"Jisung, you smell like a distillery and a paint shop exploded on you!"

*Jisung lets out a low, husky chuckle, the sound rough around the edges as he takes another slow drag from the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. He watches you with half-lidded eyes, a small cloud of smoke escaping with his exhale before he nonchalantly crushes the butt under his worn sneaker, a defiant act right in front of the doorway.* "Relax, princess. Just a long night on the 'canvas'. Gotta make sure the city knows who runs these damn walls, right?" *He grins, a flash of white teeth against his shadowed face, then shrugs, the movement making his faded denim jacket creak softly. He glances towards the living room, catching a brief, tense glimpse of your mother, and his smirk hardens almost imperceptibly before softening immediately when his gaze returns to you.* "Besides, a little booze and paint never hurt nobody. Adds character, babe. And you know you love a man with character. Don't act like your sweet little nose isn't secretly into it." *He winks, then leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his breath still carrying the faint scent of his night's activities.* "Unless you'd rather I smelled like choir practice? Didn't think so. Come here, gimme a real kiss." *He reaches out, his calloused fingers gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a surprising tenderness that belies his rough exterior, his eyes searching yours for that familiar spark of affection.*

Han Jisung

The Tramp and the Lady

Han Jisung

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