beating faster. Why was she so oblivious?

An hour later, Chris sat on Giselle's bed, his back resting against the headboard, and watched her as she packed. Two mugs of coffee sat empty at the side table. It was early in the morning and his head still hurt a bit, but it was nothing compared to the ache buried inside his chest.

Her door creaked open, and her Lady's Maid Ana peaked in. Abbott, her father, had insisted on hiring her, though Chris had never seen Giselle have her do anything.

"You sure you don't want my help packing, miss?" she asked, sounding a lot older than she was. If Chris had to guess, she was around the same age as him, twenty-eight.

"No, Ana. Thank you so much." Giselle smiled.

"But--"

"It's okay." She gestured toward him. "I've got this troll. He'll help me."

Ana looked at the said troll who smiled sheepishly back at her. She gave him a meaningful smile and retreated. She knew that Chris wasn't helping her at all. She'd caught him, however, staring at Giselle multiple times during the two years Ana had worked there.

"Why don't you let her do her job?" he asked.

"I don't like it when people do my work. I'm a grown woman of twenty-three, and I have able hands, you know." She added a book to her backpack as she spoke.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Looks like you're going to stay there for long, Grown-woman-of-twenty-three."

"Only a week." She frowned.

He sighed internally. "What about the conditions of that place?"

Her brows merged. "What conditions?"

He shrugged. "The crimes have risen. Murders. Thefts. Vandalism. Petrichor isn't safe anymore. It's always on the news."

"I don't know. It was always a little iffy, I guess. And it's not like I can't go. Mom's there."

"Yeah, but..."

She continued, "And I wanna meet Xavier. The texting is cool and all, but this long-distance thing kills the relationship."

Not killing it soon enough.

Chris tried to convince himself to lighten his mood but it took all his energy to smile. He knew Xavier had won her heart and that she was happy, but he couldn't bring himself to accept it wholly. He hated her boyfriend and wanted to get his hands on him so he could strangle him. It wouldn't make Giselle love Chris instead, but damn! How good would that feel?

"What's up with you?" She asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He realized that his jaw was clenched. "Nothing."

She walked around the bed and sat in front of him, smiling. "What's up?"

He urged himself to smile back, but his face remained stoned. "Nothing."

She gave him an I-know-you-better-than-anyone look and said, "Spit it out."

He looked away and shook his head with a defeated sigh. "Nothing, Giselle."

"Chris!"

His head whipped back to her, too bothered to stop himself. His chest filled with air and he let it out with an outburst, saying, "You don't even know that guy!" It startled Giselle, and guilt washed over him instantly.

She gulped, then inhaled deeply. "I know him."

He looked at her like she was being ridiculous. He couldn't prevent himself from comparing their friendship to her relationship with Xavier. Did she know anyone more than they knew each other?

"Oh yeah? What does he do?" he asked.

Her brows merged. "What?"

Petty. I'm being so petty. "What's his occupation? Tell me, please."

"I, uh, s-social work."

He rolled his eyes. "What does that pay in Nicoladafus? Unless he steals the donations."

She folded her arms. "He doesn't do that!"

"How do you know?"

She shrugged. "I just do. Besides, I don't care if he doesn't earn much. I can take care of myself."

He stifled a groan. "I know you can. That's not how I meant it, and you know it."

She raised her brows. "What did you mean, then?"

Chris ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. "Uncle Abbott is never going to approve!" He knew how unreasonable he was being. He knew it but couldn't stop himself.

She rolled her eyes as if that was the least of her worries. "I'll handle it, Chris."

"How can you trust that guy? We don't know anything about him!"

"I do. I wouldn't have dated him in the first place if I didn't trust him."

"I don't know if you care, but I don't trust him one bit. And what's up with his name? Xavier! Xavier? It seems like the name of a villain." Chris rubbed his forehead, trying to lessen the headache, unsure if it was due to the hangover or the anger building up.

She cocked her eyebrow at him, her lips tucked upward. "Right."

He sighed. "I'm serious, Giselle."

"Me too. I'm serious about him." She smiled.

He gritted his teeth, blinking more times than he intended.

"Chris." She placed her small hand over his and gave it a soft squeeze. He suppressed the urge to hold her hand back and yank her toward him. "You look very ugly when you get angry." And then she grinned.

The corners of his eyes stung. She was leaving that day to spend a week with another man. Or was Chris the other man in this scenario?

"Are you gonna punish me with the silent treatment now?" she asked.

Chris wondered if it was worth it. What if I distanced myself from her? Would she realize how for granted she's taken me? He remained silent no matter how much he kept telling himself to get over it.

She huffed angrily. "You know I don't like fighting with you. What is it about? Why can't you accept him?"

"Why can't you listen to me?"

"I do, Chris. All the damn time! You have no idea how much it bothers me that my best friend hates my boyfriend... That I can't talk to you about him! But I don't find a reason to leave a guy I really, really like. We've been in a relationship for almost a year now, and it's going well even if it's long-distance. Why should I give it up?"

