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“I’m not goin’.” A simple and firm statement voiced in an irritable fashion, causing its target of direction to scowl.

“It’s not like you have anything better to do.” The ravenet remarked matter-of-factually, moving to stand right in front of his bulkier companion. A soft growl rose from the muscled canal of the male’s throat, heliotrope irises rolling in the ivory of their sockets. The desire to spend more than a few minutes with the slightly smaller man blocking his person wasn't very large – or rather, lacking absolutely. He’d rather take up that book he had retrieved yesterday and start on it, but with Daenon refusing to leave him be, that wasn’t going to be a very easy feat either. Reading the types of stories that he does was something that the blond would rather maintain as a secret and Daenon was the last person that he wanted to discover it.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again, punk?” Approached the sarcastic inquiry, Hayden now attempting to turn and escape the younger student’s persistence. Instead of moving out of the way, Daenon only stepped forward, which caused Hayden halt his tread and even step back a bit. Moderate brows akin to the paint of his hair furrowed, only growing increasingly annoyed. A smirk laced along the punk’s lips, taking another step forward. Once again, the fighter fell back a tad and another growl vocalized. He could feel the tinge of heat rushing to his cheeks with each of the other’s advancements, his fists balling tight, “I’m serious. I’m not goin’.”
It was only until Hayden felt the surface of a hard entity against his back and through his jacket, abruptly realizing that he had been backed up against a wall. Now ensnared within Daenon’s trap, he adverted his vision from him, those phosphorescent hues of absinthe clearly glinting with both amusement and mischief.

“Fine,” The tonality of his voice altered, the modulation now lower than his original, “How about we play a little game? If you make any sort of noise in the next five minutes, then you lose and you have to come with me to the swim tournament. If you stay quiet and win, then I’ll leave you alone. Sound fair, princess?”

There he went, granting him that ridiculous title that only further agitated the athlete. The fluster over his visage darkened a small amount from its prior nuance in accordance with the mentioned game. Knowing Daenon, whether he won or lost, there was a slim chance that he would actually depart from the current premises and leave him be. So, before he could grumpily agree, Daenon pressed against his figure, lithesome fingertips slithering underneath the other’s shirt. They brushed, prodded, and stroked the flesh they discovered; Deanon briefly whispering, “Game on.”