Chapter 8 The Scent of Coffee and Morning

The aroma of coffee was sharp and rich, creeping into the cracks of Bima’s dreams before finally forcing his eyes open. The morning Jakarta sun, which usually felt like an annoyance, filtered softly across the messy gray sheets. Bima stretched, feeling his muscles ache with a subtle stiffness—a lingering trace of the intense, frantic friction in the elevator last night that remained in his memory like a fresh tattoo.

He turned to his side. The spot next to him was empty, but the pillow was still indented, holding a faint, familiar body heat.

The sharp sizzle of margarine in a pan and the metallic clink of a spatula brought him back to reality. Bima pulled himself out of bed, wearing nothing but black boxers and one of Arka’s white t-shirts. It was two sizes too big, causing the collar to sag and expose pale shoulders mapped with raw, crimson marks. He padded groggily toward the cramped apartment kitchen, which suddenly felt entirely full of life.

Arka was standing by the stove.

That back. It was broad, solid, and muscular, clad in a tight black tank top that highlighted the powerful curve of his trapezius and deltoid muscles as they moved in sync while he flipped a sunny-side-up egg. Arka didn't hear Bima’s muffled footsteps on the carpet, or perhaps he simply chose to stay silent. Arka was always like that—dominant even in his silence.

Bima couldn't help himself. He stepped forward, sliding his arms around Arka’s waist and hugging him from behind. He buried his face between Arka’s shoulder blades, taking a deep, deliberate breath of masculine soap mixed with the aroma of coffee and melting butter.

"Morning, Arka," Bima murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

Arka didn't stop cooking, but Bima felt Arka’s abdominal muscles tighten under his palms. "Morning. Let go for a second, Bim. I’m holding a hot spatula."

"Don't want to. Five more minutes," Bima protested, instead tightening his grip, pressing his chest against the solid heat of Arka’s back.

Arka exhaled, a sound that rumbled from his chest like a low, intoxicating growl. He turned off the stove, set down the spatula, and turned around in one swift motion that trapped Bima between Arka’s athletic frame and the kitchen counter. Arka leaned down, his dark, sharp eyes locking onto Bima’s. His hair was slightly disheveled, giving him a wild look he rarely permitted on campus.

"Did you sleep well?" Arka asked. His large hand came up, stroking Bima’s neck, his thumb tracing right over the bite mark he had branded into the skin the night before.

Bima grinned, trying to mask his racing heart. ‘Keep acting domestic, Arka. Drop your guard completely,’ Bima thought, his mind staying sharp behind his sleepy eyes. "Really well. But it would've been better if you didn't wake up early just to make coffee."

"I couldn't sleep watching you curled up like a cat," Arka gave Bima a quick, firm peck on the forehead, a gesture standing in stark contrast to his savagery in the lift. "Sit down. I made fried rice and your favorite black coffee."

Bima sat on the bar stool, watching Arka deftly set the plates. There was something profoundly domestic, incredibly intimate about this sight. Arka, the university's pride, an athlete feared for his icy demeanor, was now busy ensuring the eggs on Bima's plate were cooked to perfection. This was a glimpse of a future that suddenly felt tangible. Bima could easily picture this happening every day. Ten years from now, twenty years from now. Arka in the kitchen, steaming coffee, and this suffocating comfort.

"Ka," Bima called softly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Hmm?" Arka sat across from him, starting to eat his portion calmly.

"Have you ever thought about it? Us... will we be like this forever?"

Arka stopped chewing. He put down his spoon, staring at Bima with an intensity that made Bima feel entirely exposed. Arka never answered questions lightly; he was always straight to the point.

"I don't play games, Bim. You know that," Arka's voice was heavy, absolute. "I wouldn't waste my time cooking breakfast every morning if I didn't plan to wake up beside you until we're old."

Bima's heart skipped a beat, a sudden wave of genuine emotion threatening to crack his cold calculation. "But... the outside world isn't as easy as this apartment, Ka."

Arka reached across the table, grabbing Bima's hand and gripping it with a strength that seemed capable of crushing any doubt. "The outside world isn't my concern. My concern is making sure you stay here, within my reach. Anyone who dares to bother you will have to deal with me. You're mine, Bim. Completely."

Bima felt a rush of heat wash over his entire body. Arka's dominance wasn't just about physical power; it was how he claimed every inch of Bima's life. In the quiet of this morning, that statement felt far more powerful than any sigh they'd let out last night.

"Do I own you too, Ka?" Bima teased, his eyes flashing mischievously.

Arka gave a faint smirk, a predatory grin that made the small hairs on Bima's arms stand up. "You know the answer. I wouldn't let anyone else have this version of Arka. Just for you."

Suddenly, the harsh rattle of a key turning in the lock aggressively shattered the moment.

"Hey! Man, this place smells amazing! Arka, what are you cooking? I'm starving like a beast, damn it! Last night I slept at my girl's place but got dumped this morning, so I'm back with a broken heart and an empty stomach!" Radit strode in, looking like a total disaster with disheveled hair, heading straight to the kitchen without permission.

Radit froze in his tracks the second he took in the scene. Bima sat in Arka's oversized t-shirt with his neck mapped in fresh marks, while Arka was still holding Bima's hand, wearing a gaze that looked capable of murdering anyone who interrupted.

"Uh... sorry... did I... did I enter the wrong unit or something?" Radit took a slow step back, his eyes darting frantically between Arka and Bima. "Bim, that's Arka's shirt, right? And your neck... are the mosquitoes getting better at making symmetrical patterns?"

Bima laughed out loud, his face turning bright red. "Shut up, Dit! Come here if you want to eat, but don't ask so many questions."

Radit approached hesitantly, grabbing an extra plate from the rack. "I feel like the most unwanted third wheel on earth. The atmosphere in here is so heavy, damn. Did you guys have a brawl or something?"

Arka let go of Bima's hand, but not before giving a possessive rub to the back of the boy's palm. He returned to his cold, deadpan mode. "Eat, Dit. Then leave. I'm going out with Bima."

"Where? Can I come?" Radit asked innocently, scooping fried rice onto his plate.

"No," Arka answered—short, firm, and irrefutable. "I'm going to buy stuff for a new apartment."

Bima choked on his coffee, coughing violently. "New apartment? Ka, you didn't tell me..."

Arka looked at Bima, his eyes delivering an answer that didn't need to be spoken. A commitment. A place where there would be no Radit, no interruptions, only the two of them.

"We need a bigger place, Bim. For us. Together," Arka said calmly.

Radit choked on his own fried rice, coughing until his face turned blue. "Damn! You guys are serious?! You're only in your third semester and you want to move in together?! Crazy, I'm literally the most miserable single guy in the universe!"

Bima could only smile broadly, watching Arka return his focus to his coffee. The morning coffee no longer tasted bitter. Everything was sweet, hot, and promised a future filled with Arka's lethal protection. Behind the noise of Radit complaining about his fate, Bima knew one certain thing: this morning was the beginning of forever. And for the first time, the safety he felt in Arka’s shadow was starting to feel terrifyingly real.