I forgot to mention—when I ran into Quốc Bảo again at the wedding, he was sitting at the same table as Minh Phong and Bá Kiên, laughing and chatting like nothing had ever happened. I don’t know if he was truly okay beneath that cheerful exterior, but I didn’t dare ask.
Afterward, I messaged Minh Khôi, mostly to check how he was doing. After everything that had happened, he seemed better, but I still wasn’t completely at ease. As we talked, I learned he’d moved out of Minh Phong’s place. “So where are you staying now? With who?” I asked.
“With Quốc Bảo,” he replied.
I nearly dropped my phone. “What the fuck? You two used to hate each other—how the hell are you living together now?”
“We didn’t have anything in common back then,” he said. “Now we do, so it works.”
I thought to myself: besides the shared experience of getting fucked by Bá Kiên, what else could they possibly have in common? Curiosity got the better of me. “What’s the common ground? Tell me.”
“We both like girls… but enjoy playing with guys too.”
“Holy fuck!”
Minh Khôi explained that, over time, they’d gotten past the trauma of feeling like they needed a dick inside them. But in its place, they’d lost all aversion to men. Whether that was a gain or a loss, who knows. Quốc Bảo was still a prominent figure among the old student leaders, even years after graduating, so he often dropped by the university clubs for work.
Since starting his job, Quốc Bảo had only grown more polished and handsome. Female students practically drooled over him. Guys and girls alike threw themselves at him without him lifting a finger—he didn’t have to chase anyone; they came to his place on their own. And Minh Khôi got the leftovers. Anyone who walked through their door—male or female—they’d both fuck without hesitation. So the two of them grew closer than I or anyone else could have imagined.
I asked, teasing, “Wait—Quốc Bảo plays with guys too? I thought he was still homophobic.”
“Homophobic my ass! He goes harder with guys than with girls. With girls he has to hold back or they can’t take it. With guys he can pound as hard as he wants—feels fucking amazing. Plus no condom needed, no risk of pregnancy. When he fucks a guy he moans so loud the whole damn building hears!”
I couldn’t resist: “So you two living together… do you ever fuck each other?”
“Every now and then,” he admitted. “When we’re desperate or wake up horny in the middle of the night.”
I’d only been joking, but that answer genuinely shocked me. “Who tops, who bottoms?”
“We rock-paper-scissors,” he said. “Or we each fuck for five minutes then switch.”
All I could do was spam “Holy fuck” over and over. I’d been grinding away at work these past years, completely oblivious to how wildly the world had shifted. People no longer cared whether something was “allowed”—only whether it felt good.
Minh Khôi made it clear that both he and Quốc Bảo still planned to get married and have kids one day. Playing with guys was just a side hobby. For some reason, that made me feel like things had actually worked out okay for them. After all, they weren’t kids anymore—they were experienced and level-headed enough to handle themselves.
Time flew by, and suddenly it was October. I still hadn’t come up with any decent ideas for decorating the milk tea shop for the 20th. I had a real connection with this place—and it wouldn’t be wrong to say the owner had done me a huge favor. After working here a while, I’d planned to return to office life. But he convinced me to stay on as manager, shifting me toward planning rather than front-line service.
On a free weekend, I took my laptop to a café and scrolled through every site I could think of for inspiration, but came up empty. Bored out of my mind, I opened the B app—just browsing, no real intention. Then, out of nowhere, a message popped up from none other than that “client” from before.
I froze. In my head: “Fuck, is this guy alive or a ghost haunting me?”
No one knew about that failed hookup except him. I’d changed my whole profile since then—how could he possibly recognize me? My callboy account had no photos; this one had my full face. At most, we shared the same location radius.
Steeling myself, I opened the message. His display name was _LnVu. “You’re not home? Usually you’re only 20 meters away—now it says 5km?”
I wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Do you need something?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “Just thought you were cute and wanted to send you a 20/10 gift.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but save it for someone else. 20/10 isn’t my day. Besides, we don’t even know each other.”
I’m gay, but I genuinely hate when people try to lump me in with 8/3 or 20/10. Hate is the right word.
“We’ve lived this close for so long and you say we don’t know each other?” he wrote. “You’re in the building right next door! Every day I stand on my balcony and watch you ride out to work.”
