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this was fun last time, first commenter gets to pick which fic is out tonight between soft dark ethan page written piece, drew mcintyre smau and a seth rollins smau
let me look after you. becky lynch. language of love series.
becky lynch x vet nurse!reader
acts of service
The first thing you noticed about the hospital was the silence.
You weren’t used to that, veterinary practices were never truly quiet, there was always something, the muffled bark of an impatient Labrador in reception, a cat complaining from inside its carrier, phones ringing, kennel doors opening and closing, someone calling for another pair of hands.
Today was no different. Even sat in the corner of the Accident and Emergency waiting room with your dominant wrist wrapped in a temporary splint, you could still hear phantom echoes of your morning replaying in your head. The frantic barking, the sharp squeak of trainers on wet flooring, someone shouting your name, then pain.
A dull ache pulsed all the way from your fingertips to your elbow. You winced slightly, shifting the ice pack resting across your wrist.
"You alright?" You looked up. One of the veterinary nurses from your practice, Emma, sat beside you with two paper cups of vending machine coffee balanced carefully in her hands. She offered you one. "You've been staring at the wall for about five minutes."
You accepted it with your uninjured hand. "Thanks."
"You sure you're okay?"
You laughed quietly. "I mean." You lifted the splinted arm a fraction. "I've been better."
Emma smiled sympathetically. "You scared us."
"I scared myself."
The memory came flooding back all over again. A young golden Labrador had panicked after spotting another dog in reception. One sharp pull on the lead. An owner losing their grip. The dog bolting towards an open treatment room. You hadn't thought, you'd simply reacted, one step, then another. Your trainer had landed on a patch of water someone hadn't noticed after cleaning. Your feet had disappeared from underneath you. The crack of your wrist hitting the tiled floor had been almost as loud as your own embarrassed groan.
The Labrador had been caught. Completely unharmed.
You were not quite as lucky.
Emma nudged your shoulder gently. "You know Mrs Harris came back before you left?"
You looked over. "Did she?"
"She wanted to check you were okay."
You smiled. "How was Buddy?"
"Completely oblivious."
You laughed. "Figures."
"He spent ten minutes trying to steal biscuits from reception."
"That's my boy."
"You've got a broken wrist and you're worried about the dog."
"He was frightened."
"So were we."
Your smile softened. "I know."
Before either of you could say anything else, the door opened. "Y/N?"
You looked up instinctively. The doctor smiled warmly. "We've had a look at your X-rays."
Emma squeezed your shoulder. "I'll be here."
You nodded once before following the doctor through into a smaller consultation room.
Fifteen minutes later you stared down at the fresh blue cast wrapped neatly around your forearm, well.
That wasn't ideal.
The doctor pulled up your X-rays on the screen beside him. "The good news is it's a clean fracture."
You nodded. "Okay."
"It should heal well."
Another nod. "You'll need to keep the cast dry."
"Mhm."
"No lifting."
"Mhm."
"No driving for a little while."
"Right."
"And I'd recommend taking the full six weeks off work."
That one made your head snap up. "Six?"
"I'm afraid so."
"I work in a veterinary practice."
"Exactly. You lift animals every day."
"I can do reception."
"You'll instinctively use your dominant hand."
You sighed quietly. "I probably would."
He smiled kindly. "I know six weeks sounds like a long time."
"It is."
"But you'll thank yourself later."
You looked back down at the cast. Six weeks, no work, no patients, no early morning puppy cuddles, no comforting nervous owners, no helping in surgery.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. You loved your job. Even the difficult days, especially the difficult days.
"I suppose I've not really got much choice."
"Not unless you'd like us to see you again with a worse fracture."
A reluctant smile tugged at your lips. "I'll pass."
"I thought you might." He handed over a folder of discharge paperwork. "If the pain gets worse, give us a call."
"I will."
"And let people help you." You laughed. "I'll try."
He smiled knowingly. "Somehow I don't think you're very good at that."
You smiled sheepishly. "No. I'm really not."
By the time you stepped back into the waiting room, Emma wasn't the only familiar face waiting anymore. The moment your eyes landed on bright orange trainers pacing across the floor you stopped. Becky. She was still dressed in the black leggings and oversized hoodie she'd clearly worn to the gym that morning, her hair hurriedly tied back into a messy ponytail. Her phone remained clutched tightly in one hand. The second she saw you she crossed the room in seconds. "There you are."
You barely had time to smile before she was standing directly in front of you. Her eyes immediately dropped to the cast, then back to your face, then the cast again. "Jesus."
You laughed softly. "It's not that bad."
Becky looked at you. Then looked deliberately back at the cast. "You've got a broken wrist."
"I know."
"It's in a cast."
"I noticed."
