Chapter 74 74: The Revolution of Us
The cinema lobby was a neon-soaked blur of popcorn salt and artificial sweetness. Baby stood by the ticket booth, his eyes scanning the crowd for Cam, but his mind was still stuck on the way Saint's jaw had ticked before he sped off.
"Over here, Danvers!" Cam called out, waving a giant tub of popcorn.
Baby forced a grin, falling into step beside his friend. "Ready to lose two hours of your life to a bad horror flick?"
"Always," Cam laughed.
They moved into the darkened theatre, the trailers already rumbling through the floorboards. As they found their seats in the back row, Baby felt a sudden, familiar prickle at the base of his neck. He settled into the plush velvet, but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realised they weren't alone in the row.
Sitting three seats down, his silhouette unmistakable even in the flickering light of the screen, was Saint. He wasn't looking at the screen. He was leaning back, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed steadily on Baby.
"What the—" Cam started, squinting through the dark. "Is that Kross? Is he following us?"
Baby's heart did a slow, heavy roll. "Ignore him, Cam. Just watch the movie."
But ignoring Saint was like trying to ignore a storm. Every time the screen flashed white, Saint's face was illuminated—sharp, haunting, and entirely focused on Baby. He didn't move. He didn't eat. He just sat there like a silent specter, a reminder that the "Unified" tether didn't break just because Baby wanted to play pretend.
Halfway through the film, the tension became a physical weight. Every time Baby shifted, he could feel Saint's gaze tracking the movement. Finally, unable to take the suffocating pressure, Baby stood up.
"I'm going to get a drink," he muttered to Cam.
"I'll come with—"
"No," Baby snapped, a bit too quickly. "Stay. Enjoy the jump scares."
Baby didn't go to the concession stand. He walked straight out of the theatre, through the lobby, and into the cool night air. He didn't even wait for a cab; he walked the six blocks back to the apartment, his lungs burning with the need for a space where he could breathe without Saint's eyes on him.
He reached the door, fumbling with his keys, but when he touched the handle, it turned.
Unlocked.
He pushed the door open, the scent of Saint's expensive, woody cologne hitting him like a physical blow. The apartment was dark, save for the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"I know you're here, Saint," Baby said, his voice echoing in the hollow space.
"I'm always here, Baby," the voice came from the sofa—the same spot where they'd first burned the world down.
Saint was sitting in the shadows, his matte black jacket discarded on the floor. He looked exhausted, the "Perfect Captain" mask completely discarded.
"You followed me to the cinema," Baby said, walking into the centre of the room. "You sat there like a stalker just to prove a point? What is wrong with you?"
Saint stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked toward Baby until they were inches apart, the heat radiating off him in waves.
"What's wrong with me is that I can't breathe when you're looking at Oliver like he's your escape," Saint rasped, his voice raw. "What's wrong with me is that I've tasted the truth of you, and I'm not going to let you go back to being a 'Perfect' lie just because your mother told you to."
He reached out, his hand hovering near Baby's face before he finally let his fingers graze Baby's jaw, right over the fading bruise of the hickey.
"You're not a ghost, and you're not a player," Saint whispered, his eyes searching Baby's. "You're mine. And I'm tired of waiting for you to admit it."
Baby's breath hitched, his lips trembling from withheld sobs as he stared at the only person in the whole world who knew him in a way no one ever did... not even his mother.
He shook his head, scared that he might be losing too much of himself to the man in front of him.
"I'm sorry, Saint, we can't–"
"Yes, we can," Saint cupped Baby's chin, stepping a foot between Baby's legs, "We can, Baby," he whispered slowly, "I see you, and I want every part of you I've seen," he murmured, his lips inches away from Baby's.
Baby gulped, his hands clenching beside him before he lifted them, hovering over Saint's shoulder, "You see me, Saint? Me?" He asked shakily.
Saint swallowed hard as he saw the vulnerability flash across Baby's eyes, his hands tightening slightly around Baby's chin.
"I see you, Baby. Goddamn, you've been the only thing I've seen since I set my eyes on you. I love you," His voice broke in the end, his hands that were holding Baby's cheek trembling slightly as he searched Baby's eyes for any repulsion to his confession.
Baby froze, the only thing moving on his body was his eyes as he stared wide-eyed at Saint's intense grey eyes.
His brain had officially shut down, leaving him to stand like a hypnotised ghost.
Saint gulped, his hand lowering to Baby's waist and gently pulling him flush against himself, "Baby, say something." He whispered into Baby's ear, his heart hammering with fear of rejection.
Baby didn't respond, just kept staring into Saint's eyes with emotions swirling in his beautiful blue eyes.
Saint inhaled shakily, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't –"
"Saint—" he whispered, shuddering in Saint's arm, "W-what did you say?" He questioned quietly.
Saint was still scared, he couldn't tell if Baby was feeling at the moment, his pulse racing frantically as he buried his face under Baby's chin.
"I'm tired of the distance, sweetheart. I love you so fucking much," he whispered against Baby's neck.
Baby pulled Saint's face up and faced him, his eyes roaming around Saint's face, "Are you sure?" He asked, his chest rising and falling fast.
"I –" He never got to answer as Baby's lips claimed his in an urgent kiss.
The impact was electric, a desperate collision that tasted of salt and two days of agonising silence. Baby didn't just kiss him; he clung to him, his fingers digging into Saint's hair as if he were trying to anchor himself to the only solid thing in a world made of shifting glass.
Saint let out a sound that was half-sob, half-groan, his arms wrapping around Baby's waist and lifting him off his feet until they were a single, tangled silhouette against the backdrop of the city lights. This wasn't a "tether" born of a contract; it was a gravity they both finally stopped fighting.
"I'm sure," Saint managed to gasp against Baby's mouth, his voice raw with a decade's worth of relief. "I've never been sure of anything else."