"What are you here for?"
I braced myself against the door, frowning at the person in front of me.
Of course, I didn't think Alastair came because of my post. Even though we were childhood friends, we had never gotten along.
He was always the top student, while I was the one who barely scraped by. He couldn't stand my lack of ambition, and I couldn't stand his pretentiousness. To make matters worse, my parents were always so impressed with him and trusted him completely.
After I moved out, they often asked Alastair, who lived nearby, to look out for me.
He always played the role of the perfect student, so even doing things I hated, he did them with full commitment. He lowered his gaze, expression indifferent, and said the words that didn't surprise me at all: "My mother asked me to check on you."
I knew it. No matter how many people in the world might want to be my boyfriend, Alastair would never be one of them.
"Oh," I said. "Well, you've seen me, I'm fine." I raised my hand to close the door, but suddenly felt resistance.
Alastair pushed against the door with one hand and handed me a bag with the other. "My mom asked me to bring you some chocolates." I may not like Alastair, but I always got along well with his mother.
She knew I loved chocolates and would often bring back different brands when she traveled abroad. I opened the bag, and inside were several boxes of chocolates.
There was also a rare, out-of-print foreign book I had been searching for. I was pleasantly surprised. "Is this also from your mother?"
Alastair remained noncommittal, as if he didn't know what was inside.
I felt better, and even Alastair started looking a bit more tolerable to me.
"Thanks," I said, with more warmth in my tone. "You can go now."
But Alastair didn't move. His hand was still against the door.
With a faint tone, he said, "Is this how you treat your guests?"
Technically, he had just given me something, so kicking him out would be a bit ungrateful.
But who was Alastair?
He was as disciplined as a clock, going to bed and waking up at exact times. He'd rarely made mistakes over the years.
Plus, he always carried the faint smell of shower gel, clearly having just showered and gotten ready for bed. I noticed his still slightly damp hair and was a little surprised.
Someone as meticulous as Alastair would leave the house with wet hair? I thought for a moment, then stepped aside and asked hesitantly, "Want to come in?"
Without hesitation, he walked in.
Alastair was as precise in his movements as always, and everything in the living room was just as orderly as he was. I was used to grabbing things casually, leaving clutter everywhere, which was clearly a huge pet peeve of his. Sure enough, he stopped in the living room, scanning the space with a slight furrow of his brows. "You…"
"The front door's over there," I interrupted him. "If you don't like it, just leave."
Alastair closed his mouth.
I'd won this round, so I walked over to the counter, grabbed a bottle of wine, and poured two glasses. I handed one to Alastair. "Here."
Alastair didn't drink. He set the glass in front of him, showing no intention of touching it.
If this were any other time, I would've let him be, but tonight, I was in a bad mood, and he was practically asking for it.
I glanced at his perfectly straight posture and smirked. "Alastair, you really haven't changed. Still as boring as ever."
"You know, at this rate, I don't think you'll find a girlfriend even in the next thirty years," I said, not holding back.
Alastair was strikingly handsome, talented, and had no shortage of admirers, yet he had never been in a relationship.
I had teased him more than once for his outdated ways, which made girls lose interest as soon as they got close to him—he was just too dull.
Normally, Alastair wouldn't respond to my comments.
But today, he gave me several strange looks, then lowered his gaze to his glass of wine. Finally, as though he had made up his mind, he raised the glass and drank it all in one go, much to my astonishment.
"Cough!"
He coughed twice, and a faint blush spread across his pale face.
"Alastair," I said, my brain momentarily blank with surprise, almost forgetting how much I despised him.
I couldn't help but reach out and press my hand to his forehead. "Have you finally caught a fever and fried your brain? After twenty-some years of abstaining from alcohol, you just drank a whole glass. I can't believe it!" I hesitated, then couldn't stop myself from adding, "Did… Did you find out you have some terminal illness?"
I honestly couldn't think of any other explanation for the scene before me.
"No," Alastair replied, reaching out for my phone. "Give me your phone."
I instinctively asked, "Don't you have your own?"
"I forgot to bring it when I rushed out," he said. "I need to call my mom."
If he were calling anyone else, I would have kicked him out and forced him to use his own phone.
But since his mom had just given me such a big gift, I decided to be gracious and gave him my phone.
Alastair took it and stood up, walking straight towards the balcony.
I squinted. Why did he need to go so far to talk to his mom?
My intuition told me that tonight, Alastair was acting strangely.
But we weren't close friends—just rivals locked in a never-ending game of one-upmanship.
So I didn't care.
