Unlike our previous trip to the ER, Nessa and I barely have a conversation this time.

After the doctor stitches the wound on Nessa's scalp, he runs some tests on her and concludes that she had a minor concussion. To monitor her condition, the doctor asks her to stay in the ER for several hours. As I watch Nessa sleep, the burning-red dragon continues shredding my insides into pieces.

To say that nothing went as planned today is an understatement of the century.

I thought tonight Nessa and I would spend hours smiling and laughing until our cheeks hurt. I thought by midnight I'd get to kiss her—maybe even do more. I thought, for the first time in my life, I'd get to experience the joy of Valentine's Day with the person that matters the most to me.

Today was supposed to be the best day of our lives. But instead, it has been the exact opposite.

And there's no one else to blame but me.

By the time Nessa is discharged from the ER, the first spark of the sun has peeked over the horizon. The ride to her home is quiet. While Nessa sleeps like a newborn baby, the burning-red dragon drowns me in the crimson sea of guilt. Pikachu desperately tries to keep me afloat by letting me hold on to his water donut, but I can feel him getting weaker and weaker.

Arriving in front of Nessa's apartment building, I park Rusty on the side of the street and turn off the car's engine. I'm about to step out of the car and carry Nessa to her apartment when she shifts in her seat and opens her eyes.

Yawning, she stretches her arms and rolls her neck from side to side. "Are we there already?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks, Ol." She gives me a delicate smile, but there's something eerily wrong about it.

There are a million reasons why her smile always lights up my day—oh, who am I kidding? Her smile lights up my world. And one of the reasons is because it has always been full of life and—dare I say—love. But this time, something important is missing. Although I can't tell what it is yet, I know it's gone because of me.

"I'm sorry," we blurt out at the same time.

I let out a confused chuckle. "What are you apologizing for?"

"You had to miss the free dinner because of me, remember?" she answers, innocence in her tone. "And I know how much you looove free stuff—"

I stifle a laugh. "Don't worry about it. I should be the one who's apologizing."

"Hmm? What for?"

"For everything." I try to swallow the dragon creeping up my throat, but he perseveres. "For what happened earlier this afternoon and now . . ."

As she lowers her gaze, the dim light from the streetlamp outside the car allows me to catch a glimpse of the pain in her eyes. There's nothing I want more than to hug her tightly right now. But as I reach my hand out toward her, a tingle of fear trickles down my spine.

What if one of those paparazzi is following us?

What if they make another headline about us?

Worse, what if BlueEyedCupid pulls more twisted 'revenge' pranks on Nessa?

Just as I'm about to draw my hand back, the weak yellow creature inside my head uses the remnants of his strength to take over my body.

"This." I brush a finger across the bandage covering the stitches on the back of Nessa's head, tucking her hair behind her ear. As her eyes slowly lift to meet mine, there's something in them—a faint spark—that feeds the hopeful yellow creature inside me. Still, the relentless dragon refuses to throw in the towel. "It's my fault. Everything's my fault."

"What are you talking about, Ol? You didn't do anything wrong." There's nothing but sincerity in her voice, but it's not enough to tame the dragon inside me.

"No." I grind my teeth, my fists curling into balls of frustration. As the pain inside my chest becomes unbearable, stinging tears form at the corners of my eyes. "If I didn't participate in that stupid TweetyGram war, if I didn't date that she-devil, then you wouldn't have been—"

"No, no, no. It's not your fault, Ol. You hear me?" she insists, her voice firm. "It's not. Your. Fault."

This has got to be her concussion talking, huh? Chewing my inner lip, I drop my gaze to my lap. "Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"No. It. Isn't."

"Yes, it—"

A loud growl from Nessa's stomach ends our never-ending battle, and we chuckle.

"Come on." I lower my head for a quick moment and wipe the tears from my eyes before she notices them. "I'll cook you some dinner—" A glance at the new day's sun climbing up the horizon stops me. "Or breakfast."

She fakes a gasp and covers her mouth. "You can cook?"

"Haha. Very funny," I deadpan. "I'll have you know I make killer breakfast."

