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Hendery is sweating.

This isn’t his first job interview, per se, but it is the first one which hasn’t been held in a back alley behind an independent coffeeshop, or over Zoom. Instead, he’s sitting in a windowless room on a wonky roller chair in the basement of some skeevy-looking building in an even skeevier-looking part of town. Across from him, a cheap IKEA table between them, sits his interviewer, who’s busy thumbing through Hendery’s resume. Despite the jug of water and glasses on the table, the interviewer, notably, hasn’t offered Hendery a drink. These circumstances, by themselves, would be a red flag to anyone.

But that’s not really why Hendery is sweating. Not knowing what was appropriate clothing for an interview for what was arguably an office job, he’d worn a shirt and slacks for the occasion. Except: the air-conditioning in the room is little more than a whisper – no, a suggestion of a whisper – of a humid breeze. Hendery can already feel his pit sweat slowly soak through the cheap polyester of his shirt.

The interviewer must sense Hendery’s discomfort. He flicks Hendery’s resume aside, and pours a glass of water. Hendery immediately perks up. He stretches out his arm to receive the glass, a thank you on the tip of his tongue, only for the interviewer to bring the glass to his lips and drain its contents.

Hendery feels vaguely slighted.

“So.” The interviewer wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “You can speak four languages?”

Hendery startles. His interviewer is peering at him over the rim of his glass expectantly.

“Yes.” When it becomes clear that the interviewer is waiting for him to elaborate, Hendery hurries to say, “Uh, so I can speak Korean – obviously – English, Cantonese, Mandarin, and Japanese.”

Hendery smiles winningly. The interviewer stares at him, unmoved.

“That’s five.”

Hendery’s smile dims. “What?”

“That’s five languages.”

Hendery counts them in his head, and curses inwardly, scrambling. “Oh. Well – I’m still learning, and my Japanese isn’t the best, so I didn’t really count that – ”

“Uh-huh,” the interviewer says, bored. “Can you say ‘dick’ in Japanese?”

Hendery chokes mid-explanation.

“I – what?”

“Dick, balls, tits, the usual,” the interviewer – Sicheng, Hendery remembers him saying when he’d introduced himself – says in a monotonous tone that gives the impression that he’s discussing the weather, and not listing various colloquial terms for genitalia. “‘You’re so big’, “you’re so wet”, “you feel so good” – can you manage that? In all your spoken languages?”

Holy moley.

“Um,” Hendery says instead, because he doesn’t want to come off as a prude. “Yes?”

“Great,” Sicheng says. “So when can you start?”

“Er – ” Hendery blinks. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Sicheng says. “Unless you’re a registered sex offender, in which case I’m legally prohibited from hiring you.”

Hendery laughs long and hard at that until he catches sight of Sicheng’s face and realises that it wasn’t meant as a joke.

“Oh. Well, I’m not – a registered sex offender, that is,” Hendery hurries to say. “Or any kind of regular sex offender. I mean, I’ve been known to have sex, but not in the way that would offend people. Although, when I think about it, maybe my ex would have a different opinion on that – ”

Across from him, Sicheng’s starting to look at him like he’s grown three heads, which, in Hendery’s experience, is always a bad sign. He quickly hauls the conversation back on track.

“I guess I’m just surprised,” he says. “I must have made a really good impression if you’re offering me the role on the spot!”

“Not really,” Sicheng says. “We’re extremely short-handed.”

That takes all the wind out of Hendery’s sails. He deflates slightly. “Oh.”

He must really look pathetic, because Sicheng sighs heavily, like this is one big chore for him (which it probably is), and leans across the table.

“I’ll be honest, you don’t have the background, or the experience, we’re looking for,” he says. “But at the end of the day, it’s just talking. And from what I’ve heard so far, you’re…” There’s a delicate pause. “... adequate at it.”

If it’s meant to be reassuring, it’s not. Based on his past work history, Hendery needs, like, a lot of positive reinforcement. And a job is a job, but this job… well. By its very nature, Hendery doesn’t think he’s going to get a lot of positive reinforcement, from Sicheng or otherwise.

So, as Sicheng takes out a thick pad of onboarding materials and goes through them, Hendery wonders if he should reject the role. Like, thanks, but no thanks. Or, we both know I’m not a suitable candidate for this role, and the only reason I got the job is because no one else applied.

Yeah. This is probably a bad idea. This isn’t going to work out.

“This is the commission payment structure,” Sicheng says, pointing at a sheaf of paper, and Hendery’s eyes bulge out of his head.

Because. That is a lot of money.

Immediately, any and all thoughts of walking out of here without the job fly out the metaphorical window. Hendery nods dutifully along to Sicheng’s droning explanations, affixes his signatures to documents when prompted, and after just fifteen minutes, leaves the building with his spanking new employment contract clutched to his chest and an impressively clammy handshake from Sicheng.

“Welcome to 1-800-LOVE-TALK,” Sicheng says in that same flat, disinterested voice, followed by the slogan Hendery had seen printed on a fading banner hung up in the office premises. “‘We gonna have a good time’.”

And just like that, Hendery’s hired for the world’s first multilingual sex hotline.

📞

Contrary to popular (read: his sisters) belief, Hendery is not the black sheep of the family.

Sure, he’s had a rough couple of months. Business school wasn’t all that it was made out to be, and the improvisation scene in South Korea is practically non-existent. And sure, in the spirit of tradition, Hendery’s dad had done what all Macanese patriarchs did to wayward, underperforming sons – cut them off financially – but it was fine! It was temporary! (The last time Crystal had called, she said that their dad was maybe fifty percent less furious than initially.) Hendery didn’t need his (supplementary) AmEx Centurion card, or the family-slash-investment property apartment in Gangnam. He was perfectly happy adjusting to a diet of convenience store food and instant ramen and living in his cosy goshiwon. It was near the coffeeshop he worked at in the day, anyway, and just twenty minutes away by train for his night job as a communications specialist (read: sex hotline operator) at 1-800-LOVE-TALK. When Hendery thinks about it, it’s, like, wow. Two jobs. His dad could only dream of such a work ethic in his son this time last year.

So, yeah. Nothing to worry about. Hendery’s doing fine. Totally fine.

📞

Hendery’s not doing fine.

“You’re so big,” he moans into the mic of his headset. “So thick, gonna fill me up so good.”

It sounds fake even to his own ears. Judging by the heavy breathing that’s coming through Hendery’s headset, though, his client doesn’t seem to mind too much.

“Y-yeah? You want that?”

“Totally,” Hendery says. When there’s no response from the other end of the line, he realises that the client wants more. “Um – god, I want your big, fat, throbbing cock, like, so much.”

“Yeah? How much?”

Good grief. How’s Hendery supposed to answer that? In cubic centimetres? In degrees Celsius?

“Like – ” His mind scrambles. “A lot.”

The client sighs, the sound crackling like static. “No, I mean – can you let me hear how much you want it?”

“Ohhh,” Hendery says, finally getting it. “Yeah, let me just – ”

He sucks in a deep breath, and, thinking back to all the porn he’d watched in preparation for this job, lets out a loud, theatrical moan.

Silence.

“Uh…” The client clears his throat awkwardly. “Never mind.”

“Was it not good?” Hendery asks anxiously. “I can do it again – ”

“No, no, can we – um.” The client inhales, his voice turning gravelly. “How do you want me?”

Hendery pauses, thinking seriously. “... In my mouth?”

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” the client says, sounding disappointed.

“What?” Hendery asks, reaching for his water bottle. Operating a sex hotline is thirsty work. “No! No, like, I’m literally gagging for it – ”

In his distracted state, Hendery forgets that his mic is in the way of his mouth. The rim of his water bottle hits the mic, which gets shoved into his mouth, and Hendery chokes around it and the water. He jerks backwards instinctively, upsetting the bottle in the process. Water soaks his front, and the sudden chill has Hendery letting out a high-pitched, undignified, and decidedly unsexy squeal.

“Hello?” comes the client’s voice, sounding alarmed. “Did something happen?”

“It’s fine!” Hendery squeaks-coughs. “Sorry, just a minor mishap – ”

He grabs a wad of tissues from the box on his table and begins mopping up the mess, covering his mic with his free hand to hack out the water from his lungs. Once he’s done, Hendery fixes his headset and mic back into place, and coughs apologetically.

“Sorry about that. Now, where were we?” Hendery thinks back, then brightens. “Oh! Right!” He puts on his low, sexy voice. ”C’mon, baby, put that dick in my mouth – ”

The client cuts him off.

“Listen,” the client says. “This was a mistake.”

Hendery’s heart drops like a stone.

“What?” he asks, this time in his normal voice.

“Yeah, sorry. This isn’t really working out for me.”

“Why?” Hendery demands. “Am I going too slow? Too fast? Do you have trouble getting it up?”

“Do I – ?!” The client lets out an offended huff. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna go now.”

“Wait,” Hendery says, panicking. “Wait, please don’t, just a couple more minutes and I promise you, you’ll – ”

Beeeeeep.

Hendery groans. He rips off his headset in frustration, and drops his forehead to the table with a thunk.

“... come.”

It turns out that phone sex is a lot more difficult than he’d thought. Hendery’s not a virgin (at a modest body count of one serious girlfriend and two random guys in the club who had helped out with his bisexual awakening), but this is uncharted territory. Hendery’s a hands-on, kinesthetic learning kind of guy, and all of his (sexually active) life, he’s just kind of gone out and done it. There had been some fumbling, some shyness, and plenty of awkwardness, but when it came down to it, he’d never had a serious problem with turning his partners on. He knows he’s passably good-looking. He knows he’s funny. He knows how to touch people in bed. The combination of all of these factors meant that he’s never once had to talk about the act of sex.

And talking about it, Hendery is quickly realising, is kind of a fucking minefield.

He’s a walking disaster, stepping into every potential landmine and blowing the whole thing up. Like, this is the sixth client he’s dropped mid-call, and it’s only been a week on the job. Hendery will count himself lucky if this client doesn’t demand a full refund – the last time that happened, Sicheng had not been happy (not that he was ever happy, but Hendery is slowly getting accustomed to his limited range of tones and facial expressions, and when Sicheng had to fend off that disgruntled customer, he was definitely not happy).

As Hendery has a heart-to-heart with the fake wood grain of his desk, wallowing in self-pity, he feels a tap on his shoulder. He lifts his head, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light flooding back into his retinas, and comes face to face with a god amongst men.

“Bro,” Ten drawls around the straw of his iced Americano. “That was tragic.”

Ten is kind of a legend around here. He’s been employee of the month for nearly half a year, and the top earner for even longer. He sits in the cubicle next to Hendery’s, but apart from exchanging pleasantries whenever their shifts overlap, they haven’t spoken much. Ten always seems like he’s busy – he’s forever wearing his headset, and when Hendery’s in between calls, he can hear Ten speaking in low, smooth tones to his clients. Hendery can never quite make out what he’s saying, exactly, but he knows by the lack of pleading and grovelling that every one of Ten’s calls ends with a satisfied customer.

Hendery shrinks in his seat. “How much did you hear?”

“The ending,” Ten says. “And also the part where you imitated the call of a dying whale.”

Hendery is aghast. “Was it that bad?”

“I believe I said it was tragic,” Ten affirms.

Hendery groans, and slumps back into his chair. He drags a hand down his face, and grimaces at the oily residue clinging to his palm. Great – not only does he suck at his job, his skin’s acting up, too.

“It’s just – I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he says, frustrated.

“I do,” Ten says.

Hendery sits up, staring at Ten hopefully. Ten stares back, slurping his coffee loudly.

“Well?” Hendery asks, when Ten says nothing.

Ten pulls the straw from his mouth. “What, you want a list, or something?”

“I mean – sure?”

“Fine.” Ten immediately launches into it, holding up a finger for each criticism. “One, your moans need work. Two, the voice you’re using isn’t sexy, it just sounds like you have a really bad sore throat or a smoker who gets through three packs a day, and I’m not sure which is worse. Three, you sound like you got your lines from, like, bad porn where the actors’ hearts weren’t in it – ”

“I did get my lines from bad porn where the actors’ hearts weren’t in it,” Hendery says, pained.

“Yeah,” Ten says, frowning at the interruption. “I could tell, and if I could tell, the clients probably could, too.”

Hendery lets out a sigh, one that comes all the way from his diaphragm and feels his body go limp like cooked spaghetti. He slumps, sliding down his seat until he’s at eye level with the edge of his desk. Any lower and he’d be on the floor. Which is where he belongs, honestly, because he sucks.

“Maybe I’m just not cut out for this,” Hendery says mournfully.

He must look and sound truly depressed, because Ten actually sets down his coffee cup and levels him with a serious, thoughtful look.

“Look, you did improv, right?”

“Yeah,” Hendery says, frowning. “How did you – ”

“I’m nosy, and Sicheng keeps all employee information in a publicly shared folder, which he probably shouldn’t, but here we are.” Hendery’s eyes widen, but Ten’s already waving the potential workplace violation away. “Anyway. Improv is all about bouncing off other people, right? The ‘yes, and’ shit? This job and these calls, require all of that.”

If Hendery thinks about it, that kind of makes sense. “Right…”

“So don’t think of yourself as Hendery, financially-strapped sex hotline operator,” Ten says. “You’re Hendery: the voice on the other end of the line. Mysterious, sensual, and whatever your client needs you to be.”

“Okay,” Hendery says slowly. “So you’re saying I should, like, play a character? And that character depends on each client’s preferences?”

“Exactly,” Ten nods. “This isn’t porn – there’s no visual element, and no script. That’s why all the usual porn lines don’t land. Any crap dirty talk will work when there’s someone bouncing on it in front of you, but when it’s just your voice and the client’s imagination, it’s going to take a lot more creativity and nuance to get them to come.”

Hendery considers this, chewing his lip. “So… How should I go about doing it, then?”

“Look at it this way,” Ten says. “You’re not a coach, giving the client a goal to reach or trying to drag them across the finish line. You’re more like… a vessel. Helping them create and fulfil a specific sexual fantasy or desire.”

Hendery thinks about it. What Ten’s saying makes a lot of sense. He has been a little forceful with his clients, hasn’t he? The pressure of wanting to perform well at work somehow translated into pressure to get the clients to orgasm, which didn’t work out at all. Instead, Ten’s saying he needs to take it slow, and really listen to what the client wants to get them there.

“So I’m kinda, like, lube for the ears and mind, huh?” Hendery says half-jokingly.

He isn’t expecting Ten to grin with approval.

“Yes,” Ten says, nodding. “Exactly like lube.”

At that moment, Ten’s line rings with an incoming call. He grabs his headset from his desk and answers. He speaks to the operator for a bit, then covers his mic, glancing at Hendery.

“One of my regulars just called,” he whispers.

“Oh, yeah, no worries,” Hendery says, waving him away. He’ll thank Ten later, with all the iced Americano his debit card can buy. “Go do your thing.”

Ten throws him a smile. Just as he’s heading back to his seat, though, he hesitates, and turns back around.

