The press and social media went bananas yesterday. Now that we're publicly official, everyone wanted the 411 on Kristian—my first impression of him, how our friendship progressed, if we've kissed yet... I kept my responses vague and succinct, not wanting to feed the flame. I do adore their persistence. They pushed for more deets, yet I wouldn't budge.

I was chauffeured around Paris to talk tour and music, and that's exactly what I did. When we dove into Autobiography and my reasons for writing such a personal sophomore album, I felt like people were finally understanding me. The French radio deejays and TV hosts gave me a moment to expose myself like never before. It was the most daunting, yet relieving moment. This album means so much to me; it essentially documents my entire journey.

"...that's why this tour is such a huge deal for me," I emotionally explain to Kristian in my dressing room. "I'm telling everyone my story—no, my history in this album. Everything they see on stage represents a little piece of me. I mean, I'm even wearing those wings and this flower crown for symbolism!"

Kristian places my flower crown on his own head, and I can't help but laugh because it's so small on him. Yet it suits him. The pink carnations and orchids pop from his jet black hair, bringing a dash of color to his non-surprisingly all black ensemble. I steal his glasses and put them on, but take them off seconds later.

"Your vision's crap," I note as I place the specs back on his face.

"That's why I wear these!" he laughs. Kristian wipes a stray tear off of my face and smiles. "Without them, I would not be seeing your beautiful face."

He's so cheesy, but that's what I like about him. The flowers he brought—pink carnations and orchids like the ones on my crown—sit in a vase by the flowers my family gave me on opening night. Giovanna told him they'd be the best since those are my favorites. Little did he know until he saw my crown, they hold a greater significance.

"What does this all mean?" he wonders, pointing to my wings on the table. "Are you supposed to be a magical creature or something?"

I snuggle into his arms and sigh. I don't want to bore him with symbolism when we don't have much time together. He has to leave soon because of some changes in his schedule. Besides, I should be preparing for tonight's show.

"It's uh, my name. My name's Persian for 'fairylike,' so I thought it'd be cool to incorporate that in my costume," I shrug. "It probably sounds stupid to you."

"No, not at all!" he protests. "That's so cool! I like that. Does that mean you can make wishes come true?"

I shoot him a questioning look and back away. "Genies grant wishes, Kristian. What kind of fairy do you think I am?"

Kristian may have that boyish charm and youthful look, but there's nothing sweet and innocent about the smirk on his face. I see through all of that. I know he has a dirtier mind than people may believe. He's not as naïve as he looks.

"I'm not that kind of fairy," I tease, booping his nose and taking back my flower crown. "Besides, we both need to be careful. What if people think you're with me just for the exposure? I have been asked about that, you know."

"Why would anyone think that?"

My heart melts upon seeing the hurt on his face. Kristian looks like someone killed his mom; his eyes regard me with such melancholy, all I want to do is give him a hug and tell him everything will be okay.

"People in this industry are vicious," I answer. It's my turn to be the comforting one now. "I know you're not like that, Kristian. You're a genuine, sweet guy. The Kristian Kostov I know isn't the person people might try to make you out to be. Don't worry about them, okay? I got you.

"You know, I received a lot of shit for being who I am. I've been slut shamed, people told me I had to choose between being a so-called 'terrorist' and 'decent human being,' and I've been verbally sexually harassed. But I didn't let any of that negativity knock me down. I'm proud to be Italian. I'm proud to be Persian. I'm proud to be a girl. Most importantly, I'm proud to be everything that makes me Parisa Nicchi. I wouldn't trade my background for anything simpler."

Kristian cups my face and plants a chaste kiss on my lips.

"That's why I like you so much, Parisa," he whispers, his eyes dancing as they blink back at me. "You are an incredible girl. You are talented, beautiful, and you have a really big heart. You are better than all the people who spoke badly about you. Fuck what they say!"

The moment Kristian's lips touch mine again, I lay down my armor and knock down all the walls that would have prevented me from opening up. My fingers run through his hair while his arms wrap around my waist, pushing my body closer to his. Kristian kisses me with such gentility and caution, it's like he's afraid of breaking me.

"You are right," he says, momentarily allowing us to catch our breaths. "We should be careful. I want us to work. I do not want to do anything to hurt you, Parisa."

I smile demurely and kiss him again, accidentally knocking off his glasses as I touch his face. Kristian laughs into the kiss, forcing us to break apart thanks to my clumsiness. He reaches over, easily picking up his glasses, and places them firmly on his face. I feel like such an idiot now.

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "I'm such an idiot!"

"No you are not!" he assures me, hugging me tightly. "It's okay. Do you feel bad?"

I nod my head and he chuckles. Kristian and I both reach for our phones, as well as some chocolate on the table. As expected, my notifs are blowing up thanks to the dude beside me. I pop a piece of chocolate in my mouth and play some music—Kristian's song "Ne si za men."

"Nooo! Do not play my song!" he whines, reaching over to change the song. "Pick a different one, Parisa."

"Why not this one? I love this song!" I argue. With a flirty smirk, I add, "you sound hot."

"You cannot even know what I am saying!"

"True, but it sounds better than the English version," I dig. "The lyrics are major cringe, Kristian. What sign are you waiting for to cross that line?"

He simply rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the people of...Twitter. Two can play this game. He's in my territory now. I snap a photo of him unawares and post it.

@ParisaNicchi: @KristianKostov_ is a doof, but he's my doof ▲

Kristian snatches my phone away, using his height to his advantage as I attempt to reach for it. Dammit, I wish I were at least three inches taller! He jumps off of the sofa, runs to the opposite side of the room, and waves my phone in the air with a devilish grin. That cheeky bastard! He even has the audacity to turn off my music!

