it's been three days since you promised jimmy that you'd quit smoking. he hadn't asked you to but you wanted to be healthier; for yourself and him. you've tried nicotine patches, chewing gum; anything to replace that hand-to-mouth motion you were so used to.
"now i understand why sunflower seeds didn't help mr. sir's mood from holes", you grumble to yourself as you pop a fresh piece of gum into your mouth.
you settle into the couch with an ebony magazine, trying not to think about the emergency pack of cigarettes you have hidden in your underwear drawer. you glance at the clock for the tenth time; it's 3:17am. jimmy should've been back from that frat party already. your foot jiggles nervously as you try your best to focus on the magazine, the nicotine gum in your mouth already flavorless.
reaching for your pink motorola razr, you call him. it rings and rings until you get his voicemail "yo it's big jim, you know what to do. leave it at the beep". you roll your eyes and snap your phone shut.
where the fuck is he?
if only you had a cigarette to take the edge off.
just one wouldn't hurt... right?
no...
you promised yourself and jimmy...
but his ass still ain't back yet so... maybe you could have one before he gets back.
just one.
you spit out the gum in the trash and gun it to your underwear drawer. you pull out the pack of emergency marlboro reds with a lime green lighter taped to the box. you go back to the couch, take a cigarette out of the box, put it between your lips, and light it. you inhale, savoring that sweet smoke hitting the back of your throat. you're not even into your second drag, when jimmy finally stumbles back to your dorm, tipsy and giddy from the party. he sees you on the couch, smoke curling from your lips.
"baby...", he says. guilt laced in his voice as he realizes how late he actually is. you scowl at him.
"don't 'baby' me. i called you so many times" you pout, taking another drag. he sits on the bed, rubbing his tired eyes.
"my phone died, i didn't mean to stay out this late", he says as he eyes the cigarette between your fingers. "you smokin'?" he asks.
you shrug your shoulders. "these withdrawals are a bitch", your voice lowers as you look away. "plus, i... missed you".
"c'mere..."he says softly. you reluctantly walk over to him, standing in between his knees. his hands wrap around your waist. you let him pull you onto his waist. cigarette still between your fingers, you take another drag.
"why you bein' so hard on yourself, baby? i already told you, i don't have a problem wit' it.", he says.
"maybe you should...", you say as you lower your eyes. he tilts your chin up. you feel his fingers take the cigarette from yours.
"what you doin?", you ask.
he puts the cigarette between his lips, inhaling awkwardly.
"damn", smoke sputtering out of his mouth as he laughs.
you can't help but laugh as you take the cigarette back. "you don't smoke foo, what you do that for?"
"i know..." he smiles. you wrap your legs around his waist. he places his strong hands on your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. he's so pretty like this—slightly buzzed, messy curls framing his face, eyes glassy and wet, that smile beaming up at you. you missed your man so much, even though he was only gone for a few hours.
"i'm still mad at you, you know." you whisper. your eyes look at his lips and back to his eyes. you want to kiss him but you hesitate, wanting to remember him exactly like this.
"you ain't gon forgive me, mama?", his voice becomes low and sweet, that voice he uses to get out of trouble. that voice that works on you
every
single
time.
you don't answer. he rests his forehead against yours as he takes the cigarette from you again. you watch him bring it to his lips, inhaling. "c'mere, open your mouth" he murmurs. his hand cradles your cheek as you lean in, just hovering over his. he blows the smoke into your mouth as you inhale it. your breaths becoming one. you hold his smoke in as long as you can, not wanting to let the moment end just yet.
summary: when jey suffers his first significant injury in over a decade, he makes a decision that’ll impact the rest of his life.
warnings: mentions of injury, mature language, & hefty angst!
A/N: thank you to anon for this request. i hope you like it and uhh……sorry in advance! 🥲💌
you were on the couch, wrapped in the comfiest blanket you could find, finishing up the latest episode of love island, when you got the text from jimmy.
a huge pit took over your stomach, thumbs trembling as you rushed to your contact list and pressed his number.
jey hasn’t been hurt in over ten years.
your mind begins to race with a million thoughts per minute.
how bad is it?
is anything broken?
how long will he be out for?
will he even be able to wrestle again?
everything finally stops when the second ring is cut off.
“sis?” jimmy greets you, his usual cheery and goofy tone replaced with an extremely rare worry.
that alone is enough to scare the shit out of you.
“y-yeah,” you reply, hot tears beginning streaming down your face. “is he okay? what happened?”