“Listen,” Ten says. “I don’t do this for just anyone, but since you’re a newbie… Want a live demonstration?”

He raises an eyebrow expectantly. Hendery blinks, confused, and then his jaw drops.

“Oh my god, yes, please.”

He grabs his headset, gets yanked back by the still-connected wire, then runs back to unplug it. By the time he’s got his own headset plugged into the second outlet of Ten’s line, he’s nearly vibrating out of his skin with excitement. Which is an odd thing to be doing when he’s going to be listening in on his co-worker’s phone sex conversation, like some kind of aural peeping Tom, but Hendery’s always appreciated observing a master at his craft.

Ten winks. Watch and learn, he mouths, and picks up the phone.

“Hello, Nuonuo. Back so soon?”

📞

Ten’s session with his regular, and the little notes he’d written down during it, are highly informative.

(The notes, in Ten’s spiky handwriting:

• Start slow. Ease them into it.
• Build up gradually to the scene.
• Be specific when it helps.
• Praise them.
• At the end of the call, thank them for coming!

Hendery had thought the last part was a double entendre, but Ten had been serious about it.

“It’s important to provide good customer service until the end, Hendery-yah,” he had said sternly. “That’s how you get regulars.”)

Since his last disastrous call, though, Hendery’s not been allocated any clients. He thinks the operators may be doing it on purpose, having heard of his past track record, and he honestly can’t blame them. No one wants to get yelled at by an angry, horny customer.

But then one fateful night, his line rings.

“Hey, Hendery,” Junhui, the operator on shift tonight, says. “Are you busy right now?”

Hendery might be the only one who’s not. Friday nights, he’s learned, are when the traffic to their sex hotline peaks. Phones have been ringing off the hook all evening, and all around Hendery is a chorus of sensual mutterings and the occasional well-placed moan. Meanwhile, he’s been scrolling his phone and making a tower out of the paper cups from the water cooler.

Hendery straightens in his chair, sniffing some real work finally coming his way. “Uh, nope. What’s up?”

“Great,” Junhui says, sounding relieved. “I have a guy on the line who wants to speak in English, but Ten’s still in the middle of a call, so do you think you could…?”

Hendery’s ears perk up in interest. They don’t get English-speaking clients very often, and he and Ten are the only fluent speakers in the company. This could be his chance to put everything Ten taught him into practice!

“Sure,” Hendery says, heartbeat quickening. “Put him through.”

Bland instrumental music fills Hendery’s ears as he waits to be put through to the client. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. Takes a sip of water. Lastly, Hendery shuts his eyes and takes deep, calming breaths. You can do this, he tells himself. It can’t be any worse than what happened the last time.

The line connects. Hendery’s eyes fly open.

Show time.

“Hello,” Hendery says, voice low and welcoming. “This is H. What can I do for you tonight?”

There’s a long pause. Then:

“Uh… Hi?”

“Hi,” Hendery says, noticing the hesitation in the client’s voice, the accented English. “You sound a little nervous there. First time?”

“Yeah, it’s, um…” The client exhales down the line. “Sorry. My friend told me about this place, but I don’t really know how this works.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Hendery says. “To start, why don’t you tell me your name?”

“M- my name?” The client sounds startled. “It’s De– um. DJ. DJ BL.”

It’s not unusual for clients to use fake names or acronyms when calling, but DJ BL? Hendery has to slap himself to stop himself from cracking up.

Cheek stinging, he asks, “How about I just call you DJ?”

“Uh, sure,” DJ says.

“Alright, DJ,” Hendery says, getting back into professional mode. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind? Why did you call tonight?”

“Uh, I mean…”

DJ trails off. Hendery waits a bit, then gently nudges him. “It’s okay. This is a safe space. You can tell me anything.”

“Well… I want to improve,” DJ says. “I’m not very good. You can tell, right?”

He sounds a little embarrassed. Hendery isn’t sure what he’s talking about, exactly, but he remembers one of Ten’s tips: affirm the client if they’re insecure.

“Nope. You sound perfect to me.”

“That’s – that’s, um.” DJ’s cute when he’s flustered, Hendery thinks. In a totally objective way, of course. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Hendery says easily. “Hey, since it’s your first time, would it be okay if I gave you some guidance?”

“Yes. Yes, guidance. That’s exactly what I need.”

He sounds so eager. Hendery can’t help but smile. “Good. Let’s start with something simple: what are you wearing right now?”

DJ makes a confused noise. “Uh. A t-shirt? And, um, pants – the running pants – how do you call it?”

“Joggers?”

“Yeah. Yeah, joggers.”

Hendery hums, twirling the wire of his headset around his finger. “Sounds like you’re nice and comfortable. Ready for whatever the night brings.”

“Yes, I am comfort – comfortable? Is that how you say it?”

DJ’s accent is soft and lilting, his words sliding over one another, but he doesn’t sound Korean. Hendery idly wonders if English is his third or fourth language, too. “Yes, exactly like that. Now, how about you take your t-shirt off for me?”

“Oh,” DJ says. “Why?”

Hendery blinks, stumped. He’s never had a client question why they needed to take their clothes off – hell, by the time he got connected, practically half of the clients were already naked and touching themselves. His eyes flit down to Ten’s list and catches on the second point: build up gradually to the scene. DJ said he was a first-timer, right? Maybe he’s nervous and just wants to take it slow.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Hendery say, making sure to project calm and soothing in his tone. “If you’re not comfortable with doing anything in particular, just let me know. It’s totally okay.”

“No, I just, er – ” There’s a pause as DJ thinks it over. “If it’s part of the, the guidance, then I guess I could...”

There’s some distant rustling, and then DJ’s voice comes back on the phone. “Okay. I took them off.”

Hendery exhales silently in relief. “Great,” he says, keeping his voice inviting. “Let’s get even more relaxed. Can you lie down for me, DJ?”

More rustling. “Okay. I’m lying down now.”

“That’s great, DJ,” Hendery praises. He lets his voice grow softer, more velvety. “Now, can you gently run your fingers up and down your front for me? All the way from your chest, to your stomach, and then back up, and then back down again. Nice and slow, nice and easy.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and then DJ’s breath hitches. “Um, okay. Wow. That’s, uh. I have, um… My skin is bumpy.”

“Sounds like you have goosebumps. You’re sensitive, huh?”

“Goosebumps?” DJ repeats, like he’s sounding it out. “Is that what they’re called? Wow. I didn’t know.”

“Mmhm. Can you tell me what else you feel right now?”

“Feels – feels tingly,” DJ says. “And, um, warm.”

“But does it feel good?”

“Y-yes. Feels good.”

Hendery can hear DJ’s breath quickening. He must still be running his hand up and down his front, which is good. It means he’s enjoying himself. Hendery feels a little thrill at that, and decides to speed things up.

“And you can feel even better.”

DJ sounds curious. “How?”

“You can,” Hendery says, dropping his voice into a purr, “touch yourself for me.”

“But I already am,” DJ says, confused, which is adorable.

“I know you are,” Hendery says, teasing. “But not just over your stomach. I want you to touch yourself there.”

“Huh? Where is there?”

“You know,” Hendery says coquettishly. “Your cock.”

There’s a long pause.

“What?” DJ asks, and Hendery wonders if the guy is playing dumb.

“Your cock, baby. Your dick. Can you touch it for me?”

“Sorry? What is that?” DJ says, and he sounds so mystified that Hendery realises, with a jolt, that he might actually not know what Hendery’s talking about.

Oh, god. He’s going to have to say it, isn’t he?

“DJ,” Hendery says, unable to keep the strain completely out of his voice. “I’m talking about your – your penis.”

There’s a beat, and then DJ inhales sharply.

“Huh?” he squawks, scandalised.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Sorry, if that’s – ” Hendery stumbles over his words before righting himself. “If that’s not what you have in mind for this evening, that’s fine. We can do something else, or we can go even slower. I shouldn’t have assumed – ”

“Why are – ” DJ’s voice climbs in pitch. “Why are you talking about my penis?”

“I mean, typically I need to talk about your penis to make you come,” Hendery says, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but DJ just makes another confused noise. “Sorry. I just thought, since you wanted some guidance on what we were going to do tonight, I would take the lead and have you do something easy, like jerk yourself off – ”

“What does it mean, jerk yourself – ” DJ stops abruptly. “Wait. This is a place to practice my English, right?”

A place to practice what?

“Um,” Hendery says, baffled. “No?”

“But,” DJ says, sounding even more bewildered than he has for the past two minutes, “at the start, they said press ‘1’ for English, then press ‘2’ for Korean – ”

Holy moley. Holy shit.

“That’s so we can allocate you someone who speaks the same language,” Hendery says faintly. “This is a multilingual sex hotline.”

“A what?”

“A sex hotline,” Hendery repeats. “Where we talk… on the phone… to have sex.”

There’s a long, horrified silence.

“Oh my god,” DJ says as the reality of the situation dawns on him. “Oh my god.”

There are quick, short breaths, and Hendery realises DJ might be hyperventilating. “Uh – are you okay?”

“No,” DJ says. “I am going to, how you say, kill myself now.”

Alarm bells ring in Hendery’s head. “What? Wait, DJ – ”

Too late. There’s a loud thunk, like DJ’s just thrown his phone across the room, and then the line goes dead.

📞

“Huang Guanheng!”

Hendery jerks awake. He nearly falls off the stool he’d been sitting on but manages to catch himself in time, hand coming up to palm away the drool that’s slipping from the side of his mouth. Once he gets himself in order, he sees that Kun, his manager, is standing across from him on the other side of the register, hands planted on his hips and sporting a scowl.

“Are you sleeping on the job?”

“No, boss!” Hendery lies immediately. “Just, er, resting my eyes.”

Yangyang, who’d been standing nearby pretending to clean the coffee machine, snorts.

“You’ve been resting your eyes for ten minutes,” he mutters under his breath, then yelps when Hendery kicks his shin under the counter.

Kun either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. “Well, cut it out!” he frowns. “We have coffee to brew! Customers to serve!”

To emphasise, Kun jerks a thumb back over his shoulder. Hendery and Yangyang both lean around him to look.

The coffeeshop is completely empty.

As Yangyang rolls his eyes theatrically, Hendery turns back to Kun and pastes on a bland smile. “Sure, Kun-ge. We’ll get on it.”

“Please do,” Kun says, then flits away to the back room to do inventory of the sugar packets, or whatever else it is he gets up to.

As soon as Kun’s out of earshot, Yangyang complains, “What is his problem?”

“Go easy on him,” Hendery sighs, getting up to spray and wipe the (already spotless) tables. “He’s probably just stressed.”

“From what?”

Hendery shrugs. It could be any number of things, from Kun forgetting to renew his skydiving licence, to one of his cameras breaking, to his piano going out of tune – his boss has a lot of hobbies. “Who knows. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m not going to ask him, he’s still mad about the espresso incident – ”

Yangyang’s interrupted by the front door to the shop opening, and what sounds like another argument in rapid-fire Korean.

“ – I can’t believe you, why would you do that – ”

“Because it was funny! And it was. Oh my god, I wish I could’ve been there to see your face – ”

“Don’t laugh! Do not laugh!”

“C’mon, Jun, it was objectively hilarious – ”

“It was humiliating! When I heard what it actually was – I didn’t even know they had places for that – ”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry! Here, let me buy you a coffee to make it up to you.”

The two customers – one short and angry, the other taller and cackling over whatever prank he had pulled on his friend – stop at the register and look around expectantly. Hendery also looks around, and it’s only then that he realises that Yangyang is nowhere to be found. The only indication of where he might have mysteriously disappeared is the flutter of the curtain separating the back room from the cafe.

Hendery sighs, and, wondering for the millionth time why Kun hired a crippling introvert to work front of house, goes to attend to the duo.

“Welcome to Cloud Café,” Hendery is saying in a decidedly unwelcome tone, “what can I get you guys,” when he catches sight of Short and Angry’s face.

Short and Angry is pretty. So is Tall and Cackling, to be honest, but Short and Angry is on a whole other planet, just stunningly pretty, idol pretty, with sharp cheekbones and lashes so long that they brush his cheek when he blinks. He’s got pretty severe eyebrows, especially since they’re drawn down into a V, but his eyes sparkle beneath the cafe’s pendant lights. And as he opens his mouth to speak, Hendery sees the tips of two little bunny teeth, their edges jagged as he presses them into his bottom lip –

“ – hello? Hello?”

Hendery startles. Short and Angry is staring at him, eyebrows knitted together. Tall and Cackling is still laughing, but Hendery gets the sense that it’s directed at him.

“Um,” Hendery says intelligently. “Sorry, what did you say?”

The eyebrows descend even further. “I said,” Short and Angry says with obvious restraint, “can we get one iced strawberry matcha and one hot latte, please?”

Hendery’s face flames. “Oh, of course, sure – ”

It might be the weight of the customers’ undivided attention, or Short and Angry’s intimidating prettiness, but Hendery’s not entirely sure what gets into him over the course of the next few minutes. His fingers fumble as he keys in the drinks order. He somehow manages to drop Tall and Cackling’s credit card into the drip tray when he tries to hand it back to him. But the worst is when he serves their drinks. For some absurd reason, Hendery drops to one knee and places them on the counter carefully, slowly edging them towards the customers and resolutely avoiding eye contact with them all the while.

When he straightens up, Short and Angry and Tall and Cackling are staring at him.

“Uh,” Tall and Cackling says, sounding like he’s holding back a snicker, “thanks, man.”

They grab their drinks and turn to leave. Just before they exit, though, Hendery catches one last sliver of their conversation:

“There, are we cool now?”

“Are you serious, Chenle?” Short and Angry grumbles. “No. Not even close. Buy me a thousand more matcha lattes and maybe I’ll consider you forgiven.”

“C’mon, Xiaojun,” Chenle groans. “I said I was sorry, and besides, it was just a joke – ”

The door swings shut behind them. Hendery is left standing behind the counter, forehead creased, his brain stuck on something.

Why does that name sound so familiar?

📞

“That was Xiaojun?” Yangyang asks, awed, Naver search pulled up on his phone. “The Xiaojun?”

Hendery, attempting to recover from the abject embarrassment of meeting one of his most listened-to singers and not only failing to recognise him, but also behaving like a complete loser in front of him, has his face buried in his hands.

“Yes,” he manages, muffled.

“Xiaojun, winner of Best New Artist at the Asia Artist Awards?”

“Yes.”

“Xiaojun, number one on Genius Korea’s R&B playlist for three months and counting?”

“Yes, Yangyang.”

“And you behaved like that in front of him?” Yangyang says, appalled, and Hendery jerks up.

“What do you mean, ‘like that’?” he croaks.

“I was in the back,” Yangyang says. “I saw the whole thing through the CCTV cameras.”

Hendery swallows. He’s almost afraid to ask. “How bad was it?”

Yangyang considers this. “Do you want me to be nice,” he asks seriously, “or do you want me to be honest?”

Hendery groans, and lets his face fall back into his hands.

