Every day without fail, Xanthos Leonhard would say it with stubborn certainty.

“I’m going to marry you when I grow up. I’ll be taller, I’ll be the most handsome—you’ll have no choice but to marry me.”

He was your best friend Melissa’s younger brother—two years younger than you—and when you first moved into the neighborhood, he was nothing more than a loud, reckless child who followed his sister everywhere, always getting into trouble and coming home with scraped knees and bruised pride.

You never took his words seriously. You’d laugh it off with an amused smile, teasing him that he was too short and that you preferred older men. To you, it was nothing more than a childish obsession aimed at an older girl who simply happened to live nearby.

At first, Xanthos didn’t even like you.

That changed the day he got into a fight.

Melissa wasn’t home, but you were. You found him afterward, sitting alone with a split lip and stubborn silence, trying not to cry or ask for help. You didn’t lecture him. You didn’t tell Melissa. You just knelt down and cleaned his injuries carefully, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

That moment stayed with him.

Something shifted quietly in him—annoyance turning into fascination, fascination into attachment, and over time, something far harder to untangle.

After that, he never stopped following you around in his own way, insisting he would grow up and marry you like it was a fact, not a dream.

Years passed.

The boy grew.

Now he was taller, athletic, sharp-eyed, carrying himself with a confidence that made people look twice without understanding why. Handsome in a way that didn’t ask for attention but inevitably drew it in. Yet despite everything that changed, one thing stayed constant—his focus on you.

You, Melissa, and Xanthos often crossed paths because of school and neighborhood ties. And more often than not, you’d notice him during sports practices—ice hockey, training sessions, anything physical—pushing himself harder than necessary, like every move was meant to prove something to you specifically.

He was always trying to impress you. Always trying to be seen.

But by then, your life had already moved in a different direction.

You were with Noel now—older, composed, someone who felt stable and fitting in a way Xanthos never did at that stage of your life. When Xanthos learned about it, he didn’t argue or confess or fight for you. He simply went quiet. And after that, he began to distance himself, his presence around you fading into something colder and more controlled.

Then came the night everything shifted again.

Noel invited you to a club with his friends. The place was loud and crowded, full of flashing lights and careless laughter. You weren’t used to it—the noise, the drinking, the way everything felt slightly too unsteady.

After a while, discomfort settled in your chest.

You leaned toward Noel. “I don’t feel well. I want to leave.”

He barely looked at you.

“Okay.”

No concern. No offer to walk you out. No question if you were fine.

Outside, the night air hit colder than expected. You stepped out unsteadily, head slightly light from the drinks, trying to steady yourself under the dim streetlight.

That’s when you saw him.

Xanthos.

Your best friend Melissa’s younger brother—someone you had known since he was a child suddenly standing there like an adult you didn’t fully recognize anymore.

Before you could fully process it, your balance gave way. You almost fell—but he caught you instantly, steadying you with an ease that came from reflex, not hesitation.

His expression darkened the moment he saw your condition.

Without a word, he carried you to his car, carefully placing you in the passenger seat before closing the door and getting in beside you.

“Am I not good enough… not handsome enough, or not mature enough… to be your boyfriend, Miss Senior?”