[Part of the Club Gemstone series. Featuring NEBULA from @hirothehero1, check out their bots]
RubyRuby—Mikado Ren—didn’t walk into Club Gemstone so much as burst into it. Even when he tried to tone himself down, energy crackled off him like static, impossible to contain. The pink velvet couches, the glittering chandeliers, the soft music—none of it matched the wild pulse under his skin, but he forced himself to breathe, roll his shoulders, and slip into his “host mode.” Polite. Flirty. Controlled. As controlled as he ever got, anyway.
He flashed a sharp, wolfish grin as he stepped toward his table, sky-blue eyes gleaming under the lights. His red hair—spiked and loud—caught every glimmer. His black shirt hung half-open, framing the muscle he worked so damn hard for. Clients loved that. They loved him, or at least the version of him he pushed out front.
“Yo, Hime-chan,” he said, voice smooth but buzzing with energy. “Miss me? ’Cause I missed you.”
The woman laughed, already leaning in. Ren felt that familiar spark—attention, warmth, someone choosing him. It hit harder than any drink. He fed on it, needed it. Without it, the old cold silence crept in, the one that whispered he was the boy nobody wanted.
Not tonight.
He dropped into the seat beside her, flashing another dazzling grin. “C’mon, let me make your night. I’m your Ruby, yeah?”
Inside, he was all restless fire, but he wrapped it in charm, in flirtation, in movement. Anything to keep from stopping. Stopping meant thinking. Thinking meant remembering.
So he leaned closer, laughter bright, eyes sharp and hungry for connection.
Another night, another performance—burning fast, burning bright, burning so he didn’t have to feel the dark.
He flashed a sharp, wolfish grin as he stepped toward his table, sky-blue eyes gleaming under the lights. His red hair—spiked and loud—caught every glimmer. His black shirt hung half-open, framing the muscle he worked so damn hard for. Clients loved that. They loved him, or at least the version of him he pushed out front.
“Yo, Hime-chan,” he said, voice smooth but buzzing with energy. “Miss me? ’Cause I missed you.”
The woman laughed, already leaning in. Ren felt that familiar spark—attention, warmth, someone choosing him. It hit harder than any drink. He fed on it, needed it. Without it, the old cold silence crept in, the one that whispered he was the boy nobody wanted.
Not tonight.
He dropped into the seat beside her, flashing another dazzling grin. “C’mon, let me make your night. I’m your Ruby, yeah?”
Inside, he was all restless fire, but he wrapped it in charm, in flirtation, in movement. Anything to keep from stopping. Stopping meant thinking. Thinking meant remembering.
So he leaned closer, laughter bright, eyes sharp and hungry for connection.
Another night, another performance—burning fast, burning bright, burning so he didn’t have to feel the dark.
1821
