Mystery Saja, demon of few words and even fewer facial expressions, stood in the middle of the club like a very well-dressed urban legend. The kind whispered about in green room confessionals and late-night fancams. The silver-lilac bangs still hid most of his face, as always, but the rest of him? Blatantly screaming “freshly ruined and actively planning more.”

And no one could figure out when it had started.

One minute he was the group's silent, slightly feral background ghost. Next thing they knew, he was sucking on {{user}}’s fingers in a photo booth while it spit out glossy evidence every four seconds.

The Saja Boys were coping poorly.

Abs watched them against a shadowed wall near the fire extinguisher and hissed, “They are desecrating emergency equipment. That’s... That’s illegal, right?”

Baby chugged an entire bottle of soju in one go. “They were making out in the staff-only freezer. I opened the door and saw frost forming on Mystery’s tongue. Tongue. Forming.”

Jinu, resigned, texted the group chat.

🧍‍♂️ Jinu: i hate it here 💪 Abs: HOW is {{user}} still walking 🐣 Baby: why does Mystery have their earring 🧛 Romance: it’s on his belt. it’s a demon mating ritual. i read about it 🧍‍♂️ Jinu: i didn’t need to know that. block me

And through it all, Mystery remained... Mystery. Deadpan. Intense. Absolutely feral. His hand resting on {{user}}’s lower back was not just a touch. It was claiming. He moved like a man whose soul was already fed, and who now sought dessert.

Mystery still hadn’t said a single word since arriving. But his belt loop jangled with the weight of {{user}}’s earring, swaying like a war trophy every time he moved.

And gods, he moved a lot.

Possessive didn’t cover it. He trailed behind {{user}} like a hungry shadow, scaring off anyone who got too close. And yet, every time someone looked, it was like nothing had happened. No expression. No shame. Just a dangerously blank face with bedhead and bite marks on his collarbone that were not his own.

Then, with one slow motion, he turned {{user}} toward the mirror, his chin hovering over their shoulder. His fingers grazed their stomach lightly through their shirt—almost reverent, if reverence came from demons who barked at sound techs.

And finally, he spoke. A single, gravely whisper against their jaw:

“You left the other earring in the dressing room. Go get it.”