"You've got six weeks in that thing."
Emma quietly stood, giving Becky a reassuring smile. "She's all yours."
"Thank you."
After Emma disappeared back towards reception, Becky finally looked at you properly. Her expression softened. "You alright?"
You nodded. "Mhm."
"Liar."
"I'm okay."
"You cried?"
"I fell over."
"That wasn't my question."
You smiled despite yourself. "I cried a little."
"A little?"
"The floor won."
Becky let out the smallest huff of laughter before reaching up with both hands. "So dramatic."
"I'm the dramatic one?"
"You slipped chasing a Labrador."
"He was scared."
Her thumbs brushed lightly against your cheeks, checking for bruises before gently smoothing a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. "You hit your head?"
"No."
"Dizzy?"
"No."
"Nauseous?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Becky."
"What?"
"I'm alright."
She held your gaze for another second. Long enough to decide whether she believed you, she didn't. "You've eaten?"
"No."
"You've had painkillers?"
"They gave me some."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"It was a stressful morning."
She sighed quietly. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you've forgotten to look after yourself because you've been worrying about everyone else."
You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out. Because she wasn't wrong. You'd spent more time asking whether Buddy had calmed down than asking about your own X-rays.
Becky smiled knowingly. "Thought so."
Without another word, she gently took the discharge papers from your good hand before picking up your bag from beside the chair.
You blinked. "I can carry that."
"I know."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
"So..."
"So I'm carrying it."
You rolled your eyes affectionately. "It's not heavy."
"I didn't ask."
You couldn't help laughing. She was impossible. Always had been. As the two of you started towards the hospital exit, Becky slowed just enough to match your pace. She reached for the door before you had chance to, held it open.
Waited until you stepped through first. Outside, the afternoon air was cool against your face. The car park stretched out ahead of you. You instinctively reached into your coat pocket for your keys.
Becky was already holding her hand out. "I'll drive."
You frowned. "My car."
"Our car today."
"I can still drive."
"You absolutely cannot."
"I've only broken my wrist."
"You've broken your driving wrist."
You looked down at the cast. "That's actually a very good point."
"I know." She unlocked her own car with a click before opening the passenger door.
You looked at her for a moment. "You know"
"What?"
"I've only been injured for about three hours and you've already started."
She tilted her head innocently. "Started what?"
"Looking after me."
Becky looked genuinely confused. "I haven't started." She waited until you climbed into the passenger seat before carefully closing the door behind you. Only then did she walk around to the driver's side. When she settled into her seat beside you, she reached across the centre console and gently took your uninjured hand in hers. "I've always looked after you." Her thumb stroked lazily across your knuckles. "This is just making it a bit more obvious."
You looked down at your joined hands. Then back at the cast resting awkwardly across your lap. Somewhere beneath the frustration of cancelled shifts, six weeks away from work and a wrist that throbbed with every tiny movement something warm settled quietly in your chest. You had a feeling the broken wrist was going to test your patience but at least you had her to deal with it with you.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The first morning at home should have felt relaxing. Instead it felt unbearably slow. For the first time in years, your alarm wasn't dragging you awake at half past five for an early shift at the practice. There were no overnight patient notes to read. No surgery list waiting on your desk. No excitable Labradors greeting you before you'd even had your first coffee. Just silence. You lay awake long before the alarm you no longer needed was due to go off, staring up at the ceiling while morning sunlight crept through the gap in the curtains. Beside you, Becky slept soundly, one arm stretched lazily across your waist.
You smiled despite yourself. She looked so peaceful. Nothing like the loud, quick-witted woman who spent her evenings under arena lights in front of thousands of people.
You carefully shifted, trying not to wake her as you eased yourself upright. Your wrist protested immediately. "Ow."
You muttered it more to yourself than anything else. The movement beside you was almost instant.
"You alright?"
You looked over. Becky hadn't even opened her eyes properly yet. "My wrist's just reminding me it's broken."
One green eye finally opened. "It'll do that."
"So I've noticed."
She stretched before sitting up beside you. "What time is it?"
You glanced towards your phone. "Just after seven."
"You should still be asleep."
"So should you."
Eventually Becky rubbed a hand over her face before standing. "Stay there."
You frowned. "Why?"
"I'm making coffee."
"I can make coffee."
"I know."
She disappeared from the bedroom before you could argue. You sighed fondly.
It had officially begun.
By the time you wandered into the kitchen ten minutes later, Becky was already standing at the hob. Two mugs sat waiting on the counter. Toast was browning under the grill. Your favourite cereal had somehow appeared beside a bowl. You blinked. "What happened?"
Becky looked over her shoulder. "Breakfast."
"I can see that."
"You should eat."
"I was going to."
She raised an eyebrow. "Were you?"
