Chapter Text
Kinn’s day started wrong.
He knew it the second Chan walked into his office without knocking.
“Change of plans,” Chan said, holding a tablet and that neutral, unreadable expression he wore like a uniform. “Your morning meeting with Mr. Anurak is cancelled.”
Kinn looked up from the reports he hadn’t slept enough to read. “Cancelled?”
“Postponed,” Chan corrected. “His flight was delayed. Your father wants you to handle a different matter instead.”
Of course he does, Kinn thought.
He didn’t sigh, didn’t roll his eyes. Head of the family in training meant endless changes, endless demands, endless “different matters?” He just leaned back in his leather chair and folded his arms.
“What matter?”
Chan slid the tablet across the desk. “You’re going to the warehouse by the river. The supplier from Singapore is there. Your father wants you to supervise the intake yourself.”
“Doesn’t he trust anyone else?” Kinn asked, more to the room than to Chan.
Chan gave the slightest hint of a smile. “He trusts you.”
That answer should have felt like something. Instead, it sat heavy on his shoulders.
“Fine.” Kinn closed the file, straightened his cuffs, and stood. “Let’s get it over with.”
Chan nodded. “Ton is waiting downstairs with the car.”
Kinn grabbed his phone, his watch, his calm. He left the office with the smooth, practiced stride he’d learned growing up: never in a hurry, never unsure, never rattled.
The car was at the curb, glossy black, windows tinted, an extension of his status.
On their way to the warehouse “We might have a problem Khun Kinn” Ton said suddenly. His voice sounded shaky.
Kinn’s eyes narrowed.
“What,?” Kinn asked, voice mild but edged.
Tay swallowed. “There’s a… small issue with the engine.”
“Small,” Kinn repeated. Always a bad sign.
“ The dashboard lit up. I just contacted the mechanic. He’s on his way.”
Kinn stared at him for a long moment. “You didn’t check the car before we left?”
“I did, sir, just—”
“Clearly not well enough.” The annoyance slid into his tone now, low and sharp. “That’s your job, Ton. Before we leave, not after we are halfway there.”
Ton dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Kinn pinched the bridge of his nose. The sun was already hot, through the glass. He could feel impatience crawling under his skin. He had reports waiting, a shipment to oversee, a father expecting an update.
Now, he was standing on the sidewalk next to a useless car.
“How long?” Kinn asked.
“Maybe twenty minutes? Thirty?” Ton said weakly. “The mechanic said he’s close.”
Kinn glanced up and down the street. It was a busy road near the business district, not far from a university. Students and office workers passed by in waves, arms full of laptops and notebooks and iced drinks.
His jaw flexed. He could stand here and simmer. Or—
He spotted a small café at the corner. Glass windows, soft lighting, people drifting in and out with paper cups.
He exhaled.
“I’ll be in there,” Kinn said, nodding toward the café. “Call me when the car is actually ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Tay said quickly. “I really am sorry—”
“Just fix it,” Kinn cut him off, then began walking.
He didn’t look back.
The café bell chimed as he stepped inside.
Cool air washed over him, scented with coffee, sugar, and something warm and buttery. It was smaller than the chain places he was used to—wooden tables, potted plants, a chalkboard menu with slightly messy handwriting.
There was a line.
Of course there’s a line, Kinn thought. Perfect.
He joined it with a resigned breath, sliding his phone from his pocket. A few unread messages from his father, a reminder about tomorrow’s meeting, a report waiting to be reviewed. The usual.
He skimmed them, half-present, letting the background noise of the café blend into a blur—milk steaming, grinders whirring, low chatter.
“Salted caramel latte,” a voice said, clear and lazy, “extra caramel, extra hot. And one Americano.”
Kinn’s head turned before he realized he was moving.
The voice belonged to the boy in front of him.
For a second—just one second—Kinn forgot the car, the warehouse, the family business. Forgot everything.
He stared.
The boy was tall and all lines and contrasts. Great posture, long legs, jeans hugging strong thighs and—
Fuck that is a great ass, Kinn’s mind supplied unhelpfully.
