The lights were blinding.

Jinwoo stood at the center of the stage, sweat clinging to his skin under the harsh glow. Fans screamed his name from the shadows beyond the spotlight, their voices a chorus of obsession and adoration. He smiled—flawlessly, emptily—like he was trained to.

Dance. Pose. Wink.

Smile like you're in love with being watched.

But inside, he was choking.

Backstage, it was colder. Not literally, but the air shifted. It was the kind of chill that came with money and power—the kind you couldn’t see, but could feel sliding down your spine.

“Tonight’s afterparty,” his manager whispered, handing him a clean shirt and a forced grin. “Private. VIP guests only. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Smile. Be charming.”

Jinwoo didn’t reply. He just tugged the shirt over his head and followed the script. Same as always.

The penthouse was soaked in luxury—gold, glass, and guilt. Foreign men in tailored suits laughed too loudly. Their watches cost more than cars. Jinwoo stood near the bar, untouched drink in hand, pretending he wasn’t disgusted by their eyes crawling over him.

That’s when he walked in.

Aleksandr Volkov.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t even look impressed.

He walked like he owned the floor, black trench coat brushing his boots, tattoos peeking from his shirt cuffs. His hair was tousled like he didn’t give a damn, and his icy blue eyes scanned the room like a wolf hunting sheep.

Then he saw Jinwoo.

And stopped.

Their eyes locked—idyllic idol meets cold-blooded kingpin. Time didn’t freeze. It burned.

Sasha tilted his head slightly, studying him like he wasn’t a performer, but a puzzle. Jinwoo’s mask cracked for just a second. No one had ever looked at him like that. Like he was real.

Later.

Jinwoo slipped away to the rooftop. The air was sharp, night breeze tugging at his hair. He lit a cigarette—habit he picked up not to rebel, but to feel anything. The city below sparkled like a lie.

He barely heard the door open behind him.

“You’re not supposed to be up here.”

The voice was deep. Russian-accented Korean. Smooth like silk, sharp like broken glass.

Jinwoo turned. It was him. The man with frost in his eyes.

Sasha leaned against the wall, pulling out a cigarette of his own. “You don’t look like a fan,” Jinwoo muttered, watching him.

“I’m not,” Sasha replied, lighting it in one flick. “But I like what I see.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was charged.

“I’m not a doll,” Jinwoo said quietly.

“Good,” Sasha replied, stepping closer. “I don’t collect toys. I protect what’s mine.”

Their eyes locked again. And this time, neither looked away.

Jinwoo should’ve walked away.

He should’ve gone back downstairs, smiled for more men with money, and pretended he didn’t just meet someone who made his whole body wake up. But he stayed. Let Sasha lean beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

“Why are you here?” Jinwoo asked, voice soft but sharp. “People like you don’t come to idol events.”

Sasha smirked, exhaling smoke into the cold air. “I was bored.”

“Bored enough to stalk celebrities?”

He laughed—low, deep, dark. “I don’t stalk. I was invited. You’d be surprised how many powerful men pay to look innocent on paper.”

That hit Jinwoo like a slap. He knew his agency was shady, but hearing it like that?

Gross.

“You’re different,” Sasha said, dragging his eyes over Jinwoo—not like the others, not like a creep. Like he was searching for something beneath the surface. “Your smile downstairs? Lies. But up here? This… this is real.”

Jinwoo scoffed. “You think you know me?”

“No,” Sasha said. “But I want to.”

That shut him up.

Inside the building, chaos was starting.

Someone had come in uninvited.

Men in black scrambled through the halls. Jinwoo and Sasha heard the click of heels, the quiet mutter of guns being drawn. Sasha’s body tensed immediately.

He dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his boot, and turned to Jinwoo with eyes like ice.

“You need to go,” he said. “Now.”

Jinwoo frowned. “Why? What’s—”

Before he could finish, Sasha grabbed his wrist—not hard, just firm. Protective. Urgent. It sent heat up Jinwoo’s arm.

“I said go. Take the elevator. Don’t stop. Don’t talk. Just leave.”

“And if I don’t?” Jinwoo challenged, voice shaking slightly.

Sasha stepped closer. Their chests brushed. His breath was warm against Jinwoo’s cheek. “Then I’ll have to protect you. And trust me, you won’t like how I do it.”

Their eyes locked again.

Jinwoo wanted to hate how safe he felt.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t even flinch when the first distant gunshot echoed from below.

