CHAPTER 17 — Restless Night
The room was dark except for the thin silver sliver of moonlight spilling through the curtains. Andre was lying on his side, eyes half-closed.
The air in the room was heavy, the quiet pressing against his ears. Yichen didn't move from where he stood—just watched.
Andre shifted under the covers but didn't bother turning around.
"What do you want?" His voice was low, even.
"…I already told you what I want."
"I thought you said you would be busy business, won't be seeing you for some time."
"…" Yichen stood still, staring at the young man lying in bed, who didn't even turn to look at him as he spoke.
"I… want to sleep." His tone was steady but carried a faint weight. Because it's the only way I can escape everything for a while, find peace without dreams… and I can only achieve that with you.
Andre gave a short, humorless laugh. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"
Yichen said nothing. He knew Andre was angry—angry enough not to get up, not even to push him out. Just words thrown like stones from the bed.
What am I going to do with this man? Andre thought. He won't leave even if I ask. He never does.
Finally, Andre turned, meeting Yichen's eyes. As usual, he stood there, waiting for accommodation.
Yichen was still in his work shirt, the first two buttons undone, jacket missing. His usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd run his fingers through it too many times. The air seemed to shift with his presence—not loud, not invasive, but undeniable.
Andre sat up slowly.
"You have your own room."
"I can't sleep there." The reply was short, but taut—like a wire pulled to breaking point.
"Then don't sleep." He said coldly
Yichen's eyes flickered with something heavy and unreadable. "That's not an option tonight."
He moved forward with slow, measured steps, like approaching a wary animal. Andre didn't move, but his gaze followed every step. His stillness was guarded, not fearful.
"What is this?" Andre asked when Yichen stopped beside the bed. "Another one of your whims?" Calmly asking
Yichen's gaze didn't waver. "Call it whatever you want. I need to be here."
"You need?" The word sounded foreign in Andre's mouth, edged with disbelief.
A faint crease appeared between Yichen's brows, as if he were fighting to keep his composure. "I can't sleep unless… I've tried." He stopped, leaving the rest of the sentence heavy and unspoken.
Andre leaned back against the headboard, exhaling slowly. "You're not lying here."
But Yichen didn't move away. His eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, lingered on Andre's face. "Then I'll stand here all night."
Andre's gaze flicked to the clock—12:47 a.m. He had no intention of entertaining this ridiculousness, yet there was something in Yichen's tone… It wasn't commanding like usual. It was raw. Almost desperate.
When Andre didn't respond, Yichen reached for the blanket.
Andre's hand shot out, catching his wrist. "You're persistent."
"You already know that," Yichen murmured.
Their eyes locked. The room felt too small for the silence between them—every breath, every shift of fabric amplified.
"You're unbelievable," Andre said at last, but there was no heat in his tone—just reluctant resignation. He knew this man never truly listened. If not the bed, Yichen would sleep on the floor, stubborn enough to endure the cold rather than leave. Andre kept himself guarded around him because…
He sighed deeply, forcing the thought away.
Yichen didn't speak again. He simply slid onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His movements were unhurried, but there was quiet certainty in the way he claimed the space—settling beside Andre without seeking further permission.
Andre turned his back to him, pulling the blanket tighter. "Stay on your side as usual. And don't touch me." Warned coldly
"Mm." Yichen's agreement was low, almost inaudible, but his presence was anything but distant.
The faint rustle of fabric, the warmth radiating from him—Andre could feel it without looking. It was intrusive, not in comfort, but in awareness.
He closed his eyes, telling himself it didn't matter. Yichen would fall asleep soon enough.
But he didn't move away.
Instead, there was a slight shift, the faint brush of his sleeve against Andre's back. It was so light it could have been accidental—except Yichen didn't make careless movements.
"You're in my space," Andre said into the dark.
"Your room. Not your space," Yichen replied softly.
Andre almost retorted but stopped himself. He didn't want to ask why Yichen couldn't sleep anywhere else, why he'd come without warning, why he carried an exhaustion that seemed deeper than physical. The man had once told him it's just you—meaning he could only sleep close to Andre. Ridiculous.
But asking meant caring. And caring… was dangerous.
So he said nothing.
Minutes stretched. Andre's breathing stayed even, but his mind wouldn't still. He could hear Yichen's breathing change—slower, deeper.
"You could've stayed in your office," Andre muttered at last. Indifference in this tone
"I couldn't," came the half-asleep but certain reply. "Not tonight."
Andre stared into the dark, unsure if Yichen was speaking to him or himself. And for reasons he didn't want to examine, he didn't tell him to leave again.
The room sank into silence, the darkness wrapping around them. Only the sound of two breaths—one slow and steady, the other faint—filled the air.
I'm too tired from yesterday—my first day of work. Mo Yue's already drained me. I can't let this man rob me of sleep too. Tomorrow we're recording with another artist in S City, and I have to leave early to meet them at the airport.
'Andre, it's time to grow up and not care about this man or his actions. There's nothing to fear—as long as he doesn't touch you. You have to take him as you see other and stop being easy irritated by him. No need to think to deeply. This man always spike your emotions. It shouldn't be so.'
But just as he began to drift, he felt something pull him close—an arm circling, holding him as if never to let go. He was too far gone to react, surrendering to the pull of sleep.
Ah… I guess I'm too tired to care.
Still, one question lingered in the edge of his mind.
Was it real?