The screen glow painted Seungmin's face in cold blue. His room wasn't anything fancy—just a shitty apartment with peeling paint and one buzzing light bulb that he never fixed. But the camera didn't need all that. His audience wasn't paying for luxury. They were paying for him.

"Alright, shut the fuck up with the same questions," Seungmin muttered, leaning toward the webcam. His hoodie slid off one shoulder, revealing smooth collarbone and the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I'm eighteen plus, dipshit. You think I'd risk gettin' my ass banned for pocket change? Nah, I play this smart."

The chat exploded.

omg he said my name
spit on me daddy
lmaooo this guy's a menace
more shoulder pls

@BiteMeBaby tipped $100: don't talk too much, pretty boy. do something fun.

Seungmin saw the pop-up, his eyebrow twitching. Same donor, always. Rich bastard with too much time.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. "There he is again. @BiteMeBaby, huh? You ever get laid in your life, bro? Or you just live on this site?"

The chat blew up with laughing emojis. Another $50 came through.

@BiteMeBaby: shut up and stretch, brat.

Seungmin barked out a laugh. "Stretch? What the fuck am I, your yoga instructor? Pay my tuition and maybe I'll do a whole downward dog for you."

More donations rained in—smaller amounts, but steady. The viewers loved when he got mouthy. That was his brand: sharp tongue, no filter, the type of dude who could roast you and make you thank him for it.

He leaned back, propped his feet on the desk, showing off long legs in ripped jeans. He popped open a soda can, taking a slow drink while glaring at the screen.

"You know what's crazy?" he said, voice dropping. "Half of y'all probably jerk off to this, and I'm just sittin' here drinkin' Pepsi. Who's the real clown, huh?"

@BiteMeBaby tipped $200: still you, pretty little boy.

Seungmin snorted, almost choking on his drink. "You got a real fuckin' mouth on you for a guy hiding behind a username."

The chat begged for more—shirt off, stand up, flex, curse them out. Seungmin gave them bits and pieces, nothing too much. Just enough to keep the cash flowing. He knew his worth. And he liked the control.

After an hour, he stretched his arms overhead, yawning obnoxiously. "Alright, losers. Stream's done. I got better shit to do. Go touch grass or whatever."

The donations flooded one last time before he killed the cam. Screen black. Silence.

....

He lit a cigarette by the window, letting the smoke curl against the neon light leaking from outside. Downtown was alive even at midnight—drunken laughter, sirens in the distance, the hum of motorcycles.

This was his favorite part: the quiet after the chaos.

Seungmin wasn't desperate for money. He had enough from part-time gigs—working tables, stocking shelves. But this? This was fast, dirty, easy. A whole paycheck in a single night if he played it right. And all he had to do was lean into the mic and let strangers pay him to act like their cocky little fantasy.

Sometimes he thought about quitting. About what would happen if someone recognized him in real life. But then the tips rolled in again, and the thought evaporated like smoke.

He scrolled through his phone, checking the site logs. His biggest donor tonight? Same as always: @BiteMeBaby. The guy had thrown down almost a thousand bucks in one sitting. Seungmin whistled low.

"Jesus, man. You gotta be some old perv with a trust fund."

But there was something weird about it. Most big spenders wanted control. They demanded things, barked orders. But this guy? He gave money and talked shit like he was in charge, but at the same time... he let Seungmin run the show. Like he enjoyed getting dragged.

It almost felt like banter. Almost fun.

Seungmin shook it off, flicking ash out the window. "Doesn't fuckin' matter. He's just another wallet."

...

Seungmin had three rules, carved into his brain like survival codes:

Don't catch feelings for clients.

Don't meet anyone offline.

Don't let the act bleed into real life.

That was how you lasted in this game. Keep the mask on, keep the cash flowing, keep the lines sharp.

But still... he couldn't help wondering. Who the hell drops five hundred bucks on him in one night and then disappears until the next stream? No creepy DMs. No "marry me." Just showing up, throwing cash, and roasting him.

Weird. But whatever.

...

The next day, Seungmin dragged himself out of bed at noon, hair sticking up in every direction. He shoved leftover takeout into his mouth, tied his hair up, and headed into the city.

The streets were loud as always—graffiti walls, skaters grinding curbs, old ladies yelling at shopkeepers. Seungmin blended right in: hoodie, ripped jeans, headphones blasting. Nobody would look at him and think, oh yeah, that guy's an online cam brat who makes bank humiliating strangers.

That's how he liked it.

He spent the afternoon running errands, meeting up with his roommate Jisung, who never shut the fuck up about his mixtape. They hung around the convenience store, leaning against the freezers, trading insults.

"Bro, you look like shit," Jisung said, eyeing him.

Seungmin smirked. "Better than your music, though."

"Fuck off. At least I don't sound like I'm dying on mic."

They shoved each other, laughing. Normal. Real. That was important to Seungmin. No one here knew. No one here asked.

By evening, he was back in his room, pulling the blackout curtains shut. The city noise muffled. The webcam light blinked alive again.

Back to work.

....

When the stream ended that night, Seungmin sat there longer than usual, staring at the blank screen.

He thought about the usernames flying past, faceless, nameless. And one that stood out every damn time.

@BiteMeBaby.

He didn't know why, but his lips curved into a crooked smile.

"Freak," he muttered, tossing his hoodie on and heading out for another smoke.

Somewhere out there, someone was paying way too much just to hear him talk shit. And Seungmin couldn't decide if that was pathetic... or kinda addictive.

Either way, he wasn't stopping.