📞

By the time Hendery clocks in for his night shift at the hotline, he’s dragging. There had been a post-lunch rush at the coffeeshop, and then a post-post-lunch rush, and then a bunch of teenagers had come in just as Hendery was getting ready to leave. He’d ended up staying half an hour more, making sugar monstrosity after sugar monstrosity with Yangyang, and had to run flat out from the train station to the 1-800-LOVE-TALK office to make up for lost time.

So when Hendery bursts into the office, chest heaving and sweat running down his brow, he’s expecting a little fanfare for his valiant attempt to reach his night job on time. Instead, none of his co-workers turn around from their computers or calls, and he’s immediately accosted by Sicheng, who’s wearing a headset and a slightly disgruntled expression.

“You’re late,” he says, unimpressed.

This is so not the reaction Hendery was going for.

“No – ” he wheezes. “I’m – not – ”

He attempts to point to the digital clock on the wall, but then there’s a sudden, stabbing pain in his side, and Hendery doubles over, groaning weakly. Sicheng wrinkles his nose.

“Please pull yourself together, and quickly. There’s a client asking for you.”

Hendery stops groaning. “A client? For me?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Sicheng says wearily. “He’s on the line right now, and said he would hold until you got in.”

Hendery doesn’t need to be told twice. Still clutching the stitch in his side, he plops down at his desk and grabs his headset. As he logs in, though, he wonders who it might be. Every single one of his calls has been terrible on his end, and he can’t imagine any one of those clients wanting a repeat of what was arguably a disasterclass. So who would be calling him again?

Only one way to find out. With some trepidation, Hendery accepts the call, and holds his breath.

It’s quiet for a moment, neither of them speaking. And then:

“Hello,” a familiar voice says in English, and Hendery nearly falls off his chair in surprise.

“DJ?”

“Um,” DJ says. “Yes. Hi?”

Hendery can’t quite believe it. Of all the clients he’d guessed would call back, DJ wasn’t one of them. In fact, he thought he had sent DJ running for the hills once he revealed that he was a sex hotline operator. In no universe did he foresee DJ contacting him again – well, maybe to yell at him, or to slap him with a restraining order, something.

But certainly not for a call.

On the other end of the line, DJ waits for a response. Hendery tries to get his whirling thoughts in order. “I… Sorry, I’m just kind of surprised. I didn’t think you’d call back.”

“Yeah, neither did I,” DJ says. “But I felt bad about the other night. I just wanted to apologise for how I acted.”

He sounds so sincere, it’s almost sweet. A rush of warmth fills Hendery’s chest. “Oh, DJ, that’s… that’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not,” DJ says. “But I could have been nicer. I was just shocked. My friend, he likes to joke around. He gave me this number and told me how I could practice my English here, and – well. You know the rest.”

Hendery winces. “I’m sorry about what your friend did.”

“Oh, he’s sorry, too,” DJ assures. “I’m going to make him pay for a long, long time.”

Something in his tone sends shivers down Hendery’s spine. “That sounds… scary.”

“Does it?” DJ asks, and hang on – was that a giggle?

“Yeah, that laugh just now? Downright terrifying.”

Hendery can hear a smile in DJ’s voice when he answers. “I’ll let him know you said that, so he knows I mean business.”

The conversation lulls. Call it a gut feeling, but Hendery suspects that DJ didn’t just call to say he was sorry. He’s still on the line, for one, and for another, Hendery can sense, rather than hear, how DJ seems to be dithering over what to say next. So he does what any good sex hotline operator does, and makes the first move.

“If you don’t mind me asking… why are you calling now?”

“Well… I wanted to ask you a question.”

Oh, Hendery thinks, realisation blooming, of course.

Honestly, he should’ve seen this coming. Suddenly stumbling across a sex hotline – Hendery doesn’t blame DJ for being a little curious. And – not to toot his own horn – he was doing a banger of a job before their call abruptly ended. He’s positive that he could’ve made DJ, ahem, satisfied. Now, it’s clear that he wants a taste of the experience. And who wouldn’t?

Hendery can’t help but preen a little. “Sure,” he purrs, dropping his voice low and sexy. “Go ahead.”

DJ hesitates. Hendery waits with bated breath, figuratively and literally on the edge of his seat. So what if he’s eager? He’s determined to make it worth DJ’s while. Now that he’s armed with Ten’s tips, he’s prepared to rock DJ’s world. He’s prepared for anything.

“Would it be okay if I kept calling you to practice my English?”

Well. Hendery’s prepared for almost everything.

“Huh?” he squawks.

“I said, can I practice – ”

“No, no, I got that, it’s just – why?”

There’s an embarrassed pause. When DJ next speaks, he sounds flustered. “Well, because I learned a lot of new words from you. Um, like – ” There’s a rustle that sounds a lot like paper, and then DJ begins to recite from what Hendery assumes is a list. “Goosebumps. Joggers. Cock. Dick – ”

Hendery chokes on his own spit.

“Oh my god,” he cries out. “Please don’t say those words.”

“Why not?” DJ genuinely sounds curious. “You do, don’t you?”

“Yes, but this is a – ” Hendery cups his mic with his hand, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Sex hotline.”

“So?”

“So? DJ, listen, no matter how many new words you learned by speaking to me, I don’t think this is the right place to – ”

“It’s not just about new words,” DJ interrupts. “I want to have good conversation. Not just learn useless things in a book.”

“What about classes?”

“I already have English classes, but they’re only once a week. If I want to improve my English, I need to talk to other people more often.”

“Don’t you have classmates for that?” Hendery asks desperately. “Friends? Family?”

“Not really,” DJ says. “And the people I do have around me always try to protect me. I don’t think I can get better if people cannot be honest with me and say what they think.”

He sounds so despondent that Hendery honestly feels bad for him. But what DJ’s asking for is lowkey insane – in what realm is a sex hotline an appropriate place to conduct English lessons? In what universe is Hendery even qualified to do what he’s asking?

“Listen,” Hendery says, trying to soften the blow. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, but this isn’t exactly in my job scope.”

“Why not? Your English is very good.”

“Thank you, but that’s not – ”

“Your job is to basically talk to people, right?”

“Yes, but – ”

“And here, you would be talking to me,” DJ points out. “So what is the problem?”

For someone who claims to need practice in English, DJ is making some really convincing arguments in the language.

Hendery decides to change tacks. “Don’t you think that this is kind of excessive? We charge by the minute, and I wouldn’t want you to rack up an enormous bill just to – ”

“Oh!” DJ says suddenly. “That reminds me. The operator mentioned something about a package? Let me go back and ask.”

A package? Hendery’s eyebrows shoot up. “Um, I don’t know if they told you, but those packages are for hour-long blocks and up. I don’t think you – ”

DJ switches to the main line before he can finish his sentence. Hold music fills Hendery’s ears, and, resigned to his fate, he slumps back into his seat. Drumming his fingers against his desk, Hendery wondering what’s happening on the main line. Surely there’s no way DJ would pay someone that much money just to practice his English. Hendery’s seen the prices of the packages. Only someone crazy, or someone crazy rich, would do that.

Abruptly, the hold music stops. At the same time, Hendery’s monitor flashes with a notification. He leans in to read it, and what it says makes his jaw drop.

Congratulations! DJ has purchased a package for 1000 minutes. You will earn a commission of 20% on this package, which will be reflected in your next pay slip.

“DJ,” Hendery says slowly, “what did you do?”

This time, there’s no mistaking it. DJ giggles, clear and bright and, oh, yeah. He’s definitely insane.

“I got myself an English teacher,” he says happily. “So – when would be a good time to start?”

📞

They don’t actually manage to set a time. DJ vaguely mentions something about having to work late, too, and schedules that are up in the air, and doesn’t call back for a few days. Meanwhile, Hendery spends his shifts either twiddling his thumbs or catering to the many horny men and women who call the hotline. The calls go reasonably well, with Hendery getting to flex his Mandarin a couple of times, and none of them demand a refund. He’s also pretty sure he’s refined his moans, if Ten’s approving nods are anything to go by.

With the recent boost in his performance, the operators have been less reluctant to give Hendery more clients. So when Junhui asks Hendery if he has time for one more client even though it’s nearing the end of his shift, Hendery readily agrees, and promptly slides into sex operator mode when the line connects.

“Hi, there, beautiful,” he purrs.

A beat passes. Then, with great judgment: “What is wrong with your voice?”

It’s DJ. Hendery’s whole demeanour drops. He looks furtively over his shoulder, checking to make sure that Sicheng isn't hovering nearby, then switches from his sexy voice to his normal, annoyed one.

“No, I – what’s wrong with my voice?”

“You sound sick,” DJ informs him. “And why are you calling me beautiful? You have never seen me before.”

“That’s just what I say to all my clients, because this is a – ” Hendery takes a deep breath, figuring that it’s not worth it. “Never mind. Look, did you call me just to nitpick my opening lines?”

“No, but I do not know what that means.”

“It means to, like, bad-mouth. To criticise.” Hendery spells it out for good measure. “Did you get that?”

“Yes,” DJ says enthusiastically. “Look, I am learning new things already!”

It’s kind of cute, that DJ is so excited about something so small. Hendery allows himself a small smile, then asks, “So, um. What did you want to talk about today?”

“I don’t know, actually. I was thinking you would, since I am paying you.”

Great. So not only is Hendery contractually-bound to talk to this guy for a thousand minutes, he has to lesson plan, too?

“Okay, well…” he thinks, and goes for the most basic topic known to mankind: “Nice weather we’re having, huh?”

Judging by the little answering scoff, DJ is likewise not impressed.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re asking me?”

“What’s wrong with asking about the weather?” Hendery demands.

“I mean,” DJ says, “it was fine, but that’s… boring.”

“Boring?”

“Yes, that is what I said,” DJ says. “Do you have hearing problems, too?”

And just like that, all of the goodwill that Hendery harbours towards DJ (which was not very much to begin with) vanishes.

“I’ll have you know my hearing is perfect,” Hendery hisses down the line. “I clean my ears regularly. Whatever the hearing version is of twenty-twenty vision, it’s that.”

“Whoa,” DJ says. “Calm down, man.”

“I’m trying to defend my honour from a random guy on the phone who’s – mistakenly – calling me boring, and insulting my perfectly good ears, when I’m supposed to be having phone sex, in the middle of an office where my boss keeps lurking behind me,” Hendery whisper-shouts. “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

There’s a lengthy silence, and Hendery suddenly wonders if he’s crossed a line. He’s mentally waving goodbye to his newly spotless record, already dreading having to apologise to Junhui when he inevitably has to process yet another refund, when DJ surprises him.

“You work in an office?” DJ asks with interest.

Hendery blinks. “Um. Yeah. Why?”

“That’s…” DJ sounds amused. “That is so weird. I did not picture that at all.”

“What were you thinking, then? That I’m calling from a dark, dimly lit room, with padded velvet walls, reclining all seductively on a bed in the shape of a heart?”

“Something like that.”

“And that’s not weirder?”

“Well, it’s what the internet said.”

Hendery mock-gasps. “DJ, you dirty dog.”

“Hey,” DJ protests. “Don’t blame me. Blame Naver search.”

“Do I want to know what kind of images were shown?”

“Um, not really,” DJ says awkwardly, and Hendery laughs.

“I wish Naver search was true. At least then I could lie down. Unfortunately, I’m no better than the average corporate slave: perpetually complaining about the lumbar support of their chair, chained to their desk, and suffering from some real bad vitamin D deficiency.” Hendery stretches, his spine audibly cracking, and sighs. “You know what I mean?”

“Oh,” comes DJ’s surprising reply, “not really.”

“What do you mean, not really?”

“Well,” DJ says. “I don’t work in an office.”

“No? What do you do for work, then?”

“Ah.” DJ pauses. “I can’t say.”

Technically, they’re not supposed to pry into a client’s life, or compel them to share information about themselves that they don’t voluntarily offer up. It goes both ways, really. Hendery’s supposed to be whatever the client wants and desires, after all. A faceless, nameless, shape-shifting enigma. That’s the beauty of phone sex.

But this isn’t phone sex. In fact, everything about this situation is atypical. Like, they’re just making conversation, and people talk about their jobs all the time, right?

There’s also the fact that Hendery is a real nosy bastard.

“C’mon,” he needles, toeing the line, “it’s not fair that you know what I work as, and I don’t.”

DJ sounds flustered when he answers. “I really can’t say.”

“No? What if I guessed?”

“Well…” DJ is hesitant, but he kind of sounds like he’s being swayed by Hendery’s powers of reasoning and persuasion. “I suppose you could. There’s nothing stopping you.”

“And if I’m right, you’ll tell me?”

“Maybe,” DJ says cagily. “Maybe not.”

“Dude, come on.”

“I don’t think you’ll guess it correctly,” DJ tells Hendery, “so there is no point in me telling you anyway.”

Hm. A challenge. Hendery is intrigued.

“Wanna bet on it?”

“Bet? Like, gamble?”

“Yep,” Hendery says, gears in his brain whirring. “How about this – if I manage to guess your job correctly by the time our minutes are over, you’ll have to give me something.”

“Like what?”

“Buy another package for me,” Hendery says. “Call me da ge for the rest of however long you keep calling.”

“Excuse me?” DJ sounds offended. “Who says you’re older than me?”

“That’s the beauty of it. I might not be.”

“And I thought these were just English lessons,” DJ says grumpily under his breath. “Okay. What happens if I win?”

“I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything legal,” Hendery clarifies, and DJ lapses into thoughtful silence.

A full thirty seconds pass before he says, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine, let’s – bet, or whatever.”

“Excellent!” Hendery beams. “So what do you work as, then? Butcher? Baker? Candlestick maker?”

DJ sounds like he’s holding back laughter. “At this rate, you’re going to lose.”

“Ah, DJ, ye of little faith. Don’t forget that we have hours left yet. I bet I can do it in – ” Hendery checks the log online “ – the remaining nine hundred and fifty-five minutes we have together.”

He might be overcompensating with the confidence, but it pulls out a giggle from DJ, bright and melodic. It’s a pleasant sound. A nice one.

“I don't know about that.” DJ chuckles again, and Hendery finds himself already thinking about how to make him laugh once more. “But you can certainly try.”

📞

A couple of days later, Hendery’s the only one on morning shift at the coffeeshop. He yawns through opening and dealing with a few office workers who hurry in and out for their morning coffee, and once there’s a lull, he sits on the stool they keep behind the counters and leans back against the wall.

His eyes slip shut. When he next opens them, Xiaojun is standing at the counter, staring straight at him.

Hendery jumps a mile in the air.

“Ack – I mean. Welcome to Cloud Café?”

“Hello.” Xiaojun’s face is inscrutable. “Are you guys open?”

“Uh,” Hendery says, glancing at the cheery Open sign hanging on the door. “Yeah?”

“Oh,” Xiaojun says. “I wasn’t sure, since you were sleeping.”

Immediately, Hendery’s face goes red. He doesn’t even have to feel his face heat up to know. He can see it reflected in all the mirrors Kun’s installed around the cafe, to make the space feel bigger, or whatever.

