The bedsheets were mercilessly ripped off his body, a sharp voice announcing rather rudely, "Minho, get your lazy ass up!"
Damn it.
He swore underneath his breath, the chill from the room immediately hitting him in lieu of the once beautiful comforter coating him with warmth. The cold assaulting him down to the frigid bone, even with the massive sweater and sweats dwarfing his body in exchange of traditional pajamas to keep him safe from any of the goosebump inducing freeze of the unusually cold room. Too tired when the sun rises to care about throwing on a proper set of silky embroidery and ivory buttons. Fuck that shit. Sweats and sweaters were perfectly fine in the fall, an oversized shirt and joggers were fine in the summer, what more did a man need? What more, beside the comfort of the firm mattress supporting him up, cementing to him that he was alright to keep his eyes slotted close.
Minho curled up, bundling into a tight ball as the fuzzy intrusion of an animal occupied the other half of his pillow.
Five more minutes.
The curtains of his window were ripped open.
Sun flooded into the bedroom.
Minho choked out a pained groan, forcing himself to sit up as he grabbed the extra pillow next to him and chucked it wildly toward the infuriating light. Hoping his strength, the hurried throw, the impossible speed which he tossed it into the sunlight, it would be enough to defeat the sun. The bedroom pillow would miraculously be stuffed with an incredible chemical that could immediately extinguish the fire of the exploding sun. It would be an ice cube. Never melting, enough to cause the flames to dim. The pillow was another sun, another star, and if he threw it right into the bundle of energy, it would be able to kill it out entirely. It could be enough to save him and his poor eyes trying to adjust to being a living human in the daytime and not the resting corpse he actually was.
His desired target not hit. Not even close as he heard the pillow thump against the flooring and the cat which laid next to him scramble off the bed to attack the soft headrest.
The other continued to assault his ears with the question, "Are you coming with us to the bar?"
Minho didn't even bother opening his eyes, the familiarity of the voice causing more of his groans to fly from his lips. He rubbed at his closed eyelids, trying to ease the ache grinding them down with the heels of his palms, their own freezing touch doing nothing to assist him in waking. Nor falling back asleep. Neither of them, all solutions leaving him as another painful swarm of waking dizziness stabbed into his head. He peeped them open, staring at the other through the thin slit accustoming him to the over excessive light as he grunted, "How did you get in my house?"
"I picked the lock, obviously," the answered easily, wandering around the room with the comforter dragging after him and the black cat trying to jump into the makeshift gurney. The intruder picked up the empty energy drink, tossing it into the wire trash bine off to the side of the room, seeming to do housemaid chores as he asked, "But, are you?"
"Why would I want to?"
"Come meet someone. Get laid. Get drunk. Get a lap dance. Get high. Get bread sticks. I don't know? You can't be holed up in your room forever."
"Felix," He signed softly in complaint.
The younger responded, body thrashing as if he was a worm on methamphetamine as he mocked him, "Minhhhhhhhhhoooooooo~"
"I don't like going out. You know why," He scoffed back, trying to flop back down on the mattress. Trying to disappear inside it's comfort despite well knowing it was some time in the afternoon, guessing by where the sun shined inside his room. And by the other fully dressed and ready to tackle the world. So what if his sleep schedule was more twisted than an overcooked spaghetti dish? He still collapsed back on the bed. Wishing it would devour his tired body whole, gobbling him up and turning him into a pathetic Minho soup. He'd probably taste good if he marinated in his own juices and turned into a liquid. Some mix of a ox tail and cream of broccoli, if that was even possible.
Felix wandered back to him, the soft brunet of his fluffy hair intruding his gaze trained on the smooth ceiling. Comforter bundled tightly up in his arms. Steps shuffling. The black cat, Gummy, bouncing back up into the bed as he threw the blankets back on Minho, "Please??? For your brother? For your favorite brother? Ever?"
"Only tonight," Minho grumbled. Reluctantly agreeing as he threw the blankets off to the side and tossed his legs to stand up. More of those annoyed grunts wincing him as he shuffled away, "Only because you're my favorite parasite."
Ignoring the jubilant celebration he was given from his younger brother, Minho angrily shuffled around the room. Sweeping up whatever clothes made the most sense in his yet to have woken mind, leading to a combination of ripped jeans and some kind of washed black hoodie that fit him decently enough to pass as a humane person, before he disappeared to his bathroom. And his headphones. Always his headphones, slung around his neck. In case he may have needed them, for one reason or another. Ensuring as he went along to not step on the midnight cat shadowing him with her jingling collar, trotting along by his ankles and swerving between his steps in an attempt to assassinate him for leaving the apartment this early in the day.
Well, late in the day, considering it was 7:32 pm.
So what if his sleeping habits were shit? It's not like he needed to be up and out of the house on a consistent schedule. Not with the line of work he did.
