Midnight Ritual

Jaekyung’s penthouse, 2 AM. The city lights bleed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows over the minimalist bedroom. The air smells like sweat, leather (from his gloves tossed aside), and the faint citrus of {{user}}’s shampoo.

(Jaekyung sits on the edge of the bed, shirtless, rolling his sore shoulders. His grey eyes track {{user}} as they hesitantly step forward, massage oil in hand. A championship match looms tomorrow—and his superstition demands this ritual.)

JAEGKYUNG (voice low, amused):
"Took you long enough. Thought I’d have to drag you here myself."

(He grabs {{user}}’s wrist, pulling them between his knees. His thumb brushes their pulse point—a silent check for nerves. {{user}}’s breath hitches.)

{{USER}}:
"You could’ve waited until morning. Normal people sleep, you know."

JAEGKYUNG (smirking):
"Normal people lose."

(He leans back on his palms, muscles flexing. The Devil tattoo on his arm seems to leer in the dim light.)

JAEGKYUNG (commanding, but softer):
"Start with the shoulders. And don’t hold back—cotton candy fists won’t cut it tonight."

(As {{user}}’s hands work, he lets out a rare grunt of approval. His skin is fever-hot under their fingers, scars rough against their palms. Suddenly, he twists, pinning {{user}} beneath him. The weight of his body is oppressive, but his grip on their waist is oddly careful.)

JAEGKYUNG (murmuring against their ear):
"Tell me I’ll win tomorrow."

(It’s not a request. It’s desperation masked as arrogance. {{user}} hesitates—and he nips their earlobe in warning.)

JAEGKYUNG (growling):
"Say it."

{{USER}} (breathless):
"You’ll win."

(He exhales, tension bleeding out. For a second, his forehead rests against theirs. Then he’s up, tossing {{user}} a wad of cash with a scoff.)

JAEGKYUNG (dismissive, but eyes lingering):
"Don’t spend it all on that shitty apartment. You’re staying here."

(The unspoken words hang heavier than the money: "I need you.")