“I wasn’t – never mind. Can I get your order?”

“One strawberry matcha, iced, please.”

Hendery slinks off to make the drink. Despite his embarrassment, he can’t help but keep glancing at Xiaojun out of the corner of his eye. He’s even prettier in the mornings. His hair is tucked messily beneath a cap, and Hendery could see tiny, light freckles scattered across his nose bridge as he rang him up. Without makeup, Xiaojun looks younger, more human, almost. But even bare-faced, his eyelashes are still as long and thick as the other day. Those, Hendery surmises, must be natural, and he doesn’t know if the pang he feels in his stomach is due to envy or something else entirely.

It’s quiet save for the muted music playing over the speakers, and the scrape of the matcha whisk against the bowl. Xiaojun scrolls his phone as he waits, his lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks with every slow, sleepy blink.

Damn, those eyelashes. Hendery kind of can’t stop looking at them. Or thinking about them.

He decides to strike up a conversation. Just to be friendly, of course. No ulterior motive whatsoever.

“You were here the other day, weren’t you?”

Xiaojun looks up from his phone, surprised. “Yes, I was.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“You remember me?”

“Of course,” Hendery says, and his morning caffeine hasn’t kicked in, clearly, because then he says, “difficult to forget a face like yours.”

It’s only when the words are out of his mouth that he realises how flirty that sounds. And Hendery’s not that kind of barista. He’s not even that kind of guy! He stiffens, grip growing white-knuckled around the whisk, and turns to Xiaojun, ready to backpedal and play it off as a joke.

What he’s not expecting to see is Xiaojun staring at him, eyes bright and practically glowing.

“Oh,” Xiaojun says, clearly flattered. “Thank you.”

Wait. Did. Did Hendery just successfully hit on a famous, absolutely gorgeous singer?

“And you, um,” Xiaojun continues, demurely tucking his hair behind his ear, “make really good matcha.”

Heavens – Hendery did.

And, okay, Xiaojun’s compliment is more about Hendery’s mediocre barista skills than his devastating good looks, but he’ll let it slide. He only got four hours of sleep last night, and he didn’t even shower this morning. He admits he looks kind of scruffy. At least he remembered to put on deodorant.

Undeterred, Hendery grins rakishly and leans over the counter. “Good enough to have you coming back for more?”

Xiaojun looks at him steadily, but a faint hint of pink dusts his cheeks. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh, yeah, Hendery’s still got it.

Hendery tries not to smile too widely, and pulls back. He finishes making Xiaojun’s drink, and when he hands it over, their fingers brush. He’s not being fanciful or delusional when he says that he feels a tiny, fizzy spark.

Yangyang would probably say it was just static. Hendery prefers to think that it was the beginning of a connection.

He beams at Xiaojun. “Hope to see you again.”

Xiaojun returns the smile – smaller, but no less bright, and Hendery almost swoons – and turns to leave. Just before he exits the store, he looks back. There’s a crease between his brows, like he’s forgotten something and is trying to remember what it is. Hendery cocks his head quizzically.

“Was there something else I could help you with?”

Xiaojun looks for what seems like a long time. “No,” he eventually decides. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for the matcha!”

He waves goodbye. Hendery waves back like a normal person, the picture of tip-top customer service.

As soon as Xiaojun’s out the door, though, Hendery grabs the ends of his apron, hides his face in the fabric, and screams.

📞

“C’mon, give me a hint.”

“You already have one, remember? I don’t work in an office.”

“So… you work outdoors?”

“Sometimes.”

“Gardener.”

“Every plant that’s been given to me has died.”

“Bus driver.”

“I don’t have my license yet.”

“Ooh, are you a garbage man?”

“What? Hendery, no.”

📞

“So I know you can’t exactly talk about work,” Hendery says the next time DJ calls, “but how was your day?”

In all honesty, Hendery couldn’t care less about DJ’s day. He wants to talk about his day. Or previous day, to be specific. But DJ’s a paying customer, so it’s only polite that he gets to go first.

And he said he wasn’t going to do it, but Hendery had been deathly bored for the first half of his shift and ended up searching English lessons for noobs online. He’d gotten directed to a video series on English conversation lessons and ended up watching some clips of it, getting surprisingly engaged with the content. The YouTuber had suggested daily life, work, and jobs as easy segues into conversation, but given his bet with DJ and DJ’s reluctance to talk about what he did for a living, Hendery went for the only other available topic.

“My day?” DJ says. “It was fine, I guess.”

“Yeah? What did you do?” Hendery prompts.

“Um.” DJ mulls it over. “I got off work pretty early, so I went to the gym, and then I walked and played with my dog.”

Hendery perks up. “You have a dog?”

“Yes, she is almost four years old. Her name is Bella.”

“That’s adorable,” Hendery says, slightly envious. He always wanted a dog when he was little, but his parents had vetoed the idea whenever he brought it up. “What’s Bella like?”

“Well, she’s sweet, mostly,” DJ says. “But she can be kind of, how do you say, petty.”

“Petty? How?”

“Well, the other day, I left her at home the whole day. I think she was upset with me, because when I was on li– I mean, she suddenly peed on my carpet.”

Hendry cringes. “Oh, no.”

“Tell me about it,” DJ says ruefully. “There’s a big stain now.”

Hendery makes a face. “Yuck – did you try cleaning it?”

“What do you – of course I tried to clean it, with water and soap!”

“That’s it? Maybe you should try something else.”

“I don’t have anything else,” DJ says mournfully, and Hendery snorts in disbelief.

“You what? Okay, write this down – ”

Since getting his own place, Hendery’s grown surprisingly knowledgeable about his cleaning products. He lists them off, along with a few tips and tricks to get the stain out. When DJ starts murmuring the instructions to himself, it hits Hendery that he’s giving cleaning tips on a sex hotline, and, slightly embarrassed and hoping none of his co-workers are eavesdropping on him, quickly pivots.

“Okay,” he says, cutting DJ off mid-recitation of what he needs to do, “if we’re done talking about your dog’s pee, it’s my turn now.”

“To talk about pee?”

“What? No, I mean – it’s my turn to speak.”

“Already?” DJ says, confused. “What about the bleach – ”

“You wanted to improve your conversational English, right? Guess what? Conversation is a two-way street, baby.”

There’s a baffled pause. “Huh?”

“I mean both people have to talk equally,” Hendery explains patiently.

“Seems like you’ve been doing most of the talking so far, though,” DJ gripes.

“You said you were learning new stuff from me talking!”

“... I suppose I did say that.”

“Alright, so let me keep talking,” Hendery says. “Anyway – guess what happened to me at work the other day.”

“I don’t know, man,” DJ says. “There are a lot of weirdos who call this number.”

“Says the guy who’s called me at least five times now, and keeps coming back for more,” Hendery snorts. “And I didn’t mean this work. I meant my other work.”

“Huh?”

“I have two jobs.”

DJ is appalled. “Two jobs?”

“Yes, DJ,” Hendery says. “Unfortunately, sex doesn’t pay all the bills in this economy.”

“That’s… sad.”

“Tell me about it,” Hendery sighs.

“So what else are you working as?” DJ asks.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re working as?” Hendery asks back.

“No.”

“Then neither am I.” DJ doesn’t say anything, and Hendery imagines the space is being filled by DJ rolling his eyes. “But because I’m nice, I’ll give you a hint: it’s another customer service role, too.”

“That could be anything,” DJ complains.

“You’re not even going to guess?”

“No.”

“Why not? I’m guessing your job, too.”

“You, how to say, volunteered for that,” DJ points out. “I just want to speak English.”

Hendery tsks. “DJ, you’re no fun.”

“You sound like my m– ” DJ lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Never mind. So? What happened?”

Even though it serves no purpose whatsoever, Hendery leans in closer. He feels like he’s in a little gossip session with one of his sisters, when they would dish and spill about their crushes and stuff.

“I think,” Hendery whispers, “I managed to flirt with a customer.”

If this were one of his sisters, they would gasp and grab his arm and demand more details, or something.

Instead, DJ bursts out laughing.

Hendery frowns into his headset. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just – ” Hendery can hear DJ struggling to get his laughter under control. “You answer a sex hotline for a living, and you’re getting so excited over a little flirting?”

“It’s different in real life!” Hendery protests.

“How so?”

“It just is! I don’t have to pretend to be anything in real life.”

“And you pretend to be something when you’re on the hotline?”

“Kind of?” Hendery thinks back to what Ten had told him. “It’s about what the customer wants, right? Like, if they want someone to talk them through a scenario with vanilla, missionary sex, I have to be that person, and if they want someone to call them a little bitch and pretend to slap them through the phone, I have to be that person, too.”

“I did not,” DJ admits, “understand half of those words.”

After Hendery explains, DJ makes a strangled noise.

“People like that?”

“Why? You interested?” Hendery asks cheekily.

“Um, no, I am not.”

“Pity,” Hendery says. “I could really help you stretch your won, you know. Make sure you’re getting your money’s worth.”

“That’s not – ” DJ coughs, sharp and short. “I’m okay, thanks.”

There’s a suspiciously pregnant pause. Hendery narrows his eyes.

“You’re imagining it.”

“I am not,” DJ says, too quickly, and Hendery stifles a grin.

“You totally are.”

“You are annoying,” DJ tells him. “You are very annoying.”

Hendery’s grin unfurls. He stretches in his chair, feeling the bones in his spine pop. “Hey, you asked how I was in real life. This is it.”

“Is this how you behave to all your clients?”

“Only for you, DJ,” Hendery smiles. “Only for you.”

📞

Life settles into a routine.

Hendery works mornings and afternoons at the coffeeshop, eats Kun’s leftover pastries for dinner, then bounces over to his night shift at the hotline. He speaks to clients, makes the appropriate sensual noises, then bounces back home to sleep for a solid four hours before repeating it all over again. Xiaojun comes in on Tuesday mornings for his usual iced strawberry matcha, and Hendery finds out through more flirting and friendly smiles that that’s when he has his weekly emcee gig at the broadcasting station next door.

The only irregular part of his routine is DJ. He’s constant in the sense of being a regular client, sure, but after a call, Hendery might not hear from him for days after. Whenever Hendery tries scheduling their next call, DJ’s always kind of vague and evasive about it. It’s weird, but what’s weirder is that DJ seems to call from all sorts of places – his home and his car, but also places with tons of people’s voices in the background, like he’s on a big set or outside.

DJ always humours Hendery whenever he brings Xiaojun up. He could tell his sisters, but they’re busy with their own lives, and besides, there’s something freeing about telling a stranger personal things about yourself. It’s a fine line to walk, obviously, and Hendery has to be careful that he doesn’t mention the café or Xiaojun by name. But it feels good just telling someone about his interactions with Xiaojun, even if he doesn’t go into the details.

Speaking of Xiaojun – Hendery’s interest in him is definitely more than idle. It’s not like he has a crush on the guy, but he begins to follow Xiaojun more closely on his official accounts, even watching back his past lives. And so what if he wakes up a little bit earlier every Tuesday to style his hair and slap on his best-smelling body spray? Can’t a guy look and smell his best?

“Dude,” Yangyang says after watching Hendery merrily wave goodbye to Xiaojun, and then promptly delve back into Xiaojun’s Instagram to catch up on content. “Can you play it cool? This is, like, borderline creepy.”

“Shut up,” Hendery says, swatting at Yangyang.

He would say more, but his attention is quickly diverted by Xiaojun’s loud yelling as his beagle begins peeing and/or pooping (the lighting is bad; Hendery can’t quite tell) on his rug in the middle of an old live. Huh, Hendery thinks, reminded of DJ’s story. It must happen to more dog owners than he thinks. Now isn’t that funny.

📞

“Businessman.”

“No.”

“Doctor.”

“No.”

“Lawyer, then.”

“You asked that the last time, and the answer is still no.”

“Well, what other rich people jobs are there?”

“Use your imagination. Also, I’m not rich – ”

“Yes, you are. Hang on. Are you on OnlyFans?”

“What? Hendery!”

“That’s not a no!”

“I – of course I’m not!”

“Are you sure? Also, how do you even know what that is?”

“I don’t – I’m not – yah, I don’t have to answer that!”

“Uh-huh. Interesting.”

“I just – I’ve read about it, okay! I haven’t gone on it to look, or anything – not that there’s anything wrong with it – I’m calling a sex hotline, for goodness’ – anyway, I haven’t. Okay?”

“Sure, DJ. Sure.”

📞

“So I’ve been thinking about what you do,” Hendery says.

It’s been a long night. Ten’s taken a rare day off, and Hendery’s been fielding calls left, right and centre. He’d taken one of Ten’s regulars, too, but barely two minutes in, Nuonuo muttered something about how Hendery sounded exactly like one of his employees and hastily hung up.

Weird.

Now Hendery’s back to his own regulars (read: the singular one) and engaging in his usual game of Guess What DJ’s Job Is.

DJ sighs wearily. “Of course you have.”

“Yeah.” Hendery kicks up his feet onto his desk and leans back in his chair as far as he’ll go, ignoring Sicheng frowning at him in disapproval from across the bullpen. “Wanna hear what I’ve got so far?”

“Not really, but sure.”

There’s a scrap of paper pinned to the cushioned side of Hendery’s cubicle, listing down all his previous guesses in chicken-scratch handwriting. They’re all crossed out. Hendery squints at the list, and decides to take a different approach.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re rich as fuck.”

“I’ve heard that phrase before,” DJ says. “What does it mean?”

After Hendery explains, and DJ jots it down in the notebook he keeps for these sessions (“I can’t type them on my phone and call you at the same time”, DJ had said. “What about headphones?” Hendery had asked, genuine, and was left to deal with DJ’s sullen, embarrassed silence for days after), he asks, “Why do you think so?”

“You bought a package from us – full payment, no instalments. Only someone with real money could do that.”

DJ hums, but neither confirms nor denies it, which means Hendery’s guess is right. He takes a second stab in the dark.

“Also, you sound, like, proper.”

“Proper?”

“Your English sounds posh,” Hendery explains. “Like you learned it from someone high-class.”

DJ contemplates this. “Well, I watched a lot of Harry Potter over the last few years.”

“Really? Didn’t really peg you for a magic genre kind of guy.”

“I am! I also really like Twilight,” DJ says earnestly.

“Um, that is not a magic movie?”

“Why not? The vampires sparkle in the sunlight!”

Hendery’s watched the movie only once in his life and never read the books, but he thinks he’s sufficiently qualified to say a shiny vampire does not a magic movie make.

“And let me guess – that’s why you named your dog Bella?”

“What’s wrong with Bella?” DJ asks defensively. “It’s a pretty name!”

“And I suppose you’re Team Edward,” Hendery guesses.

The defensiveness in DJ’s tone grows. “And you’re not?”

“Hell no!” Hendery cries. “Jacob was right there, and he was a total babe!”

DJ is surprisingly knowledgeable about the series (the novels and the movies), and easily crushes Hendery in their debate over who’s the better guy. All Hendery has in his corner is that the guy is hot, and werewolves are arguably cooler mystical creatures than vampires.

