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

my defensive preparations might not have been enough, and the

coincidence that he came to see

It was closed, so I couldn't see outside. Was he

outside. It was unclear if he was washing up

my childhood. I used to hear my

of it back then, but now I found

listened and planned to check on Brandon once he fell asleep, but I ended up

the bathroom. As I got up, I remembered I 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 legs were hanging off the

Double standards.

wouldn't sleep in my room. But he was okay with

watched him, I thought about how he was there to protect me

few nights, I'd been waking up to use the bathroom. After that, I always had trouble falling

me, with no one to care for or love me. No one was there to

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