His waist was narrow, impossibly so, tapering in beneath a slightly oversized white shirt that was half-tucked, half-untucked, half of the buttons open to reveal golden skin.
His neck was long and smooth. His jaw was sharp, defined, with a faint shadow of stubble like he’d shaved yesterday and not bothered since. His lips—
His lips were a problem.
Full, pouty, softened into a natural curve even when he wasn’t smiling. Fuck he could just imagine how it would feel to kiss him.
Then he turned slightly, and Kinn saw his eyes.
Warm, deep brown, with tiny flecks that caught the light. The kind of eyes that would get a man in trouble if he stared too long.
Stared?
Fuck
he was staring.
He realized he was staring at the exact moment the boy added, almost offhandedly, “And one croissant.”
And before Kinn’s self-control could catch up to his mouth, he exhaled, almost under his breath:
“Beautiful.”
It was barely a whisper. Just a thought that slipped out, too honest, too soft.
But the boy heard him.
He turned around fully this time, one eyebrow arching, eyes locking onto Kinn’s like a direct hit.
“Excuse me?” the boy said.
Shit.
Kinn felt heat creep up the back of his neck—a sensation he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. “I—”
He had two options: admit he’d just called a stranger beautiful. Or—
“The croissants,” Kinn blurted. “I meant. They look… beautiful.”
Fantastic. Very smooth. He could run a room full of hardened men without blinking, but one attractive stranger and suddenly he was an idiot.
The corner of the boy’s mouth tilted up, clearly amused. He glanced back at the display case, then at Kinn again.
“Right,” he said slowly, like he didn’t quite believe him. “I guess they do.” His gaze flicked down Kinn’s suit, then back up. “You want one?”
Kinn cleared his throat. “Uh… sure.”
The boy turned back to the barista, unfazed. “Make that two croissants, then. And… what are you drinking?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Double espresso,” Kinn said, grateful he at least knew that answer.
“Okay,” the boy told the barista. “Add one double espresso.”
The barista nodded. “Got it, Porsche. Oh—” He checked something on the register, then grimaced a little. “Sorry, we’re actually out of croissants. There’s only one left.”
The boy—Porsche—didn’t seem bothered. He glanced at the case and shrugged. “It’s fine. We’ll share.”
He said it easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to share food with a stranger in a suit who just accidentally called him beautiful.
He looked back at Kinn and smiled. This time, it reached his eyes.
Kinn felt it like a small impact to the chest.
He reached for his wallet out of reflex. “I’ve got it,” he said, pulling out his card.
But Porsche shook his head, already sliding a folded bill across the counter. “Don’t worry about it. I’m the one who invited you to share my croissant, remember?” He flashed a quick grin at the barista.
The barista took the cash without argument. “Coming right up.”
Kinn stared at Porsche, taken off-guard. He wasn’t used to people refusing his money. Not like this. Not with such easy, unaffected certainty.
“You didn’t have to pay for my coffee,” Kinn said.
“I know,” Porsche said simply, turning away from the counter. “Come on. Let’s sit by the window. You look like you need it.”
Kinn almost laughed. “I look like I need it?”
“You just flirted with a pastry,” Porsche pointed out. “I’d say you definitely need some air”
He walked toward the window seats without waiting to see if Kinn would follow.
Kinn did.
Of course he did.
The table by the window was small and a little wobbly, with sunlight spilling across it in wide stripes. A slight breeze from the open crack. Outside, the street buzzed with cars, buses, and students. Inside, the world felt quieter.
As Porsche reached the table, Kinn stepped in first and pulled out the chair closest to the window and offered it.
Porsche paused.
He looked down at the chair. Then up at Kinn. The look on his face was a mix of surprise and faint suspicion, like no one had ever done that for him before.
“You’re definitely not from around here,” Porsche said slowly as he sat down.
Kinn took the chair opposite. “What gave it away?”
Porsche tilted his head, studying him openly now. “The suit. The watch. The ‘I’ll buy the whole café if I have to’ energy. Oh, and the chair thing.” His lips twitched. “Guys here barely hold the door open, let alone pull out chairs.”
