Ever since everyone in the room found out I was gay, life became a lot more comfortable for me. I was less guarded, less cautious. The guys in the room grew closer because of it too. The only thing was, for nearly a whole month now, I hardly ever saw Đức Mạnh sexting openly in front of everyone anymore. Even Ngọc Minh couldn’t help but ask, “Brother Mạnh, you got a girlfriend lately or what? Haven’t seen you sexting out in the open anymore.”
Lying on his bed, Đức Mạnh glanced over at me before replying, “Found a different kind of fun. Way better than sexting.”
I froze awkwardly, not daring to meet his gaze. Ngọc Minh looked at me, then at Đức Mạnh, his face filled with suspicion.
Saturday morning, I normally would’ve stayed in the room with Ngọc Minh. But today he had an unexpected errand outside, so even if he wanted to stay in and fool around with me, he couldn’t. By the time I woke up, it was already past ten. With my cock standing hard in my shorts, I opened Twitter and jerked off while scrolling. After about thirty minutes—holding back a few times—I finally came all over my stomach, one shot even reaching my face.
Right then, Duy Long suddenly messaged me, “How’ve you been lately?”
I replied casually, “I’m fine.”
Duy Long asked again, “How’s your boyfriend?”
Before I could think, my fingers moved faster than my brain, “Boyfriend? What boyfriend?”
He immediately sent back a string of question marks, “??????”
I suddenly remembered that when I moved out of the dorm, I’d lied and said I was moving in with my boyfriend. I quickly covered it up, “We’re fighting, so might as well say I don’t have one. What’s the point of dating anyway? It’s exhausting as hell.”
Duy Long replied offhandedly, “Even queers suffer because of love.”
I laughed it off, exchanged a few casual greetings, and felt relieved knowing the room was doing fine. Then I hopped out of bed. The cum on my stomach hadn’t dried yet, slowly sliding down into my pubic hair, giving off that distinct, salty smell. I turned on my favorite music, planning to shower while listening—but in the bathroom, there was only music. The water never came.
I cursed to myself, “Fuck, how is the water already cut this early?”
I messaged Ngọc Minh, “Hey, did you have water this morning? It’s completely out now!”
Ngọc Minh replied, “I showered in another room. Ours gets clogged sometimes—go ask the security uncle to fix it. I didn’t see him downstairs this morning so I couldn’t call him. Go ask so we don’t all miss showers this afternoon.”
I grimaced. With how sticky and funky I was right now, how was I supposed to show my face downstairs? But whether I liked it or not, I had to go—not just for me, but for everyone.
I grabbed some tissues and wiped myself down roughly, then trotted down three flights of stairs to the ground floor. The security guard wasn’t in his room, so I hovered awkwardly by the door. After a while, a voice behind me asked, “Who are you looking for?”
I turned around. It was a young man around my age, maybe one or two years older. His features were gentle, his build well-proportioned. He wore a sleeveless shirt and thin cotton checkered shorts. His smile was probably the most beautiful thing I’d seen since moving here. Calling him a streetlight glowing along a long, dark road wouldn’t be an exaggeration.
I stood there stunned for a moment before snapping back, “Uh, I’m looking for the security uncle. The faucet in my room’s clogged—I wanted to ask him to fix it.”
He said, “My dad stepped out. Which room are you in? I can go take a look.”
Surprised, I asked, “Oh… you know how to fix it too?”
With his fair, scholarly appearance, I couldn’t imagine him doing this kind of work.
He replied, “I know a bit. If I can’t fix it, I’ll at least check and tell my dad.”
I led the way, with him following behind, carrying the guard’s usual tool bag. As we walked, he asked, “You just moved in? What’s your name?”
I answered, “My name’s Hưng. I’ve been here about two months now. First time I’ve seen you though.”
He introduced himself, “I’m Nhân—Hoài Nhân. I used to live here with my parents, but now that I’m working, I mostly stay at our house outside.”
After a bit of small talk, we reached the room. I rushed into the bathroom to tidy things up so Hoài Nhân wouldn’t see the mess. He didn’t hesitate, immediately getting to work, pulling a wrench from the tool bag and loosening the faucet. His movements were smooth and practiced—nothing like an amateur. Watching his nimble hands, I couldn’t help saying, “You’re really good at this. You even know stuff like this.”
