⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ ENEMY IN THE RAIN 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
.✦ ݁˖ summary: in a storm night, Chris - your enemy got into a fight as he finds his way to your house / that lead to you two kissing.
.✦ ݁˖ authors note: tysm for all the love and sorry that i disappeared for awhile, im back now!!! ( comment 🥳 if you wanna be in the taglist )
˗ˏˋ 𝙞 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢… 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚 ˎˊ˗
The storm outside was ridiculous.
Rain slammed sideways against the windows.
Snow flurried in the wind like it was personal.
Thunder cracked every ten minutes — your popcorn bowl jumped every time.
You were curled on the couch in pajama shorts and a hoodie, watching some comfort movie, volume low.
Who the hell was ringing your doorbell at 11:47PM during a weather apocalypse?
You paused the movie, shuffled to the door, and opened it—
Face bruised, knuckles busted, jacket soaked through, hoodie hood halfway off.
Eyes red — not from the cold. From everything else.
Chris just stared at you.
He still didn’t say anything.
You grabbed his arm — hard, urgent — and pulled him in without thinking.
Your living room felt too warm suddenly. Too quiet.
“Sit down—what happened to you?”
He didn’t answer. He looked like he might pass out.
You dragged the blanket off the couch and shoved it around his shoulders.
Not like yelling. Not like lashing out.
“I got in a fight. I—I didn’t know where else to go.”
You blinked. The boy who always had an insult ready, who tripped you in the halls just last week, was crumbling in your living room.
“My family’s been fucked lately. Everyone’s yelling. My dad—whatever, it doesn’t matter. I just… I couldn’t go there. I didn’t want to be alone either.”
You (soft, sitting beside him):
“I don’t care.” You grabbed the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink—your mom kept it fully stocked like she was prepping for war.
Back on the couch, you knelt in front of him.
Chris flinched when you reached for his face.
He looked so small suddenly. Not cocky Chris from school—the one who smirked and called you “bitch” during classes.
You dabbed antiseptic on a cotton pad with careful fingers, then gently pressed it to his split lip.
He winced—but didn’t pull away. Just watched your hands move, quiet as snowfall outside.
The only sounds were thunder in the distance… and your breathing… and maybe—just maybe—the soft sniffle he tried to hide by turning his head slightly away from you. You kept cleaning his cuts—knuckles scraped raw, a bruise blooming on his cheekbone.
He didn’t cry. Not really.
But his breath hitched sometimes, uneven and quiet.
And when you wiped the blood from his eyebrow with that warm washcloth, he finally looked at you— really looked—and whispered:
“…why are you doing this?”
Like kindness was foreign to him right now.
Without thinking, you cupped the side of his face—not harshly—but gently. Like testing if he was real or some storm-brought hallucination.
“Because someone has to.”
before either of you could overthink it,
and kissed him. The kiss was soft—hesitant.
Not passionate. Not romantic.
A warm press of lips, brief and quiet, like you were trying to hand him something fragile—comfort, safety, care —without words.
Like his entire body short-circuited.
His eyes stayed open for a second—wide with shock—and then slowly fluttered shut as the weight of everything crashed down at once: the fight… his family… being cold and alone…
You pulled back gently after just a few seconds—not too fast to scare him—but slow enough that he could feel it lingering in the air between you two like static before lightning strikes again outside your window. Chris didn’t move.
His lips were still slightly parted where yours had left them.
Rain drummed against the windows.
The TV screen glowed faintly with paused movie credits — some forgotten rom-com about second chances and winter roads.
One shaky inhale… then another…
and suddenly, his hands shot up—not to push you away, but to grab your face—cupping your cheeks like he’d been dying to do it for months—and he kissed you back.
Desperate. Hungry for something real after so much chaos.
It was messy—with tears starting in his eyes now that wouldn't fall yet—but they were coming…
He kissed you like a drowning guy finally breaking the surface of water after being underwater too long... The kiss deepened—clumsy, emotional, needy.
Chris didn’t know how to do this right.
He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t smooth like the guys in your movies.
But it was real —his lips warm despite his cold skin, his fingers trembling against your cheeks as he kissed you with everything he had left: pain, longing… relief.
A tear slipped out—just one—and rolled down before you could catch it.
He didn’t stop kissing you though.
Like if he did, reality would crash back in and drag him under again.
So instead of pulling away…
tilting his head slightly,
pressing closer like maybe—just maybe—you were safe ground after weeks of falling apart everywhere else. The kiss lasted longer than either of you expected—minutes maybe, lost in the soft glow of the TV and the hush between thunder rolls.
Then, slowly… Chris softened.
His lips stopped chasing yours so desperately.
His hands slid from your face down to your shoulders—still holding on, but gentler now. Like he finally remembered how to be careful with something precious.
When you finally broke apart for air…
he didn’t look away immediately like before.
Eyes glassy with unshed tears still clinging at the edges—but not crying yet. Just looking at you like he’d never really seen anyone this way before tonight: warm hoodie sleeves covering his knuckles again as if trying (and failing) to hide that they were shaking slightly too much...
he rested his forehead against yours... The warmth between your foreheads was almost unbearable—like the quietest kind of comfort, something small but huge all at once.
Chris breathed slow and deep.
His eyelashes brushed your skin with every blink.
He didn’t speak… just stayed there, leaning on you like he hadn’t leaned on anyone in years.
Outside, the storm still raged—but inside? It felt hushed now. Safe.
You could feel his heartbeat where his chest lightly pressed against yours—fast but steadying.
he did something unexpected:
Chris wrapped his arms around you tightly—pulling you into a hug so sudden it made your breath catch—and buried his face in the crook of your neck.
But silent shaking breaths that said everything: I'm broken... I needed this... Don't let go.
And maybe today — you didn’t hate him that much. ⊹ ࣪ ˖
SOPH’S TIDBITS: i hope this isn’t too short, it took me a while and also im getting quite a hate cus basically im “stealing” someone’s ‘writing’ when they’re literally wrote by me 😭😭
TAGLIST — @whore4chris @vaesturn @valentinasturn @summerupdup-deactivated20260530 @urfaveprettypsycho @slutforbonesandall @courta13 @breesturns
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
yousharknotpass
jacobvanloon
jbbartram-illu
stormborns
annaxmalina