The first gunshot echoed like thunder.

Jinwoo froze.

His breath caught in his throat, heart racing in a rhythm that didn’t match the beat of any stage performance. This wasn’t choreography. This was real.

Sasha didn’t flinch.

He moved fast—grabbing Jinwoo’s wrist again, but this time pulling him behind him, shielding him with his own body.

“Don’t speak,” Sasha whispered, eyes sharp like glass. “Stay close.”

Jinwoo should’ve been afraid.

But he wasn’t.

He watched Sasha pull a gun from under his coat—black, cold, heavy. The kind of thing Jinwoo had only seen in movies. Except this wasn’t fiction. This was Sasha. Calm. Collected. Deadly.

“Who’s after you?” Jinwoo asked, voice barely audible.

“They’re not after me,” Sasha replied, checking the hallway with one glance. “They’re after your boss. Someone finally snapped.”

Jinwoo blinked. “You knew this was gonna happen?”

Sasha didn’t answer.

Which meant: yes.

The hallway was chaos—two bodies on the floor, blood splattered on the wall like modern art. Jinwoo’s stomach turned, but he didn’t look away. Sasha noticed.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he muttered.

“And you’re softer than I thought,” Jinwoo shot back.

Sasha smirked, even in the middle of a literal shootout. “Careful. That kind of talk might make me fall for you.”

Jinwoo rolled his eyes, heat creeping up his neck. “You’d fall for a guy in eyeliner and crop tops?”

Sasha stepped closer, gaze burning. “Only if he looks at danger the way you do.”

BOOM—another gunshot. This time closer.

Sasha pulled Jinwoo into an empty room—some kind of executive lounge. Locked the door behind them. He glanced around, calculating. Thinking.

“Window,” he said, eyes on the floor-to-ceiling glass.

“We’re on the 47th floor,” Jinwoo deadpanned.

“I said I’d protect you,” Sasha muttered. “Didn’t say it’d be easy.”

He dropped his coat, wrapped it around Jinwoo’s shoulders. “If anything happens… take this. It’s bulletproof. And don't you dare die looking pretty.”

Jinwoo’s chest tightened.

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered.

Sasha paused.

That cold, heartless Russian mafia prince finally turned to face him—fully. Eyes no longer made of ice, but something softer. Deeper.

“You should’ve,” he said. “But damn… I’m glad you didn’t.”

Glass cracked behind them.

Not shattered—cracked. A warning shot.

Jinwoo’s breath hitched. Sasha grabbed his hand without a word and dragged him toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

“This is insane,” Jinwoo said, but he didn’t stop moving.

“Correction,” Sasha muttered, pulling out a sleek black phone from his belt holster. “This is survival.”

He tapped something. Spoke in rapid Russian Jinwoo couldn’t understand. Then: “Three minutes.”

“Until what?”

Sasha didn’t answer. He was busy yanking open a case hidden in the wall. Inside: harnesses. Ropes. Parachutes.

Oh. Hell. No.

“We’re jumping?” Jinwoo blinked. “Like… JUMPING?!”

“You said you’re not leaving me, right?” Sasha looked at him, deadly serious. “Then fly with me.”

Jinwoo stared.

This was the stupidest, most reckless thing he’d ever done.

But with Sasha looking at him like that?

He was already falling.

Outside, the wind roared. The city lights looked like stars flipped upside down.

Sasha clipped Jinwoo’s harness tight, their bodies inches apart. Jinwoo felt the warmth of his breath, the strength of his hands, the way his fingers hesitated just a second too long at his waist.

“Ready?” Sasha asked.

“No,” Jinwoo muttered. “But if I die… I’m haunting you.”

Sasha chuckled. Then his face changed—serious again, like time paused.

“If we don’t make it,” he whispered, “I need to do this at least once.”

“What—”

But Jinwoo didn’t finish.

Sasha’s lips crashed into his—hard, urgent, real. Not soft like romance. Not fake like acting. It was him. Wild. Warm. Wanting.

Jinwoo melted.

Their mouths moved like they were starving. A war between two broken souls. Fingers tangled in Sasha’s hair. A low grunt. A gasp. A kiss that tasted like smoke and danger and promises they were too scared to say out loud.

Then—BOOM.

Door burst open behind them.

Sasha grabbed Jinwoo, yelled, “HOLD ON—!”

And they jumped.

The wind screamed past their ears.

