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Rain fell like ash, and he stood there—like a ghost who'd forgotten how to die.
Arin leaned against the rooftop railing of the abandoned apartment building, a cigarette pinched between two fingers, its embers glowing dimly through the rain. Wind tugged at his drenched black shirt, plastering the fabric to his slim frame. His hair—short, dark, and soft—curled slightly as it soaked.
He looked like a delicate thing. Porcelain. Quiet. Breakable.
But beneath that baby-faced charm was a storm far older than this rain.
He didn't notice the figure right away.
It wasn't until lightning cracked overhead that he saw movement—someone standing near the edge of the rooftop, just beyond the rusted ductwork. Not a boy. A man.
Huge. Broad. Solid like a wall built of muscle and silence.
For a split second, Arin thought it was death itself come to collect him.
The man stood motionless, bare arms soaked, chest heaving beneath a torn, clinging shirt. His hair was long, dark, and plastered to his face. He wasn't shivering. He was still—too still. Like the cold didn't bother him. Like nothing did.
But his eyes were the only thing that moved.
Cold… but not empty. Watching Arin. Calculating. Quietly pleading.
Arin let out a slow breath and took a final drag of his cigarette. He didn't speak yet—just flicked the butt over the edge of the building.
"You planning to jump, or just haunting rooftops for fun?" Arin asked, voice flat.
The man didn't answer. He blinked rain from his lashes but didn't look away.
Arin took a few steps forward.
Up close, the stranger was even more intimidating. Easily over six feet. Muscles straining against his soaked shirt. His knuckles were raw, one side of his lip split, and a long, red scrape ran down his neck.
He looked like he'd been in a fight with the world—and lost.
Arin folded his arms, his smaller frame nearly swallowed by the man's presence.
"I live here," Arin said. "If you're thinking of dying, at least don't do it on my rooftop. The city makes me clean that shit up myself."
"And first of all how did you get up here?"
Still, no response.
Only then did Arin notice—his feet were bare. Bleeding. Toes curled on the cold concrete like he didn't even feel it.
Arin exhaled sharply. "You're hurt."
The man's jaw clenched. A flicker of something passed over his face. Shame?
"Can you walk?" Arin asked.
Silence.
Then—faintly—a nod.
Arin turned without another word and started toward the rooftop door. After a few steps, he paused and looked back.
The man hadn't moved.
"Tch." Arin rolled his eyes and strode back.
Before the man could protest, Arin grabbed his wrist. It was like grabbing a furnace wrapped in stone. The man flinched but didn't pull away.
"Don't get any ideas," Arin muttered. "I'm not a good person. I just don't like corpses in my apartment."
He guided the man to his apartment.
Down three flights of stairs. Through creaking hallways. Into a dark, barely furnished apartment where shadows lived more comfortably than people.
The man didn't speak, just followed, soaked to the bone, dripping onto Arin's floor.
As he looks at arin back, arin was much shorter then him baby faced and slim but his aura it was something different...
Arin gestured toward the couch. "Sit. Or collapse. Your choice."
The man sat heavily, his large frame dwarfing the old cushions. He was breathing harder now, trying not to show it.
Arin fetched a towel, dropped it onto the man's lap, and went to the kitchen. The apartment had no real food. Just water and bitterness.
He returned with a warm glass and handed it over. The man's fingers brushed his, rough and calloused. Arin didn't flinch—but something in him stirred.
The man looked down at the water like he wasn't sure what to do with it.
"You gonna talk or keep brooding like a mountain?" Arin said, leaning against the wall.
The man's lips parted. His voice, when it came, was low. Deep. Surprisingly gentle.
"…You live alone?"
Arin raised a brow. "That's what you're asking? Not 'why did you help me' or 'who the hell are you'?"
The man's mouth curved slightly. It wasn't quite a smile.
"Just wondering if someone would miss you."
Arin blinked. The answer caught him off guard.
"No," he said softly. "No one would, why ask? ."
Silence settled between them again, thick and warm like the steam rising from the man's skin.
He set the water down. His breathing was heavier now. Slower. His head dropped back against the couch.
Arin stepped closer. "You're burning."
He reached out without thinking—palm brushing the man's forehead.
The man didn't pull away. Instead, with the last of his strength, he turned slightly toward Arin, eyes fluttering half-shut.
And whispered, voice rough as gravel—
"Don't leave me."
Arin froze.
He should have laughed. Should have said something cruel or detached, the way he always did and Throw this men out why the fuck did he take him in for .
But he didn't.
He just stood there, hand still resting against warm skin, the rain still echoing behind the walls—and felt the first thread tie itself between their hearts.
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Hy sweethearts I wrote this novel just cuz I was bored (hehehe)(actually no)
Give me your feedback for the first chapter...
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Main Characters – Drowning in Your Light
Arin Vale (MC)
Age: 24
Height: 5'9" (175 cm)
Build: Slim, elegant, deceptively soft
Appearance: Baby-faced with sharp eyes, pale skin, black hair that curls when wet. Always looks clean, composed—even when breaking inside.
Profession: Heir to a powerful but corrupt business empire (underworld ties). Secretly studied psychology but never finished.
Personality: Cold, sarcastic, emotionally restrained. Appears disinterested but watches everything. Deep down, he craves connection but is terrified of it.
Strengths: Calculated, emotionally observant, speaks few words but each one cuts deep
Weaknesses: Emotionally repressed, self-destructive, guilt-ridden
Likes:
Rainstorms
Solitude
Classical piano
Sketches (even though he can't draw)
Cigarettes he never finishes
Dislikes:
Crowds
Physical touch from strangers
His father
Being called "pretty"
Losing control
Babies
Background: Lost his pregnant lover in a hit that was meant for him. Has survivor's guilt and unprocessed grief. Suffers from insomnia and panic attacks in silence.
Lucien Kade (ML)
Age: 26
Height: 6'3" (190 cm)
Build: Muscular, broad-shouldered, heavy presence
Appearance: Quietly intimidating. Long dark hair, sharp jaw, stormy gray eyes. His body is covered in faint scars. Always looks like he's walked through war—and maybe he has.
Profession: Former fighter; quit after a traumatic incident. Now a nomad, drifting through cities with a sketchpad and a haunted past.
Personality: Cold, stoic, protective. Speaks very little, but his actions are gentle. He's soft only with those he trusts, and dangerously protective of them.
Strengths: Physically strong, mentally enduring, quietly nurturing
Weaknesses: Bottles everything up, can snap when pushed too far, haunted by guilt
Likes:
Drawing in silence
Soft touches behind closed doors
Old books
Thunderstorms
The sound of Arin's voice
Dislikes:
Being cornered
Yelling
Bright lights
Hospitals
The smell of burning
Background: Escaped an abusive relationship with a powerful man. Carries the burden of protecting his little sister Has PTSD and a fear of being owned or caged.