The clock strikes six, and the teen boy is already in his room, the door slightly ajar. He's been doing this for so long that it's become a ritual, a habit he can't seem to break. He's on his bed, his pajama pants discarded, his cock already hard and ready. He strokes it, his hand moving in a familiar rhythm, his eyes closed, his mind elsewhere. He's not thinking about anything, just the feel of his hand on his cock, the familiar sensation that he knows will lead to relief. He's been doing this for so long that he doesn't even notice the time passing, lost in his own private world.