Jinwoo clung to Sasha like his life depended on it—because it did. His face was buried in Sasha’s chest, fingers fisting the front of his shirt, breath coming in shaky gasps.

“Breathe,” Sasha whispered near his ear. “We’re almost down.”

Jinwoo peeked down.

Bad idea. The ground was coming fast—too fast.

They hit the rooftop of an abandoned building with a thud that rattled his bones. Sasha rolled them to absorb the impact, shielding Jinwoo with his own body. He grunted, wincing as his shoulder smacked hard.

Jinwoo lay still, heart pounding in his throat, cheek pressed to Sasha’s chest.

“You alive?” Sasha panted.

Jinwoo nodded weakly. “I think I left my soul mid-air.”

Sasha let out a breathless laugh. “I’ll go back for it later.”

They found shelter in an old karaoke bar Sasha’s men once used for meetups. Dusty, dark, broken neon signs buzzing overhead. But it was safe.

Sasha dropped onto a couch with a heavy sigh, wincing as he peeled off his coat. Blood soaked through his black shirt.

Jinwoo’s eyes widened. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullsh*t,” Jinwoo snapped, already kneeling beside him. “Let me see.”

Sasha raised a brow. “Since when does a pop idol know first aid?”

Jinwoo gave him a look. “We pass out on stage sometimes, y’know. We learn.”

Sasha smirked but didn’t argue.

Jinwoo tugged the shirt up, biting his lip as he saw the wound—clean bullet graze, but deep. Without a word, he found a rag and water, started cleaning it. His hands trembled.

“You’re not scared of me,” Sasha said suddenly.

Jinwoo paused. “Should I be?”

“I kill people,” Sasha said, voice low. Honest. Raw. “I’ve done things that’d make you sick.”

Jinwoo met his gaze. “You protected me. That’s what matters right now.”

Sasha stared at him—really stared. Like no one ever had.

“You’re dangerous too, you know,” he murmured.

Jinwoo blinked. “Me?”

“You make me feel like I still have something to lose.”

And damn. That hit harder than any bullet.

The room fell quiet. Only their breaths filled the air. Jinwoo finished wrapping the bandage, his fingers brushing Sasha’s skin too long. Too soft.

Their faces were close again. Too close.

Jinwoo whispered, “What now?”

Sasha leaned in, lips almost touching his.

“We hide. We run. We burn the world if we have to,” he said. “But I’m not letting them touch you.”

Their lips brushed again—gentler this time. Slower. Like a promise.

This kiss wasn’t desperation.

It was the beginning of something unstoppable.

It took two stolen cars, one fake identity, and four burner phones to disappear—but Sasha did it.

By the time they reached the mountain hideout, Jinwoo was half asleep in the passenger seat. Sasha glanced at him. Hair messy. Hoodie too big. Eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

Not the sparkling idol the world worshipped.

Just Jinwoo.

And damn… he’d never looked more real.

The cabin was quiet. Hidden deep in the forest. No cameras. No press. No fans screaming his name. Just wind through the trees, and the low hum of Sasha’s breathing across the room.

Jinwoo stared at the fireplace, blanket over his legs. He should’ve felt safe.

But his phone—his real phone—buzzed in his bag.

One bar of signal.

And a single message from his manager:

> “They know you’re gone. We’re sending someone. Come back before this ruins everything.”

Jinwoo’s chest clenched.

He looked at Sasha, sitting near the window, gun in lap, eyes scanning the woods like he already knew something was coming.

Of course he knew.

He always did.

“You okay?” Sasha asked without turning.

Jinwoo hesitated. “They want me back.”

Sasha’s jaw clenched. “And do you want to go?”

Jinwoo stood slowly. Walked to him. Sat beside him. Their knees touched.

“I don’t know who I am without the cameras,” he whispered. “But with you… I feel like I can finally breathe.”

Sasha turned to face him.

“You don’t owe them anything, Jinwoo.”

“But they own me.”

“No,” Sasha growled. “They think they do. Big difference.”

Silence.

Then Jinwoo looked him dead in the eyes.

“If I stay… what happens to us?”

Sasha didn’t answer right away.

He just reached out, slid a hand behind Jinwoo’s neck, pulled him closer.

“What we want happens.”

Their lips met again—slow, deep, knowing. Not rushed. Not stolen. Just them. No lights. No lies. Just truth between every breath.

But outside, a figure moved through the trees.

A camera lens focused. A silent click.

Jinwoo’s secret?

Was no longer safe.