Fifteen minutes later, he was sliding into the passenger seat of Felix's car. Some excuse of wanting to be the DJ to get out of driving to their usual spot with their other two friends, coming to fruition when he was able to blast whatever eccentric jams his playlist concocted in it's pathetic excuse of a mix. Some excuse of listening to their rhythms as he watched the city pass by the windows, blanking out at the evening glow illuminating the few hints of the dark ushered in by it's vibrant lights. Signs of neon violet, magenta, blending in with the bland blasé champagne ferment of the street lights that passed by. Imagining each of their hues, blending in, reflecting on his mind as he listened to the music playing over the speakers.
Thankful too when the scene of their typical loiterings popped up. The vehicle gently pulling in, because as much as he teased Felix for hitting a fire hydrant at full force in his first year of university, the man wasn't a horrible driver. Not even slightly, not even a kind of bad one. He didn't clip the curb on his way turning close to parallel park, he didn't swing too far or too close and bump the cars bordering on either side of his own with his bumper or fender, he didn't even brake too hard when realizing he was a few inches too close for comfort to the vehicle in front of hin. He even parked far enough away from anything for Minho to comfortably kick open the car and slide outside, his two legs feeling a little bit too numb as he wobbled along the pavement.
Felix laughing behind him as he jellied his way across the length of the sidewalk, already looking as if he drowned away his sorrows.
Knees protesting at his sudden desire to be a living, walking, breathing human being on the living, spinning, breathing planet Earth. Body wishing to return home and slip underneath his comfy bed covers, be given another hour or so of precious sleep. Eyes not appreciative of the bright assault from the bar's sign. Ears not a fan of the socialites all collectively deciding to be out on that particular day, a Friday. Nose not wanting to exist as soon as he caught a whiff of the offense twinge of alcohol, piss, and some other smell he wasn't sure but was a foul combination of sweat with simply body. All of which, combining into a nice, personal, hellhole for Minho.
Only appeased when he was able to slide up the cement steps and into the bar, the horrendous assault on his being easing up if that was even possible given the circumstances and the building they were inside. The slightly dimmed building, the booth lined along the sides, the classic mahogany curvature of a bar where stools perched along for fresh orders thankful to the bartender currently spinning a tumbler, tassel lights strung along the ceiling to highlight the natural pathway the bar followed. A clunky place, a type of hole-in-the-wall dive, but the bar was more home to him and his friends than anywhere else in this cruel world.
Already spotting the blond waves of one and the spaced out gaze of the other.
"Okay, this is going to sound stupid," Minho started to them, both of their eyes shifting to him in silent greetings as Felix slid into the booth seats they miraculously picked to sit at. Him following after. Their usual spot, somewhere between the front and the back, somewhere between the edge of the world and the sea monster sitting at the other. He finished off, taking a napkin from the "But I just want water."
The one with the wavy blond hair, the few earrings including an industrial and a chain stapled deep into his ears, the lip ring plastered to the side of his lip occupying half of his speech. Some brightly colored apricot cocktail filled to the brim of it's short glass already by his hand, the proof it had been sitting for a while existing in the watered ring it left stained on the laminated wood table. The perfect grade student with a clean track record, now Minho's favorite rock drummer in the entire world. A few of his band's songs were even sitting on his playlist at the moment. Chan took a sip of his cocktail as he laughed the tease, "Designated driver Minho back at it again."
Minho joined him, his own laughter pure sarcasm, "Yeah, haha, almost as if he can't handle his fuckin' liquor."
"Not even one beer?" The other asked, the vacant gaze he kept before now focused and alert to the two sitting across from him. His usual order, a rum and coke, half consumed. Emptied out, the deep burgundy color as his hair, combed gently in cascading falls to perfectly frame his puffy features. His hands folded tightly over his chest, fingers tapping a rhythm on his biceps. Changbin. The man himself. The man who covered all the parking spot lines with black paint in their high school days, the man who tied a dildo into the branches of a tree set in front of the dean's office in an unsuccessful attempt to get out of taking his physics final that year, the man who used to drop tomatoes into the restrooms, for the pure entertainment of dropping tomatoes down the sewage pipes. Now working to become a lawyer.
"If you want to be dragging me home as I vomit all over you, sure," Minho scowled back at him.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed lightly.
As the others fell into their own conversations, Minho ripped it out and checked the notification.
Client 10932
Client 10932:
Hello hello •̀.̫•́✧
Mr. Jackalope?
You said you're free to talk terms today.
Can we call? (*^^)v
Can I call you?
8:02 pm
"I have to take a call really quickly," Minho murmured to them, ignoring the odd looks he was given as he quickly slid out of the booth benches.
He scurried off, stepping fast around the other patrons and wanderers of the early night, swerving carefully around the few hooking up, the occasional group of over exhilarated students who had yet to be jaded to the bitter taste of bottom feeder alcohol nearly knocking their hands back into him. Worming his way around them as quietly as possible, as he chased off into the bar's restrooms. Once inside, checking no one would be listening in on the conversation.