“Are you secretly a werewolf, maybe?” Hendery asks at the end of their spirited discussion (read: an argument that DJ handily won, but which Hendery refuses to admit to). “Or maybe a vampire? Otherwise, how the hell would you know about this stuff?”

DJ scoffs haughtily, but Hendery detects a hint of pride in his voice. “I read the books, Hendery. Maybe you should give them a go sometime.”

Back home, Hendery scrolls his phone, catching up on his missed notifications of the day. Three texts from each of his sisters. A reminder to pay his outstanding credit card bills. An Instagram story from Xiaojun in bed, shirtless, reading a book with an apple on the cover.

Hendery stares. The story ends, moving on to the next one. Hendery immediately swipes back to Xiaojun’s story, and stares some more.

What? It’s a good picture.

Specifically, the part where Hendery can see the pert pink of Xiaojun’s nipples just peeking out from behind the book.

Okay, maybe Yangyang was right, Hendery thinks, resigned, screenshotting the story and saving it to his newly-created Xiaojun folder. Maybe this is kind of creepy.

📞

Not creepy enough, though, that Hendery doesn’t try to flirt outrageously with Xiaojun the next time he sees him.

“Okay, shut up and don’t say anything.” Hendery shoves Yangyang to stand behind the coffee machine, freeing up the cashier, and straightens himself up just in time to witness Xiaojun walking through the door. He leans a hand against the counter, the picture of casual, confident professionalism, and beams. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite customer.”

“I’m your favourite?” Xiaojun blinks, long lashes a dark fan against his cheeks. “Really?”

“Of course you are. You don’t over-complicate your orders, and you take away all your drinks, so I don’t have to clean up after you.”

Xiaojun raises an eyebrow. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re just lazy.”

“I like to call it conserving energy.”

“And what if I decide to get something else today, like a – ” Xiaojun squints at the chalkboard behind Hendery listing all of Cafe Cloud’s offerings “ – large flat white with oat milk, extra foam and a dusting of cinnamon, with ice on the side? Then sit here and drink it all, and leave a mess behind?”

“It’d be a pain, but – ” Hendery bats his lashes. “I’d still like you a latte.”

Yangyang quietly, but audibly, groans in the background. Meanwhile, Xiaojun bites down on a grin. He rolls his eyes at Hendery’s bad joke, but when they meet Hendery’s, they’re sparkling.

“Luckily for you, I’m in the mood for something simpler today.”

“The usual?” Xiaojun nods, and Hendery reaches for the matcha whisk and bowl, stored conveniently on a nearby shelf with how often he’s using them. “Coming right up.”

He makes Xiaojun’s iced strawberry matcha and rings him up, lovingly doodling a bevy of scrappy little hearts on the napkin that he folds around Xiaojun’s cup. Yangyang mimes throwing up into the milk jug he’s pretending to dry, but Xiaojun’s eyes crinkle up adorably at the corners, and he tucks the napkin into his pocket.

“Thanks for the drink.”

“Have a great day!” Hendery says cheerfully.

He waves and grabs a rag to tidy up his workstation. When the bell over the door doesn’t ring, though, Hendery looks up. Xiaojun’s still here, clutching his drink and looking at him hesitantly.

Hendery cocks his head quizzically. “Everything okay?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure,” Hendery says, setting down the rag. “What is it?”

“This might be a weird question,” Xiaojun says, “but… have we met before?”

It is a weird question. Hendery blinks, taken aback.

“Um… Well, you came in last week – ”

“No, I meant – before that.”

“Well, unless you meet a lot of baristas who make a mean strawberry matcha and are a strapping one eighty-five centimetres – ”

“Sure you are,” Xiaojun bites his lip to stifle his laughter, eyeing Hendery up and down at his modest one seventy-six centimetres. “And no, I meant, like, not in this cafe.”

“Uh – ” Hendery blinks again. “No, I don’t think so.”

He doesn’t think so, he knows so. And it might just be Hendery’s imagination, but Xiaojun looks rather disappointed.

“Oh. It’s just…” Xiaojun’s mouth twists, and Hendery wishes, with a rush, that he could rid him of whatever was troubling him. “I swear we’ve met before, but I can’t put my finger on where, or when.”

“Ah… I don’t think so,” Hendery says apologetically. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember you – you’re pretty difficult to forget.”

“You said that before,” Xiaojun says. “When I came in the second time.”

“Oh? Should I say something else?”

The corner of Xiaojun’s mouth tilts up. “You could.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Xiaojun says. “That I’m pretty?”

Hendery’s eyes widen. He glances at Yangyang, who’s got a similarly stunned look on his face. In all of his interactions with Xiaojun, Xiaojun’s accepted all of his compliments and flirtations with polite geniality, but he’s never really acknowledged them, much less been so… forward. Hendery isn’t quite sure what to do with it.

He turns back to Xiaojun and laughs nervously. “Fishing for compliments, eh?”

“Not really.” Xiaojun tilts his head to look up at Hendery innocently. “Is it still a compliment if I know that you think I am?”

Hendery chokes.

As he sputters around his own spit, Xiaojun’s smile gets wider and wider. He grabs a napkin off the stack on the counter and hands it to Hendery, who accepts it with a garbled thanks that sounds more like a choking cat.

“Thanks for the drink again – ” he peers at Hendery’s nametag “ – Guanheng.”

Just as he’s one foot out the door, though, Xiaojun stops, pursing his lips in thought. Seemingly deciding on something, he turns back, and looks directly at Hendery in the eye.

“See you next week. I’m looking forward it so… matcha.”

Hendery’s so stunned he stops coughing altogether. Satisfied, Xiaojun winks, and then, with a chime of the bell hanging over the door, he’s gone.

A beat passes.

“Oh my god,” Yangyang says, mildly horrified. “You guys were made for each other.”

📞

The second the line connects, Hendery announces, breathless and excited, “He said my name yesterday.”

“Who?”

Hendery sighs. “Ah, DJ, keep up. My customer at the other job! The one I flirt with whenever he comes in!”

“Oh. Him again.”

There’s a distinctly sullen tone in DJ’s voice. Hendery narrows his eyes.

“Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like – ” Hendery searches for the right word “ – petulant.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Upset,” Hendery says. “Sulky.”

The sulkiness in DJ’s voice deepens. “I do not,” he says, and a figurative light bulb goes off over Hendery’s head.

“Wait – are you jealous?”

“No,” DJ says, too quickly to be true, and Hendery gasps.

“Oh my god, you are!”

DJ launches into a series of spirited protests that do nothing but do the very opposite of what he’s trying to prove. Hendery waits for him to run out of breath, grinning into his headset all the while.

“DJ, I’m flattered. Truly, I am.”

“You do not need to be flattered,” DJ says. “I just do not think it is good customer service to talk to me about someone else, when I am paying for your time.”

“You’re paying for me to talk to you,” Hendery points out. “And I’m talking! About the cute guy who keeps coming in, with his beautiful long lashes and a face sculpted by the angels.”

“I think I preferred it when you asked me about the weather.”

“DJ, c’mon,” Hendery whines. “I don’t have anyone to talk to about him! None of my co-workers at my other job are interested in anything beyond skiving off, and all the operators here are too busy pretending to suck dick to coo over my crush.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah, ew,” Hendery says. “I mean, haven’t you ever had a crush and was just dying to talk all about them to the first person who’d listen?”

“No.”

“You’ve never had a crush?”

“No, I’m not supposed to – ” DJ clears his throat. “I mean. I just don’t talk about my feelings. To anyone.”

It seems to be a recurring theme in DJ’s life, that he doesn’t talk about anything to anyone. It’s pretty sad. Not for the first time, Hendery feels for the guy.

“I mean, you can talk to me about them.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Cause I’m a stranger?”

“That’s worse, isn’t it?”

“No,” Hendery disagrees. “Because I’m just, like, a guy on the phone. I literally don’t know who you are, so I can’t, and won’t, pass judgment or anything like that. Like I said at the beginning, this is a safe space, DJ.”

There’s a long pause as DJ absorbs what Hendery says. “I… Okay. Thank you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So… Wanna trade stories like we’re a couple of girls in high school?”

There’s a significant pause. “I don’t like anyone right now.”

Hendery squints. “Hmm, why do I get the feeling you’re lying?”

“I’m not,” DJ says, and is it Hendery’s imagination, or does he sound kind of flustered? “And don’t change the subject. Tell me more about this guy you like and what he did.”

“Happily,” Hendery says, sighing dreamily, and proceeds to do just that.

📞

Something shifts between them the next time DJ calls.

“Hi,” DJ says, sounding strangely subdued, and Hendery immediately senses that something’s off.

“Hi. Is everything okay?”

“I… I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“It’s just – ” DJ exhales sharply. “It’s been one of those days, you know?”

There’s the sound of something rustling, like sheets. Hendery pictures DJ curled up in bed, or on his sofa, a duvet or a throw pulled up to his chin. Alone, probably, with the lights turned down low. If this were any other client, Hendery might ask him to describe himself, his looks, how tall he is, just to flatter him towards an orgasm. God knows Hendery’s curious enough to ask.

But it’s not just any other client. It’s DJ, and everything about him is a mystery.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hendery asks gently.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me,” Hendery says.

He waits. DJ’s quiet for a while. He does this, Hendery’s noticed, when he’s talking around his job, or trying to gather his thoughts and find the right words to say.

Finally, DJ says, “It’s like… I’m so – so busy. And overwhelmed? Yes, overwhelmed. I don’t have any time for myself these days. Which is a good thing. It is a good thing, to be busy, and I love what I do, but then why do I feel so – so – ”

He’s tired, Hendery realises. Drained from overworking, maybe. DJ sounds like him, back when he’d flunked out of business school, unable to keep up with his lessons and assignments. Sounds like the corporate burn outs who call the hotline, voices leaden with exhaustion even as they tell Hendery how many ways they’d like to fuck him. Hendery presses his lips together, wondering if he should say anything, but DJ continues.

“I feel – ” DJ’s throat clicks as he swallows, his voice gathering speed, pitching upwards, “I sound ungrateful, but I’m not, it’s just that sometimes… I feel like everyone wants something from me, and I give and I give and I give until – ”

He cuts himself off abruptly. Hendery doesn’t need DJ to finish his sentence to know how it ends.

“DJ? You still there?”

“Yeah.” DJ clears his throat, abashed. “Sorry. It’s stupid. Forget whatever I said, I didn’t mean…”

He trails off. When it becomes clear DJ’s done, Hendery decides to bite the bullet and ask.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You know,” Hendery says. “Stop yourself whenever you’re about to say something personal.”

“I – I do not.”

“You do,” Hendery disagrees. “I may not be the most observant person in the world, but I do pick up on things.”

DJ doesn’t reply immediately, which Hendery guesses to mean that he’s deciding whether to be truthful or not. Eventually, DJ says, “I just… It’s not easy for me to open up to people.”

“Is it because of what you do for a living?” Hendery guesses.

“Sort of. But it’s also my responsibility to cheer people up, in a way. They rely on me a lot. I shouldn’t let them see when things are tough for me.”

“That sounds lonely.”

DJ’s reply comes softly. “It can be.”

It’s awful, how resigned DJ sounds. Hendery’s heart aches terribly for him. It’s weird, how DJ’s just a stranger, but somehow, Hendery finds himself caring for him so much.

“Hendery,” he says suddenly.

“Sorry?”

Hendery’s pulse pounds loudly in his ears. He should say something. Pretend to have misspoken, before anyone finds out that he’d just given his real name to a client against company policy.

“Hendery,” he repeats instead. “That’s – that’s my name. Not H. Hendery.”

“Why… Are you supposed to be telling me that?”

“No.”

“What?” DJ says, alarmed. “I don’t want you to get into trouble – ”

“I won’t be, if you don’t tell anyone.”

“Well – that’s – ” DJ fumbles with his words, flustered. “Why are you telling me your name now?”

“Honestly?” Hendery runs a hand down his face. “I’m not sure. I guess I just thought that since we’ve been talking to each other for a while now, you deserved to know. No – I want you to know. And, like, no obligation to tell me your name back, I just… I just wanted you to know who you were talking to. Put a name to a voice, and let you know that there’s someone human here for you, who cares about you. That’s all.”

DJ’s surprise is tangible in the silence.

“I… thanks, H – Hendery.”

Hendery’s not prepared for just how sweet his name sounds in DJ’s voice. He blinks, momentarily distracted, then remembers that DJ’s waiting for him to respond.

“Hey, so, I think – and you can let me know if you disagree – we shouldn’t talk tonight. You had a long day, and you should get some rest. But if you let me, I’m happy to stay on the line with you until you fall asleep, if you want.” Hendery stops, then adds, “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” Hendery says. “What are friends for?”

He doesn’t realise the gravity of what he’s said until the words are out of his mouth. Hendery mutes himself to cringe loudly into the mic, when the line crackles.

“We are – friends?”

DJ sounds tentative, but hopeful. Hendery presses pause on the cringe, and unmutes himself.

“I mean… Yeah? Yes. If you’d like to be.”

There’s a small snuffle on the other end of the line, and the rustling of sheets. Hendery imagines DJ, nothing more than a faceless, beige smudge in his mind’s eye, curled up in bed, the phone tucked between his pillow and his cheek. He feels, suddenly, an inexplicable urge to hold him.

“Yeah,” DJ breathes. “I’d like that very much.”

📞

DJ snores.

Prettily, in Hendery’s opinion, if snores could be pretty. Really, it’s more gentle wheezing than snoring, punctuated by breathy, almost endearing snuffles that sound cute. But maybe Hendry’s just biased.

He indulges himself, listening to DJ for a while. He wonders if he’s being creepy, then wonders if the act of wondering itself automatically makes him creepy, and then, embarrassed, hangs up. Once his headset’s off, Hendery opens up the internal hotline chat and sends Junhui a message:

Hendery Wong

hey

i’ll comp dj’s call tonight

Wen Junhui

???

the whole thing?

Hendery Wong

yes

Wen Junhui

wow

okay

i’ll send you the invoice in a bit

[Attached]

here you go… he must be really special, huh

Hendery Wong

he is

 

📞

DJ’s patronage of Hendery’s line comes with a lot of – not perks, exactly, but more of… unintended ramifications. Sicheng looks at him less like he’s a wad of gum stuck to the sole of his shoe, and more like an actual human being. A tidy row of zeroes gets added to the back of Hendery’s salary, and he begins to treat himself to delivery more often.

And – perhaps most unexpectedly – Hendery also accidentally dethrones Ten’s run as the hotline’s employee of the month.

“There you are!” Ten says, finally cornering Hendery in the pantry. “Congrats, bro, I knew you had it in you.”

The announcement, bearing Hendery’s unflattering employee ID photo (he had let his smile fall just as the shutter had gone off), had gone up on the company billboard earlier that evening. Since then, Hendery’s been congratulated and had his hand shaken and back thumped more times than he can count. Even Sicheng had managed a respectful nod from across the bullpen.

