Chapter Text
The rain clung to her like a second skin.
Zoey yanked her hood tighter, only for a gust of wind to slap the fabric off again. Her hair was already drenched, little curls sticking to her cheeks and forehead, eyeliner smudging just enough to be a look. She sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down her face.
“This is dumb,” she muttered to herself, because talking to herself was her favorite coping mechanism. “This is the dumbest patrol ever. I should be in bed. Or on a stage. Or in a K-drama kiss scene with someone tall and hot and fictional.”
She adjusted the strap of her dagger holster across her back, pausing under the soft pink glow of a convenience store sign. Everything smelled like wet concrete and street ramen, and she was soaked to her socks. Solo patrols were usually kind of fun. Kind of thrilling.
But tonight?
Just soggy. And annoying. And cold.
A low-level demon had skittered out of a sewer grate two blocks back. She’d taken it out in ten seconds flat—no sweat. But there was something else. That off feeling. That shimmer-down-your-spine kind of off.
She felt it now. Like pressure behind her ears.
Zoey turned. Slowly.
Rain. Steam. No one.
But her stomach flipped. That wasn’t nothing.
“…If I turn around and you’re doing that ‘standing five feet behind me breathing heavily’ thing again, I swear,” she grumbled, spinning—
—and there he was.
Leaning against the alley wall like some silent, cursed Calvin Klein model. Head tilted. Bangs dripping into his eyes. Black hanbok clinging to him like it was painted on.
Mystery.
Zoey nearly screamed. “Bro.”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared.
Hard.
Rain slid down his cheeks. His shirt clung to his chest. The markings on his skin shimmered violet beneath his collarbone.
Zoey groaned. “Are you KIDDING me right now?”
Still nothing. Just that intense, unreadable stare that made her insides do a full gymnastics routine.
“You following me again?” she called, stepping closer. “Real original. Stalker arc. Didn’t see that one coming.”
He didn’t respond. But she saw it—the slow blink. The almost-step forward.
Zoey pointed a finger at him, half-laughing, half-shaking. “No. No, sir. You’re not about to do the whole ‘brooding silent shadow man’ routine again. I am—so done—”
He moved.
One second he was across the alley.
The next?
He was right in front of her.
Zoey’s breath caught. Her words stuttered. “Wh—you can’t—dude.”
Mystery didn’t touch her.
He just looked.
At her face. Her mouth. Her soaked-through shirt.
Zoey crossed her arms, chest heaving for no reason other than the fact that he was standing close and her body was spiraling into full traitor mode.
“I’m gonna need you to use your words, buddy,” she mumbled.
Nothing.
He just looked at her like she was the only thing left in the world.
Zoey shoved his chest. “Stop looking at me like that.”
He didn’t budge.
“Like—ugh—you’re such a weirdo! What even ARE you?! You’re like a demon puppy from hell who doesn’t understand social cues—”
He stepped closer.
Zoey stumbled back until her spine hit the wall. A startled gasp escaped her mouth.
And Mystery?
He just stood there.
Soaked.
Silent.
Unmoving.
But his hand hovered at her hip now. Just hovering. Not touching.
Zoey looked down at it.
Her breath hitched.
And then she said the stupidest thing she could’ve possibly said.
“…Are you gonna kiss me or something?”
Silence.
Then his hand moved.
Palm flat on her hip. Steady. Warm despite the rain.
Zoey blinked fast. “Oh my god. You are.”
And then he was kissing her.
⸻
It was not sweet.
It was not gentle.
It was everything.
Mystery’s mouth crashed into hers like he’d been holding back for centuries. His hands flattened to her waist, dragging her against his chest with a low grunt. And Zoey—god help her—melted. Fully, embarrassingly, turned to mush.
She whimpered into his mouth, one hand fisting in the soaked collar of his hanbok, the other grabbing onto the back of his neck like she needed leverage to stay upright.
Because holy hell.
The boy could kiss.
She bit his bottom lip and felt him shudder.
His hands slid down, palms mapping the backs of her thighs, gripping them so tight she gasped. Then he lifted—effortlessly—and she was off the ground, legs wrapping around his waist like they wanted this more than she did.
Zoey broke the kiss to gasp, voice ragged. “Oh my god—what the fuck—”
He licked a stripe up her throat.
She choked on air. “You don’t even talk and you’re still this slutty—”
He bit her collarbone gently.
Zoey’s head fell back against the brick wall.
“I’m gonna throw up.”
He kissed her again.
Harder this time.
Tongue sliding past her lips like he owned her mouth. His grip on her thighs tightened, and Zoey ground her hips forward without meaning to.
He groaned into the kiss.
It was soft.
Desperate.
She felt it everywhere.
Her fingers trembled against his chest.
“Mystery,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes. Glowing faintly. Just staring.
Zoey blinked down at him, breathless and soaked and absolutely fucked-up over the fact that she didn’t hate this.
In fact?
She might’ve been addicted.
Her voice cracked. “We can’t do this.”
His hand slid to the base of her spine, holding her just a little tighter.
“We can’t,” she repeated, trying not to moan as his mouth grazed her jaw.
“We’re not even supposed to like each other.”
He nuzzled into her throat.
Her eyes fluttered. Her legs tightened around his waist.
“…God, you smell so good.”
He pulled back slightly. Met her gaze. Silent.
His lip was bitten red.
Her lipstick was gone.
Zoey stared at him.
Then muttered, “Don’t look at me like that.”
Still nothing.
She thumped her forehead against his. “Ugh. I hate this. I hate you.”
He rested his hands on her hips, steady and warm and grounding.
“I hate that I liked that.”
She slowly slid off of him. Her legs nearly gave out.
He steadied her, holding her wrists now, softly. Like she was made of something ancient.
She didn’t pull away.
She couldn’t.
Instead, she whispered: “Don’t follow me again.”
He blinked.
Paused.
Then vanished—teleporting in a quiet flicker of shadow and rain.
Zoey stood there. Chest heaving. Lips swollen.
She touched her neck where his mouth had been.
“…Shit.”