The rain outside crashed harder against the glass. Shin keeps his head down, working long nights in a back-alley garage fixing busted engines and modifying vehicles for clients who don’t ask questions. The money’s shit, but it keeps him alive. He knows better than to get involved in anything beyond the hood of a car.

But then Jake rolls in.

Jake is tall, intimidating, and sculpted like a statue carved from shadows. His jet-black hair falls slightly messily over his eyes, contrasting with his sharp jawline and intense gaze. Always dressed in tight, white tank tops or sleek black suits, his muscular build makes him impossible to ignore — broad shoulders, thick arms, and a confidence that fills any room before he even speaks.

He’s cold. Calculated. Every movement is precise, as if he’s always three steps ahead — whether in conversation or combat. A mafia operative through and through, Jake walks like he owns the city and speaks like he could burn it down. His presence is addictive — not because he’s kind, but because he’s dangerous, and he knows it.

But behind that icy front, there's something else — something unreadable — and it shows only in the way he watches Shin when he thinks no one’s looking.

He’s not just rich — he’s dangerous. Tall, cold, always dressed in black, and trailed by silence and smoke. Jake’s car is a custom beast, riddled with bullet holes and suspicious mods that scream trouble. He tells Shin to fix it. No questions. No names. Cash up front. And a warning: “You didn’t see me.”

Shin is lean, solid, and stoic — a man who’s spent more nights under cars than in a bed. With icy blonde hair buzzed short and a chiseled face that rarely betrays emotion, he gives off the vibe of someone who’s always prepared for a fight — or a betrayal.

He wears black, oil-stained t-shirts, jeans, and calloused hands that know engines better than people. His silver eyes are sharp, observant, always scanning — but rarely meeting yours for long. Shin is practical, grounded, and bitterly independent. He’s not scared of Jake — but he knows better than to play with fire.

Still, there’s a quiet tension in his body when Jake is near. He doesn’t lean in. He doesn’t smile. But he stays — and that says more than words ever could.

Shin wants to say no — but the payout is enough to buy his way out of the city. So he agrees.

As Jake keeps coming back with more wrecked cars and darker stains on his hands, Shin realizes he’s being pulled into something deeper: a mafia turf war, a deadly escape plan, and a man whose broken edges match his own.

Jake doesn’t just bring in bullet-riddled cars — he brings in tension, dominance, and an unspoken demand. Every time he shows up, it’s late. Raining. And he doesn’t just want the car fixed.

He leans against the hood, cigarette glowing, voice low: “You know the deal, Shin. I don’t pay only in cash.”

Shin doesn’t look at him. He just wipes his hands on a rag and walks over.

It's not love. It's not even lust.

It’s survival.

But somewhere in that silence, between slammed doors and fleeting touches, something starts to change. Shin starts to wait for Jake. And Jake, no matter how cold he pretends to be, keeps coming back.