The only person who hadn’t shown such goodwill to Hendery was Ten, and that was only because Hendery was assiduously avoiding him. It was common knowledge that Ten was competitive as hell, and Hendery had watched enough dramas to know the ins-and-outs of office politics. Not that he thought that Ten was one of those people who couldn’t stand to be beaten, but he was just a newbie, and Ten had been here for ages.

But here Ten is, beaming, looking genuinely happy for Hendery and patting him on the back. Any apprehension Hendery has that Ten might be resentful towards him instantly evaporates, and he squirms shyly.

“Thanks, hyung.”

“Seriously, you deserve it – I knew you had it in you!”

“I do? And you did?”

“Of course,” Ten says, nodding. “You’ve got a great voice, practically made for our line of work. And I’ve seen the hours you’ve been pulling, don’t think I haven’t noticed – you don’t just handle your own client, but all of ours when we’re away. It’s so much work to take on, especially with what we do, but you’re doing a great job!”

It dawns on Hendery, then, that Ten doesn’t realise that DJ isn’t one of the hotline’s typical clients. And why would he? Hendery’s never talked about DJ to anyone, and except for the one time Ten overheard him, no one’s bothered eavesdropping on him and his big client. Everyone’s so busy and plugged into their headsets that no one’s noticed Hendery doesn’t exactly have phone sex very often.

“Remember to thank me in your acceptance speech,” Ten continues. He hops up onto the lone table where they take their meals, making himself comfortable. “Sicheng makes every employee of the month do one at the team meeting.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. Honestly, thank god someone else won, I was running out of things to say!”

“Oh… What do you say during these things, anyway?” Hendery asks nervously.

“Eh.” Ten shrugs, oblivious to Hendery’s discomfort. “I usually just share about my most memorable client of the month, which can be hard – haha – but that won’t apply to you. I guess you could just talk about DJ? And what makes him coming back for more – you know, I don’t think even I’ve ever had a client this dedicated to buy a package from the get-go. I could learn something from you!”

He grins at Hendery, but Hendery doesn’t feel at all like smiling. It’s not that he meant to be dishonest, but, somehow, it feels like he’s pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes a little bit. He’s not employee of the month, and he’s definitely not some phone sex god. With the way Ten is looking at him proudly, though, Hendery wishes he was – which is a weird thing to wish for – and decides that, at least with Ten, he has to come clean.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Er – about that.”

“Hm?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Even if Ten had said no, Hendery thinks he would’ve fessed up anyway. He tells Ten all of it: that fateful first phone call, the misunderstanding and sheer embarrassment each of them felt after, and then DJ’s surprising decision to call back and get Hendery to be his informal English teacher. As the story progresses, Ten’s face shifts from stunned to incredulous to surprised, his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline.

“So let me get this straight,” Ten says slowly. “Someone called the hotline thinking this was a like, language centre, and has been paying you to practice his English with him this whole time?”

“Pretty much.”

“Wow.” Ten shakes his head, speechless. The look on his face is indecipherable, and Hendery feels a knot of anxiety begin to form in his chest.

“You’re not going to tell on me,” he asks in a small voice, “are you?”

“What?” Ten blinks. “Of course not. I was gonna say that this sounds so lucky. I’m jealous!”

The knot loosens. “You are?” Hendery asks, surprised, and Ten huffs incredulously.

“Hendery, of course! Getting paid to talk about something other than sex? Oh my god, I wish.”

“And – and you don’t think it’s inappropriate, that DJ is paying me just so he can practice his English?”

“We work for a sex hotline,” Ten snorts. “Clients pay us all the time to do whatever they want, and believe me, this is nowhere close to the realm of inappropriate.”

“But, still – ”

“Ah, who cares how you get paid, as long as you do? Like, get that bag!”

Ten punches him lightly on the arm, rolling his eyes. He’s grinning, though, not the least bit offended or upset that Hendery’s managed to beat him for employee of the month without having to have phone sex with his biggest client. Hendery feels the last of the tension bleed out of his body. Maybe it’s really not as big a deal as he was making it out to be.

“Thanks,” he says, sagging against the countertop. “That’s a relief. You know, when he called me back after the first time, I thought he was crazy. Who would pay our rates for a simple conversation? But then we got to talking, and you know, he’s actually pretty sweet. Has kind of bad taste in books and movies, but sweet. And he said he has no one to speak English with, which is why he called our hotline in the first place – his friend gave him our number as a prank, but that’s another story – and, I don’t know, he sounds… lonely. Like he could use a friend, or something. He has a dog, but of course you can’t practice English with a dog – ”

Hendery rambles on, shifting from Bella, to their last discussion on the video games they liked to play, to their ongoing bet about DJ’s job. It’s only when he catches sight of Ten’s face, his mouth hanging open slightly, that he shuts his own with a click.

“What?”

“You sound like you care about him.”

It’s not accusatory, but Ten’s tone has definitely shifted from earlier. It prickles, and, feeling defensive, Hendery crosses his arms.

“I mean, I guess I do. Why?”

“Nothing,” Ten says quickly. “I just… I didn’t know you had that kind of relationship with him.”

Something about the way Ten says it makes Hendery’s shoulders tense. “We don’t,” he says quickly.

“No?” Ten raises an eyebrow. “It sounds like you kind of do.”

Hendery bites the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t thought about it too deeply before now, but there’s a certain familiarity and camaraderie he has now with DJ. He knows his moods, his likes and dislikes, how to make him laugh. And just the other night, DJ had… well, he had comforted Hendery, hadn’t he? Hendery had told him his name – his real name, and DJ… DJ had said he’d like to be friends.

Maybe Ten’s right. Maybe they do have that kind of relationship. Because somewhere along the line, DJ’s stopped being just another one of his clients, and became something… more.

“That’s not – ” Hendery breaks off, uncertain. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not a bad thing, no.”

“Ah,” Hendery says, relaxing, “okay, then – ”

He’s stopped by Ten placing a gentle, but firm, hand on his shoulder.

“But, Hendery,” Ten says, sounding more serious than Hendery’s ever heard from him before, “listen to me: in this line of work, you can be friendly with the clients, but I don’t know if you can ever be friends with them. We all have our regulars and build up a relationship with them over time, but it’s all…” Ten sighs. “What I’m trying to say is we don’t know them like that, and they certainly don't know us like that.”

Nothing Ten is saying is, objectively, untrue. And yet, Hendery vaguely feels like it’s all wrong. DJ’s never asked for Hendery to be anything but himself, or never demanded things from him, the way some of their clients did. And, on the flipside, except for his strange secretiveness about his job, DJ’s been nothing but genuine and candid with Hendery. After all the hours they’ve spent talking to each other, Hendery feels like he knows him. It’s stupid, but he really does.

But then again – Ten’s right. He doesn’t know DJ like that. For all he knows, DJ could be entirely proficient in English, and bored and rich enough to create a fake persona just to entertain himself.

“At the end of the day, we’re just providing a service,” Ten continues. “I would just be careful not to get too close, is all.”

Doubt gnaws at Hendery’s thoughts. He doesn’t know what to say, except, maybe, it’s a little bit too late for that.

“Well,” Ten says after a lengthy pause, “that’s just what I think, anyway. Congratulations on getting employee of the month again.”

He heaves himself up off the table. With one last pat to Hendery’s shoulder, he leaves Hendery in the pantry, alone with nothing except his swirling, too-loud mind for company.

📞

It’s a surprise when Hendery’s told that DJ’s on the line for him again the next night. As far as he remembers, DJ has never called twice in a row before, with his busy schedule and seemingly irregular hours. It’s hard not to be flattered that DJ wants to speak to him so soon, and Hendery feels an unfamiliar flutter in the region of his stomach.

Still, Ten’s caution from the day before still rings in Hendery’s mind. Telling himself not to be too familiar, or too funny today, Hendery steels himself, and picks up the phone.

“Hi, DJ. What’s up?”

Nothing. Hendery checks the line is connected, and tries again.

“Hello? You there?”

Nothing again. But then –

There’s a sniffle, and all of Hendery’s promises to keep DJ at arm’s length fly out the window.

“DJ?” he asks urgently. “Is everything okay?”

There’s another sniffle, and then a loud, honking noise as DJ blows his nose. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick. “Things could be better.”

“Do you – do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if...”

DJ sounds near tears. His voice wavers, watery, and Hendery’s heart twinges.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he says softly. “I can just… be here.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. DJ’s breaths come out congested, and there’s the occasional rustle of tissues. Hendery worries at his lower lip, unable to do anything but sit there and listen to DJ cry. His heart doesn’t just twinge; it aches, and terribly.

When DJ manages to pull himself together, the first thing he says is, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I should be. You signed up to help me with my English, not to listen to me cry.”

“Hey,” Hendery admonishes gently. “It’s your time, and I’m happy to do whatever. Even listening to you blow your nose five hundred times. It’s a wonder you’re still breathing.”

DJ breaks out into a laugh, surprised, and Hendery can’t help but glow.

“You okay now?” he asks. “I’m here if you want to talk about it, but if you don’t, that’s fine, too.”

“Ah…” DJ’s quiet for a while. “Well… I had a really tough day at work. Nothing seemed to go correctly.”

“Oh, DJ.”

“I needed to do something, and – ” DJ hiccups a little. “I couldn’t do it. I kept, kept re-doing it, but – I couldn’t do it properly.”

He sounds so despondent. Hendery’s heart goes out to him, and he wishes he could reach through the phone and give him a hug.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “You’ll get there, I know you will.”

“Thanks. I know I can do it, but – ” DJ sighs, frustrated. “I took so long that I made so many people wait for me.”

“I’m sure they understand. Whatever it is that you do, sometimes these things happen, right?”

“They don’t happen to me. I am very – how do you say, doing this for a long time?”

“Experienced?” Hendery offers, and DJ makes an affirmative noise. “But even experienced people have their off days. You just happened to have one of them.”

“It is not a nice feeling,” DJ says, voice small, and Hendery thinks about how he can make him feel better.

“It’s not, but trust me when I say that I’ve been there, too.”

“You have?”

“Of course. You know,” Hendery lowers his voice conspiratorially, “when I took on this job, I couldn’t make anyone come.”

“You – ” Shock colours DJ’s voice. “Wait, really?”

“I was so bad,” Hendery says, like he’s telling DJ a secret, “that people asked for refunds.”

DJ gasps. “Oh my god, really? You were that bad?”

“I was awful. Here, this is what I sounded like before I got trained properly – ”

Without warning, Hendery moans like a yowling cat with a loudspeaker. He gets a few funny looks thrown his way from the other operators, but it’s worth it when DJ bursts into laughter on the other end of the line.

“Oh my god, stop!” he cries. “I just got goosebumps.”

It’s so nice to hear DJ laughing that Hendery plays it up even more, making increasingly obscene noises. It’s only when he catches sight of Sicheng marching across the office in his direction, looking annoyed, that he stops and pretends to be seriously interested in his phone call with DJ.

By the time their time is up, DJ’s sounding a lot more relaxed and at ease. He’s even stopped blowing his nose, and before they hang up, DJ clears his throat.

“Thanks for this, Hendery,” he says, and sounds like he truly means it. “I… I really needed this.”

“Of course,” Hendery says. “Like I said, what’re friends for?”

“I have to go now, but… can I call you tomorrow?”

He sounds so shy. Happiness washes over Hendery, a drop of warmth landing in his chest, spreading outwards, and oh, he realises. That can only mean one thing.

Ten was right after all, but right now, it doesn’t feel wrong, or like a bad thing. Maybe it never was.

Hendery smiles. “You don’t even have to ask.”

📞

The bell over the door rings on Tuesday morning, ten minutes past its usual time. Hendery, though, is right on cue. He automatically pushes his shoulders back and gives his best smile to the person walking through the door.

“You’re late today,” he calls out.

There’s no one in the café besides the two of them, Yangyang having long been banished to the back. Hendery’s been planning it this way since a few weeks ago, volunteering to take out the trash and do the other chores Yangyang hates so he can have some – ahem – alone time with his favourite customer slash celebrity crush. And it’s working. He and Xiaojun are slowly but surely getting to know each other in the short time it takes for Hendery to whisk the matcha and layer it over the strawberry puree, with Xiaojun lingering longer and longer by the cashier after he’s paid. It’s the best five minutes of Hendery’s whole day, not counting his calls with DJ.

“Ah, don’t remind me,” Xiaojun groans. His cheeks are pink, flushed from the unexpected cold snap they’ve had today, and the paleness of his skin makes the bags under his eyes stand out starkly. In Hendery’s unbiased opinion, he’s still gorgeous, though. “I overslept, and my manager’s called, like, a million times already.”

“And you still stopped by?”

“Well…” Xiaojun’s blush deepens. “It feels weird, not to have a drink before the broadcast. It’s become, like, a habit for me.”

“Ah, Xiaojun,” Hendery says, acting wounded. “And here I thought you were coming to see me, too.”

“What? Oh, that, too, of course – ”

Xiaojun flusters, hands moving jerkily. Hendery laughs, and with a flourish, pulls out a ready-made iced strawberry matcha from under the counter. The surprised, pleased little gasp it pulls out of Xiaojun makes Hendery prouder and more smug than he should be.

“I’m just kidding. I guessed you probably needed this to-go ASAP, so I made it in advance. And,” Hendery lowers his voice, “I made it dirty.”

He winks. Xiaojun flushes harder, positively scarlet now.

“Guanheng,” he says gratefully. “You’re a lifesaver, you know that, right?”

Hendery shrugs nonchalantly, but inside, he’s secretly thrilled. “I try my best.”

He rings Xiaojun up, swiping his credit card. As Hendery hands over the drink, though, Xiaojun lets out a gigantic yawn.

“Whoa,” Hendery says, eyebrows rising. “Seriously, are you doing okay?”

Xiaojun winces apologetically. “Yeah, sorry, long night. We’re recording a new song in the studio.”

“Oh?” Hendery perks up. From his trawling of the music profiles, it’s been a while since Xiaojun’s last release.“That’s awesome. When’s it coming out?”

Maybe that wasn’t a great question to ask. Xiaojun’s entire demeanour shifts into something sombre, and he looks down, fiddling with the takeaway cup in his hands.

“At the rate we’re going, maybe never,” he mumbles. “I keep screwing up the takes.”

Hendery frowns. “Hey, don’t be like that. We all have rough days, right?”

“Yeah. It just seems like I’m having too many of them.”

Xiaojun looks and sounds a little like a kicked puppy. Hendery’s heart strains a little, like a dog on a leash, and even though he doesn’t know if he can make Xiaojun feel a little better, doesn’t know Xiaojun outside of their weekly small talk, really, he at least has to try.

“Well, I’m no expert, but I know you’ll be just fine,” Hendery says optimistically.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re Xiaojun, singer extraordinaire!” Hendery cries. “The best in the business, with a voice sweeter than honey and richer than chocolate.”

He spreads his arms, as if to encompass what an amazing, accomplished person Xiaojun is. The mirrors reflect his pose back at him, and, on hindsight, he looks a little silly and over the top, but Xiaojun’s got a tiny smile on his face, and is blushing all the way to his hairline.

