CHAPTER 2- The enemy in my room

Liam paced the length of his apartment like an animal on heat, the city lights glittering mockingly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The victory high from last night had curdled into something sour and heavy in his chest. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Raphael’s voice, low, mocking, filthy, whispering those goddamn taunts against his ear on the ice.

Pretty boy.

Bend over for me.

He dragged a hand through his hair and dropped onto the leather couch, elbows on his knees. The apartment had always felt like a reward. As captain, he got the best unit in the team complex. It was a living room and a bedroom, a kitchen that didn’t feel like an afterthought, and enough space to actually breathe. Now it felt like a trap.

The coach’s words kept replaying. Only single left is yours. Management’s decision. No discussion. Raphael Thorne. captain of the Shadow Reapers, the man who had spent two seasons making Liam’s life a living hell on the ice was now a Frostbite Wolf. And he was moving in. Tonight.

Liam’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t some delicate flower. He’d taken hits that cracked ribs and kept playing. But this? Sharing his private space with a guy who got off on making sexual jokes at his expense? A guy who was openly bisexual and apparently proud of it?

It made his skin crawl.

He stood up again and started rearranging. He hid his favourite Protein shakes in his bedside drawer. He took his gaming chair to his room. The couch would have to do for Thorne.  Liam wasn’t giving up his bedroom for any reason. Boundaries had to be set early. That was the only way this would work.

A sharp knock on the door made him freeze.

Raphael Thorne stood in the hallway, looking far too comfortable for someone who had just been traded from his home team. He wore a black compression shirt stretched across his broad chest and powerful shoulders, dark sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and a gym bag slung over one shoulder. A larger duffel rested at his feet. His dark hair was still slightly damp from a shower, and that signature smirk was already curving his lips.

“Evening, Captain,” Raphael said, voice smooth and laced with amusement. “Heard you volunteered to be my roommate.”

Liam didn’t move from the doorway. “This isn’t a fucking vacation, Thorne. Get in or get out.”

Raphael’s smirk widened. He picked up the duffel and brushed past Liam, their shoulders touching for a brief, charged second. The contact sent an unwelcome jolt through Liam’s body. It's pure irritation, he told himself.

The apartment suddenly felt smaller.

Raphael dropped his bags in the middle of the living room and looked around slowly, taking in the modest furniture, the hockey trophies and medals on the shelves, the open-concept kitchen. “Nice place. Captain’s perks look good on you, Lannister.”

Liam shut the door with more force than necessary. “Living room couch is yours until we figure something else out. Stay the hell out of my room and keep your shit on your side.”

Raphael turned, eyebrows raised. “One bedroom setup? Management really threw us under the bus, huh?” He chuckled, the sound deep and far too relaxed. “Guess we’ll have to get real familiar.”

Liam’s hands curled into fists. “This isn’t a game. Whatever twisted shit you were pulling on the ice last night, it ends now. We’re teammates. That’s it. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to see it. You keep your personal life out of my face.”

Raphael studied him for a long moment, dark eyes sharp and assessing. Then he shrugged and peeled off his compression shirt in one fluid motion, revealing the sculpted muscle underneath. years of hockey carved into every line. He tossed the shirt over the back of the couch without a care.

“Personal life?” Raphael echoed, voice casual as he stretched his arms overhead. “You mean the fact that I’ve fucked both men and women and don’t lose sleep over it? Relax, Lannister. I’m not going to jump you in your sleep. You’re way too uptight for my taste anyway.”

Liam forced his gaze to stay on Raphael’s face. Heat crawled up the back of his neck. “Good. Then we won’t have a problem.”

But there was already a problem. The apartment already smelled faintly of Raphael now—clean sweat, some woodsy soap, pure masculine presence. It was impossible to ignore.

Raphael grabbed his duffel and headed toward the bedroom. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Liam demanded, stepping in after him.

Raphael dropped his bag near the second bed, the one Liam had turned into his makeshift storage for his training gear. “There's two beds here Lannister. I'll take this one. You can keep the king if it makes you feel like the big man, but I’m not sleeping on a couch like some rookie.”

Liam’s jaw worked. “This is my room.”

“Was,” Raphael corrected mildly. He sat on the edge of the smaller bed and tested the mattress, bouncing once. “Now it’s ours. Team decision. Suck it up, Captain.”

The casual way he said ours made something ugly twist in Liam’s gut. He turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the bathroom door behind him for good measure. He needed space. Air. Anything but the sight of Raphael Thorne making himself at home in his sanctuary.

Fifteen minutes later, the sound of the shower running filled the apartment. Raphael hadn’t closed the bathroom door all the way. Steam drifted into the hallway. Liam tried to focus on pulling leftovers from the fridge, but the steady rush of water made it impossible.

He could picture it too clearly: Raphael under the spray, water sliding over those broad shoulders, down the defined lines of his back, lower..

Liam slammed the fridge door. What the fuck is wrong with me? It was just anger. Proximity to an enemy. The guy had spent an entire game practically molesting him with words. Of course his body was on edge.

The water shut off. A minute later, Raphael emerged with only a white towel wrapped low around his waist. Droplets clung to his skin. He walked into the kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“See something interesting?” Raphael asked without turning around.

Liam’s eyes snapped up. “Put some fucking clothes on.”

Raphael turned, leaning against the counter. The towel dipped dangerously low, revealing the sharp V of his hips. “It’s my apartment too now. Get used to it.” His voice dropped, teasing. “Or is the big straight captain scared of a little skin?”

“I’m not scared of anything,” Liam bit out. “Especially not you.”

Raphael’s smile was slow and knowing. “Keep telling yourself that, pretty boy.”

The rest of the evening dragged and eventually, they retreated to the bedroom. 

Liam lay rigid on his back, staring at the ceiling. The sheets felt too warm. He could hear every shift of Raphael’s body, every breath. The room smelled like both of them now. mixed sweat, soap, the faint trace of whatever cologne Raphael wore.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours.

“You’re still pissed about the trade,” Raphael said quietly into the darkness. It didn't sound like he was mocking this time. It sounded genuinely curious.

Liam didn’t answer at first. Then: “You spent two seasons trying to fuck with my head. Why the hell would I want you here?”

Raphael turned onto his side, the sheets rustling. “Because I’m good. And deep down, you know it. That win last night? You played like a demon because I was in your head. Imagine what we could do on the same team.”

Liam’s chest tightened. He hated how reasonable that sounded. Hated the low timbre of Raphael’s voice in the dark.

“Stay out of my head,” he muttered.

A soft, amused huff. “Too late for that, Lannister.”

Silence fell again. Liam’s heart beat too hard. His skin felt hypersensitive. He told himself it was rage. Exhaustion. The weirdness of the situation.

But as sleep finally started to pull at him, Raphael’s voice drifted over one last time, quiet and almost intimate.

“Sweet dreams, pretty boy.”

Liam clenched his jaw and turned toward the wall, refusing to acknowledge the unwelcome heat that pooled low in his stomach at the words.

This was going to be a very long season.