“no word on his status yet,” he replies, the receiver echoing as if he’s in an empty hallway. “i wasn’t out there to see much, but the broadcast shows him taking a hard landing on a dive over the ropes. refs helped him backstage after the match.”
your chest tightens. “oh my god, jimmy.”
suddenly, muffled sounds of a door creaking open and words you can’t quite pick up take over.
soon enough, they stop and jimmy lets out a “thanks, doc.”
“what’s happening?” you ask nervously.
“just spoke to medical,” he replies, the sound of the door closing again in the background. “they’re still ruling out the severity but he’s definitely gonna need crutches.”
you allow your head to fall into your hands.
“this can’t be happening,” you mutter quietly, a sniffle escaping you.
you hear jimmy let out a deep breath on the other line. “i should’ve been out there with him.”
“jimmy, please. don’t blame yourself.”
“i was out there the first time, eleven years ago. told myself i’d never let my twin get hurt again. and i fuckin’ failed.”
your heart aches at his words.
jimmy has always been protective of his brother, it’s how he was raised as the older twin.
but to blame himself for something he couldn’t - hell, no one could control? you simply can’t allow it.
“jimmy,” you say again, your voice more stern this time. “you said it yourself. you weren’t out there, you weren’t meant to be. how the hell were you gonna prevent this if the people that were physically by his side couldn’t?”
he responds with a sigh and, suddenly, the muffled voices come back.
you press the phone closer to your ear, hoping to understand even a singular word.
the noise of the door comes again and, soon enough, you hear a muffled but unmistakable voice. jey.
“here,” you hear jimmy say, his voice becoming distant.
rustling noises come through the line before you hear the one voice you’ve been dying to listen to since you got the text.
“baby?” jey greets you, a deep rasp in his tone.
not the kind you love when he’s first woken up in the morning, his curls messy from sleep.
not the kind he serenades you with while he’s fucking you deep into your guys’ mattress.
this time, it’s heartbreak. it’s pain. it’s a nightmare.
“hi baby,” you reply, trying and miserably failing to hide the nervousness in your voice. “are you okay? what happened?”
he groans, probably trying to sit up, before letting out a sigh.
“fucked up my ankle in my match with cody tonight,” he informs you. “went to dive and met the floor instead. doc says i gotta be on crutches and keep it elevated for at least six weeks.”
you curse under your breath, running a hand through your hair.
sure it could be a lot worse, god it absolutely could.
but jey is the biggest workaholic you know.
not scheduled to be on tv? you’ll absolutely catch him in the building anyway.
home for two days before traveling? he’s without a doubt working out in your home gym that he set up in the garage.
big segment or match coming up in his next appearance? he’s most definitely been on the phone with jimmy for over an hour planning and perfecting every second of it.
the truth is, you’re absolutely terrified of the person he’ll be when he’s forced to relax and do absolutely nothing.
“i’m so sorry jey,” you exclaim, your tone laced with empathy.
“it’s alright,” he replies. “could’ve been a lot worse, you know?”
that throws you off.
as much as you love jey, as much as he makes you happy, the man can also be one big ball of negativity.
especially during times like these, he’s a hot head and always thinking the worst.
“i know that. do you?”
the hesitation that comes after pretty much answers your question. he’s miserable and trying to hide it from you.
without pushing too hard, you continue. “jey, baby, i’m here. talk to me. what’s on your mind?”
“i just…” his voice trails off, before you hear a quiet sniffle come through the line.
you swear you can feel your heart shatter.
jey has always been an emotional guy, never failing to wear his heart on his sleeve. that’s one of the many reasons you fell for him.
but him crying in such a vulnerable state like this? knowing he was trying so hard not to upset you just moments ago? it tears you to shreds.
“this shit….i-it just fuckin’ sucks man,” he begins again, managing to get the words out through hitched breaths. “just when i’m finally gettin’ back t-together with my family. just when we was about to g-get goin’ again. i gotta fuck up and do this shit to myself.”
you usually know how to comfort him, knowing exactly what he wants and needs to hear.
but right now? you’re too broken. too broken for him to speak.
“maybe it’s a sign,” he says, full blown crying now. “i thought i was strong enough to go another f-few years but….but maybe it’s time to hang it up.”
your own breath hitches this time, chest tightening at his words. “jey, what are you saying?”
he sniffles again. “i’m sayin’ i’m done. i-i’m retiring from professional wrestling.”
the world around you comes to a screeching halt.
professional wrestling isn’t just his profession.
it’s his life. his passion. it’s all he’s ever known.
after an entire childhood of watching and sixteen whole years of fighting, you can’t let him throw it all away.
not yet. not like this.
“jey…” you begin to respond, but he keeps going.
“i’ll be home soon. i love you, baby.”
“jey, please!” you manage to get out before the line goes dead.
