로그인Morning on the fifteenth floor of Unit 1502 greeted the room with thin rays of sunlight piercing through the sheer, waving curtains. The dense aroma of black coffee collided with the scent of last night’s rain, still lingering on the glass balcony.Bima woke up on the dark gray kingsize bed. He was no longer wearing the neat shirt he usually donned to project the image of a model student. He wore only an oversized shirt belonging to Arka, dominated by the scent of floor cleaner, cedarwood, and the man’s warm sweat.On his neck, the lingering pressure of Arka’s fingers from the night before remained—not painful bruises, but marks of ownership that served as a constant reminder of where he was.Slow, heavy footsteps approached from the open kitchen. Arka appeared, wearing nothing but black sweatpants and a tank top. His broad, muscular shoulders were covered in thin, red scratches—remnants of the emotional turmoil and Bima’s physical resistance before their intimacy had erupted merciles
The walls of the cramped rental room felt as if they were closing in, thickening the air until every breath Bima drew felt labored.Before him, Arka still stood tall. His large, thick fingers maintained a firm grip on Bima’s jaw—not hard enough to bruise the skin, but strong enough to assert total control. In Arka’s dark, sunken, sleepdeprived eyes, there was no longer a trace of the handsome, easily manipulated young man. What remained was a cold, burning intensity."Take out your knife, Bim," Arka whispered, his raspy, heavy voice vibrating right against Bima’s lips. "Pull the knife from your pocket if you really want to use it to stop me."Bima’s fingers, tucked deep inside his trousers, froze around the cold handle of his pocketknife. He stared straight into Arka’s eyes, searching for remnants of the anger or rage the man usually unleashed when his dominance was challenged. But he found none. There was only a singular, unshakable resolve."You... you’re insane, Arka," Bima whisper
The silence that followed a war was always louder than the bombs themselves.Three days had passed since the administrative floor of the university erupted over the hit-and-run scandal. Three days since Bima had dropped the silver 'A' necklace into a stainless-steel trash can and walked into the crisp morning air.Bima was sitting on the edge of a worn-out mattress in a small, cramped room he had rented on the north side of the city—far away from the university district, far away from unit 1502, and infinitely far away from Arka. The room smelled of old paper, rain, and cheap instant noodles, a stark contrast to the sharp scent of floor cleaner and new oak in the luxury apartment he had left behind.On the small wooden table in front of him, Bima’s laptop screen cast a cool blue glow across his face.The campus portals and national news outlets were in a frenzy. Headline after headline flashed across the screen:VARSITY BASKETBALL CAPTAIN NAMED PRIME SUSPECT IN FATAL HIT-AND-RUN.COV
The fluorescent lights of the university’s main administration building hummed with a low, surgical buzz. It was Monday morning, and the hallway outside Dean Haryo’s office was suffocatingly quiet.Arka stood near the frosted glass door, his tall, athletic frame casting a long shadow across the polished floorboards. He was wearing his navy varsity jacket, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Bima stood right beside him, his shoulders slightly slouched, playing the part of a nervous, dutiful partner to perfection. Underneath Bima’s crisp white shirt, the purple marks on his collarbone—freshly left from their first night in the new apartment—were hidden just out of sight, but the silver 'A' necklace rested heavily against his chest."Relax, Bim," Arka murmured, his voice a low, steady baritone that radiated total control. He didn't look at Bima; his dark eyes were fixed on the dean's closed door. "It’s just a routine sports equipment budget review. Someone probably filed a minor comp
That key turned with the most satisfying click of Bima’s life. The cold metal against his fingers seemed to evaporate, replaced by a wave of heat spreading through his body as the ten-centimeter thick oak door swung wide. This fifteenth-floor apartment was still empty, smelling only of new paint and the sharp scent of floor cleaner, but to Bima, this was the scent of freedom."I can’t believe we really left Radit and his pile of snack boxes back there," Bima turned, grinning widely at Arka who stood behind him in the doorway.Arka didn’t return the grin with a laugh, but his dark, sharp eyes stared at Bima with an intensity capable of piercing his lungs. Arka carried two large boxes in his muscular arms, his biceps tensing until the veins bulged under the black sleeveless shirt he wore. He stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his boot, and dropped the boxes onto the floor with a heavy, echoing thud."Radit is loud. I need a place where I can he
The scent of pine was piercing, sharp, and cold—just like Arka's gaze, which hadn't left the back of my neck for a while now.We had just left Radit, who was busy fixing the tent ropes at the basecamp below. Arka pulled my hand, without permission, without asking. His long, sturdy strides cut through the fern thickets still wet with mountain dew. I could only follow, nearly running to keep up with his relentless, athletic pace."Arka, slow down, damn it! My legs aren't made of steel like yours!" I protested, my breath starting to hitch in the thin air at twelve hundred meters.Arka didn't answer. Instead, he tightened his grip on my wrist, pulling me up toward a more secluded slope. Eventually, the pine trees here grew denser, blocking out the fading orange glow of the afternoon sun. Ahead of us was a small hollow hidden behind a row of giant trees. The ground there was covered in a natural carpet of dry pine needles—soft, and with a scent that was i







