LOGINThe wall clock in Bima's apartment room was no longer just a time indicator; it was a relentless tick of demands pounding against his eardrums. It was 1:45 AM. The blue glow from the LED monitor screen was the only source of light, washing over Bima's frustrated face and Arka, who sat beside him with an intimidating calmness. Radit was staying over at his girlfriend's place, leaving the two of them in a silence heavy with an electric charge.
Since their return from Mount Papandayan two days ago, the atmosphere between them had drastically changed. Bima never brought up what he'd found in Arka's bag, and Arka acted as if the cold interrogation at the tent entrance had never happened. But tonight, fear and desire intertwined. "I don't get it, Ka. These variables just won't sync. I've re-checked it three times," Bima grumbled, his voice hoarse from caffeine and lack of sleep. He ran a hand through his messy hair, concealing the slight tremor in his eyes as he glanced at Arka. Arka didn't answer. His eyes weren't on the lines of code on the screen, but on the rapidly throbbing pulse in Bima's neck. Arka shifted. The distance between them drastically shrunk. Arka's broad shoulder brushed directly against Bima's. "Here. Let me see," Arka's voice was low, heavy, sending a shiver down Bima's spine. "It's this part..." Bima pointed at the screen, his fingers trembling above the keyboard. Arka didn't just look. He leaned in, trapping Bima between his body and the desk. Arka's potent masculine scent immediately enveloped Bima's senses. Before Bima could pull away, Arka's large hand landed directly on top of Bima's, which was resting on the keyboard. Arka's palm felt hot, a stark contrast to Bima's cool skin. Arka didn't withdraw his hand. Instead, he laced his fingers through Bima's, pressing their combined hands down onto the mechanical keys. Bima froze. Arka's broad chest now pressed against his back, offering a suffocating sense of both protection and dominance. Were these hot hands the ones that, five years ago, drove the car that hit my brother? The thought sent Bima's heart racing wildly. "Ka..." Bima whispered, his voice barely audible. "Focus, Bim. You made a mistake in this part of the syntax," Arka whispered right next to Bima's ear. His warm breath sent intense shivers down Bima's spine. Arka moved Bima's hand, guiding his fingers to delete the line of code and retype it. His movements were slow, deliberate, and intensely intimate. Bima no longer cared about the task. His focus was completely shattered. "Is it done?" Bima asked, his voice trembling. He tried to turn his head—a fatal mistake. Arka's face was barely an inch away. Arka's dark eyes gleamed with a deadly intensity, full of hidden desire. Arka didn't pull back. He tightened his grip on Bima's hand, while his other hand rose, clasping Bima's jaw gently but with full authority. "The task is done. But we aren't," Arka growled. Arka pushed Bima's chair slightly away from the desk, then stood between Bima's parted thighs. Bima looked up with heavy-lidded eyes. Arka's dominance was so palpable, and Bima couldn't resist even though his brain screamed danger. "You always want to be the center of attention, don't you?" Arka whispered, his thumb tracing Bima's lower lip with demanding pressure. "Tonight, no one else is watching. Just me. And I don't share." Arka bent down, burying his face in the hollow of Bima's neck, delivering a small bite there—a mark of possession that made Bima moan softly and clutch Arka's muscular arm. Arka's other hand slid under Bima's shirt, touching his flat stomach. "Ka, not here... what if Radit comes back..." Bima tried to protest, even as his hands pulled Arka closer. "Radit won't be back until morning. I made sure of it," Arka smirked faintly. He effortlessly lifted Bima, settling him on the desk, right beside the glowing laptop. Arka swept all the books and papers off the desk and onto the floor with a single rough swipe, creating a clamor that was immediately swallowed by the silence. "Arka..." "Say my name again, Bim. But this time, not because you're scared of me. Call it because you want me," Arka challenged, his voice hoarse, holding back surging desire. Bima tugged on Arka's collar, bringing their lips together in a wild, rough kiss. There was no more hesitation, only pent-up hunger. Arka's hands worked quickly to shed Bima's shirt. Their skin met, hot against hot, scorching their nerves. On that desk, beneath the dim glow of the monitor, Arka claimed Bima's body as his own. Every touch of Arka's on his waist and chest felt like a declaration that Bima would never truly be free of him. "You're mine, Bim. Never forget that," Arka whispered amidst their deepening kisses. Bima wrapped his legs around Arka's waist, surrendering all self-control. Amidst the swirling secrets and unrevealed threats, Bima chose to drown in the fire Arka created. The room filled with hurried breaths and stifled groans until it all culminated in an exhausting yet intoxicating climax. When it was all over, Arka lifted Bima from the desk and carried him to the bed with a possessive motion. The monitor light was still on, displaying the message 'Process Completed'. Bima rested his head on Arka's firm shoulder, letting the man cover him with a blanket and pull him into a warm embrace. Sleep slowly took over, and Bima finally drifted off in the embrace of his protector—or his killer. 