If we were dating or he was my crush, that might’ve sounded romantic. Coming from a stranger, it just felt creepy.
“If seeing someone a few times counts as knowing them,” I shot back, “then I should be married with eight kids to half the regulars at my shop by now.”
“Who knows—maybe the guy you see at the café is me! I go to NBR Cafe a lot too!”
This _LnVu knew way too much—even the name of my workplace. “How do you know I work at NBR Cafe? You like stalking people or what?”
“Every day you leave wearing your uniform,” he said. “Calling it stalking is harsh!”
He had a point… I did sometimes forget to throw on a jacket over the uniform. Embarrassed and annoyed, I typed: “If there’s nothing else, I’ll end the chat here. I’ve got stuff to do. Bye.”
He didn’t reply after that—probably realized I was serious and backed off. I didn’t dwell on it. With the holiday approaching and my plans still unfinished, I had no mental space for anything else.
But luck was on my side: I finally landed on a few fresh ideas. Customers loved them, the vibe was great, and by the end of the day rough sales were easily double the usual—even with the promos and discounts.
The kids at the shop teased: “Hưng, are you taking disciples? Teach me management too!”
I usually ignored their half-praise, half-teasing. “Hurry up and clean so we can close! Anyone still here when I lock up gets left inside overnight!”
That was enough to light a fire under them—they scrubbed and swept like their lives depended on it. Once everything was done and I was about to pull down the shutter, a delivery guy pulled up outside. He walked straight toward me carrying a huge gift basket.
“We’re closed, bro,” I said. “Come back tomorrow if you want something.”
He thrust the basket at me. “You’re Quốc Hưng, right? Someone sent this to this address—sign here please.”
I laughed. “You sure there’s no mistake?”
He showed me his phone: my number and the shop’s address, clear as day. It clicked—this had to be from _LnVu. I thought he’d just been messing around, but he actually did it.
The delivery guy left, and there I stood holding this massive gift while the kids crowded around, buzzing with excitement. “Wowww! Hưng got a gift today too!”
One of the girls grabbed the card hanging off the basket and read it aloud: “To my beloved baby – Quốc Hưng!”
They screamed so loud my ears rang. “It’s 11:30, you idiots—keep yelling and the patrol will haul you all away!”
That shut them up, but every face was dying to know what was inside. I snapped a photo and sent it to _LnVu: “This from you?”
He replied instantly, as if waiting: “Nope. I’m out right now. If it was me, I’d have brought it over myself.”
He even sent a video of himself at another café, asking the cashier the time to prove it wasn’t pre-recorded. My brain was scrambled—who the hell sent this? The kids kept pestering: “Open it! See if there’s food—we’re starving!”
I didn’t know who it was from, but it was definitely addressed to me. I didn’t care much—just opened it for everyone to see. Inside were pretty roses and a big box of assorted chocolates.
The kids went wild; exhausted and hungry, their eyes lit up at the sight of sweets. One of them stopped the others: “You guys are so rude! Don’t you know what chocolate means? It’s love! Don’t beg for any.”
I didn’t care. I set the box on the table. “Whoever wants some, take it. I don’t even know who sent it.”
I’d already asked everyone I could think of—Nhật Hào, Trọng Quân, even Hoài Nhân. All of them said they knew I hated getting gifts on this day, so none of them sent anything. Whatever. The chocolates disappeared in minutes anyway. The kids told me to take the flowers home.
I tucked the roses into the water bottle holder on my backpack and rode home, mind still spinning. A thought flickered: “Could it be… No, he knows I hate this stuff… And who knows if he’s even single anymore…” I was still lost in thought when I parked in the basement and heard the security guard call my name.
“You’re Quốc Hưng from room 408, right? Someone left this for you.”
He handed me another gift box, and I froze. Suddenly I felt like the main character in a horror movie—some creep circling me, these gifts just sick jokes. Or, if not that, I refused to believe anything good could just fall from the sky like this.
“Did you see who dropped it off?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” the guard said. “Tall, built guy, handsome but looked real gentle. Lives in the building next door—usually leaves for work after you but gets home earlier. I see him all the time.”
Hearing that, someone immediately came to mind. And “the building next door”… there was only one person it could be: _LnVu.