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.

in bed, but I couldn't sleep. The lingering fear

hadn't shown up, my defensive preparations might not have been enough, and the consequences could have been

a coincidence that he came to

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

was unclear if he was washing up or doing something else. Either way, he

of my childhood. I used to hear my parents move

of it back then, but

planned to check on Brandon once he fell

night needing to use the bathroom. As I got up, I remembered I was in my parents'

him sleeping there. His tall frame barely fit, and his legs were hanging off the side. He had cleverly placed a

Double standards.

boyfriend, so he wouldn't sleep in my room. But he was

watched him, I thought about how he was there to protect me even though he was clearly uncomfortable.

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

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

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