Offroad had learned to navigate the two very different worlds he lived in with the precision of a seasoned performer. By day, he was a diligent student—quiet, overlooked, always behind the backdrop. By night, however, he was something else entirely. He wasn’t just a host at the club—he was a source of entertainment, a walking fantasy for those who could afford it.

The club was a world of excess and indulgence, and Offroad's role within it was more than just a pretty face behind a bar. He was there to please—to give the customers an experience they wouldn’t soon forget. His body, his presence, was the product, sold in whispers and subtle touches.

Tonight was no different. As he entered the club, the heavy beats of the music pulsed through his veins. He didn’t hesitate, walking with the confidence of someone who had long since accepted the terms of his work. He wore the uniform—tight shirt, sleek pants—that accentuated his lean frame, drawing eyes wherever he moved. Every step he took was purposeful, every glance calculated.

Som, the club manager, gave him a quick nod, his expression unreadable. “Table four, regulars. They’re asking for you,” he said with a flick of his hand.

Offroad nodded in return, his face as neutral as ever. The regulars were the ones who came for the real deal—the ones who didn’t just want to talk. They wanted something more, and Offroad had perfected the art of giving it to them without ever fully losing himself in the process.

As he made his way to the table, he adjusted his posture, subtly rolling his shoulders back, making sure his body moved with grace. The men sitting there—older, wealthy—watched him closely as he approached. Offroad kept his gaze low, a respectful, deferential smile on his lips.

One of the men, an older VVIP with salt-and-pepper hair, raised an eyebrow as he watched Offroad approach. “You’re looking particularly enticing tonight, Offroad,” the man said, his voice smooth like silk.

Offroad didn’t flinch. He was used to these comments, used to the way their eyes wandered over him like they owned him. “Thank you, Phi,” he replied softly, making eye contact just long enough to acknowledge their presence before he looked down again, maintaining his role.

The older man leaned in, his fingers trailing lightly along Offroad’s arm. “Tell me, Offroad, do you ever get tired of this?” His voice was a little more intimate now, testing the waters, as though trying to catch Offroad off guard.

But Offroad had learned long ago that vulnerability had no place here. He was a product, and products didn’t get tired. They performed. “I do what I have to, Phi. I’m just here to make sure you enjoy your night.”

The man smirked, satisfied with the answer, and Offroad moved to pour drinks, aware of the heavy gaze on his body as he bent over the table. He didn’t have to look up to know that the men were watching his every movement, waiting for the slightest slip-up. And he gave it to them. His back arched just a little too much as he reached for the bottle, his movements slow, deliberate.

Every time he did this, he reminded himself that it was only for the money. He reminded himself that the men who touched him, who whispered in his ear, were only paying for the illusion of intimacy. Offroad’s body was the commodity; everything else was a mask.

As he finished serving the drinks, the older man reached out again, this time letting his fingers graze over Offroad’s waist. Offroad held his breath for a moment, keeping his expression neutral. It was just part of the job. Nothing more.

“Why don’t you join us for a drink?” the man asked, his voice low and suggestive.

Offroad hesitated, but only for a moment. He knew the game. He knew how to play it. “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to, Mr Chai. I have to keep moving.” He gave them a small smile, the kind that said he was in control, even when he wasn’t.

Just as he was about to step away, he caught a flash of familiar features in the corner of the room. Daou.

At first, Offroad thought it was a trick of the light—his eyes playing games with him—but when he looked again, there was no denying it. Daou was sitting in one of the VIP booths, his eyes casually sweeping the room. It didn’t take long for Offroad to realize that Daou wasn’t just there for the music or the drinks. He was watching him, and that made his heart beat a little faster.

Offroad quickly turned back to the table, trying to refocus, but Daou’s presence was like a magnet pulling him in. He could feel Daou’s gaze like a physical touch, burning into the back of his neck, making his skin crawl with a mixture of tension and something else—something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

But he couldn’t ignore it.

Daou was a regular here.

The thought twisted in Offroad’s gut. He had no idea how long Daou had been coming to the club, or how many times he’d watched Offroad do this—the act, the performance, the endless smiles he gave to customers who barely saw him as a person.

Still, he couldn’t allow Daou to see him falter. Offroad took a deep breath, pushing the unsettling feelings aside. His role, his job, depended on this distance between them. If Daou saw him as something more than a body to entertain, then he’d lose the control he’d worked so hard to maintain.

With an effort, he steeled himself, giving a brief, practiced smile to the man at the table. “Enjoy your drink, Mr Chai,” he said smoothly, stepping back. “I’ll be right over there if you need anything.”

As he walked away, he glanced over at Daou again, but this time, Daou was nowhere to be found. The booth he had been sitting in was empty, the remnants of half-finished drinks and an untouched napkin the only evidence that he had been there. Offroad’s heart raced in his chest, an unfamiliar pang of disappointment tightening in his stomach.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the unsettling feeling. There was no reason to care about where Daou went, not really. Daou was just another part of this world, someone who could fade into the background as easily as he had appeared. Offroad had enough to worry about already.

As the night dragged on, he went through the motions, smiling, laughing, doing his best to make sure the customers had a good time. His shift eventually came to an end, and after saying his goodbyes, he slipped into the back hallway, eager to get away from the heavy atmosphere of the club.

But as he rounded the corner toward the exit, he froze. Standing there, leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets, was none other than Daou.

“You’re still here,” Offroad muttered, trying to sound nonchalant despite the knot forming in his stomach.

Daou’s lips quirked into a smirk. “What? You thought I’d leave you all alone after seeing you in that getup?”