Ji Yanzhi shot him an irritated look and turned his face away. "Anyway, you can't sleep on the floor. Every time you turn over, you'll stir up dust and affect my sleep quality."
Confusion surfaced in Ji Ting's eyes. ...What dust?
Uncle Yang had their rooms cleaned every day, especially Ji Yanzhi's. Forget dust-you couldn't even find a stray hair in there.
Ji Yanzhi sneered inwardly. What dust? Your brain's full of it!
You're like a wooden temple block. Nothing gets through unless someone gives you a whack.
Ji Yanzhi simply ignored him, walked around to the other side of the bed, and climbed in, deliberately turning his back to Ji Ting as he lay down.
Ji Ting stood up helplessly, looking at the floor, then around the entire bedroom.
The bench at the foot of the bed? He assessed its length, his brows drawing together slightly. It's only a meter long. I couldn't fit even with my legs curled up.
He looked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. I could lie down over there, but Ji Yanzhi thinks it's dirty and won't let me put my bedding on the floor.
Although Ji Yanzhi's eyes were closed, the rise and fall of his chest grew more pronounced by the moment.
In the end, Ji Ting decided to sleep on the sofa in the small sitting room. It was a little farther from Ji Yanzhi, but at least they were still in the same room.
Listening to the rustling behind him, Ji Yanzhi was so furious his hair practically stood on end, yet he stubbornly refused to say a word.
Ji Ting made two trips to carry everything over, laid out his bedding on the sofa, and lay down.
He tried closing his eyes. All the sounds around him seemed to settle, disappearing