"KOSTOV, YOU ASSHOLE! GIVE ME MY PHONE BACK!" I yell, jumping every which way to knock it out of his hands. "I need to relax before tonight's show! Lascia andare!" (Let go!)

"But you are so cute when you are angry!"

No matter how high I jump or where I reach, Kristian is always one step ahead. I eventually retreat and collapse into the nearest chair to rehydrate. Ah, nothing like good ol' H2O to give me life!

I raise my gaze and see Kristian just looking at me—checking me out? I'm not dressed for tonight, nor do I even have make-up on. I mean, I'm wearing my flower crown, which heavily clashes with the oversized, thankfully not see-through white Panic! At The Disco tee and black gauchos on my person. Most girls wouldn't be caught dead looking this slobby around their boyfriends; I guess I'm not "most girls."

"What?" I curiously ask. "What is it? Do I have chocolate on my face?"

Kristian approaches me like a model walking down the runway, perfectly tousled locks, defined cheekbones, and all. His glasses are even stylish! My phone must be in his pocket because I don't see it. He takes my hand and whisks me onto my feet, then starts singing an acapella of "You Got Me Girl." Well, fuck.

I imagine myself front row at his show as he sings to me. I hate this version of the song so much and he knows it, yet his presence and voice enchants me. I'm not even cringing at the lyrics like I normally do because of the way he's singing. It's like I'm the muse in this song.

"...don't you want me now? Now. Now." he sings, looking directly into my eyes as he holds my hand.

"No. No now or ever," I flatly tease.

"You got me girl/'Cause I wanna get close..."

Kristian sings the chorus with conviction like I'm the girl he's trying to get close to. I can't dancing around as he sings. It's impossible to not dance and smile when he's clearly trying to serenade me.

Thankfully, he doesn't sing the entire song. Kristian's arms pull me into him, and his hands run down my side when he says the line "you got me girl" one last time.

"Admit it, Parisa. You enjoyed that," he pesters, then kisses my cheek.

"Still doesn't change my perception of that song," I challenge as I look up at him. "But I give you douze points for your vocals and performance. You smashed it! Douze points pour la Bulgarie!" (12 points. 12 points for Bulgaria!)

A mellifluous peal of laughter rings from his vocal box; I can feel Kristian's chest move as he laughs. An alarm suddenly blares and he sighs deeply. I feel his hold on me loosen, his warm embrace becoming colder. This can only mean one thing: time for him to leave.

"I wish I could stay for your show," he glumly comments.

I close my eyes and breathe in positivity. Once I exhale melancholy thoughts, I swivel clockwise to face the music.

"Schedules change. It's not your fault. We'll see each other soon. I promise."

'Yeah. I just wish it was not now."

Kristian's phone rings. He hangs his head and retrieves the gadget. Again, another defeated sigh.

"It's Tijana," he announces. "I should go, Parisa."

I run into Kristian's arms, nearly knocking the wind out of him, and bury my face in his chest. Something deep down tells me we won't see each other for a while, not even at my Sofia or Moscow shows. Because of that gut feeling, I breathe in the scent of his shirt, hold him tighter, and cherish every second of this moment.

Kristian tilts my chin up and kisses me. Chocolate lingers on his lips while spearmint tickles my taste buds, creating a sweet combination of flavors. For a few short seconds, these flavors consume me and he is everything. A smile forms on his lips once we break, and he gently strokes my cheek.

"It will not be that long," he vows, although the muddied expression in his eyes beg to differ.

"You'll be my groupie again in no time!" I jest.

Kristian chuckles, then silence falls between us. His phone rings again. I can't leave him empty handed, so I take off the ring on my right index finger. It's way too small for him to wear, but it's the sentiment that counts. I place it in his right palm and smile small.

"You can wear it on a chain or something if you want," I suggest as I fold his fingers on top of the ring. "It was a present from my parents for winning Eurovision."

He opens his hand and raises the rings for inspection. The 24-karat gold band has three small gems: an emerald, opal, and ruby. Green, white, and red for the Italian flag. Kristian furrows his brows and regards me with uncertainty.

"Are you sure?" he questions. "If this means a lot to y—"

"Wherever you go, you'll always have a part of me," I explain. "And I have part of you with me too—in my heart. Don't worry about it, Kristian."

He lovingly kisses my forehead and doesn't argue any further. Without a word, I walk him to the door. Kristian fishes my phone out of his pocket and hands it over; blood rushes through my veins as our fingers touch. He looks into my eyes once last time, then leaves. I think it's better that he didn't say anything; my heart wouldn't have been able to take it.

I sluggishly walk into the confines of my dressing room and ponder over what just happened. I might as well prepare for the show too. Although my fingers reach for the concealer, my eyes focus on Kristian's flowers. I smile weakly as I think about how they match my crown. Seconds later, a notification from him pops up.

@KristianKostov_: Good byes are never easy. Kill it tonight @ParisaNicchi ▲ 

He's right. Goodbyes are hard as fuck. They're harder to endure when you know you won't see the other person for weeks or possibly months. But...you never know when you'll say your final goodbyes. Life's that unpredictable. Something terrible could happen tonight, and that could have been the one last time I'll ever see or speak to Kristian again.

Don't think like that, Par. Don't think that! It'll be alright. You'll see him again and hear his cute little accent when he speaks in English again. Reply to his tweet so you know you'll be fine. Send back positive vibes so you truly feel it.

@PariaNicchi: @KristianKostov_ It wasn't goodbye, but see you later  ▲

Why do I feel like I just tweeted a lie?

A/N:

Sincerest apology for your feels. I hope you're alright. Thank you guys so much for 300 reads. You have no clue how much this means to me. You're the best!! xx