My roommate's online boyfriend won't spend any coins, but he'll give me tons of gold

Zhou Yuanyuan remained silent.

She leaned on the man's shoulder, her eyes slightly closed, her face flushed, and her lips parted slightly as she breathed softly.

Their breath smelled of alcohol.

Seeing this, Meng Qichuan could only carry her upstairs. The entire villa only had two rooms; the other was his master bedroom, both on the second floor. The third floor housed a study and a gym.

He rammed the guest room door open with his back.

The guest room is simply decorated, with only a double bed, wardrobe, TV and private bathroom.

Meng Qichuan put the little girl down from his arms.

When she got drunk, Zhou Yuanyuan was like a boneless person, and she collapsed to the ground.

When she fell, her skirt rode up to mid-thigh, revealing her fair and delicate skin with no visible pores. Meng Qichuan remained calm and pulled the blanket over her.

There are no servants at home, so let's sleep here for the night and talk about it after Zhou Yuanyuan sobers up.

After covering himself with the blanket, Meng Qichuan took two steps back, preparing to leave.

Just as he was about to turn and leave.

Zhou Yuanyuan suddenly stood up, swaying unsteadily.

Afraid she would fall, Meng Qichuan reached out to support her. "What are you doing?"

Zhou Yuanyuan mumbled, "I don't feel well, I need to take a shower."

It's still hot now, and if I don't shower for a day, I'll start to smell.

"I'll wash it tomorrow."

"don't want."

Zhou Yuanyuan struggled: "Wash it now."

Meng Qichuan couldn't persuade her otherwise, so he could only help her to the bathroom door and point inside, "There are toiletries and bathrobes in the cabinet. Don't heat the water. Come out when you're done washing."

Zhou Yuanyuan tilted her head and tried hard to open her eyes, wanting to see him clearly.

Meng Qichuan: "Did you hear that?"

Zhou Yuanyuan ignored him.

I took off my shoes and went in barefoot.

Meng Qichuan had no choice but to leave.

He went downstairs to the kitchen to see if there was anything to help him sober up, but unfortunately, he rarely ate at home and there was no food in the refrigerator.

Finally, I heated up a cup of milk and went upstairs.

I had just reached the guest room door and hadn't even opened it when I heard a loud thud from inside.

Meng Qichuan frowned, pushed open the door, and quickly walked in. He placed the glass of milk on the table and walked to the bathroom door.

Stunned.

Zhou Yuanyuan left the shower door open.

In the small space, Zhou Yuanyuan lay naked on the cold floor tiles. Meng Qichuan only saw a blinding white blur before quickly turning his back on her.

"Yuanyuan, how are you?"

"Can you stand up?"

No one answered.

Meng Qichuan took a step to the side, away from the restroom, and said, "Stand up by yourself first."

Still, no one answered.

Did you faint from the fall?

Getting drunk or falling in the shower can both have serious consequences.

Meng Qichuan's brows furrowed deeper and deeper. Without further hesitation, he turned and strode into the restroom. He deliberately avoided looking and shifted his gaze, but his peripheral vision inadvertently swept across the floor, and a patch of pure white suddenly caught his eye.

Zhou Yuanyuan lay sprawled on the floor tiles in such a disheveled state.

Meng Qichuan immediately looked away, reached out and opened the cabinet next to him, and fumbled for a bathrobe.

In that brief moment, the person on the ground seemed to notice the movement and raised their head with some difficulty.

The steam rising from the hot water made Zhou Yuanyuan's face flush red, her eyes glistening with moisture, her long eyelashes dampened by the mist, her brows slightly furrowed, and her lips slightly parted.

"elder brother……"

He looked hurt and had nowhere to confide in.

Meng Qichuan touched the bathrobe, quickly pulled it out with his fingertips, unfolded it, and covered her body, wrapping Zhou Yuanyuan up tightly. He then bent down and picked her up.

Zhou Yuanyuan reached out, wanting to hug his neck.

"Don't move."

The bathrobe was just covering her body; it would slip off if she moved.

Zhou Yuanyuan wouldn't listen and stubbornly wrapped her arms around his neck.

The thin robe immediately slipped down a bit.

The exposed chest rose and fell with each breath. Meng Qichuan felt as if he had been burned by something. He quickly looked away, walked a few steps to the bedside, and put the person down.

Pull the blanket over yourself.

He got up to leave.

Zhou Yuanyuan grabbed the hem of her clothes, her toes hit the edge of the bed, and she staggered to her knees, her hands bracing against the soft fabric.

Zhou Yuanyuan came from a family where she received a lot of training from her father and grandfather from a young age.

Therefore, she is quite strong.

Meng Qichuan placed his hands on either side of her and said in a low voice, "Yuanyuan, let go."

"I don't."

Zhou Yuanyuan was incredibly stubborn. Not only did she refuse to let go, she pressed herself against him, burying her face in the man's neck, gently nuzzling him, and softly calling his name.

"elder brother."

Meng Qichuan took a deep breath and leaned back: "Didn't I tell you not to call me that?"

One sentence brought tears to Zhou Yuanyuan's eyes.

"Why can't I call you 'brother'? You always did before."

That was when she was very young.

Whenever Meng Qichuan appeared in the courtyard, she would follow him like a shadow, calling out "Brother, Brother!"

Back then, he would smile and pat her head, praising her for growing taller and prettier.

But then one day, she happily ran to his side and called him brother.

Meng Qichuan said, "Call me uncle."

He said that he and his father were of the same generation, and she should call him uncle.

Peers are bullshit.

The two families are not related.

Zhou Yuanyuan was unwilling, but Meng Qichuan insisted, so she had no choice but to call him Brother Qichuan. Meng Qichuan then didn't say anything more.

Meng Qichuan: "I was young and naive back then."

Zhou Yuanyuan ignored him, pressed herself against him, raised her chin, and tried to kiss him.

Noticing her movement, Meng Qichuan raised his hand and firmly gripped her chin with his fingertips, stopping her in time. The force was not light, restraining her from moving forward even half an inch.

His voice was low and calm, brooking no argument: "Zhou Yuanyuan, what are you doing?"

A sharp pain shot through Zhou Yuanyuan's jaw. Her nose tingled, her eyes reddened, and tears rolled down her cheeks without warning, landing with a soft thud on the back of the man's hand.

Meng Qichuan did not loosen his grip at all, and the strength with which he held her chin did not lessen in the slightest.

Zhou Yuanyuan kept crying, and soon her hands were soaked.

Meng Qichuan's heart was as hard as iron, offering no words of comfort.

Zhou Yuanyuan's throat trembled, and she choked out, "I like you, and you know I like you."

She never hid her feelings.

She was afraid that Meng Qichuan couldn't see it.

Meng Qichuan's gaze remained calm, his expression still cold and aloof, and his tone indifferently drew a line: "I am your elder."

"The feelings you have now are nothing but illusions born from long-term dependence. You are still young. When you grow up, you will naturally understand."

Zhou Yuanyuan held back her sobs, her beautiful peach blossom eyes filled with a layer of cold stubbornness. She looked up and stared straight at him, "I'm not a child anymore. I've grown up. I can tell the difference between liking and depending on someone."

Meng Qichuan scoffed, just about to release the person.

The girl shook off her bathrobe, grabbed his other wrist with both hands, lifted it up, and pressed it to her chest.

His tone was firm: "I'm not the little kid you're talking about."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

This couple is a bit difficult to write; it can't be covered in one or two chapters. I'll try to finish it all tomorrow and end things with them.