Baby didn't turn his head, though every nerve in his body screamed for him to move away.
Saint's breath was too close, his voice too low—too intimate.
"Back off," Baby muttered through clenched teeth. "You're in my space."
Saint chuckled, low and lazy. "Funny. I thought we were teammates. Partners, even."
"Partners," Baby repeated with venom, turning his head just slightly so their eyes met. "In hell, maybe."
Saint's smirk deepened, one corner of his mouth curling with wicked amusement. "Then it's a good thing I don't mind the heat."
Baby's pen snapped in his fingers.
A few students glanced back at the sound, whispering, but Saint just leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered. He started scribbling in his notebook as though he hadn't just taunted the team's golden boy.
Cam, sitting behind them, mouthed a silent 'breathe' at Baby, but Baby ignored him.
He could feel Saint's presence beside him like static—silent, invasive, and impossible to ignore.
When Shannon began her lecture on sports psychology and teamwork, Saint was the first to answer her questions, every response cool and confident.
Baby hated that his answers were always right.
He hated even more that Shannon looked 'impressed.'
Halfway through class, Shannon assigned a pair exercise. "You'll analyse team dynamics and trust strategies," she announced. "Your partner is the person sitting beside you."
Baby froze.
Saint looked over at him, that same maddening grin on his face.
"Looks like fate's rooting for us, Baby."
"Fate can choke."
Shannon's sharp tone cut through their quiet war. "Mr. Danvers, if you can't cooperate, you'll both fail this section."
That hit Baby, where it hurt. He needed a perfect record for the THC scouts.
Grinding his teeth, he exhaled sharply and muttered, "Fine."
Saint leaned forward, lowering his voice so only Baby could hear. "Good boy."
Baby's head snapped toward him, eyes blazing. "Don't—ever—call me that."
Saint didn't flinch. He only smirked again, voice soft but dangerous. "Then prove you're not."
The challenge hung between them, thick and electric.
Around them, the class droned on, but neither was really listening. Baby's heart was pounding, his jaw tight, his pride already flaring to match Saint's quiet dominance.
Whatever this partnership was going to be—it wouldn't be easy.
And deep down, beneath the rage, something hotter and far more dangerous was beginning to burn...slowly.
---
"That was the worst class ever. Does my hell ever end with him around?" Baby felt even more exhausted than he would have been on the ice as they walked toward the cafeteria.
He needed food to make him forget the jerk he had been forced to work with.
He wouldn't even have minded if it were anyone else from Eastvale Academy, anyone but Saint.
"You're doing great, actually," Cam said as they walked into the cafeteria.
Students were already flooding in, ordering their usuals and taking their usual tables.
The long tables allowed groups to sit together for a meal.
"You think?" Baby asked.
"Yeah, I mean, you haven't punched the guy's face, that's a good testament to your willpower," Cam replied, waving at a girl who sent him a wink as she walked by.
"I don't know how long that willpower will stand. I'm really loving it –"
"Captain, join us?" Rode waved from the corner where the other teammates were already gathered at the table.
"Order for two," Baby tapped Cam's shoulder.
"Yeah," Cam nodded and headed toward the counter.
Baby walked over to his teammates, his mind slowly easing into his usual fun-loving self.
"What's up, Rode?" He did a secret handshake with Rode and a few more of the guys before lowering himself into the chair.
"We've been watching you, Captain... you're letting that bastard get to you," Rode said, his brown eyes settling on Baby.
"Yeah, we see the way he taunts you. Do you need us to roughen him up a bit?" Wong asked, the only Asian guy in the team with his rugged tattoo peeking out of his sleeves.
Baby chuckled, "No, Wong. I can handle him just fine. Remember, THC wants no physical harm done..." he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"But they never said anything about psychological pain... am I right, Baby?" Rode asked, a wide smirk spreading across his face, he couldn't wait to deliver even the slightest pain or discomfort to Saint, he'd been dreaming of it since the day Saint slammed him against the locker.
Baby smirked, "They didn't, Rode. And this is what we're going to do." And just like that, they planned a perfect disaster that was foolproof.
There was no way Saint was surviving the night.
___
"So, you're really doing this?" Cam questioned, blinking slowly as he stood beside Baby in the elevator, riding up to his apartment.
Baby nodded, "You're sacred?" He cocked a brow at Cam.
Cam scoffed, "Oh, please. That douche took my seat, I'll get my revenge." He snickered.
"Good, now help me set the place up," Baby said and strode out of the elevator.
Four hours later, Saint walked toward the apartment door and frowned, his hand hanging midair as he realised that the noise he had heard downstairs was coming directly from their apartment.
He tightened his hand around the handle of his duffel over his shoulder, his eyes staring quietly at the door.
His hoodie fell over his hardened face, covering the anger cloud that was brewing in his eyes.
Baby was testing him, and he wasn't so sure how long it would take before he had had his fill of that spoiled brat.
He hated people who made everything about themselves, and that was exactly what Baby was: an attention seeker.
He took a deep breath and twisted the handle, his eardrums almost bursting as the sound filtered through the door and directly into his ears.
"Welcome to your welcome party, Saint Kross!" A petite nerdy girl in huge glasses shouted into the speaker directly in Saint's face, her eyes blinking innocently as she pointed at her cardigan that read: 'Don't hate the player, hate the game.' And then she scurried off to mix with the crowd.
"Of course," Saint breathed out quietly, his eyes taking in the crowd of people in their living room.