I looked at Brandon, who was also looking at me. The atmosphere in the room was a bit ambiguous.

It was absurd. We had slept in a hotel room together without any issues before.

Yet here, in this spacious two-bedroom apartment, it felt cramped, like even the air was suffocating.

After a brief, silent stare, Brandon spoke. "I think it's more appropriate for me to sleep on the couch."

I was speechless.

"Only your real boyfriend should sleep in your room. I... I'll stick to the couch," Brandon said. It made me feel like I was somehow mistreating him.

But I knew he was trying to pressure me. He wanted to become my actual boyfriend.

The old saying about quiet men being the most cunning seemed true.

However, I wasn't falling for it. I simply said, "Suit yourself," and quickly went into my parents' room.

sleep. The lingering fear from the

shown up, my defensive preparations might not have been enough,

that he came to see me

It was closed, so I couldn't see outside. Was he really sleeping on the couch and not in

washing up or doing something else. Either way, he hadn't

my childhood. I used to hear my parents move around

then, but now I found that sound

planned to check on Brandon once

the night needing to use the bathroom. As I got

barely

Double standards.

real boyfriend, so he wouldn't sleep in my room. But he was okay with using my pink

thought about how he was there to protect me even though he was clearly

I always had

no one to care for or love me. No one was there to comfort me if I

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