Chapter 95 95: For The Best
The silence that followed the click of Saint’s bedroom door was heavier than any roar of a stadium crowd. Baby stayed slumped over the kitchen counter, his tears blurring the reflection of the polished marble. He had done it. He had cut the tether to keep them from drifting into the sun and burning up, but now he was just cold.
The "Unified" contract was still in effect. The 120-day countdown had begun. And for the first time, the "Great Teammates" act wasn't just a lie for the public—it was a wall between two people who were breaking apart in private.
He sniffled and straightened, wiping his tears with the back of his hands.
He dragged his feet out of the kitchen, and once he reached Saint’s door, he paused and placed his hand on it.
No knocking. No noise. Just savouring the lost connection.
After a few seconds, he stepped away and went to his room.
It was better this way, for both of them.
Their careers were set now. No one would have anything to stain on them. They were perfect... as they should be.
Did he sleep that night?
No.
And he knew Saint wouldn't either.
How he wished to simply walk into the next room and revoke everything he said whilst settling in the comfort of Saint’s arms, but that was never to happen. Ever.
_____
The next morning, the apartment felt like a tomb. There were no whispered "good mornings," no shared coffee, and no lingering glances. Saint emerged from his room already in his training gear, his face a mask of iron. He looked exactly like the "machine," his father demanded.
He didn't look at Baby as he grabbed his keys. "The car is waiting. We have a 7:00 AM. session with the new Synergy Coach Sloane assigned. Don't be late."
His voice was devoid of the gravelly warmth Baby had grown to crave. It was the voice of a Captain speaking to an asset.
Baby watched Saint leave the apartment, his heart aching as he stared at his ex-lover leave without sparing him a glance.
Once, Saint used to stare at him like he was his world, now... nothing.
He was nothing. But that was his choice. He was facing the consequences of his actions.
When they reached Westbridge Arena, they weren't met by their usual coaching staff. Instead, a tall, wiry man with a tablet and a predatory gaze stood at centre ice. Mike Thorne, a former military psychologist turned sports consultant, had been hired by Sloane to ensure the "Unified" brand was indestructible.
"I don't care about your past rivalry," Thorne barked as they stepped onto the ice. "And I don't care if you like each other. I care about kinesthetic empathy. From now on, you two are joined at the hip. If Saint moves, Baby, you anticipate. If Baby loses the puck, Saint, you are the shadow. You will act like brothers, or you will find yourselves off this roster."
"Understood," Saint stated flatly.
Baby gave a simple nod, watching Saint from his side eyes.
For three hours, they were forced into drills that required constant physical proximity.
They had to skate inches apart, matching every stride, evert turn.
Saint had to pass the puck to a spot he knew Baby would be, without looking.
Every time one of them fell, the other was required to be the one to pull them up.
Every time Saint’s hand gripped Baby’s to pull him off the ice, a jolt of electricity shot through them. But the moment they were upright, Saint let go with a sharp coldness that left Baby breathless. They were playing the "Great Teammate" role perfectly. To Mike and the overhead cameras, they were the pinnacle of THC excellence.
Inside, they were bleeding... painfully bleeding out.
After practice, the locker room was empty except for the two of them. The steam from the showers filled the room, making it feel like their secret "Shadow" again, but the atmosphere was different.
Baby sat on the bench, his head in his hands. "We did good today," he whispered, his voice echoing. "Sloane will be happy. The synergy stats are through the roof."
Saint was unlacing his skates, his movements sharp and aggressive. He didn't look up. "That’s what you wanted, isn't it? To be the perfect assets? To save the future?"
"Saint, please..."
"Don't 'please' me, Danvers," Saint snapped, finally looking up. His grey eyes were like flint. "You made your choice. You wanted us to be 'Great Teammates.' Well, look at us. We’re the best in the world. I hope the championship trophy is enough to keep you warm at night because it's the only thing you're getting from me now."
He stood up, grabbed his bag, and walked out, leaving Baby alone in the fog.
Baby gritted his teeth, biting his lip to stop himself from vocally expressing his anger and frustration.
He was about to stand from the bench when his phone rang.
Oliver.
Baby sighed, clenching his fists as he at he's the call ring out.
He didn't answer.
He was in no mood for such a vibrant personality or outings. All he just needed was silence... and Saint.
He stood, getting things ready to leave, but his phone rang again.
Still Oliver.
"Oliver," He picked it, making it known by his flat tone that he was in no mood for a light conversation.
"Are you okay?" Oliver's gentle voice asked.
He hadn't called for some hyper reason. He was calling to check in.
Baby inhaled deeply, taping his foot quieon on the floor.
"Peachy," he said, walking out of the locker room.
"You're not peachy. You sound drowning. Look, I know you don't want to speak to me now, your voice tells me so. I know how Sloane is, and I've seen the news..." he went silent for a while.
Baby didn't urge him. He simply walked to hus car that was parked under a tree in front of the Arena and slipped in, allowing the isolated leather silence to welcome him.
"She's being hard on you two," Oliver continued, "And, I know I can't do anything about it, but, I just wanted to let yiu know that I'm here for you as a friend... and more, if you'd have me," Oliver's voice echoed quietly in the silent car.
Baby almost huffed a dry laugh at his situation.
He had just rejected a lover and was already getting applications. An application he was in no way interested in.
But he wasn't offended. He wasn't going to claim that he had never seen that coming.
He sighed, tapping his fingers on his steering wheel, "Thank you, Oliver. I... I really appreciate you checking in. Really." He murmured, staring blankly at his windshield.
"You're welcome, Baby. I'll let you be for now," Oliver replied.
The call ended, and Baby threw his phone to his passenger seat and leaned his forehead against his steering wheel, gritting his teeth so hard he feared his jaw might break.
"Fuck!" He screamed, slamming his palm on the wheel.
He was lonely.
He was empty.
He was angry.
Why did he have to push away tge one thing that made him feel alive?
Was there a purpose in all this if at the end of his life, after acquiring all dreams and height, he ends up not happy, unfulfilled, alone.
Would all this pain matter?
Was it worth it,
Was losing Saint worth it?
Their lives weren't even theirs; from their young, vital age, until their bones are too weak to stand on their own, they would live to serve others' happiness.
The world, their teams, their bosses, their families. But never theirs.
Never theirs.
Baby slowly pulled away, driving aimlessly around the city.
There was no way he was returning to the apartment when the sun was still up. He didn't trust himself nit to shamelessly throw himself at Saint even though he knew it was wrong.
He'd rather live the pain he caused himself than live the pain he'd cause Saint by the time they get caught and Saint’s family and the public realise that the Kross heir was after all not perfect.
Before THC, Baby was already used to the scandal. The black sheep image had already stuck, but not with Saint.
He could not ruin what Saint fought so hard to build.
Saint might argue he didn't mind, that he would stay in the shadows forever, but Baby knew that a part of Saint would always wish they were normal.
And, if he was being honest, a part of him felt that way, too.
Again, it was for the best.