X Y Z

Three

It was pointless, they knew but that did not stop them from swinging a couple of punches at each other before they decided it was pointless. They were not each other's enemies, they were their own enemies, Zach concluded.

“Honestly, I'm glad that I wasn't the only one foolish enough to lose her,” Yousuf let out an empty chuckle as he winced, leaning against the wall that he slid down against.

Zach was looking for any bruises on his pretty face through his front camera. Xavier didn't want to point out that a black eye would look prominent by the morning. But he'd let Zach cry about it later, he seemed close to tears as it was, whining that he needed his face intact if he was to win over Giselle. He wanted to point out one more thing to him, that Giselle wouldn't take him back even if he suited up, looking like a goddamn prince, but he didn't. Mainly because he wasn't ready to accept it either but he knew, he spent more time than the others with her and she was as good as they come but forgiving wasn't a quality she possessed. She wouldn't take them back, for she was always moving forward, knowing what she wanted and going after only that.

She was nineteen when he met her, looking as innocent as a newborn child's toothless, untainted smile. She was getting hotdogs for herself, she came alone to watch the local football game. He offered her his company and she scooted to give him space to sit by at the crowded bleachers.

His lips turned up at the memory at how he lifted her up and placed her over his thighs in a very overconfident attempt, with a cocky smile and Giselle gave him a disbelief snort but her reddened cheeks gave him a green flag to woo her. And woo her, he did.

Her fresh-breath-of-air smile stayed that way, sweeping him off his feet though he never told her that, till he denied her meet each other's parents, when he refused to get married so soon. They've been dating for four years, and she was only twenty three but she knew what she wanted unlike his sorry ass. He was two years older than her and he felt that she was being childish back then and he was barely adjusting to adult life in a flat far from his house in Minnesota.

His smile faded and he tried to sober up, to focus on his present and not his past and think about something to do with Molly because she didn't deserve it. He should've punched himself instead of grabbing the collars of the other two guys. He was so ashamed of himself and if Giselle found out about what he's done, whatever little respect she had for him would be replaced with disgust. And he might kill himself right there than have her look at him like that.

Beside him, Yousuf was feeling worse- maybe not as worse as Xavier but he sat, thinking about how he met Giselle in this bar and how she found it oddly beautiful with all the mismatched tools, half-torn wallpapers that didn't match either. She loved their uneven jugs and the broken chandelier stole her heart, she said. He only stopped by there for a quick fix after a tiring day when he found her chatting up the bartender about how oddly aesthetic everything was, asking him if the bartender knew it was intentional.

He found her even more odd, with her dressed in a gown that he could've sworn belonged to her great grandmother. It was a puffy powder pink gown with white lace, a corseted midriff and whatever it was that made a gown puffy. She was wearing knee-high white socks with pretty black boots. What made her tumble into a bar dressed like that, he didn't know. So, he asked.

“It's for a photoshoot, silly” She laughed at him, trying her best to speak like those people she saw in the old black and white movies. She ordered a watermelon punch, if that was a thing and made sure the bartender did not spike her. She examined the glass from all angles, sniffed it and only then drank from it once she was sure that there's no alcohol.

“Why are you even at a bar if you don't want alcohol?” He asked, finding it rather ridiculous as he downed a shot.

She turned to him, shrugging. “I'm just keeping my photographer company.”

And only then he saw a man next to her, downing shots like no tomorrow. She then stopped him after a while and called him a taxi and only when she was sure that he was comfortable in the taxi, she stepped back and watched the taxi vanish. And then she looked at him and tried not to look drunk.

She asked, giving him a once-over. “Do you want a lift?”

“Sure, thanks- if that's no trouble, of course,” He smiled down at her.

The next thing she knew, she took him to his flat. And she was about to leave when he collapsed half-way towards his bedroom. She carried him, cleaned after his mess and held his head and closed his ears as he vomited, something that helped when vomiting, she explained as she took the liberty to make him a hangover soup in his kitchen before tucking him in his bed.

He kept thanking her and she kept waving him off but in a moment of daring, the alcohol still having an effect, he kissed her and she, surprisingly, kissed him back. They ended up in his bed. But after a couple of weeks, she started arguing that she doesn't want to be his friend with benefits, that she wanted to be with him. And that she felt like she was cheating herself for some reason, selling her body for a few moments of shared pleasure. He assured her that it was as common as it could be, and there's nothing wrong with being physical. She told him that she was looking for something serious but she kept up with his antics for a while, entertained the thought of them being with each other just because of their needs until she decided that what she needed was a boyfriend who could be a husband, not a friend who was bargaining with her. She told him that she always knew what she wanted and yet she stayed with him taking whatever he could offer her and that it made her hate herself when she was alone in the unmade messy bed. She cut him off saying that she wanted more than what he could offer and that she always knew it yet was blindsided by momentary pleasures he was giving her, leaving him the very next morning without looking back.

He could give her anything and everything now, whatever she wanted, just that she was to ask him. And he'd give her his soul. He'd put a ring on it and marry her as early as she allowed him to. He realized that a couple of weeks later of her leaving him and since then, he frequented this bar whenever he couldn't survive the ache of missing her.