"Eventually."
She smiled to herself. "Exactly."
You walked over, leaning one hip against the counter. "You know"
"What?"
"I've lived on my own for years."
"I know."
"I've successfully made breakfast every single morning."
"Today you don't have to." She slid your mug across the counter.
You reached for it automatically with your casted hand. The mug slipped. "Oh-" Before it could even tilt properly, Becky caught it with one hand. Without a word, she gently turned it around and placed the handle towards your left hand instead.
"There."
You looked at her. "I would've got there."
"I know."
"You don't have to keep rescuing me."
"I wasn't rescuing you." She nudged the mug another inch closer. "I was saving my coffee."
A laugh escaped you. "That's rude."
"It would've gone everywhere."
Breakfast lasted all of fifteen minutes before you became restless. You wandered around the apartment aimlessly while Becky rinsed the plates. You straightened cushions that didn't need straightening. Adjusted a plant by the window. Picked up yesterday's post, put it back down again. Then wandered into the living room. It was strange.
You'd wanted time off before. Dreamed about lazy mornings. Now that you had them you didn't know what to do with yourself.
"You okay?" Becky's voice drifted in from the kitchen.
"I'm bored."
"You've been off work for" She checked the clock. "roughly eighteen hours."
"I know."
"You've got another six weeks."
"Don't remind me."
She laughed quietly. "I thought you'd enjoy a break."
"I thought I would too." You sank onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh. "I miss my patients."
"You saw them yesterday."
"I know."
"I wonder if Buddy's behaving himself."
Becky looked around the corner. "You've broken your wrist."
"I know."
"And you're worrying about a Labrador."
"He gets anxious."
"So do you."
You smiled sheepishly. "Maybe."
She dried her hands before walking over. Without saying anything, she sat beside you. Close enough that your knees bumped together. "You know" She reached over, gently taking your injured hand and resting it more comfortably on a cushion. "they'll all still be there when you go back."
"I know."
"You don't have to fix everything."
"I wasn't trying to."
She gave you a look. "You've texted three people since breakfast."
"I was checking in."
"You were making sure everyone else was okay."
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. She wasn't wrong.
Again.
Your phone buzzed against the coffee table.
Emma Morning! Buddy has successfully stolen another tennis ball and the cat from yesterday is finally eating. Hope you're resting
You smiled immediately.
"They're okay?" Becky asked.
"Mhm."
You quickly typed back.
Tell Buddy he's banned from causing workplace injuries.
Emma's reply came almost instantly.
He says no.
Becky smiled, shaking her head. "You really love that job."
"I do."
"I know." There was no jealousy in her voice. No frustration. Just understanding. She knew how much the practice meant to you. She'd seen you come home after twelve-hour shifts exhausted but smiling because you'd helped reunite someone's lost dog with its owner. She'd watched you cry over patients you'd lost. Celebrate the ones who recovered. Light up every single time you got to cuddle a litter of puppies.
She would never ask you to love it less.
Later that afternoon, you decided enough was enough. You were perfectly capable of doing the washing, one-handed, probably. You carried the laundry basket into the utility room with your good arm balanced awkwardly underneath it.
"This is fine." You muttered to yourself. You nudged the washing machine door open with your knee. Bent slightly to pick up a towel. Tried balancing it against your hip while reaching
"What are you doing?"
You froze. Slowly turning around, you found Becky standing in the doorway with two mugs of tea in her hands. "Laundry."
"I can see that."
"I was helping."
"You've got one working hand."
"I know."
"And you're trying to carry a basket bigger than you."
"I nearly had it."
"You nearly dropped it."
"I didn't though."
Becky set the mugs down on the worktop before walking over. She didn't sigh. Didn't tell you off. She simply lifted the basket from your arm as though it weighed nothing. "You don't have to."
"I know."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
She started loading the machine.
You stood beside her, feeling oddly useless. "I hate this."
She looked up. "The washing?"
"No." You gestured vaguely towards your cast. "This."
"I know."
"I hate not being able to do simple things."
"You'll get there."
"I just" Your voice became quieter. "I don't like needing help."
The washing machine clicked shut. Becky rested her hip against the counter, looking at you properly. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then she reached across with her free hand, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think” She smiled softly. "you're confusing needing help with letting someone love you."
You frowned. "What?"
She took your good hand in hers. "You've spent years looking after everyone else." A gentle squeeze. "So maybe" She shrugged. "for a little while" Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. "you could let me look after you."
Something tightened in your throat. You looked down at your joined hands. Then back up at her. "You make that sound very easy."
"It is."
"For you."
She smiled. "Exactly."
Before you could say another word, the washing machine beeped as it started its cycle. Becky looked at it. Then back at you. "There."