Kinn let out a short breath somewhere between a huff and a laugh. “I’m from here,” he said. “Born and raised.”
“Sure,” Porsche said, unconvinced. “But you don’t live in this neighborhood.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Before Kinn could answer, the barista appeared with their drinks and the single croissant on a small plate.
“One salted caramel latte, extra caramel, extra hot,” he said, setting it in front of Porsche. “One Americano.” He put that near Porsche’s hand too. Then the espresso in front of Kinn. “And your croissant. Sorry again.”
“All good,” Porsche said. “Thanks.”
The barista left them with a polite nod.
For a second, there was silence.
Then Porsche picked up the croissant, tore it cleanly in half, and slid one piece onto a napkin in front of Kinn like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“There you go, Mr. Beautiful Croissant,” he said lightly.
Kinn choked on absolutely nothing.
“You are definitely not going to let that go,” he managed.
Porsche leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. The movement pulled his shirt a little looser, revealing more of that infuriating golden skin. “You started it.”
“I didn’t—” Kinn began, then gave up.
Porsche looked at him eyes amused as he lifted his latte. “So. If you’re from here but not from here, what are you doing in my neighborhood?”
“Your neighborhood?” Kinn echoed, wrapping his hand around the tiny espresso cup. It was warm against his palm, grounding.
“Yeah,” Porsche said, taking a careful sip. “I live nearby. Work nearby. Spend more time on this street than in my own bed, honestly.”
There was something wry in the way he said it. Something tired that didn’t match his bright expression.
“My car broke down,” Kinn said. “I’m on my way to… work.”
He nearly said “the warehouse,” but caught himself. It wasn’t technically a lie. Just heavily simplified.
“Oh,” Porsche said. “Rough. You gonna be late?”
“Probably,” Kinn admitted. “But they’ll survive.” He lifted the espresso and took a sip. It was strong, sharp, bitter. Familiar.
Porsche watched him over the rim of his cup for a moment, eyes curious. “You don’t sound too worried about it.”
Kinn shrugged one shoulder. “They expect me to fix problems. Sometimes I let them wait.”
Porsche huffed a little laugh. “Must be nice.”
“What do you do?” Kinn asked. “Besides sharing beautiful croissants with strangers ?”
Porsche smiled, but there was something more in his eyes now. “I work at a restaurant,” he said. “Waiter”
“You’re a student too?” Kinn guessed, nodding toward the backpack leaning against Porsche’s chair.
“Second year,” Porsche said. “Well. Second year… paused.”
“Paused?” Kinn echoed.
Porsche tore a small piece of croissant and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. He swallowed, took a breath, and shrugged.
“I just dropped out this semester,” he said lightly, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“Why?”
“Working more shifts instead. Gotta pay for my brother’s school stuff. He’s a genius with music, but instruments and lessons aren’t cheap.”
There was pride in his voice when he mentioned his brother. Pride and something softer, more fragile.
“Your brother lives with you?” Kinn asked.
“Yeah. Just us.” Porsche took another sip of his latte, then glanced at him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to dump my life story on a guy who can’t pronounce ‘croissant’ without blushing.”
“I did not blush,” Kinn said automatically.
Porsche’s grin widened. “Right.”
Kinn took another sip of coffee to hide the way his lips wanted to curve.
“I… work in the family business,” he said after a moment.
Porsche raised an eyebrow, that teasing interest back again. “Family business, huh? That sounds either very boring or very illegal.”
Kinn gave a small, noncommittal smile. “Depends on who you ask.”
Porsche laughed. “What’s it like?”
Kinn set his cup down, considering. “it’s heavy,” he said finally. “Expected. Like a job I signed up for when I was born instead of when I was ready.”
Porsche went quiet.
He looked at Kinn in a way he wasn’t used to being looked at—not like a boss, not like a threat, not like a resource.
Just… like a person.
“That sounds exhausting,” Porsche said simply.
Kinn almost laughed. “You’re not wrong.”
They fell into a comfortable quiet then. People moved around them, the café filling and emptying in small waves. Outside, the traffic shifted. Inside, sunlight crept slowly across the table, warming their hands.