“You have that much faith in me, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Hendery says. “And if you don’t… Well, I do.”

Inexplicably, Xiaojun’s eyes glisten. Hendery thinks he’s put his foot in his mouth again until he sees Xiaojun looking at him with undisguised gratitude, and realises that he’s not upset – he’s touched.

While Hendery’s never had a problem with dishing out heartfelt platitudes, he’s definitely not great at receiving them. So, before Xiaojun can say anything sappy, he clears his throat awkwardly. and grabs the first thing he sees. Namely, Kun and Yangyang’s freshly-baked macarons. They’re meant to look like cherry blossoms, in line with the season, and Hendery hastily places a few of them into a paper bag.

He thrusts it towards Xiaojun, and the sappy look disappears from his eyes once he tries to catch the bag before it hits him in the face.

“Here, on the house.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re single-handedly keeping us in the matcha business, and Kun-ge’s macarons always put me in a good mood,” Hendery says. “I’m sure.”

Xiaojun looks from the macarons to his drink, then to Hendery. He doesn’t look as inclined as before to burst into tears, but there’s something in his eyes, soft and sweet and open, as he takes him in.

“I… Thanks, Guanheng. That’s really nice of you.”

A smile spreads across his face, a flower opening up to sunlight, like Hendery’s the only person in the world it’s meant for. Hendery’s heart thuds a little too loud. Deep down, he knows that Xiaojun’s just being polite, that he’s trained to look and smile and act like this, that he probably looks at everyone like he’s a little bit in love with them.

But – Hendery allows himself a fantasy, just a tiny one – maybe, just maybe…

“Of course,” he says. “What are friends for?”

Xiaojun’s smile freezes.

“What did you say?”

“Huh?”

“What did,” Xiaojun repeats, “you say?”

“Um…” Hendery blinks, unsettled. “I don’t – ”

“Can you say that again?” When Hendery hesitates, Xiaojun tacks on, urgently, “Please?”

“Uh…” Confused, Hendery cycles back to their conversation. “What are friends for?”

Immediately, Xiaojun blanches.

“Wait,” Hendery says, realising he’s put his foot in his mouth but not quite sure just how. “Wasn’t that what I said? Or did you mean – ”

“No,” Xiaojun says faintly. “No, that’s what you said.”

“Okay… Uh, well, it’s just a saying. I didn’t mean anything by it. Unless – no, I’m sorry if – I mean, I don’t actually think we’re friends, or anything – ”

As he rambles, Hendery’s acutely aware of the fact that, somehow, he’s making things worse. Xiaojun’s begun edging towards the door, eyes wide and fixed on Hendery, like he’s seen a ghost, or he’s some defenceless animal primed for flight.

“It’s fine,” Xiaojun says when Hendery eventually has to take a breath. “It’s fine.”

His back is literally against the door. Xiaojun fumbles for the handle, white as a sheet and still unable to take his eyes off Hendery. Once he finds it, he flings the door open, and Hendery heart leaps, jolting him into action.

“Wait, Xiaojun!”

He isn’t expecting Xiaojun to turn, but he does. The look in his eyes is not hostile, exactly, but he’s clearly shocked, and – pleading? Why would Xiaojun be looking at him like that?

“Did I – ” Hendery swallows. “Did I say something wrong?”

A tiny eternity passes in a few seconds. Xiaojun looks at Hendery, long and hard, as if trying tell him something, and eventually gives a tiny shake of his head.

“I have to go,” Xiaojun announces in this strangled voice, and before Hendery can ask if he’s alright, he hightails it out of there, yanking on the door so hard the bell hanging over it comes crashing down to the ground.

Yangyang emerges from the backroom just as the cacophony dies down. “Dude, what’s with the ruckus? What the hell happened?”

Hendery folds against the counter like a strand of overcooked spaghetti. It’s only when his arm touches something wet and cold that he realises that, in his haste to leave, Xiaojun had left behind his drink and snack.

“I wish I knew, Yangyang,” Hendery says, heart sinking all the way to his feet. “I wish I knew.”

📞

Hendery has to summon all of his willpower to clock into his shift at the hotline instead of going home and spiralling over his latest interaction with Xiaojun, and then has to muster all of his professionalism to pick up the phone instead of rejecting the call when his line rings with a familiar number.

“Hey, DJ,” he says with faux cheerfulness.

DJ doesn’t say anything immediately, and for a moment, Hendery worries he’s caught onto the fact that he’s faking it.

But then DJ says, “Hi, Hendery,” and Hendery’s spidey senses tingle.

Because DJ sounds… off.

“Is everything okay?” Hendery asks cautiously.

“Yes,” DJ says in a weird, high-pitched tone. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Tell you what? There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re acting weird.”

“No,” DJ says, pitch climbing, “you’re acting weird.”

Okay. Something’s going on, and, Xiaojun-related depression momentarily forgotten, Hendery is determined to find out what.

“Alright,” he says, crossing his arms sternly. “What’s going on? And don’t say nothing, because I can hear it in your voice.”

Hendery listens intently to the loaded silence. Finally, DJ sighs, giving in, and says, “Something weird happened to me earlier.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“I think… I ran into someone I know.” DJ sighs again, heavier this time. “But they didn’t recognise me.”

“Oh, okay,” Hendery says, a little confused as to why that would be so upsetting for DJ. “And that’s… weird?”

“A little.”

“Do you guys know each other very well?”

“You could say that,” DJ says vaguely.

“So how could they not recognise you?”

“Well,” DJ admits, “we’ve never actually met in person before.”

Immediately, Hendery thinks back to when he’d had the time (and luxury) to play video games, random players’ voices in his ear as they played as a team. “Oh,” he says, understanding. “So… They’re like your online friend?”

“Uh…. Yeah,” DJ says. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so! You didn’t tell them you know each other from online?”

“No,” DJ says. “I was too freaked out to say anything.”

“I see.” Hendery contemplates this. “Er – did you want to say anything?”

“Yes,” DJ says, then, immediately, “no. Argh, I don’t know. It was just so crazy, that this person who’ve I’ve been – um, who I’ve been so close with, but who I’ve never met, just suddenly… showed up. I guess I was just surprised.”

“Well, if you happen to see them around next time, I think you should say something,” Hendery encourages. “It’s always nice meeting online friends in the real world, and your friend might be thrilled. I know I would be.”

“You would?”

“Yeah,” Hendery says, thinking fondly back to when he’d meet his online friends in real life as a kid. “Of course.”

DJ’s quiet for a while. “You know,” he says at last, “we’ve been talking for a long time, haven’t we?”

“Well, according to the stats, we’ve used up almost – ” Hendery checks “ – nine hundred and fifty minutes of your package.”

“Right, isn’t that a long time? Your voice is so familiar to me now. I could probably pick your voice out on the street, or something.”

“That’s…” Hendery laughs, caught off-guard. “Why are you saying this so suddenly?”

“I don’t know. It was just a thought I had.”

“Well, we do talk often.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” DJ says, sounding livelier. “Of course your voice would be familiar to me, right?”

“Really? I don’t think my voice is that special, or anything.”

“It sort of is, to me,” DJ says. “What about you?”

“Huh? What about me?”

“Could you recognise my voice, out on the street?” DJ asks. “Could you recognise me?”

Hendery thinks about it. DJ’s voice is breathy and soft, and he has a tendency to speak quickly, his words running over each other. It’s nice. Endearing. He has the kind of voice that sounds like he could maybe he could be good at singing. Hendery’s had DJ’s voice in his ear for nearly nine hundred and fifty minutes, but in a city as crowded as Seoul, he doesn’t know if he could confidently pick it out of thousands.

“Maybe,” he says truthfully. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

If DJ’s disappointed, he doesn’t let it show. “And have you ever wondered what I look like?”

Hendery laughs awkwardly to cover up the heat rising up his cheeks. “What’s – what’s with all these questions tonight?”

“Well, have you?”

DJ doesn’t sound demanding, but he’s definitely being firm about this. Hendery’s laughter dies down. He thinks, guiltily, about how he’s not only thought about what DJ looks like, but what he does, or acts like in real life. What Hendery would want to do to him if they ever met.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“The truth would be nice,” DJ says.

Hendery swallows thickly. “I can’t… I don’t…”

“I think you – you sound like you’re handsome,” DJ says. “You have a nice smile. Warm hands. You’re tall, or taller than me, at least.”

“How tall?”

“One eighty-five, at least.”

Hendery detects the hint of a smile in DJ’s voice. A memory niggles at the back of his mind, but he doesn’t quite know what it is.

“You can tell all that just by my voice?” Hendery asks.

“Am I wrong?”

“You know I can’t answer that.”

DJ doesn’t argue back. Instead, he says, voice lowering, “You wanna know something else?”

“What?”

“I think,” DJ says softly, like what he’s about to say is meant for Hendery, and Hendery only, “that you might be the person who knows me better than anyone else, too.”

This is edging into dangerous territory. Hendery feels his throat close up, ever so slightly. It shouldn’t. He knows better than to let his emotions get the better of him, especially after Ten’s lecture about not getting too close to the clients. But then again, when has DJ ever just been a client?

“That’s…” Hendery clears his throat. “Well. I’m honoured.”

He wonders if he should say something back. Something as nice and moving. Something about how DJ might be one of the best parts of his lonely, nondescript day. But that would be skirting a line that divides this shared, private space where they exist together, and the rest of the outside world where they have no idea who each other is. Hendery’s blurred it before, by giving DJ his real name. He doesn’t know if it’s the best idea to cross it.

“Hendery,” DJ says suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“I, um – it’s a stupid idea, a bad one, probably, but I was thinking, maybe, if – if you wanted, that we could maybe… That we could, um…”

DJ trails off. Hendery, unable to take it, says, “DJ, just spit it out.”

There’s no answer. For a second, Hendery wonders if DJ’s chickened out. But then –

“I was wondering,” DJ says steadily, hopefully, “if you’d like to meet up? In person.”

The world holds its breath. The line disappears.

“Okay,” Hendery says, heart pounding. “Where?”

📞

DJ picks an obscure café in a neighbourhood that Hendery has to take two different lines and a bus to get to. When he alights, it’s to a steady, depressing drizzle, and he has to pop into a convenience store to buy an overpriced umbrella to avoid soaking the sneakers he’d borrowed from Yangyang.

Hendery doesn’t think he’s ever put this much thought into an outfit. But when he’d mentioned he had a blind date, Yangyang had gotten all excited and carted down an entire suitcase full of his closet for Hendery to try on during their opening shift, much to Kun’s disapproval. A lot of Yangyang’s clothes were kind of out there – ripped skinny jeans that were more hole than cloth; bold, oversized sweaters that almost reached his knees – but there were a few nice gems. Hendery had opted for his own jeans and a plain white tee, but had secretly snagged one of Yangyang’s bomber jackets and the shoes. He’d even styled his hair, the way he does on the days Xiaojun comes in, and even though he maybe used too much product and couldn’t quite tame the cowlick in the back, Hendery thinks he looks presentable enough for his date with DJ.

It’s still sinking in that he has a date. With DJ. Hendery shivers, whether from the slight chill or from nerves, and stuffs his free hand into his jacket pocket. God, DJ. He’ll finally know what he looks like. Put a face to that familiar, sweet voice. Meet, at last, the guy he’s spoken on the phone with for almost a thousand minutes now, who he’s made laugh, who he wants to keep making laugh, and feel less lonely, who…

Who might mean something special to him. Who kind of already does.

Hendery’s phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a text from DJ.

DJ

Can’t wait to see you!

HENDERY

Me too. I’m just walking up now! :)

They’d hastily exchanged numbers – rather, Hendery had given DJ his number, and then DJ had texted him from what was presumably a burner phone. It intrigued Hendery all the more. What did DJ do, that required this level of secrecy? Did he work in the government? Was he a spy? Hendery loved spies (the ones he saw in the movies, at least). Wasn’t there a James Bond film named just like that?

Hendery’s still trying to recall the name of the movie when he misses his step, and plunges ankle-deep into a puddle one door away from the café. He swears, loudly and vehemently, and ducks beneath the awning of a shop to inspect the damage done. His heart sinks when he sees that the left shoe is completely soaked through, and so are the hem of his jeans. Shit – of all days, why’d he have to wear the lightest coloured pair he owned?

DJ

Do you want me to order for you?

Oh god, he doesn’t want to keep DJ waiting. Hendery clamps the hand of his umbrella between his neck and shoulder as he twists himself into a pretzel, trying to wring the water out of the leg of his jeans. The shoe is a lost cause, and Hendery squelches over to the café, peering at his reflection in the fogged-up glass. After confirming, with relief, that the humidity hasn’t done anything to his hair, Hendery looks past his reflection into the café, trying to catch a glimpse of DJ.

From the looks of it, there’s only one customer in the café. Which is to be expected, of course, given how out of the way this place is. His back is turned to him, but at an angle, and Hendery can see that he’s fiddling with his phone, alternating between looking down at it and up at the menu. Hendery squints, trying to read the menu from here, the light glinting copper off the customer’s hair –

Hang on.

Is that… Xiaojun?

DJ

I usually get a strawberry matcha here, but I recently found somewhere that makes it better.

It is Xiaojun. Hendery would recognise that ginger hair anywhere, freshly-dyed for his comeback. He’d just seen it this past Tuesday, and heaped compliments on Xiaojun until he turned as red as the compote at the bottom of his takeaway cup.

But what the hell is he doing all the way out here?

DJ

Maybe I can take you there one day ;)

Something niggles at the back of Hendery’s mind, urgent and insistent. He edges closer to the window, holding his umbrella low over his head so he won’t be spotted. He can see Xiaojun’s profile now as he gives his order to the cashier, and he looks… good. Well, Xiaojun always looks good, but it looks as if he’s put in extra effort today. His hair is styled. He’s got nice clothes on, a tailored jacket and pants, not the hoodies he rolls up in usually on Tuesday mornings. In fact, just like Hendery, Xiaojun looks as if he’s going on –

Hendery’s eyes widen.

No. No way.

HENDERY

Wait

You’re at the café already?

DJ

Yeah, I’m inside

I’m the only one here, you can’t miss me

And I hope you don’t mind, but I brought my dog

I think you’ll like her :)

Just as Hendery’s phone buzzes with DJ’s last text, he looks up in time to see Xiaojun squat down to pick up his aforementioned dog.

Not just any dog. A beagle.

Bella, Hendery sees Xiaojun mouth happily through the window, and the realisation hits him like a ton of bricks.

The odd hours. The loneliness. The perpetual secrecy surrounding his job.

Xiaojun is DJ. DJ is Xiaojun.

DJ is the Xiaojun – famous singer, gorgeous heartthrob and miles – no, realms – out of Hendery’s league and social circle.