Hoài Nhân smiled, “It’s nothing. I’ve lived here over ten years. Wherever my dad went to fix things, I followed along. Watched him do it, then copied.”
He crouched on the wet bathroom floor while I bent forward behind him, curious about everything. Suddenly, the moment the faucet loosened, water sprayed everywhere. Hoài Nhân reacted instantly—when I yelped, “Ah!” he jumped up to shield me, blocking the water with his hand, asking, “Did you get wet? I forgot to tell you to step out first.”
I said, “I’m fine. Even if I got wet, it’s okay—I was planning to shower anyway.”
He said, “That means the water line’s fine. Can you shut off the main valve for me? The faucet itself is broken.”
He rummaged through the tool bag and pulled out a new faucet, installing it as if he’d prepared it in advance. When everything was done, he picked up the tool bag and stepped out. But from head to toe, he was soaked. The thin shorts clung tightly to his lower body, the underwear underneath making a noticeable bulge. The moment my eyes landed there, I quickly looked away to spare us both the awkwardness.
Hoài Nhân asked, “Anything else need fixing? If not, I’ll head back down.”
I nodded quickly, “No, that’s all. Thank you so much!”
He covered his wet crotch with the tool bag and headed downstairs. From that day on, I saw Hoài Nhân house-sitting for his dad almost every weekend. He was cheerful and easygoing. Whenever he saw me heading out to buy food, he’d greet me, “Going to buy lunch?”
I’d usually reply, “Yeah. Have you eaten yet?”
He’d say, “I’m cooking. Eating out all the time isn’t good. One day, come eat with me.”
I laughed, “That’d be great. But the lady selling rice boxes won’t like that!”
Catching the aroma drifting from the guard’s room, I asked, “What are you cooking? Smells so good.”
He replied, “Just braised pork and a simple soup. Might make you laugh if I serve it.”
I said, “I’m easy. I’ll eat anything.”
Half joking, half serious, he said, “Then how about eating me?”
I laughed shyly and headed into the alley to buy food. When I came back with my lunch box, the security uncle and aunt were sitting in the lobby with a few elderly neighbors. A woman around sixty exclaimed toward Hoài Nhân, “Oh my, it’s been ages since he came by. He’s grown up so handsome!”
The guard laughed, “You just don’t come around much. He’s been coming here a lot this past month. Don’t know if he’s got his eye on someone here or what.”
The woman teased, “Whoever that is must be blessed! If he liked my youngest daughter, I’d be over the moon!”
I passed by, only daring to glance shyly at Hoài Nhân, nodding politely to the elders before heading upstairs. As soon as I left, I heard the security aunt say behind me, “That kid’s really sweet. Polite, well-behaved, never causes trouble. But living in the same room as Mạnh—oh lord—I’m always worried Mạnh’ll lead him astray.”
I’d heard plenty of gossip about Mạnh already, so it didn’t surprise me. But in truth, the guards weren’t harsh about it—they understood who lived in this building. Still, out of thirty rooms, only Mạnh was notorious enough that just mentioning his name made everyone know who you meant.
The men in my room were, in the end, the type to get bored quickly. Once they’d had their fill, they didn’t cherish it much. So lately, even on weekends, they’d be out all day, and no one was eager for my blowjobs anymore. But thanks to that, my mouth finally got a break. They were bored of me, and I was bored of them—fair trade.
One Saturday, while I was alone in the room, Hoài Nhân suddenly appeared at the door, carrying bags of vegetables, meat, and fish. I asked, “Who are you looking for in my room?”
He replied, “Does your room have a stove? The one in my place broke—I want to borrow it for a bit.”
I rummaged under the bed and found two mini gas stoves, still pretty new, just dusty. I remembered Ngọc Minh saying the room once planned to cook, bought the stoves, then got lazy and kept eating out.
I picked one and handed it to him, “I’ve got the stove, but no gas canister. Try finding one to hook it up. If it doesn’t work, come back and I’ll give you the other. You’re cooking pretty early, huh?”
He replied, “Gotta cook early to make it in time.”
