Right at that moment, Ngọc Duy opened the door and stepped in. He was wearing dress pants and a shirt, light makeup giving him a soft, charming look. I called out: “Duy’s back? There’s still beer and snacks—come sit and join the fun!”
Ngọc Duy politely declined and went straight to the bathroom. Same as every day, not a minute off schedule. I was sure after showering he’d climb into bed, pull the blanket over, and sleep. Outside, the drunken conversation hadn’t stopped. Fate works in strange ways—Quốc Bảo suddenly remembered something: “Yo, y’all heard about the guy who just got kicked out of the dorm?”
Thế Sang asked: “The one who came back late too many times so they canceled his contract and booted him?”
Quốc Bảo snorted: “That’s just the excuse they gave outsiders! The truth is way worse. My seniors in the Student Union told me everything!”
Minh Khôi cursed: “Fuck! Stop teasing—just spill it!”
Quốc Bảo continued: “That guy was whoring himself out in the dorm. Got caught red-handed and kicked out! Rumor is the school’s about to expel him too!”
Duy Long frowned: “Can you use a different word? ‘Whoring’ sounds so vulgar!”
Quốc Bảo snapped: “Whoring is whoring! Call it whatever—the meaning’s the same!”
Ngọc Lễ: “Poor guy… expelled from school, what’s he gonna do now?”
Quốc Bảo: “Poor him for what? Young, strong guy—plenty of jobs he could do. He chose whoring because he’s lazy and wants easy money. Deserved it.”
I said: “Come on, it’s not our story. No need to be so harsh.”
Quốc Bảo kept going: “Healthy young men can do anything. If he’s lazy and greedy, of course he picks that path. Being soft on them is basically supporting prostitution.”
Seeing Quốc Bảo going too far, my face heated up. I replied: “How do you know? What if he had no other choice? Who would choose that job just to be looked down on and stepped on by everyone?”
Minh Khôi half-joked: “Hey, maybe some do it for the thrill. Get addicted after the first time!”
I shot back: “There are all kinds of people in every job. Some do it for passion, some for money—which field doesn’t have that? Agree or not?”
Tùng Dương: “Yeah, sure—different strokes. But most whores just want light work, high pay, right?”
I countered: “What if they needed money for debt, medicine, family? What then?”
Quốc Bảo smirked: “Who told them to get into debt and sell their body to pay it off? If it were me, I couldn’t even swallow medicine bought with dirty money like that! Using a whore’s money is still indirectly supporting it.”
Duy Long exclaimed: “Why so extreme?”
Ngọc Lễ: “We’ve never been in that situation—how would we know?”
Quốc Bảo snapped: “So what—you two have done it? Or you know someone who’s a whore, so you’re defending them?”
I said: “We’ve only seen one side of their story. We don’t know their real reasons. Maybe they were backed into a corner, no one to help, so they did what they could. Sympathy isn’t the same as support. Sympathy doesn’t mean you’d do the same. Everyone talks shit about that job, but ask yourself: would anyone endure all that public humiliation just for fun?”
Seeing the conversation getting too heated, Thế Sang nudged Hoàng Tuấn: “Hưng’s drunk—take him to bed! I’ll handle the rest of the snacks and beer!”
After some back-and-forth, the mood cooled down. The beer had hit me hard, plus Hoàng Tuấn holding and cuddling me made me pass out without realizing.
3 a.m., my bladder woke me up. I tiptoed to the bathroom to avoid noise, peed into the drain instead of the toilet bowl, then flushed quietly. I’m not a saint—I just figured if they stayed asleep, it’d be easier to jerk them off later.
When I came out, the room was dead silent—everyone knocked out. Thế Sang was shirtless, cock tenting his shorts like a club because he never wears underwear. I lightly touched it—felt it harden instantly. Trọng Quân slept on his side facing the wall—no chance there. I looked around, then noticed the top bunk by the glass window was empty.
It was the middle of the night—where was Ngọc Duy?
