Gavin has dinner with me, now speaking animatedly about the English course he runs and how its teaching system works. He also mentions that he loves playing the piano, which is his favorite instrument in the whole world, and that he learned when he was nine years old. I looked around, obviously not seeing any giant keyboard objects, and he asserted that he had one, but it was in one of his other houses.

The "rest house" was the house in Saquarema, a house ten minutes from the beach, very spacious and comfortable. The "critical moment house" (yes, that was the nickname) was in Petrópolis, which was the biggest of all, practically a mansion. It was the house where he spent a few days when he was very down, going through unpleasant situations, and needed to clear his mind. He also explained that the last time he went there was when he had to bury his great-aunt, who lost the battle to cancer. He mourned her in the United States for a day, and the next day he was already back in Brazil to grieve.

After dinner, we watched a random soap opera on Globo until we started yawning. Gavin headed to the kitchen and warmed milk for both of us. Then he said:

"There's a pajama I bought for you."

We went to the guest room and I couldn't help but look surprised at the changes. He smiled at my reaction and opened a closet door, revealing several pieces of clothing. Then he took out the pajamas: a set of pumpkin-colored shirt and pants with white flowers printed on them.

I found it cute and thanked him with my eyes. Then he turned his back so I could dress. As soon as I finished, I cleared my throat. He clapped, saying it looked great on me. He asked if I was comfortable and I nodded.

I had known him for two days, but it was so easy to feel comfortable around him. It was almost as if he were an angel.

Then he started turning off the lights in the house. And we began to climb the stairs that led to his room.

The first thing I noticed was the simplicity. It was a room with neutral-colored walls, a gigantic bed, as he had described earlier, a laptop in one corner, and a door leading to the bathroom. There was also a large wardrobe, much larger than the one in the guest room. The window was above the bed, and the blinds were properly closed. A lamp on the bedside table was on; the light was blue and modestly illuminated the room. I noticed the hum of the air conditioner.

As I entered, he closed the door to keep the air inside. I stopped at the edge of the bed, observing his blue quilt, sheets, and blankets. The pillows looked like poufs they were so big and seemingly soft. They were also blue. I delicately put my fingers on the bedspread, feeling the fabric.

It had been a while since the last time I had been so close to another person at bedtime. A part of my soul began to tremble subtly, but I took a deep breath trying to contain it.

Gavin looked at me, searching for signs of fear and confusion on my face. But I was calm, at least enough. Not calm because of lethargy, but serene. This would be a peaceful night for me. The first in a very, very long time.

I went to the right side of the bed and lay down. It was so cozy... And the smell seemed out of this world.

As I started to cover myself, Gavin went to the left side and lay down. Keeping our agreement, he stayed at a quite respectable distance.

We looked at each other. He whispers a good night to me. I give a weak smile in response and then close my eyes.

And I don't have nightmares when I fall asleep.