"Such as?"

"Eggs, pancakes, cereal—"

She snorts out a laugh before holding her hands up in defeat. "Okay, okay."

"So, what do you want to eat?"

"Hmm . . ." She taps a finger against her chin. "Didn't you say you brought me Lovejoy's Pork Dumpling Soup?"

Up until a few hours ago, she didn't even remember her address. But she somehow remembers the pork dumpling soup she didn't even see.

I shake my head, smiling a little. "A bowl of pork dumpling soup it is."

"Kiki?" Nessa pushes her apartment door open. "Kiki? Mommy's home."

Doesn't she remember where Kiki is? An alarm goes off in my head. When Yuna heard the commotion earlier, she offered to take care of our three-legged cat for the night. Not wanting Kiki to spend the night by herself, Nessa accepted her neighbor's kind offer.

"Kiki? Where are you? Ki—"

"Ness." I put a hand on her shoulder. "She's staying at Yuna's, remember?"

"What? Why is she—oh, right." An odd mixture of embarrassment and relief washes over her face, and she flashes an awkward grin at me.

The doctor warned us about the post-concussive syndrome, including the possibility of some memory problems. According to him, Nessa should be able to fully recover within the next few weeks by having a good rest. Still, concern begins to swell in me.

"Hey, are you okay?" I lean forward toward Nessa.

The lightest shade of healthy pink has colored her face, and with every second that passes, her cheeks become rosier. Even so, the small knot of uneasiness in my chest remains.

"I-I'm fine," she answers. "I just need to eat, I guess."

"You should lie down. I'll heat the soup." I stride to the kitchen. To my annoyance, she follows me and plops on the stool at the kitchen island. As she picks up the paper bag from the countertop, I click my tongue. "Just wait in your room, Ness."

"But—"

"Vanessa Hayes-Wong, if you don't go to your room right this very second, I swear to God I'll carry you there myself."

I snap my mouth shut, shocked at my own firm tone. Why do I sound like an angry dad?

A frown creases her pinched mouth. "Geez, Ol. You sound like my mom."

Great. She just mom-zoned me.

As she puts the paper bag back on the countertop and drags her feet toward her bedroom, I squeeze my eyes shut in regret. The veins in my forehead pulse with frustration, and I'm so close to stabbing myself in the head with an ice pick—which is number one on my How I Want to Die list.

Rubbing my forehead to relieve the pain, I try to focus on the task at hand.

I pull out the Pork Dumpling Soup from the paper bag, place it in one of Nessa's cereal bowls, and reheat it in the microwave. While I wait for the bowl to cool down, I pour a glass of water and grab the paper napkin from the paper bag before bringing them to Nessa's bedroom.

When I reach her bedroom door, Nessa is sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, her thumb scrolling over her phone's glowing screen. Is it too much to ask for her to lie down and rest?

I'm about to scold her when the blank look in her eyes stops me in my tracks. And that's when I realize what is wrong with her.

The beautiful sparkles of joy and confidence in her eyes are gone without a trace. It's as if something inside her is . . . dead.

"And you were the one who killed it," the burning-red dragon's deep, sinister voice whispers inside my head.

Pain grips my chest as he reminds me of the incidents that have happened today, along with the letter that Nessa's attacker sent me.

Dammit. What should I do?

Pikachu tries to help me find a way out of this mess by fishing his copy of Encyclopedia of Love out of his messenger bag. But as painful memories keep flooding my mind, the burning-red dragon grows more and more powerful. With his newfound powers, he burns the book into ashes with a mere gaze and banishes Pikachu into the realm of nothingness, where there's absolutely no way out.

As the last spark of hope inside me dies, Nessa's voice snaps me from my inner hell. "Hey. What took you so long? I almost died of starvation!"

A lifeless smile tilts my lips. The mattress dips as I sit on the edge. I hand over the bowl to her and place the paper napkins alongside the glass of water on the nightstand. "Careful, it's still hot."

"Thanks." Not even wasting a millisecond, Nessa dives into the soup as if she hadn't eaten in years.