Porsche broke their shared croissant into smaller bits, absent-mindedly eating while his gaze drifted toward the window. Kinn watched him without meaning to. The way his throat moved when he swallowed. The way he cradled his cup, long fingers wrapped around it like it was precious. The way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinked.
Every little detail tugged at something in Kinn he didn’t usually acknowledge.
“So…” Porsche said, dragging his attention back. “Do you always hit on people in coffee lines, or am I just special?”
Kinn blinked. “I didn’t hit on you.”
“You called my pastry beautiful,” Porsche said. “From where I’m sitting, that feels like flirting.”
Kinn huffed. “Exactly the croissant was beautiful, not you. So, technically I was flirting with the pastry.”
“Sure you were,” Porsche said knowingly.
“So you don’t think?” Porsche asked.
Kinn looked up “Think what?”
“That I’m beautiful”
“I.. I .. I didn’t mean .. Ofchorse I think your”
Porsche Giggled.
The sound was soft and surprised, like he hadn’t meant to let it out.
“I’m just teasing” Porsche said.
Kinn found himself smiling before he even realized he was doing it.
Porsche’s gaze caught the change in his expression and lingered.
“You should do that more,” Porsche said.
“Do what?” Kinn asked.
“Smile,” Porsche said, straightforward. “You look like one of those guys who were born frowning.”
Kinn tilted his head. “That obvious?”
“Mmm.” Porsche held his thumb and forefinger a tiny distance apart. “Just a little.”
Kinn couldn’t stop the small huff that escaped. “Noted.”
Porsche lifted his phone from the table and checked the time. The moment he did, his expression changed—panic flickering across his features.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Kinn straightened slightly. “What?”
“I’m late,” Porsche groaned, shoving his phone back into his pocket and reaching for his bag. “I was supposed to be at the restaurant ten minutes ago. My boss is going to kill me.”
“Do you work nearby? ,” Kinn asked, watching as Porsche scrambled.
“Yeah, but ‘nearby’ and ‘on time’ are not the same thing,” Porsche said, standing up so quickly his chair scraped the floor. He swung his backpack onto one shoulder. “I gotta go.”
The loss of his presence across the table felt sudden, like a door closing too quickly.
Kinn stood up too, impulse overriding habit. “Porsche—”
Porsche looked at him, still flustered, hair a little messy now from pushing it back in a rush. “It was nice meeting you”
“Kinn”
“Kinn” Porsche repeated “Thanks for… uh… sharing my -.”
Kinn didn’t think.
His hand moved before his brain did.
He reached out and wrapped his fingers hard around Porsche’s wrist.
Porsche froze.
The world seemed to narrow to the point of contact. Porsche’s skin was warm under Kinn’s hand, pulse beating fast against his fingers. Kinn realized what he’d done and almost let go—but the words he’d been holding back pushed past his hesitation.
“Can I see you again?” he asked.
Porsche stared at him.
Something flickered across his face—surprise, confusion, something hopeful that he quickly tried to smother.
“You… want to?” Porsche asked slowly.
“Yes,” Kinn said, steady this time. “I do.”
Porsche’s cheeks went pink. He looked down, then up again, searching Kinn’s face like he was trying to figure out if this was a joke.
“Uh…” He shifted his bag up his shoulder, then began digging around in it with his free hand. “Okay. Um. One second.”
He tugged his wrist lightly.
Kinn realized he was still holding on and let go immediately. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Porsche said, a little breathless. “I just kinda need my hand to go to work.”
He finally found a pen at the bottom of his bag and straightened, stepping a little closer. He took Kinn’s hand this time, turning it palm-up.
His touch was gentler than Kinn’s
“I promise I’m not about to draw a croissant on you.”
Kinn held his breath his heart was beating harder than it should for such a simple thing.
Porsche uncapped the pen with his teeth, then leaned down and wrote a number across Kinn’s palm in neat, quick strokes. The sensation of the pen tip dragged lightly over his skin, tingling in a way that felt disproportionate to the action.
Porsche blew on the ink once, like he was afraid it might smudge, then let Kinn’s hand go.
