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.

but I couldn't sleep. The lingering fear from the hallway incident was

defensive preparations might not have been enough, and the consequences could have

that he came to see

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

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

reminded me of my childhood. I used to hear

much of it back then, but now I found

on Brandon once he fell asleep,

woke up in the middle of the night needing to use the bathroom.

was still in the house, I glanced at the couch on my way out and saw him sleeping there. His tall frame barely fit, and his

Double standards.

sleep in my room. But he

he was there to protect me even though he was clearly uncomfortable.

the bathroom. After that, I always had trouble falling asleep again. I felt alone and abandoned in

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

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