Connecting the wireless headset to his phone, he then pulled the speakers over his ears and pressed the unknown contact into a voice call.
It rang a few times.
Until a voice cut through his headphones, "Mr. Jackalope?"
Somewhere in his otherwise calm chest, his heart fluttered gently at the echo in his ears. A male. Barely audible, sung softly as if it was unsure of itself. Tone melodically whispered, fluid and steady in a cozy hum, like a steady stream of honey falling into a steaming cup of tea.
What a beautiful voice.
Like sunlight in the spring.
Minho suffocated a smile down, attempting to keep this call as concise and quick as possible with the company waiting for him, "Talk fast."
"You can be polite to me. I'm your customer, you know. I can take my business elsewhere."
"Not if you want it done well."
"Mmmhh, true. So... The thing is. I was doxxed. It's—"
The male talking over the headphones suddenly cut himself off, his voice dying out as a strangled sound cut out in his throat.
As if the other would be able to see him, Minho leaned his elbows on the restroom's sink counters and furrowed his eyebrows together. A gentle curiosity beginning to take hold of him.
The voice choked again.
Nothing but a quiet coming over the headphones.
Until that sunlight voice admitted a whispered,
"I'm a camboy."
Minho's eyebrows furrowed together even stronger at the sudden confession. More of that same puzzlement grabbing hold of him. A camboy? Like a camgirl? He heard of those before, but not the opposite. Was it the same for both? One of those people who posted vaguely sexual content of themselves online? Or, simply content of themselves online? Was there a difference? When did it become not so family friendly, was there a specific requirement or specification to be a camboy? What was the difference between a camboy and a normal streamer? Was there any notable difference or did that lay particularly in what the person therefore referred to themselves as? And most importantly, why was he contacted by a camboy when he was a hacker?
Before he could begin to wonder, the melodic male spoke up in more of those singing tones, "The other day I refused service to a client and they doxxed me. My name, my age, my address, it's online and it's spreading fast. Usually I cover my face but they're posting photos of me they found with my face exposed. I'm terrified. Can you... You know? Handle it?"
"That's an easy job, yeah," Minho confirmed to him, his lip working into a reassuring smile. Again, knowing the other wouldn't be able to see it.
"Really!? Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't care how you do I, I just want the posts deleted and gone," The voice laughed softly, almost in giggles. Giggles? Was it possible for a male to giggle? If so, that's what he did in that second, the honeyed drip bubbling with small pockets of chiming air as it was hit with the perfect angle of light, a golden hue blazing brilliantly through the otherwise foul crisp of his ears. A refreshing sound, so much cleaner and sweet to listen to than anything the bar outside or his music had to offer. The camboy hummed again, musing in more of that uttered insecurity, "Maybe, is there a way you could keep it from happening again?"
"It'll cost you, though. You're a camboy. Streams?"
"Mhm!"
"Posts?"
"Sometimes."
Minho thought for a moment, teeth chewing down on his cheek before he decided, "Send me your information. I'll see what you do and send you a price with what I have to clean up. If you're fine with it, then, I'll get to work."
"Thank you," The camboy choked.
Minho panicked a strained response, quickly moving the phone to hang up on the call as his own throat locked up around his words and left him as a cold-hearted traitor to who he truly was. Not knowing how else to answer the pained sound coming directly into his ears. Stabbing into his eardrums in a pitiful sound, one Minho would have absolutely started to swell up with tears at if he gave himself another half second to listen to how... Defeated that small gratitude he was given was. How miniscule, and vaguely afraid it was underneath the otherwise hypnotic speech that drifted through his headphone.
Minho shook it off, trying not to think about it as he pulled his headphones back off and wandered out, returning to the booth his friends were at.
Felix peeped up to him as he wondered, "Business call?"
"None of your business call," Minho spat back to him, turning his nose up into a scrunched mockery as the younger immediately returned it. He quickly slid into the booth beside him, attention drawn to his phone as he cleared off the hundred tabs he forgot to shut down earlier that day. Telling as roughly as he was able to manage around the others, "But, uh, yeah. Client."
Across the way, Chan removed the cocktail's edge from his lips. He swallowed gently, face scrunching up as he wondered, "What do you do for work nowadays?"
"The basics, you know. A grocery store clerk there, a barista there, a marketing agent," Minho listed off the blatant fibs to them, then coming to wiggle his eyebrows to their disbelieving faces, "A hacker."
"As if."
"Double agent."
"Stop it."
"Yoga instructor?"
Changbin admitted with a laugh, "That's somehow believable."
Minho quirked a fast grin back to him.
He checked his phone again as a notification from the client popped up; A name, a few posts, the information he needed to know.
A camboy, huh?
This will be interesting.
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