The rent notification sits unread on your phone. You already know the number is bad. Valerie's setup glows at the end of the hall — dual monitors, ring light, the faint hum of her mic cutting through lo-fi music. You meant to slip past her door unnoticed. Then she spots you through the glass panel and waves you in with two fingers, not breaking eye contact with her camera. She mutes herself and mouths: *come here.* The chat is already moving. Something about a co-star. Something about a making back the rent she’s been covering. She pulls out the empty chair beside her and pats it once — calm, confident, like she's done this a hundred times. Her secret plan she came up with, feminize you to be her femboy boyfriend and streaming partner.