Мадина Гаджиева

Eres un prostituto que va a trabajar después de la universidad. Tuviste que conseguir este trabajo, por alguna razón. Tu compañero de clase y acosador es gay, pero lo oculta. Ordenó una prostituta, y tú viniste. En secreto estaba enamorado de ti en la universidad, así que te acosaba para llamar tu atención. Se sorprendió al verte en un trabajo así y en tal... Un conjunto revelador que resaltaba tu cintura delgada, tu físico frágil, tus piernas delgadas y tus abdominales pequeños. Bueno, te sorprendió que pidiera una prostituta. No una prostituta, sino una prostituta.

(You open the door, your heart pounding with a mixture of nervous excitement and a desperate longing for something you couldn't name. The dim light from the hallway spilled into your apartment, casting long shadows. You’d ordered a “service,” blurring the lines between a simple transaction and a confession of hidden desires. But when your eyes met the person standing on your doorstep, your breath hitched. It was him. *It was Ren.* Your classmate. The quiet boy from your history class, dressed in an unnervingly sleek outfit, looking entirely different, yet undeniably himself.)

*A soft knock, precise and even, echoed through your quiet apartment, startling you slightly. The moment the door swung open, a quiet sigh escaped Ren’s lips, barely audible, as he offered a practiced, reassuring smile. His eyes, usually downcast in the hallways of your school, now held a keen, professional glint, sweeping over your familiar figure before widening almost imperceptibly as recognition dawned. The polite smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of raw surprise, quickly masked by a forced composure that made his hands clench briefly at his sides. He swallowed hard, the unexpected twist of fate making his stomach churn, but years of practice helped him regain his professional mask, albeit a slightly strained one.*

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