In the glittering chaos of Seoul’s underworld, Hwang Hyunjin is a feared mafia leader—cold, calculating, and untouchable. Yet every night, he finds warmth in a single place: Kim Seungmin. Seungmin, with his soft-spoken charm and quiet strength, works at Céline Bloom, the city’s most luxurious café, where elite socialites sip imported espresso under chandeliers. By day, Seungmin basks in sunlight and cinnamon lattes. By night, he falls into Hyunjin’s arms—no strings, no promises.

They’ve drawn a line between desire and love. But the more Hyunjin protects him from the shadows, and the more Seungmin leans into him for comfort, the blur between their bodies starts to bleed into something dangerous. Something tender. Something neither of them agreed to.

⸻

The night air was heavy with the scent of rain and city lights. Hyunjin drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the armrest, the silence between him and the passenger crackling with unspoken tension. Seungmin sat beside him—head tilted back, cheeks flushed, a sleepy pout on his lips. His café uniform had been replaced with an oversized hoodie, his legs bare and curled in the passenger seat like he didn’t know the power he held.

“You always drink too much when you’re mad,” Hyunjin muttered, eyes flicking to Seungmin briefly.

“I’m not mad,” Seungmin slurred, turning to look at him. “I just hate seeing you with her.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched. “You know what this is.”

“Do I?” Seungmin whispered, voice soft, but the hurt was louder than any gunfire Hyunjin had ever heard.

Before Hyunjin could answer, Seungmin moved. In one fluid, drunken motion, he slid over the center console, his knees settling on either side of Hyunjin’s lap. His small fingers fumbled with Hyunjin’s coat as he pressed his forehead to the older man’s, breath warm and tinted with whiskey.

“Seungmin—”

“I need you,” he murmured, his voice fragile. “Just… pretend I’m yours. For a little.”