He took the stove, thanked me, and went downstairs. I didn’t think much of it until lunchtime. When I opened the door to go eat, Hoài Nhân was standing right there, holding the stove—and a bowl of fragrant braised pork with rice, plus a bowl of bitter melon soup stuffed with meat.
So that’s what “in time” meant—just in time for my lunch.
He returned the stove and said, “This is for you. Consider it payment for lending me the stove.”
I hesitated, but refusing wasn’t really an option. Still, I wasn’t clueless—if I accepted this, was I giving Hoài Nhân false hope? Or was I just overthinking it, and he really didn’t mean anything at all…?
Before I could finish thinking, Hoài Nhân had already placed the food in my room. Before I could say anything else, he disappeared, leaving behind only, “Make sure you finish it!”
After nearly four years in Saigon, this was the first time I tasted “home-cooked food” again. Setting aside how good Hoài Nhân’s cooking was, a meal this balanced and full of vegetables alone was enough to move me to tears.
The food was great. The cook was great too. It was just a shame my preferences wouldn’t change because of one bowl of rice.
Even if Hoài Nhân did have feelings for me, unless he said it himself, all I could do was guess—I couldn’t bluntly lay my intentions out either. Meals like this kept coming, no matter how I tried to refuse. I felt it wasn’t right anymore. Better to say it once and save him from wasting effort on me for nothing.
I didn’t know if it was my bad luck or what, but in less than half a year living here, all three guys in my room ended up getting partners. My rule had always been simple: if you have a partner, you don’t touch others—and you don’t touch people who already have one. I might be horny, but when it comes to messy triangles, I’m cautious enough.
Ngọc Minh no longer asked me to jerk off together. Trọng Tiến no longer slept with his cock hanging out of his shorts. The most well-behaved one turned out to be Đức Mạnh—no more sexting, no more jerking off in the bathroom. I thought he’d finally turned over a new leaf. When I asked, he replied, “I’m saving my cum to fill my girlfriend’s pussy and make her feel good!”
Hoài Nhân, as usual, kept cooking for me, no matter how much I hinted that he shouldn’t bother. He always said, “Don’t think too much. I’m the youngest in my family, no little siblings, so I just see you as a younger brother. No need to feel awkward.”
But how could I not feel awkward? I could only hope he truly meant younger-brother-in-the-family—not younger-brother-in-the-heart.
Saturday evening, I was showering when Đức Mạnh knocked. I opened the door, barely able to ask anything, when he barged in, stripped off his filthy work clothes, and tossed them into the laundry basket by the door. His cock was hard as stone, pointing straight up, his body reeking of sweat—clearly he’d rushed back from outside. I shouted, “What the hell? I’m showering!”
Đức Mạnh replied, “Shower together. I’m in a hurry to go fuck.”
I protested, “Then wait five minutes—I’m almost done!”
He ignored me, turning on the water and washing his hair, saying, “Talk too much and I’ll fuck you right here.”
Seeing that thick, veiny cock rock-hard after a week of restraint, I didn’t dare say another word. I moved aside and let him shower first. And sure enough, a straight guy who’d lived in the military was different—quick, efficient, no wasted motion. Less than five minutes later, he stepped out wrapped in a towel and went to change.
I hurried to finish my shower. When I came out, Trọng Tiến was rushing around too. Ngọc Minh and Đức Mạnh were already neatly dressed, hair gelled, reeking of cologne. I asked, “You guys going out together and not inviting me?”
Ngọc Minh replied, “No. I’m going to my girlfriend’s place—won’t be back tonight.”
Đức Mạnh was already at the door, putting on his shoes, “I won’t be back either. Don’t wait up.”
From the bathroom, Trọng Tiến added, “I won’t be back too.”
I exclaimed, “What? I’m alone in the room?”
Even though I’d lived here for a while, I’d never slept alone. At this age, I was still just as afraid of ghosts as when I was a kid.
As Ngọc Minh was about to leave, he told me, “If you’re scared, turn on the night light. Just get through one night.”
I didn’t want to—but there was nothing I could do to stop people chasing love. Whatever. Worst case, I’d just pull the blanket over my head and sleep through the night.