Chapter 1: Tempting Offer
(Dan's POV)
I’ve always been good at numbers, just not at keeping them positive.
Rent is due in six days. My bank app opens with a red warning that feels personal. A humiliating kind of red. The kind that doesn’t scream panic but quietly suggests I should stop pretending I’m an adult.
I closed the app and opened it again, as if the numbers might magically add up and the red would change to green.
It doesn’t.
The problem is, I technically have a job.
I’m a model.
Or, at least, that’s what I tell people when they ask what I do.
The more accurate answer is that I’m an aspiring model and actor who spends most of his days going to auditions, attending castings, sending out portfolios, taking unpaid opportunities, and hearing some variation of “We’ll let you know.”
They rarely do.
Until I actually get noticed, there isn't much money in being pretty and ambitious.
My unbothered roommate, Colin, is on the couch, shirtless, editing on his laptop like the rent and electricity bill sitting on the kitchen counter between us aren't there, unopened and silently judging me.
He works like this: barefoot, loose, comfortable in our shared space in a way I’ve never been. Long legs folded, hair tied back, mouth slightly open when he concentrates.
He knows I’m staring.
He somehow always knows.
“Before you say it,” he says without looking up, “I already paid my half.”
Of course he has.
Colin is technically jobless too, but somehow always has money. I don't know how he does it. He edits videos, takes random freelance jobs, and occasionally disappears for hours only to come home with enough cash to make me question every career decision I've ever made.
I swallow. “I’m not—I wasn’t—”
He finally looks at me, one eyebrow raised.
Amused.
Colin is always amused, like life is a joke he’s already figured out the punchline to.
“Dan,” he says gently, which somehow makes it worse. “You’ve been sighing like you’re dying for ten minutes.”
I run a hand through my hair and pace the small living room.
This apartment was supposed to be temporary. Cheap. A stopgap until I finally landed something big enough to get me out of survival mode.
Instead, it’s become the place where I slowly bleed money while pretending my next audition might change everything.
“I’m short,” I admit. “Not by a little.”
“How not-little?”
I name the number, and he whistles low.
“That’s… sexy,” he says. “In a tragic way.”
I glare at him.
He grins.
Colin has always been like this—too calm, too smooth, too comfortable being exactly who he is. Jobless but somehow never broke, and annoyingly good-looking in a way that feels intentional.
Like he knows what angles work best and doesn’t bother hiding it.
“I’ll figure something out,” I say, though it sounds weak even to me.
“That’s what you said last month.”
“And I did.”
“You borrowed from your sister.”
I stop pacing. “You don’t know that.”
He tilts his head. “You called her crying in the bathroom.”
“I did not cry.” I did.
I sit down hard on the armchair. The silence stretches, heavy and embarrassing. This is the part where a normal roommate would offer sympathy, or distance, or a polite lie.
Colin does none of those.
“There is,” he says slowly, “an option.”
I look up. “I don’t like the way you said that.”
“You never like anything I say.” He closes his laptop and turns fully toward me now, eyes sharp, thoughtful. Assessing. “But hear me out.”
I cross my arms. “If this is about selling my blood, sperm, or a kidney—”
“No organs.” He pauses, and smiles. “Well. Nothing vital.”
My stomach flips, uncomfortable for reasons I don’t immediately unpack.
“I do freelance editing,” he continues. “Video. Content. Some of it pays stupidly well.”
I already don’t like where this is going.
“And before you panic,” he adds, “you wouldn’t be doing anything illegal.”
“That’s not comforting.”
He stands, walks closer. Too close. He smells like soap and something clean and warm. My brain clocks it before I can stop it.
“What I’m suggesting,” he says, voice lower now, “is easy money. Fast. Faceless.”
I stare at him. “You’re being vague on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Colin.”
He leans against the arm of my chair, casual but deliberate. Trapped me without touching me. That’s a talent of his.
“Couple content,” he says. “Hands. Mouths. Bodies. Cropped. No faces. No names. No talking if you don’t want to.”
The room feels smaller.
“I’m straight,” I say automatically.
He nods. “You keep telling yourself that, like it’s a spell keeping you from turning gay.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “You need money. I need a reliable partner who won’t flake. We live together. We trust each other, mostly.”
My pulse is loud in my ears.
“And after?” I ask. “What then?”
He shrugs. “We stop. Or we don’t. That part’s up to you.”
There it is… the line has just become visible now.
I laugh, short and disbelieving. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.” He straightens, gives me space again like he’s generous like that. “Think about it. Rent doesn’t care about your identity crisis.”
He picks up his laptop and heads back to the couch, already done with the conversation like he knows it’s not over.
I sit there long after, staring at the unopened bills.
At the red number in my bank app.
At the idea I shouldn’t be considering…
…and absolutely am.
“I… I'll do it.” I say, almost inaudibly.
“What was that?” Colin asked, purposely mocking me into speaking up.
“Asshole!” I cursed out but he ignores me and that does it. “I said I'll do it, Colin. I will make your Only Fans sex content with you!! As long as it pays the damn bills!!” I immediately felt small and embarrassed but whatever…
“There you are,” Colin giggled and stood up… and yeah, I just crossed the damn line.
I stared at the camera setup in our cramped living room, the soft ring light casting a sterile glow over the rumpled sheets on the floor. Colin had turned our coffee table into a makeshift editing station, but now it was pushed aside, cables snaking across the carpet like veins. He adjusted the tripod, his broad shoulders flexing under his tight t-shirt, and I felt a knot twist in my gut. This was insane. Me, Dan, straight as an arrow, agreeing to film porn with my roommate for quick cash. But rent was due, my career is not yet making me money, and Colin swore it was anonymous; faceless shots, just bodies, hands, mouths, cropped tight so no one could tell who we were. No talking. No names. Just action.
Colin glanced over, his dark eyes meeting mine for a second before he looked away. He was bigger than me, built like a linebacker from his college football days, while I was leaner, more model's build. We'd joked about it before, but now it hangs heavy.
“You ready?” he asked, breaking the silence we were supposed to maintain on camera. Off-script, at least.
