The rain hadn't eased. It was relentless, a silver curtain pouring from the sky, drumming against the rooftop and plastering the city below in a blur of light and reflection. Arka stood at the edge, his soaked sleeves clinging to his arms, hair plastered to his forehead. Normally, he would have been cracking jokes, deflecting, performing. Tonight, there were no jokes. Only the quiet storm that mirrored his thoughts.
Bayu's footsteps echoed lightly against the wet concrete as he approached. He stayed close, cautious, but there was a determination in his posture that made Arka's chest tighten—the kind of pressure that had nothing to do with the rain.
"You're already here," Bayu said softly, voice careful but steady, like he was testing the air before stepping fully into it.
Arka didn't answer at first, just tilted his head toward the city below, watching the lights shimmer through the sheets of rain. "I could say the same," he muttered, a small, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.
Bayu stepped closer, letting the distance between them shrink until it was almost intolerable. Every second stretched, thick with the weight of months of unspoken tension. The storm didn't pause. It didn't care that two people were standing inches apart, hearts racing, trapped between longing and fear.
Arka finally spoke, voice low, measured, carrying the weight of a confession he had never allowed himself to voice aloud. "Do you ever wonder why I… why I make everything a joke? Why I fill every silence, every space, with noise?"
Bayu didn't answer immediately. He only listened, letting the rain soak them both, letting the world fall away until the only thing that mattered was the rooftop, the storm, and Arka's words.
"Because," Arka continued, voice catching slightly, "if I ever stop… if I ever show… the parts of me that aren't storms, or chaos, or laughter… people leave. They always leave. And I've trained myself to survive that, by being untouchable, by being everything and nothing all at once. But… you…" He faltered, lips twitching as if forming a joke, but couldn't. "…you don't leave."
Bayu swallowed. His hand brushed lightly against Arka's sleeve, testing a boundary that neither of them had fully dared to cross. "I'm not leaving. Not from you."
Arka's shoulders tensed, then slumped slightly, rain sliding off him in rivulets. He forced a grin, broken, jagged, trying to cloak the truth beneath a veil of humor. "You don't understand. Not really. It's dangerous. Dangerous to stay close to me… to see everything. Because if you ever truly see me…" His voice broke slightly. "…you'd know how messy I am. How much I can't control."
Bayu didn't flinch. Didn't pull back. He only stepped closer, letting the rain plaster his hair to his forehead, letting his soaked clothes cling to him, letting the silence stretch into something almost sacred. "Then let me be dangerous too. I'll wade into the storm with you."
Arka blinked, and for the first time in what felt like years, his eyes were unguarded. The mask, the jokes, the deflection, none of it was there. "You… don't know what you're asking. You'd see the cracks. The parts of me I keep buried. And I… I can't protect you from that. I never could."
Bayu shook his head, voice quiet but firm. "I don't want protection. I just… want to be here. With you. Even if it's a mess. Even if it hurts. Even if we can't make sense of it."
Arka's chest tightened. He wanted to push Bayu away and hold him close at the same time. His heart was a live wire, buzzing with the electricity of the storm and the intensity of unspoken feelings. He leaned forward slightly, testing, feeling, aching. Their shoulders touched. Their breaths mingled. The tension was almost unbearable, humming in the air like a tangible thing.
And then, a slow, almost impossible moment: Arka's lips hovered near Bayu's, time stretching, the world outside reduced to rain and the quiet thrum of two hearts. Arka's hand twitched, trembling toward Bayu's cheek, the gesture small, hesitant, and full of all the weight he had carried alone for so long.
Bayu's hand found Arka's wrist, holding him back gently. "I… can't… not like this," he whispered, voice trembling, nearly drowned by the rain but clear enough to break the fragile moment.
Arka's smile returned, forced, jagged, a mask over raw vulnerability. "I knew that," he murmured softly, almost to himself. Not defiance, not pain, just recognition. Acceptance. The storm around them raged, mirroring the chaos of what could have been, what nearly was.
Arka pulled back just enough to create space, stepping into the rain as if letting it carry away some of the weight of months of pretense. Bayu lingered, watching him, heart hammering, feeling the impossibility of it all, the fragility of their connection, the ache of near-intimacy.
They didn't speak again. Words would have broken the delicate equilibrium of that rooftop, the tension, the storm, and the quiet truth that existed between them.
Because some confessions are too heavy for one night, and some storms are meant to leave marks long after the rain ends.
Arka's gaze drifted to the horizon, eyes glimmering with something dangerous and beautiful. He knew this moment would haunt them. He knew the impossibility of naming what they felt, of crossing the line without destroying what fragile balance they had. He knew, and yet… he couldn't stop thinking of Bayu. Couldn't stop feeling.
And maybe that was the point.