《Possessive Gravity : The Alpha's Claim》全部章節：第 11 章 - 第 20 章

Click. Click. Click.The sound of the PS5 controller being pressed with insane, rhythmic speed was the only music in the living room of the apartment tonight. The harsh blue light from the 55-inch TV screen reflected off Arka's expressionless face, though his focus was deadly. Beside him, Bima was shouting in pure frustration, his thumbs moving wildly as he tried to fend off the relentless, heavy attacks from Arka's fighter character. Radit was out getting food, leaving the two of them in an arena far hotter than a mere simulation on a screen."You're dead, Arka! Almost there! I'm gonna win this, damn it!" Bima exclaimed, his body leaning forward, the veins in his neck bulging from the sudden rush of adrenaline.Arka didn't respond. He just narrowed his eyes. With one precise button combination—a lethal move he had memorized by heart—Arka launched his finishing combo. Bima's character was sent flying, his health bar completely depleted, and the words K.O. slammed onto the screen in la

The bag of flour exploded like a grenade on the marble kitchen island, and in an instant, Bima’s world turned entirely white."Shit! Arka, I swear, that was an accident!" Bima shrieked, his voice heavily muffled by the fine white dust still floating suspended in the air.The usually immaculate apartment kitchen was now officially a disaster zone. Flour was everywhere—settled on the induction stove, coating the expensive parquet floor, and worst of all, completely covering Arka. Arka stood perfectly still, looking like a Greek statue that had just been doused in white paint. His usually slick black hair was capped in powder, his long eyelashes were stark white like snow, and the tight sleeveless shirt showcasing his heavy biceps now had a strange, gritty texture.Arka didn't move. His sharp eyes just stared straight through the haze at Bima, who was still awkwardly holding the torn, empty edge of the flour bag. Bima tried to hold back his laughter, but seeing Arka’s usually terrifyingl

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

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 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