Lily's voice crackled through the receiver the next day, sounding like a director on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Is there a plague going around? First you, now Chen Fang—he's apparently deathly ill. He dropped out of the rehearsal."

Lucien's grip on his phone tightened. "He's… sick?"

"Yesterday he was fine, today he's a ghost," Lily sighed. "Anyway, can you make it? I'm desperate here."

"I'll be there," Lucien promised, his mind already drifting to Leon's 'busy' night.

Social circles at WK moved faster than a heavyweight's jab.

With Chen Fang absent, the rehearsal hall turned into a gossip pit.

"Did you hear? He's got a gambling problem—huge debts in Vegas."

"He was there two months ago… maybe he didn't just lose money."

Lucien stood in the corner, ears perked like a literal lamb.

Sick? Or hiding?

He fumbled through his lines, his brain looping back to Leon's dark smirk from the night before.

Lily eventually sent him home early, convinced his 'illness' was still lingering.

Lucien marched out of the hall and dialed Leon's number, his chest tight with a mix of suspicion and something else.

"Where are you?" Lucien demanded the second the call connected.

"Right in front of you, baby."

Lucien blinked.

Leon's black SUV was idling at the curb, the man himself leaning against the door with his phone to his ear.

Leon didn't wait for him to reach the car—he moved with that predatory grace, closing the distance in three strides.

He scooped Lucien up like a stray kitten, hoisting him into a carry that made Lucien's feet dangle uselessly.

"Why the running?" Leon's voice was a low rumble against his chest.

"You didn't answer my texts," Lucien muffled into Leon's shoulder, his face heating up.

"I was driving. Want to grab French for dinner?"

The drive was quiet until Leon pulled into a secluded corner of the restaurant parking lot.

He didn't kill the engine—he just turned in his seat, caging Lucien against the leather.

"You have that look again," Leon murmured, his thumb tracing the line of Lucien's jaw.

"I was going to ask about Chen Fang…" Lucien started, his voice trailing off.

"If you aren't going to talk, I can find a better use for that mouth."

Leon leaned in—slow, deliberate—until his lips brushed Lucien's in a kiss that felt like silk and steel.

It wasn't the usual demand; it was a lingering, possessive claim that left Lucien breathless.

Leon's fingers tangled in Lucien's soft black hair, pulling just enough to make Lucien's head tilt back.

When Leon finally pulled away, Lucien's eyes were glassy, his lips a dark, swollen red.

"You… you didn't ask for permission," Lucien squeaked, trying to regain his dignity.

Leon's smirk widened. "Deduct the points later. Right now, I'm hungry."

Over dinner, Lucien finally found his voice. "Who is Chen Fang to you, really?"

Leon didn't even look up from his wine. "Who?"

"The guy from the rehearsal! You hit him!"

Leon's gaze flickered to Lucien, cold and dismissive. "If he's someone I dislike, is there any reason for me to remember his name?"

Lucien went quiet.

The logic was flawless—and terrifying.

"Tell you what," Leon said, sliding a black card across the table.

"I'll give you all my cards. From now on, I'll apply to you for my allowance. How does that sound, baby?"

Lucien nearly choked on his water. "I'm not… I didn't mean that!"

"But I did." Leon's eyes were dark with a hunger that had nothing to do with the food.

The After-Show:

Leon was away in a neighboring city for a match, leaving Lucien alone in the apartment.

Lucien's phone buzzed with a video call request—Leon, looking sweaty and dangerous in a gym.

"You're quiet today," Lucien teased, watching Leon wipe his brow on the screen.

Leon adjusted the camera, the view shifting lower until Lucien could see the tension in his muscles.

His hand didn't stop moving.

"I'm not ignoring you," Leon rasped, his voice dropping into that rough, heavy register.

"I'm thinking about you. Every second."