4:00 AM. Arka made sure Bima's breathing was soft and steady against his chest. Slowly, without a sound, Arka slipped out of bed. He put his clothes back on, then walked over to the messy desk. Arka picked up Bima's phone, which lay on the floor among the stack of books he had just knocked over. Arka's face was flat, devoid of emotion, as he unlocked Bima's phone using Bima's fingerprint, which he gently pressed down while the other man slept. Arka opened the messaging app, then typed an unknown number—the one that had sent mysterious messages to Bima at the bus stop and on the mountain. Arka sent a single brief message to that number: "I know you're the one who sent those photos to Bima. Stop bothering him, or I'll make you disappear, just like I did to his brother five years ago." After hitting send, Arka deleted the message from Bima's phone history, placed the phone back on the desk, and walked back to bed. He pulled Bima into his embrace again, locking the other man's body against his as if he would never let him go out into the world.The digital clock on the desk read 12:00 AM, but Arka had no intention of closing his eyes. He sat leaning against the upholstered headboard, shirtless, letting the dim light from the desk lamp highlight the rugged contours of his hard chest muscles and the sharp, uncompromising line of his jaw. Outside, Jakarta was quiet, but inside the master bedroom, the air suddenly grew heavy and thick as the bathroom door swung open and Bima stepped out with a smile capable of shattering Arka’s carefully constructed defenses in an instant.Bima wasn't wearing pajamas. He wore only a plush white towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist, showing off his pale skin which was still damp, flushed, and radiating heat from the hot shower. In his left hand was a small, dark blue box with a neatly tied silver satin ribbon."Happy birthday, Arka," Bima whispered, his voice raspy yet full of an intoxicating cheerfulness. He walked closer, every slow, deliberate step making Arka
The heavy iron door slammed shut with a loud, metallic bang, rattling the decades of dust clinging to the wooden shelves of the ground-floor sports storage room. The sound was final, dry, and deadening. Bima jerked the rusted door handle repeatedly until his palms turned red, but the result was zero. Damn it. Someone out there had just locked the storage room door from the outside, entirely unaware that inside this stuffy, three-by-four-meter space, two people had just lost their connection to the outside world."Ka, it’s really locked! Hey! Whoever’s out there, open up! I’m still inside, dammit!" Bima shouted, his voice echoing sharply between the stacks of vinyl judo mats and tangled volleyball nets. He pounded the surface of the reinforced wood door with his fist, frustrated.Arka didn't shout. He stood perfectly still in the middle of the narrow room, his massive hands holding a plastic basket full of leather basketballs they had just picked up for afternoo
The empty liquor bottle spun slowly on the wooden table, which was stained with beer spills, making a nauseating scraping sound amidst the deafening thud of techno music. Their friend’s apartment living room had turned into a den of noise pollution and cigarette smoke. There, in the center of a half-drunk circle of people, Arka sat like a rock—cold, untouchable, and intimidating. Beside him, Bima was laughing freely, his face flushed from the alcohol, acting the part of the perfect, bright magnet for every pair of eyes in the room.The tip of the bottle slowed, wobbling hesitantly before finally stopping right at Arka."You're dead! Arka got picked!" Fajar, the host, yelled while slamming the table. "Truth or Dare, Arka? Don't be a coward, pick Dare!"Arka didn't answer immediately. He took a slow sip of his drink, his sharp eyes glancing at Bima, who was now staring at him with a mischievous glint. Bima seemed to be enjoying Arka being cornered. Until now, Arka had always been the on
The studio lights went out, and that was the exact moment Arka stopped pretending he cared about the plot of the trashy romantic movie playing on the silver screen.The air inside the theater was cold, biting sharply into the skin of anyone without a thick layer of protection. But for Bima, the freezing temperature was completely unnoticeable because of Arka’s overpowering presence in the seat next to him. Arka wasn't sitting back and relaxing. He sat upright, his broad, athletic shoulders wrapped in a black bomber jacket, creating a physical barricade between Bima and the rest of the world."Arka, don't eat all the popcorn yourself. Don't be greedy," Bima whispered, trying to thin out the atmosphere that suddenly felt far heavier than last week's engineering course load.Arka didn't answer. He simply shoved the large cardboard container into Bima's lap. The movement was rough, but his fingertips intentionally brushed against the back of Bima's hand long enough to send a sharp spark o
The Canon RF 50mm lens whirred softly as its autofocus motor searched for a sharp point right on Bima’s pupil. Arka stood frozen, his calloused fingers pressing the shutter button halfway, while his breath caught in his throat. Behind the digital viewfinder, Bima was no longer just a roommate or the boy who shared his apartment. Through that full-frame sensor, Bima was a dangerous, intoxicating work of art."Arka, seriously, this pose isn't weird, right? I feel like an adult magazine model or something," Bima grumbled, yet he remained seated on the wooden table in the corner of the small studio they had rented for their campus media assignment.Side-lit by a softbox, the light swept across Bima’s sharp jawline, casting a dramatic shadow along the length of his neck. Bima wore only a thin white shirt—intentionally left unbuttoned—showcasing a lean chest that was beginning to glisten with sweat from the heat of the studio lights."Be still, Bim. Stop complaining. Focus forward," Arka’s
Bima, usually the restless type who couldn't sit still for a single minute, was now nothing more than a shivering heap beneath the heavy sheets. The bright, high-pitched laughter that usually filled every corner of the apartment had vanished, replaced by short, agonizingly heavy gasps. His face was flushed a deep, burning crimson—not from embarrassment, but from a body temperature that had rocketed to a dangerous hundred and two degrees. Jakarta outside was enduring a sweltering heatwave, but to Bima, the world felt like an arctic wasteland, trying to freeze the very marrow of his bones."Arka ... I'm cold ...." Bima rambled, his fluttering eyelids heavy, completely unable to fully open.Arka stood rigid by the bedside, his large hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. He absolutely hated seeing Bima broken like this. He preferred the loud Bima, the annoying Bima, or the defiant Bima who challenged him recklessly on the basketball court. A weak, fragile B







