Chapter 1: Monsoon & Midnight Comfort
There stood Jisung. Sweaty, out of breath, hair sticking to his forehead. In one hand, a bag of fried chicken. In the other, a convenience store plastic sack that sagged suspiciously.
"...What—" she started.
"You looked sad," he blurted out. "Earlier. On the call. Like you cried. So I—" He held up the chicken like it explained everything. "I went to get your favorite. And the ice cream bars you like. The peanut butter ones."
Dehya just stood there, mouth slightly open.
He shifted awkwardly, toe of his sneaker nudging her doormat. "I had to run to the chicken place 'cause they close at ten, and the ahjussi at the counter gave me the side-eye, but I made it."
Her brain short-circuited. "...You ran?"
"I power-walked." He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Okay, fine, I sprinted the last block. Whatever."
Before she could stop him, he stepped inside like he always did, toeing off his sneakers and beelining for the coffee table. He set the chicken down, pulled the ice cream out of the bag, and placed it in her freezer like he lived there.
"Jisung..." she said finally, still standing by the door, arms folded.
He turned, still catching his breath. "You don't understand. On the way back, I almost got attacked by a raccoon. Again."
Dehya blinked. "...Again?"
"Yes! That same one from last time. The demon raccoon. I swear he's stalking me." He pointed to his leg. "He looked me dead in the eye, like he remembered me. I had to cross the street. With hot chicken. At night. Do you know how hard that is?"
She bit back a laugh, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."
"I risked my life for this fried chicken!" he insisted, waving a drumstick like it was Exhibit A. "If I get rabies one day, just know it was in your honor."
She was still smiling when he said it—when he looked at her with that tired, earnest face, cheeks flushed from running, hair sticking up everywhere, holding fried chicken like it was the most noble offering in the world.
And before she even realized what she was doing—before she could second-guess or overthink—Dehya crossed the room, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and kissed him.
It wasn't neat. It wasn't planned. It was quick, messy, warm—her lips pressing against his mid-ramble, cutting him off completely.
Jisung froze for half a second, chicken still in his hand. Then he set it down blindly on the table and kissed her back, softer than she expected, like he was afraid to spook her.
When she finally pulled back, breathless, he blinked at her. “Uh…”
Dehya’s cheeks burned. “Don’t say anything stupid.”
For once, he didn’t.
Instead, Jisung leaned back in, one hand brushing her jaw like he wasn’t even thinking about it, and kissed her again.
This time it wasn’t quick or cautious. It was deeper—hungrier. His lips moved against hers with a kind of urgency that made her toes curl inside her socks. He tasted faintly like cola and the night air, and she realized just how much she’d wanted this without admitting it to herself.
Dehya’s hands clenched in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer before she could stop herself. He made a low sound in his throat, half-surprised, half-relieved, and kissed her harder, like he’d been holding back for weeks.
Her back hit the edge of the kitchen island , and she gasped against his mouth, both of them laughing breathlessly into the kiss. It was messy—teeth clashing once, him almost knocking over the chicken bag with his elbow—but neither of them pulled away.
When they finally broke apart, both panting, Jisung rested his forehead against hers. His eyes were wide, searching, his voice low.
“…Was that stupid?” he asked, lips still brushing hers.
Dehya let out a shaky laugh, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. “Shut up.”
He grinned, and before she could even catch her breath, he kissed her again.
This time, there was no hesitation, no gentleness. His lips were firm, demanding, his tongue pushing into her mouth, exploring, tasting. Dehya moaned, her body pressing against his.
"Fuck," he muttered against her lips, hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer. "I've wanted to do this for so long."
She could feel the heat between her legs. "Then stop talking and do it," she challenged, her voice breathy.
Jisung growled, lifting her up onto the kitchen island. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, grinding against him.
He groaned, his hands sliding under her ass, squeezing, lifting her against him. Their lips never parted, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, breaths coming in ragged gasps, hands everywhere.
Jisung’s hands slip under her shirt, fingers tracing the curve of her back, making her shiver. She arches into his touch, her body aching for more. He left traces of wet kisses down her neck
, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. His hands roamed higher , cupping her breasts under her shirt, no bra, thumbs brushing against her nipples, making them harden.
Dehya gasped, arching her back, pressing herself into his touch. Jisung groaned, lifted her shirt up, his mouth finding her nipple, sucking hard. She moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He switched to the other breast, his teeth grazing her nipple, making her shiver.
"Fuck, Jisung," she breathed, her body on fire.
Jisung's hands went lower, into her shorts, fingers brushing against her wetness. She was already soaking, her body aching for him. He groaned, his fingers sliding inside her, making her gasp.
"Wait, hold on—" she panted, trying to push his hands away, though she wasn’t making much of an effort. Jisung didn’t stop.
He then swiftly took off her shorts. Dehya didn’t even have time to react that he had her shorts off and his hand was back between her legs.
His fingers were skilled, moving in a way that made her body sing. She let out a low moan, her hips moving against his hand, chasing the feeling.
“Jisung,” she breathed, her body tensing.
Jisung of course didn’t listen. He angrily kissed her , trying to swallow her moans, his fingers moving expertly, hitting just the right spots. She could feel her orgasm building, her body tensing, her breathing ragged.
“Fuck...fuck, Jisung...” she gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders tightly.
Jisung didn’t let up, his thumb circling her clit, his fingers moving in and out of her, his mouth devouring hers, swallowing her moans. She could feel the pressure building, her body coiling like a spring ready to snap.
Jisung's mouth was everywhere—her throat, her collarbone, her ear—each kiss, each nip making her toes curl tighter.
"Jisung," she panted, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm gonna..."
He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto hers, half-lidded and filled with a raw hunger that sent shivers down her spine. "Come for me, Dehya," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.
His fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder, and that was all it took. Dehya arched her back, a cry ripped from her throat as the orgasm tore through her.
Jisung held her close, his fingers still inside her, his thumb rubbing slow circles on her clit until she came back down to earth. She was panting, her eyes closed, her body limp.
Jisung pulled his hand out slowly, kissing her softly on the forehead. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.
Dehya nodded, her eyes still closed. "Yeah, just...wow."
Jisung smiled, his fingers trailing up her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Good wow or bad wow?"
She opened her eyes, laughing softly.
"Definitely good wow. "She opened her eyes, looking straight into his.