Chapter 2 One Blanket

The air at the summit of Mount Papandayan tonight wasn't just cold; it was nature's attempt at murder. The temperature had plummeted to five degrees. To make matters worse, the seep of rainwater from earlier that afternoon had left their tent semi-damp. Radit had already given up, wrapping himself in the only dry sleeping bag and promptly falling into an exhausted sleep.

Only Arka and Bima remained. Crammed into a narrow corner of the tent, they had only a thin mattress beneath them and a single flannel blanket that wasn't nearly wide enough.

"Ka, swear to God, I think my toes are numb," Bima whispered, his voice trembling violently. His teeth chattered, creating a small sound in the silence of the Dead Forest.

Arka didn't respond, but his sharp eyes remained alert in the darkness. He could feel Bima's body shaking violently. Without much deliberation, Arka's mind worked quickly. He knew that if they didn't do something, Bima could succumb to hypothermia before sunrise.

"Come here," Arka said curtly. His voice was low, hoarse, and full of authority.

"What?"

"Take off your jacket."

Bima's eyes widened, though they struggled to focus in the dark. "Are you crazy? I'm freezing, Ka! And you're telling me to take off my jacket!"

"Your jacket's damp, Bim. That's actually drawing your body heat out. Take it off. Now."

Arka didn't give him a choice. He moved forward, his large hand reaching for the zipper of Bima's windbreaker and pulling it down with a rough tug. Bima hissed as the night air instantly swept across his thin T-shirt. But Arka had already shed his own jacket, leaving him in a tight black undershirt that accentuated the contours of his muscular chest and strong shoulders.

"Share body heat. It's the quickest way," Arka cut in before Bima could protest.

With a dominant movement, Arka pulled Bima into his embrace. Bima fell against Arka's chest—it felt like hitting a hot stone wall. Arka immediately draped the flannel blanket over both of them, creating a very cramped, airtight space.

Their distance was now absolutely zero. Arka's broad chest pressed against Bima's, forcing their hearts to beat in the same rhythm.

Amidst that sudden warmth, Bima's thoughts drifted instead to last night's incident at the boarding house. The surveillance photos. The red ink writing. And that mysterious message: [Ask Arka what he did five years ago.]

Bima shivered. Was his decision to agree to Arka's sudden invitation to climb this mountain the right thing to do? Or did Arka deliberately bring him to this remote place to keep him away from someone?

"Be quiet. Hold me if you want to survive," Arka commanded, shattering Bima's reverie. His arm wrapped tightly around Bima's waist, pulling the younger man's hips to press completely against his body.

The agonizing cold was slowly replaced by waves of heat radiating from every point where their skin touched. Arka was truly hot. His skin felt like it was burning. The hesitant Bima finally surrendered to his survival instinct; he slipped his hand beneath Arka's T-shirt, touching Arka's hard, muscular back.

Arka flinched slightly, his breath quickening. "Your hand is really cold, Bim."

"Don't let go. Let me warm you up," Arka whispered again, pressing Bima's back harder, as if locking Bima's hand in place there.

The atmosphere inside the tent shifted completely. This was no longer just about surviving the weather, but about surviving the explosive sexual tension. Under the same blanket, their legs entwined. Arka positioned his long legs between Bima's thighs—a deeply intimate and possessive move.

Bima looked up. Their faces were only centimeters apart.

"Ka... do you hear that?" Bima asked softly. "Your heart is so loud."

Arka gave a faint smirk, an expression he rarely showed. His hand, hidden beneath the blanket, crept inside Bima's T-shirt, caressing his waist with his thumb. The touch felt like an electric shock.

"Who do you think makes my heart beat like this?" Arka challenged, his voice shifting to a low growl right in front of Bima's lips. "Tonight, only I own you, Bim. Only I get to hear your breath sound like this."

Arka's words tonight sounded strikingly similar to what he'd said at the bus stop yesterday. Protective... or obsessive?

Before Bima could process his thoughts, Arka flipped their positions with a swift movement. Now Arka was on top, pinning Bima with his body weight, imprisoning Bima beneath his dominance.

"I want to make sure you never forget tonight," Arka whispered. He leaned down, roughly kissing Bima's neck, leaving a deep red mark there.

Bima squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching Arka's hair, pulling the man closer. Under that single blanket, the line between friendship and passion had completely dissolved. Bima wanted this, but at the same time, his chest tightened with suspicion. Who are you, really, Ka?

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the tent's opening. Radit stretched and opened his eyes, immediately finding the sight of Arka still protectively hugging Bima from behind under the flannel blanket.

Radit could only shake his head with a wry smile. "I told you so. It was just an excuse about being cold."

Arka opened one eye, giving Radit a sharp look that chased him out of the tent. After Radit left to make coffee, Arka kissed the top of Bima's still-sleeping head, then slowly released his embrace to go out and help Radit.

As soon as he made sure Arka was outside, Bima immediately opened his eyes. He hadn't really been sleeping.

With his heart pounding from a different kind of anxiety, Bima glanced at Arka's large backpack in the corner of the tent. His curiosity was at its breaking point. Bima slowly crawled over, unzipping a small compartment in Arka's bag.

He was looking for something. Anything that could explain the mysterious message.

His hand brushed against a worn passport wallet deep inside. Bima opened it. Behind the passport slip, there was an old ID card belonging to Arka from five years ago, with an institutional logo that made Bima's blood suddenly run cold.

However, that wasn't what made Bima's breath catch.

Inside the passport wallet, there was an old newspaper clipping about a hit-and-run accident five years ago that killed Bima's older brother—a case whose perpetrator had never been caught to this day. And attached there, was a photo of the perpetrator's wrecked car.

The car belonged to Arka.

RIIIP.

The sound of the tent zipper opening came from outside. Bima, in a panic, immediately threw the passport wallet back into the bag and turned around. At the tent's entrance, Arka stood holding two cups of coffee, looking at Bima with eyes that had suddenly turned ice-cold again.

"What are you looking for in my bag, Bim?"