Baby froze.
Not the cute kind of freeze —
the fight-or-flight, soul-leaving-body kind.
His hand stayed on the doorknob.
His breath? Gone.
His spine? Rigid.
Because Saint's words didn't just land… they detonated.
Slowly — painfully slowly — Baby turned his head, just enough to see Saint from over his shoulder.
Saint stood close.
Too close.
Close enough that his warmth crawled down Baby's back like a warning or a dare.
Baby's voice came out low, rough. "What did you just say?"
Saint didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Didn't back up.
He leaned in even closer.
"You heard me," Saint murmured.
"You touched me. You kissed me. You held me like you wanted me."
Baby's throat tightened.
He gripped the doorknob harder, knuckles white.
"Saint…" His voice trembled — with anger, panic, want — he couldn't tell anymore.
"We dropped this topic," Baby reminded.
"No." Saint's whisper was a knife wrapped in velvet.
"I'm done pretending it didn't happen," Saint stated.