“There,” he said. “That’s my number. Text me or call or… whatever.” He looked up, eyes flicking briefly to Kinn’s. “If you really want to see me again.”
“I do,” Kinn said quietly.
Porsche’s mouth curved into a small, lopsided smile that Kinn felt somewhere deep.
“Okay then,” Porsche said. “Guess I’ll… hear from you.”
He stepped back, adjusting his bag, grabbing his Americano as if remembering it last second.
“Good luck with your car,” he added, already turning toward the door. “And your family business. Try not to flirt with any more pastries without me.”
“I’ll try,” Kinn said.
Porsche laughed under his breath and waved once, quick.
Then he was gone.
The bell chimed as the door swung shut behind him. His figure disappeared into the noise and movement of the street, swallowed by the crowd.
Kinn stood there for a moment, staring at the door like he could will it to open again.
It didn’t.
He looked down instead.
Across his palm, in slightly smudged black pen, was a phone number. The ink had sunk into the lines of his skin, making it look almost like it had always been there.
Porsche.
He closed his hand into a fist, as if to protect it, then sat down slowly, the chair creaking beneath him.
Outside, cars passed, people moved, the day went on. His phone buzzed once in his pocket—probably Ton, the mechanic was most likely done, the warehouse was waiting.
None of it felt as urgent anymore.
He opened his hand again, tracing the numbers with his thumb.
He’d met this guy by accident. On a bad day. On a street he didn’t usually pass. In a café he’d never been to before.
Porsche with a soft laugh and eyes that made his chest feel too small.
Kinn leaned back in his chair and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He was supposed to be the future head of a mafia family. His life was mapped out in meetings and blood and power.
Yet somehow, between a broken-down car and a shared croissant, he’d found something unexpected.
Something small. Sweet. Ridiculous.
His phone buzzed again. This time he checked it.
Ton: Mechanic’s done, Khun Kinn.
Kinn looked at the message, then at his hand.
He picked up his phone, opened a new message, and typed in the number from his palm carefully, double-checking each digit.
He hesitated for only a second.
Then he wrote:
This is Kinn. I think I owe you a croissant that doesn’t have to be shared.
He hit send.
The message left with a soft whoosh.
For the first time that morning, the tightness in his chest eased.
Outside, the light shifted. The day didn’t feel quite so wrong anymore.
He didn’t mean to hover over his phone like a teenager waiting for a crush to text back. He wasn’t that kind of man. He wasn’t the type to feel restless over something as simple as a message.
But as he sat in the café with Porsche’s handwriting still faintly pressed into his skin and the faint sweetness of caramel lingering in the air, he kept glancing at his phone like it might light up any second.
It didn’t.
Not immediately, at least.
He checked the window—sunlight drifting lazily across the floor, turning everything soft. For a moment he let himself imagine Porsche walking back through that door. Maybe he’d forgotten something. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe—
His phone buzzed.
Kinn’s posture straightened so quickly he felt ridiculous for it.
It was him.
A new message:
Porsche:
Tell your pastries I’m not the jealous type.
Kinn blinked once.
Then started laughing.
The barista glanced over, startled—the suited man who’d walked in with storm-cloud energy now laughing quietly to himself like he’d just heard the world’s warmest joke.
He typed back.
Kinn:
They’re not worth the jealousy. You, on the other hand…
He hesitated.
Was that too much?
Before he could second-guess himself, Porsche replied.
Porsche:
Wow. Straight to flirting? Didn’t know you could do that without choking.
Kinn exhaled slowly.
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath again.
His fingers hovered above the keyboard, and for once in his structured, rigid life, he didn’t overthink it.
Kinn:
I don’t choke.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Reappeared.
Porsche:
Sure. Prove it. Buy me a real croissant sometime.
Kinn leaned back, staring at the message.
A date.
The boy had just asked him on a date.
Or—Porsche’s version of a date. Something casual, playful, with pastries as the excuse.
His phone buzzed again.
Porsche:
I get off work at 7. The street café across the bridge. If you’re really not choking.
Kinn didn’t even try to stop the smile forming on his face.
Kinn:
I’ll be there.