A few months ago, when I locked myself in my apartment after my breakup with that she-devil, Nessa came by my apartment and refused to leave until I opened the door for her. Even after months have passed, I still remember the warmth of the delicious crab and asparagus soup she brought me that day, and more importantly, how it gave me the strength to get back on my feet and move on.

Right now, I just wish that bowl of pork dumpling soup can do the same to her.

"You want some?" Nessa offers the half-empty bowl to me.

"No, thanks. I'm full."

"Well, that's a first," she mumbles to herself, confusion passing across her features before she continues eating. For a while, the sound of her slurping and chewing remains the only noise filling the room. "Hey, Ol?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You know, after the whole . . . incident. I didn't mean what I said about . . . you know." As I scrunch my forehead in confusion, she sinks her spoon in her soup and sets the bowl beside the water glass on the nightstand. "You were just trying to help, and I didn't mean to be rude, but I just . . . I was a bit shocked."

My perplexity grows with every single word she says. "Hold on. What are you—"

"And I meant what I said. It's not your fault. It's just . . . my bad luck. That's all."

What the hell is she talking about? What is she even apologizing for? Shouldn't I be the one who—

"Ol?" Nessa cocks her head like a lost puppy, waving a hand in front of my face. The complete lack of light in her eyes fuels the dragon inside me to ramp up the attack.

"I'll never be able to make it up to you, will I?" I murmur, struggling to keep my wavering voice under control.

She grunts. "I've told you. It's not. Your. Fault. I mean it."

The sincerity in her voice almost manages to fish Pikachu back to the land of the living. But at this point, the burning-red dragon has become far too strong. He slams the flaming gate closed, locking the yellow creature inside the realm of nothingness for good.

As the raging dragon devours me, I rack my brain for a way to make things at least a little bit better for Nessa. An idea then pops into my mind. Without giving it a second thought, I stride toward the desk across the bed.

"Ol? What are you doing?"

I fish out my wallet from my pocket, lay the Lovejoy's receipt on the table, and pluck a pen from the Mr. Dumpy pencil holder. On the back of the receipt, I scribble my vow. Once I'm done, I remove the Mr. Dumpy and Miss Mochi postcard—the gift from last month's Joyful Meal—from the wall above the desk.

"Hey! That's my postcard!" Nessa protests. "What are you—"

"Shh." I flip the postcard over and write the same vow in the space provided.

"Seriously, Ol. Do you know how long I had to stand in line for that postcard?" She allows a short dramatic pause. "Twelve hours, you hear me? Twelve freaking hours!"

As I turn around to face her, she balls her fists on her hips and pouts at me. A chuckle tumbles from my chest at her adorable expression. I'm about to give her the cards when my eyes catch sight of the paper napkin on the nightstand.

I guess one more won't hurt.

I write the vow on the paper napkin before handing the three cards to her. "Here you go."

"What have you done to my precious, huh?" Nessa snatches the postcard from my hand, her swollen eyes narrowing to puffy slits in part suspicion and part curiosity. "I, Oliver Lauren Morrison, vow to do anything the cardholder, Vanessa Hayes-Wong, says. If I don't, then I'll be a homeless person for the rest of my life, lose my precious abs, and be a . . ." A snort of laughter bursts from her. "Super-duper-chubby dumpling?"

She stares up at me and squeezes her mouth shut, her shoulders trembling with mirth. But after a few seconds, she breaks into a guffaw.

This is a terrible idea, isn't it? Scratch that. This is the stupidest idea I've ever had in my entire life.

"What is this, Ol?" she asks, still chortling.

"That is The Golden Bestie Card." I point at the postcard in her hand and plop on the edge of the bed. "If you ever need anything, just use it and I'll do anything you ask."

"What?" For one exhilarating moment, the light in her eyes flickers. Unfortunately, the moment is short-lived. "Ol, I've told you—"

"Anything at all." My control falters, and a note of pain creeps into my voice.

Her gaze softens, and she takes the rest of the Golden Bestie Cards from me. "Fine. If you insist."