She was right, yet he wanted to prove her wrong. Having no words left to say, he replied with his silence.

"He loves me," she whispered.

Love. Love. Love. He was starting to get sick of it. "How long have you two been together? One week?"

"One year!"

"Yeah, but one week in the flesh. And how long have you been with me? Eighteen years!"

His breaths quickened, staring into her eyes as her brows merged. Chris wanted to slap his mouth at the outburst of the wrong words.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I don't know." He sounded in pain so he cleared his throat and said softly, "Does he care about you the way I do?"

She hesitated, then shrugged. "It's different."

Chris looked away, shaking his head at another one of his hints ignored. Even if she kept him friend-zoned, he knew there was love underneath her indifference; he'd felt it for quite some time. He'd felt it in her demeanor, her expressions, her actions. If she didn't want to admit it, then he wasn't going to force the feelings.

He heard her sigh. "Please?"

He looked at the frown on her face, wanting to say a thousand words, wishing to ask her how it was possible not to see his love. He'd presented his heart to her on his outstretched hand and yet she chose to ignore whatever it was between them.

Chris lowered his voice. "I'm just afraid he'll hurt you."

"I know." She smiled. "I'll come crying only to you if he hurts me. I promise. I know you'll break his bones."

He masked his face with a forced smile. She was right. He'd murder Xavier if he so much as made her frown. So he convinced himself that if she was happy, he was gonna endure.

He got up and walked toward her bag. "All done?" he asked. She nodded, still seated where he'd left her. He zipped it up and flung it across his shoulder. "Let's go! Uncle Abbott must be waiting."

He dragged his feet down the stairs in Giselle's bungalow. In the huge hallway of the house, under the golden chandelier, Chris saw Abbott waiting for his daughter so they could hit the road. He smiled as Chris put her bag down in front of him.

"How's my favorite boy?" he asked, raising his arm to pat him on the back.

Chris smiled at his role model. Abbott was a self-made millionaire who'd moved from Petrichor to Phoenix when Giselle was only five years old. As the childhood best friend of his deceased father, there had always been a warm familiarity between them.

"Good. Your daughter is giving me a hard time, though." He grinned.

Abbott laughed whole-heartedly. "You and me both."

Giselle came jogging down. "Are we leaving?"

Abbott's chauffeur picked up their bags and carried them out to load into the trunk of the car.

"Why don't you come with us?" Abbott shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, smiled, and looked at him expectantly. His green eyes matched Giselle's. His dimples overcame the wrinkles that formed around his lips whenever he smiled, which he constantly did.

"I would have. But I can't afford to take a break from work," said Chris. "I can manage to get one more client this month. I have a meeting on Monday."

He worked at Beaumont Publishing Agency as a manager, under Abbott himself.

"Oh, come on. You've already outdone yourself. The sales are skyrocketing. Sometimes I wonder if I'm needed at all."

Chris didn't know if he meant it jokingly or literally. "You'll always be needed. And you also know that I want to be a successful man," he paused, wondering if his inner thoughts were too cheesy, "just like you."

"Yeah, yeah." Abbott chuckled. "And you want to do it all on your own."

"You know me." He grinned.

"Can you two please stop bringing your office to my home?" asked Giselle, planting her hands on her hips.

Chris and Abbott exchanged looks. The queen had spoken, so they fell silent.

"Are we leaving?" she asked again. Chris glanced at her once. She shrugged, smiling cheekily.

"Let's," Abbott said to his daughter, then patted Chris on the back again as he said, "Take care, son."

"Yeah, you too." Chris smiled.

Once Abbott left, Giselle enveloped Chris's broad shoulders in her arms. He snaked his hands around her waist and hugged her body tightly. The strawberry scent of her hair intoxicated him.

He held back a roar of anger at how much he hated the fact that she was leaving, that he'd lost her to him, that Xavier's one year of love overshadowed his eighteen years.

She broke the hug after a good ten seconds.

He had to smile for her. "I'm going to miss you," he said, noticing how her emerald green eyes shone. Her pink lips stretched into a smile that warmed his soul.

The time stopped for him as he stared at her face, the rosiness of her skin, the way her wavy brown hair framed her face effortlessly. But it was nothing compared to how beautiful she was on the inside, her optimism, empathy, and compassion. What he felt for her ran so deep, it ached everywhere.

He looked at her lips for a second, and at the back of his head, he kissed her till she was weak in the knees; till she felt it in her core. His heart hurt with every beat.

Why did she have to be so beautiful?

"Me too," she said with a pout. He blinked. "Love you!"

Sadness drenched him. He paused, gulped, and said, "D-d-ditto."

Giselle didn't acknowledge the stammer, but his heart thudded. He was supposed to stay calm. He was supposed to outsmart his speech problem. He could never let it win, even if it meant refusing to feel anything.

After waving goodbye, Giselle ran out of her house, and Chris headed toward his home for a nap. He knew this was going to be a long week, and he was not looking forward to it.