I quietly approached the balcony door, not forgetting to brush Quốc Bảo’s cock as I passed. Solid and perfect in my hand. Then I peeked through the glass. Ngọc Duy was sitting outside on a plastic chair, wearing a tank top and shorts, feet propped up on the B40 railing.
In that squatting position, gravity pulled his shorts legs tight against his thighs, exposing almost his entire smooth, slender legs. But on his right thigh was a cat tattoo.
I deliberately rattled the door latch to make a sound, then stepped out. As soon as he heard, Ngọc Duy dropped his feet and quickly pulled his shorts legs down to cover the tattoo. I walked onto the balcony: “My clothes are soaked with sweat—can’t sleep. Came out to grab a fresh set. You couldn’t sleep either?”
Ngọc Duy cleared his throat: “Yeah… just insomnia.”
I didn’t believe it for a second. The streetlight caught the redness in the corners of his eyes, and his voice cracked—he’d clearly just stopped crying. Even without looking, he kept his hand on his right thigh, like he was hiding a truth he didn’t want anyone to know. I said: “No need to hide anymore. I saw it earlier.”
Ngọc Duy usually never dressed revealingly in the room—only before bed did he wear long thin pants to his knees. All this time I’d been living with my Twitter idol without realizing.
The hand on his right thigh trembled unconsciously. I patted his shoulder: “It’s okay. You must have your reasons.”
Ngọc Duy turned his face away. A choked sob escaped with every breath. He said shakily: “This is the first time anyone’s ever said that to me.”
After a pause, still crying, he told me: “My family went bankrupt. My dad was framed and sent to prison. My mom can’t work. I have two younger siblings still in school. I had no other way…”
I asked: “Did you try other jobs before?”
Ngọc Duy: “Of course! I waited tables, worked weddings, did every hard job—but the money wasn’t enough. My mom was already sick; the bankruptcy shock made her worse. In the end, only this dirty work could save us. I know I’m filthy. The money’s filthy too. But I couldn’t stay clean and watch my mom die, watch my siblings’ futures rot…”
From a pampered boy who never worried about money, Ngọc Duy became merchandise in the marketplace of life. Swallowing every humiliation, letting strangers use and degrade his body in moments of fleeting pleasure.
I didn’t defend him. I didn’t support what he did. But I asked myself: if a 19-year-old boy fell into the same situation, what would he do to save the people he loved? No skills, no experience—who would hire him for a well-paying job enough to cover his mom’s medicine, his siblings’ tuition, his own survival in Saigon with no family?
I gently lifted his hand from his thigh and rolled up his shorts leg, carefully looking at the black cat tattoo. I asked: “When did you get this? It’s beautiful.”
Ngọc Duy took a long breath, remembering: “When I first stepped into this path, I knew it wasn’t bright. So I got the cat tattooed on my thigh. I hoped that even in the dark, this cat would keep me from getting lost, from losing myself.”
I stroked his hair: “Don’t let what they said tonight get to you. See? There are still people who understand. At the end of the day, it’s ‘supply and demand,’ ‘willing buyer, willing seller.’ No one’s to blame, no one forced anyone.”
Ngọc Duy grabbed my hand: “Thank you, Hưng! Honestly, I’ve heard plenty of flowery praise about my looks and body. But after the sex, they just see me as a whore—nothing more. Almost no one tries to put themselves in my shoes, to understand my situation.”
I patted the back of his hand: “The night’s long, but it always ends. Tonight’s almost over—go sleep! Whatever you do, take care of your health first!”
I turned to go back inside. Ngọc Duy said: “Hưng…” When I looked back, he threw his arms around me—a hug of friendship, of understanding he’d been searching for so long.
After a moment, he whispered: “Don’t tell anyone about my Twitter, okay? I’d die of embarrassment!”
I rubbed his back: “Don’t worry. I’ll pretend I know nothing!”
The wind on the balcony was cold, but our hearts felt warm. For some reason, I started to admire Ngọc Duy. Admire the courage of someone who refused to give up on fate, who sacrificed everything to protect the most important people in his life.