She places the postcard in the nightstand drawer before reaching for her wallet and stuffing the paper napkin and Lovejoy's receipt into it. My suspicion is aroused when she pulls out her Lovejoy's collectible cards—Mr. Dumpy, Miss Mochi, and Prince Samosa—from the card slots. As she grabs the pen and scribbles something on the back of the cards, I try to peek at it. But she covers it with her left hand.

"What are you doing?" I ask, curious.

"Shh." She holds up a shushing finger, sending a rush of annoyance through me. So this is what being shushed feels like, huh? "Here you go!"

I pluck the Mr. Dumpy card from her hand. "I, Vanessa Hayes-Wong, vow to do anything the cardholder, Oliver Lauren Morrison, says. If I don't, then"—I squint to read her awful handwriting—"I'll grow old alone, lose all of my teeth, and . . . live next door to a clown?"

"What do you think?" She gives me her signature Pennywise grin.

Huffing out an amused chuckle, I shake my head. "Ness, you don't have to—"

"Nah-ah-ah." She waves a finger in front of my nose. "If you want me to accept these," her hand gestures at the cards stuffed in her wallet before she continues, "then it's only fair that you accept those."

My lips part to argue, but the determination in her eyes tells me any argument will be pointless. Closing my mouth, I stare at the card in my hand for a moment before heaving out a defeated sigh. "Fine." It's not like I'll ever use them anyway.

As I put the cards in the card slots of my wallet, she says, "Now, go home, Ol. Wouldn't wanna be late for work, would you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll take the day off."

She blinks at me, stunned. "B-but if we both take a leave on the same day, then . . . people would . . ." Fear darkens her eyes as she gulps and drops her gaze to her lap.

"Oh. Right." Offering a comforting smile, I assure her, "Don't worry. There are still about two hours before I have to go to work. I'll stay here as long as I can."

With a slow nod, she replies, "Okay."

After she finishes eating, we argue about who should wash the dirty dishes. This time, I win the argument. By the time I finish washing the plates, sunlight has slanted through the window. As I place the clean bowl on the dish rack, the metal lunchbox on the kitchen island catches my attention.

Nessa's favorite taiyaki will no doubt lift her mood. More importantly, she needs to know that she has the support of a lot of sane people—even though that person happens to call herself the Crazy Cat Lady.

With that in mind, I bring the lunchbox to Nessa's bedroom. As I push the door open, Nessa is curled on her side on the bed, asleep. As quiet as a mouse, I put the lunchbox on the nightstand.

I should leave her alone. But I find myself sitting on the edge of the bed right next to her.

As I brush a strand of her hair from her face with the tip of my finger, my eyes are drawn to the bandage on the back of her head. The burning-red dragon twists my gut into a tight knot before crawling his way up my chest. His claws leave deep stab wounds in his wake as my gaze trails down Nessa's face. The heavy bags under her eyes, her bright red nose, and her slightly swollen lips—the evidence of her hours-long crying session.

Why didn't they just attack me?

For the second time tonight, bitter tears form in the corners of my eyes. And that's when I realize I can never be with the only woman I've ever fallen in love with. For she deserves someone much, much, better than a man who has ruined her life.

My mind carries me back to the night I first felt these crazy feelings toward her—the night she first bro-zoned me. If only I didn't try to run away from my feelings that night, none of this would've happened. If only I told her how I felt that night, maybe things would've been different. If only I just told her I loved her, then maybe . . .

As tears leak from my eyes, I kiss her forehead and make a promise to myself.

I won't let anyone hurt you ever again, even if that means burying my feelings for you. I'll protect you at all costs, even if that means protecting you from me. And I'll be whatever you need me to be. If you want me—if you need me—to be your brother, then . . . that's what I'll be.

Because I love you. I've loved you since the day we first met, and I will always love you.

I love you, Vanessa Hayes-Wong.

Author's Note:

And that's why Ollie 'sister-zoned' Nessa! Did you see it coming?

In the next chapter, we'll find out more about the identity of BlueEyedCupid. Got your guess ready?

As always, if you enjoyed this chapter, please show some support by voting and/or leaving comments. Thanks for reading ❤