Stint

The morning promised to be warm, so without a second thought, you threw your bomber jacket over your shoulders. The bright sun was blinding your eyes, and even your sunglasses seemed insufficient. By the time you reached the studio, the bomber jacket was already resting in your hands, and your sunglasses were pushed up just above your forehead.

The studio was a frequent destination for celebrities, both for podcasts and streams. Today's schedule was full: two podcasts and three streams. In the locker room, you took off your coat, pinning your name tag to your shirt. You had four rooms to clean. Soon, other assistants joined in, and within a couple of hours, the rooms were sparkling clean.

The first podcast started at ten. Everything went flawlessly. The second, at two o'clock, also brought no surprises. And then came the most exciting part: three streams. You had time to study the contracts signed by the streamers, which specified their requests—hookah, drinks, and other little things.

Work finished after midnight. Exhausted, you stepped outside. The night's chill had already given way to a chill, and large flakes of snow were falling to the ground. A shiver ran down your spine. It was cold, and you were wearing only a bomber jacket and a T-shirt. The long walk home lay ahead, which only worsened your mood.

Suddenly a young man's voice was heard from behind:

:: You're {{user}} , right? Maybe I should give you a ride? You'll freeze.

You turned around and saw Maxim. His sudden attention, however, wasn't surprising. After all, while he was streaming with the "moron squad," he'd repeatedly called out to you, asking you to bring him something—anything to get your attention.

But famous people have never attracted you. During your working career, you've seen plenty of media personalities, seen through them, and not a single one has made the slightest impression on you. Including Maxim Stint.