Chapter 42: Just Sleep…On The Bed

Dinner leaves a soft warmth behind—on my tongue, in my chest.

Deniz washes the dishes in the kitchen, water running, quiet clinks of porcelain filling the apartment. I wander without a destination, letting my eyes roam.

Then I see them.

Family photos line the wall.

I stop.

My gaze lingers on the first frame—Deniz as a child, small in his school uniform, smile shy and crooked. Too cute. A soft smile slips onto my lips without permission. The next photo—he’s younger, sitting at a table, cheeks full, eating a lollipop with both hands like it’s treasure. Warm. Gentle. Loved.

You can see it in the photos.

He grew up wrapped in care.

An Omega father’s warmth—quiet, steady, patient.

My eyes move slowly, drinking in the years, until a familiar voice breaks the stillness.

“Did something happen…?”

I blink and turn. Deniz stands behind me, hands still damp, watching my face like he’s afraid of what he might find there.

“Nothing,” I say softly.

My gaze drifts back to the wall. “You were really cute as a kid.”

I glance at him again, then narrow my eyes playfully.

“And honestly? You still are.”

His ears burn red instantly. He looks away, clearing his throat.

“It’s late,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “You should sleep.”

I nod, but my attention catches on another frame.

Teenage Deniz.

He stands beside a man I don’t recognize.

Not his father.

I lift my hand and point lightly. “Who’s this?”

Deniz freezes.

He steps closer, staring at the picture for a long moment—too long. Silence stretches, thin and fragile.

Finally, he speaks.

“My teacher. From high school.”

I study the man’s face in the photo—gentle posture, calm eyes.

“An Omega,” I say slowly, more observation than question.

Deniz nods once.

I smile faintly. “You two look… close.”

His shoulders tense.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he exhales quietly and turns away.

“It’s really late,” he says again, voice lower this time. “Let’s go to sleep.”

He walks toward the room without looking back.

I stay where I am, staring at the photo—at the space he left behind.

Confused.

And suddenly aware that I’ve stepped into a memory he never meant to open.

I step into the room, heart doing a stupid little tap-dance against my ribs. Tonight. Finally. I’m sleeping in his space, in his bed. I’ll be surrounded by his scent all night. I can breathe him in while he’s asleep.

I breathe in deeply, eyes fluttering shut as the scent hits me—fresh red roses, unmistakably Deniz. Soft. Clean. Comforting. For a second, it feels like heaven itself has wrapped around my senses. My eyes stay close for a while, inhaling. Heaven. Actual heaven.

I shake my head sharply. Neon. Be a good boy. Neon— Behave.

No shameless thoughts. Just… sleep.

I take another step forward, my smile already forming.

And then I see it.

My smile dies. The happy tap-dance in my chest tripped and fell down a well.

Deniz is kneeling beside the bed, carefully smoothing out a folded blanket and a thin pillow on the floor. A makeshift sleeping pallet. On the floor.

The cold water of reality douses the excited fire in my veins. My face must do something wild, because he looks up.

My eyes widen. Dreams crash like glass on the floor—sharp, loud, final.

“Deniz,” I say, and my voice sounds weird to my own ears. “What are you doing?”

He sits back on his heels, perfectly calm. “You sleep on the bed. I’ll sleep here.”

I stare. At him. At the giant, perfectly good, incredibly inviting bed. At him again. “The bed is enough for two people,” I say, forcing logic into my tone. “There’s no need to sleep on the floor. Sleep with me.”

On the bed.

Just sleep.

On the bed.

He just looks at me, silent for a long, painful moment. “Nope,” he says finally. “I’m fine on the floor.”

My inner Neon snarls at the rejection. “No,” I insist, the stubbornness rising. “Sleep on the bed. It’s big. We’ll both be comfortable.”

He looks down, fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. He’s hesitating. “I’m fine, really. Please, you take the bed.”

“Deniz—”

He cuts me off, his voice soft but firm. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He won’t meet my eyes now. “What if I… kick you off the bed in my sleep?”

Ah.

Inside me, a brilliant, sun-bright smile blooms. That’s your worry? That you’ll kick me? Oh, my sweet, stubborn future wifey.

I am going to be a goddamn barnacle. You could be awake and thrashing, and you wouldn’t dislodge me.

I masterfully control the glee trying to break out on my face. I keep my voice gentle, reasonable. “It’s okay. Really. Let’s just share the bed. The floor must be cold.”

“No,” he says, and there’s a finality in it that makes my heart sink. “You sleep on the bed.”

I try one last weapon. I look at him, letting my eyes go wide and soft, pulling the full force of a sad-puppy pout. “Why…?”

It doesn’t work. He doesn’t even see it. He just lies down on his sad little floor nest and pulls the blanket up over his head, completely cocooning himself. “Good night,” comes his muffled, definitive voice from inside the fabric.

I look at the human-shaped blanket lump. He’s more stubborn than I am. The realization is equal parts infuriating and deeply, terribly attractive.

Finally, I sigh. A loud, dramatic sigh of utter defeat. I flop onto the bed. It’s soft. It smells like him—the pillows, the sheets—an intoxicating cloud of Deniz. I bury my face in a pillow and inhale deeply. God. It’s so good.

Then I peer over the edge of the mattress, down at the blanket lump. “Are you sure you’re fine down there?”

The lump does not move. “Yes.”

I close my eyes, a smile finally touching my lips. He’s really, really stubborn.

“Good night, Deniz.”

From the floor, softly: “Good night.”

And I lie there, in his bed, wrapped in his scent, listening to his quiet breathing from three feet below me. It’s not the victory I imagined. But he’s here. In the same room. And for now, somehow, that’s almost enough.

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