Fuck. What the hell was Xiaojun thinking, meeting up with a random person from a sex hotline who might know who he is? And what was Hendery thinking, agreeing to meet up with a client? He can already envision how it’s going to go if he goes inside: Xiaojun’s shock, which he would try to mask, followed by polite but awkward conversation, and ending with Xiaojun never calling Hendery, or stopping by Cloud Café, again. Xiaojun’s probably expecting to meet some sauve, smooth operator, not the bumbling barista who has an unrequited crush on him. Once he sees Hendery, he would be so let down.

Hendery’s aware of how much of a disappointment he is to know.

Through the window, Hendery sees Xiaojun settle Bella in a booth before going to pick up his order. He’s got a hot drink for himself, and a little cake with two forks. A lump forms in Hendery’s throat. As Kun-ge likes to say, tian ah. Xiaojun’s going to be so crushed when he sees the person he’s been confiding in and talking to all these months is none other than broke, silly old Hendery.

Unless – he doesn’t walk through those doors at all.

DJ

I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I got us something to share!

Are you nearby?

Xiaojun’s frowning at his phone. All he has to do is look up, and he’ll see Hendery mooning over him like some pervert. Hendery’s heart pounds. He takes a step backwards, then another.

Hendery ducks beneath his umbrella just as Xiaojun lowers his phone. Then, the rain falling all around him, he walks away as fast as he can.

📞

Hendery calls in sick to work for the first time in months.

He’s not really sick, but when he thinks about speaking to DJ – no, Xiaojun – he stomach roils with queasiness. He’d basically stood Xiaojun up, and when he thinks about it for too long, he’s overcome with so much shame that he really doesn’t have much energy to get out of bed, let alone work, anyway.

Xiaojun had stopped messaging him the moment he realised Hendery wasn’t going to show up. There wasn’t even a text to scold him, or to call him a coward. Which would have been fully deserved, but maybe Xiaojun was just gracious like that.

Or maybe Hendery’s flattering himself, and Xiaojun didn’t really care about him all that much.

After a day of fretting, Hendery blocked Xiaojun’s number. It was probably better that way, to separate their relationship over the phone from that in real life. Cleaner, more distinct. A line firmly drawn in the sand.

He wonders, though, if Xiaojun knew it was him all along. Xiaojun looked like he saw a ghost, that morning when he asked him to repeat himself, and there were all those seemingly random questions that he had asked him about whether Hendery would recognise his voice outside of the hotline.

But if he had known – if he had known it was regular, old, unassuming Hendery – then why bother to arrange to meet up at all?

📞

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally back,” Yangyang drawls when Hendery slinks into Cloud Café a week later. “How’re you feeling?”

Hendery frowns, then remembers he had told Kun he was sick. “Oh, uh, yeah. Better, but still recovering.”

He gives a very dry, and very obviously fake, cough. Yangyang rolls his eyes, unconvinced.

“Sure,” he says sarcastically. “Anyway, while you were gone, someone was looking for you.”

“Who?”

“Who else?” Yangyang snorts. “Xiaojun, duh.”

If Hendery wasn’t feeling sick before, he certainly is now.

“Xiaojun?” he asks, stunned. “As in – Xiaojun?”

“How many Xiaojuns do we know?” Yangyang picks up a rag, slinging it over his shoulder. “But, yeah. Him.”

Yangyang heads to the tables to give them a wipe down. He doesn’t do a very good job. Hendery, slightly dazed and trying to process this new information, doesn’t point this out or try to take over like he normally would.

“When was this?”

“Uh, like, every day, dude. He even asked me for your address – ”

“Did you give it to him?!” Hendery squawks, and Yangyang throws him an offended look.

“Dude, of course not, that’s, like, a breach of privacy. Kun-ge would kill me.”

Hendery sags in relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“But I did give him your League ID – ”

“Why the fuck did you do that? ”

Yangyang throws his hands up. “He wouldn’t stop bugging me and he threatened to let his dog pee all over the floor!”

“And did she?”

“No, because I gave him your handle!” Yangyang pauses his cursory wiping, and plants his hands on his hips. “Y’know, for someone so sick, you sure spent a lot of time online – ”

“Shhh.” Hendery throws a nervous look to the back room, just in case Kun is lurking. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“Hey, you try dealing with some stalkerish customer who won’t leave or order anything, and you can’t chase him out because he’s a famous singer!”

“Fine,” Hendery says, fed up. “So? What did he want?”

“I don’t know,” Yangyang says, exasperated. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

He jerks his chin towards the door, and Hendery follows his gaze.

The first thing he notices is that neither Yangyang nor Kun have replaced the bell over the door, which means that anyone entering the cafe could do so in near-silence.

And the second is that there’s a reason the phrase speak of the devil exists, with said devil appearing in the flesh right behind Hendery, his lips pursed and wearing an unreadable, vaguely ominous expression.

“Hi,” Xiaojun says. “Can we talk?”

📞

In what Hendery supposes might be a full-circle moment for him, they end up at the alley behind Cloud Café.

Xiaojun hasn’t said anything since he led Hendery out here. It’s good, because they aren’t talking, but also bad, because they aren’t talking. Instead, Xiaojun’s free to glare at Hendery, his arms folded over his chest and eyebrows drawn low over his brows. Meanwhile, Hendery’s trying to make himself look as small as possible under his jacket, fidgeting and looking anywhere but Xiaojun.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and it’s Xiaojun who breaks the silence first.

“You didn’t come.”

Hendery feigns ignorance. “What’re you talking about?”

Xiaojun sighs. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

“Sorry, I really don’t know – ”

“Guanheng,” Xiaojun says, tired. “I know you’re Hendery from the sex hotline.”

So he knew. He knew all along.

Fuck.

The jig is, officially, up.

Hendery deflates. “How’d you figure it out?”

“I nearly didn’t,” Xiaojun says. “I mean, I knew that I knew you from somewhere, but when you said, ‘what are friends for’ that morning, right after you said it the previous night…”

Hendery winces at the reminder of his slip-up. “In my defence, it’s a common saying.”

“Well,” Xiaojun says, shrugging, “you have a very distinctive voice.”

It occurs to Hendery that this might be the closest they’ve ever stood together, no longer separated by the expanse of the counter, or the cashier, or the coffee machine. Hendery can see faint acne scars dotted across Xiaojun’s cheeks, the calluses he sports across his fingers. A breeze blows past, ruffling Xiaojun’s ginger hair, and Hendery catches a whiff of the bright, zesty notes of his perfume. Out here, in the sun, Xiaojun seems more human, more real, and Hendery’s afraid to look too hard or too long.

He swallows. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“Yeah,” Xiaojun says wryly. “I figured.”

Hendery senses that he’s upset, and rushes to explain. “It’s not – it’s not because I don’t recognise your voice – although you do sound different when you speak English – but it’s just – I was stupid, okay? In my head, DJ was just a normal guy. A secretive, lonely, but totally normal guy. I never imagined for a second that – if I had known DJ was you, I…”

He trails off, not knowing how to put his insecurities into words. He takes too long, though, and Xiaojun’s face falls.

“You wouldn’t have agreed to meet me, would you?”

“That’s not…” Hendery begins, then falters. Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? If he’d known that it was his accomplished, beautiful real-life crush who was asking to meet him, there’s no way he would’ve said yes.

Xiaojun’s expression is ashen. “You were disappointed,” he surmises. “That it was me.”

Wait. What?

“What?” Hendery furrows his brows. “No, I – ”

“That’s why you didn’t show.”

“Xiaojun, it’s not like that.”

“It’s okay,” Xiaojun says in the smallest voice imaginable. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” Hendery insists. “It’s just, the fact that it’s you, I was – it caught me by surprise, okay?”

“So much so that you ghosted me with no explanation, and pretended to be sick for a week to avoid me?”

Hendry falters. He doesn’t have any good excuse for his cowardice. He scrambles to think of an explanation, something that will encompass how he feels about Xiaojun, but when he doesn’t manage to come up with anything adequate, Xiaojun shrinks in on himself even more.

“This was a mistake,” he says. “I’m sorry, I thought – it doesn’t matter what I thought. Please, just forget about everything that’s happened and just… forget about me.”

He backs away. With one last fleeting look at Hendery, Xiaojun turns and begins walking towards the mouth of the alley. Hendery stays rooted to the spot, frozen. He feels a rising sense of panic as he watches Xiaojun go, and, distantly, he hears a small voice in his head scream.

Don’t just stand there! Do something.

Do what, though? The whole conversation with Xiaojun went nowhere, with Xiaojun misinterpreting what Hendery meant to say, and Hendery being a tongue-tied, incoherent mess. How is Hendery supposed to tell Xiaojun how he feels about him? And about DJ? And, crucially, how is Hendery supposed to tell Xiaojun the unfiltered, unforgiving truth: that he’s afraid he can’t live up to the person that he was on the sex hotline, and, in that same vein, that he’ll just end up being another disappointment?

It was easier, Hendery despairs, when they didn’t know who they each really were. It was easier when it was just another voice on the other end of the line. If only they could –

Wait. Who says they can’t?

Hendery fumbles for his phone. At the speed of light, he finds Xiaojun’s contact, unblocks it, and presses call. Ahead, there’s a trilling sound of a ringtone, and Xiaojun stops to glance down at his phone. When he sees who’s calling, he spins around.

“What – ?”

“Just pick up,” Hendery says, bringing the phone to his ear.

“You’re standing right – ”

“Can you just do it? Please?”

Xiaojun looks incredulous, and not at all pleased. Hendery guesses he deserves it. Still, he widens his eyes, giving him his best pleading look. Eventually, begrudgingly, Xiaojun accepts the call.

Which is when Hendery takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. “What do you want?”

The first thing Hendery notices is the quiet pain in Xiaojun’s voice. The second is how the darkness, how not seeing Xiaojun’s face, helps. His mind feels less scattered. He feels more centred. Hendery takes another deep breath, collecting his thoughts, and says what he should’ve said from the start.

“You’re wrong.”

“Did you call me just to tell me that?”

“No,” Hendery says. “I mean, you’re wrong about why I didn’t turn up the other day.”

Xiaojun goes quiet. Hendery can feel him staring, can feel his attention prickle against his skin. If Xiaojun wonders why Hendery’s got his eyes firmly shut, he doesn’t ask. Instead, he waits, patient, and Hendery takes it as a cue to continue.

“I was… I was so excited to meet you. And nervous.” Hendery laughs a little, thinking about how much effort he’d put into his appearance the day they were supposed to meet. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life. Like, finally, I’d be meeting someone who I li– who’s been talking to me for months, who knows me for me.

“And then when I saw you, with Bella, I… I panicked. I wasn’t prepared for DJ to be someone I already knew, much less you.”

“Is it so bad?” Xiaojun asks apprehensively. “That I’m DJ?”

“It’s not that,” Hendery says, and then tells the truth: “I’m not… I’m not good enough for you, Xiaojun.”

There’s a short, stunned silence.

Then, Xiaojun, angrily: “How do you know what’s good enough for me? Can’t I be the judge of that?”

“I’m a university dropout,” Hendery says, and is unable to keep the shame out of his voice. “I’m barely making ends meet. I don’t know what I want to do with my life, and I’m still figuring things out. I’m a mess, and I don’t want to drag you into it.”

“So? You think I’ve got my shit together?” Xiaojun scoffs. “Newsflash: I don’t. You’ve heard me talk about how lonely I am. I’ve cried on the phone to you. You’re the only person who’s gotten me through these past few months, the only person I can truly talk to about anything and everything – that’s why I wanted to meet you.”

Hendery’s throat closes up. His eyes feel suspiciously damp. Xiaojun says it all so passionately, so earnestly – like he truly means it. And Hendery wants to believe Xiaojun. He wants to believe him so badly.

“I don’t care if you’re messy,” Xiaojun says, more gently this time. “We can be messy together.”

“Even after you knew it was me? Guanheng, the barista?”

“Especially after I knew it was you,” Xiaojun affirms. “Guanheng, the barista.”

Now, this – this is the part Hendery doesn’t understand.

“But… why?”

“Why do you think?”

There’s something in Xiaojun’s tone, something Hendery’s never heard before. His heart thuds loudly in his ribcafe.

“I don’t – I don’t want to presume.”

“Guanheng,” Xiaojun says. He sounds exasperated, but fond, words curling around a hint of a smile. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Hendery doesn’t get a reply for a couple of seconds. He wonders if he’s said the wrong thing, but then he hears the soft squeak of sneakers, and feels the unmistakable warmth of another person standing close by.

“And all this time,” Hendery hears, in his ear and right in front of him, “I thought the flirting and the free food actually meant something.”

Hendery’s heart stops. He opens his eyes.

He was right. Xiaojun is smiling. It’s blinding. Well – that might be down to Hendery’s eyes adjusting to the sudden influx of light, but he stands by his statement anyway. Xiaojun’s standing right in front of him, gaze unwavering despite the nervous tremble of his lips, brilliant and beautiful and brave. Brave in a way that Hendery hasn’t been, and couldn’t be – but, maybe, in a way that he can be. That he wants to be.

For DJ. For Xiaojun.

Hendery hangs up. He slides his phone into his pocket. “It did.”

Then, with both his hands free, he cups Xiaojun’s jaw and draws him into a clear-eyed, long-awaited kiss.

A small part of Hendery had been afraid that it wouldn’t be as good as he imagined. That he’d built up this grand fantasy in his head that reality could never reach, and no matter how much he liked Xiaojun, that their first kiss would be bad and wrong enough to be their last.

It couldn’t be farther from the truth.

It’s innocent. It’s sweet. The barest of pressures, their lips brushing against each other, chaste and dry. Still, Hendery feels something stir inside of him, feels an unexpected warmth bloom in his chest and spread throughout his entire body. There’s something about kissing someone you like – someone you really like. Everything’s dialled up. Everything thrills. By the way Xiaojun reacts, Hendery thinks he feels the same way, too. He shuts his eyes tight, like he’s trying to memorise the moment. His pulse flutters erratically against the curve of Hendery’s hand. Xiaojun’s hands fall to Hendery’s front, tangling in his shirt to pull him closer with his phone still in his grasp, and Hendery’s heart swells at the sweetness of it all. He kisses Xiaojun again, and again, for longer, for deeper, until they both reluctantly part, dizzy and short of breath.

“Hi,” Xiaojun whispers.

His cheeks are flushed a vivid pink. His eyelashes are clumped together, mussed from their kissing. Hendery’s gaze falls to the bud of Xiaojun’s mouth and, fighting the sudden urge to bite, leans forward to rest their foreheads together.

“Hello.”

The feeling in Hendery’s chest feels too big for his body. He can’t stop smiling. Xiaojun is here, in his arms. Xiaojun likes him back. If this is a dream, then destroy all the alarms, because he doesn’t want to wake up from it, like, at all.

Xiaojun nudges him. “What?”

Hendery’s smile grows bigger. “Nothing,” he says. Then, cheekily, in English, “I’m just really glad you called.”

Xiaojun’s eyebrows draw together as he puzzles out the words. When he gets it, his frown clears, and a sunny smile spreads across his face, a perfect match for Hendery’s.

“No.” Xiaojun tilts his face up and kisses Hendery again, swift and sweet. “I’m really glad you did.”