"What?"
"You've officially helped."
"I did absolutely nothing."
"You supervised."
A laugh escaped you. "That's not helping."
"It is if I say it is."
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop smiling.
Maybe, just maybe learning how to accept help was going to be harder than recovering from the broken wrist itself.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The airport was already busy by the time the two of you arrived. Families hurried between check-in desks with overstuffed suitcases. Business travellers marched through the terminal with coffees in one hand and phones pressed to their ears. Children darted between queues while parents desperately tried to keep up.
It was loud. Chaotic.
Exactly the kind of place that usually made you instinctively speed up to get through it. Today you couldn't.
Your suitcase bumped awkwardly behind you as you tried to steer it with your left hand, your cast making every movement feel clumsy and unfamiliar. You managed all of three steps. Then the handle disappeared from your hand. You looked up. "Becky."
She didn't even break stride as she effortlessly added your suitcase to the one she was already pulling. "What?"
"I can wheel my own suitcase."
"I know."
"You've already got yours. you don't need both."
"I know." She glanced sideways at you with the smallest smile. "I've got both."
You sighed dramatically. "This is going to be a long six weeks."
"It'll fly by."
"It won't."
"You'll survive."
"I'll survive you?"
She grinned. "Probably."
You nudged her shoulder with your own as the two of you joined the check-in queue. "You know you're incredibly stubborn."
"So I've heard."
Checking in somehow became another lesson in just how much you took two working hands for granted. Your passport stayed tucked safely inside your handbag. You reached to unzip it. The zip caught awkwardly beneath your fingers. You frowned, trying again. Before you'd even managed to get a proper grip, there was another hand beside yours.
Becky gently held the bag steady while unzipping it in one smooth movement before handing it back without a word.
You stared at her.
"What?"
"You didn't even let me struggle."
"You looked annoyed."
"I was."
"So I fixed it." She said it so simply that you almost laughed. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
The woman behind the desk smiled as she took your passports. "Travelling together?"
Becky nodded. "We are." She handed over both boarding passes before you even realised the receptionist had finished
printing them.
Then came security. Shoes off. Liquids out. Laptop from Becky's backpack.
You watched her move efficiently through everything while you awkwardly tried balancing your
handbag on one shoulder. "I've got it."
You looked up as Becky reached for your tray. "I know where my things go."
"I know."
"You keep saying that."
"'Cause I do." She placed your handbag neatly beside your shoes before helping lift your jacket into the tray.
The security officer smiled sympathetically at your cast. "Ouch."
You smiled back. "Occupational hazard."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a veterinary nurse."
He nodded knowingly. "That'll do it."
An hour later, the two of you found a quiet corner near your gate. You dropped into one of the seats with a relieved sigh, your wrist ached, your shoulder ached from compensating, even your back hurt. Apparently one broken wrist had somehow convinced the rest of your body to join in. You flexed your fingers carefully.
Becky noticed immediately. "Sore?"
"A little."
She didn't respond straight away. Instead, she crouched in front of your seat and gently adjusted the sling that had slipped lower on your shoulder. "There."
"It wasn't bothering me."
"It would've." She straightened the strap once more before standing. "I'll be back."
You frowned. "Where are you going?"
"Two minutes."
"You've just sat down."
"Two minutes." Before you could ask anything else, she'd disappeared into the sea of travellers.
You leaned back in your chair, shaking your head affectionately.
Five minutes later she returned balancing two takeaway cups, a paper bag and a bottle of water tucked beneath her arm. She handed you the coffee first. Already holding it so the handle faced your left hand, then the water, the lid had already been loosened.
Not taken off completely. Just loosened enough that you could open it yourself. Finally she passed over the paper bag.
"What's this?"
"Breakfast."
"I already had breakfast."
"You had toast."
"I like toast."
"You also forgot you were travelling."
You peeked inside. A yoghurt pot. Fruit. A little granola pot. The exact smoothie you always picked whenever you travelled together.
You looked back at her. "You remembered."
"You always say airport food's rubbish."
"It usually is."
"So" Another shrug. "I got your favourite."
Your chest warmed. "Thank you."
A few minutes later, your boarding gate still hadn't been called. You and Becky sat shoulder to shoulder, watching planes taxi slowly across the runway outside. You absent-mindedly tried peeling back the foil lid on the yoghurt, it refused to budge.
You frowned. Tried again.
Nothing.
Without looking away from the window, Becky quietly held out her hand. She wiggled her fingers.
You handed her the yoghurt.
She peeled the lid back halfway before placing it gently back into your lap. "There."
You laughed quietly. "You weren't even looking."
"I heard you."
"You heard me opening yoghurt?"
"I heard you fighting it."
"I wasn't fighting it."
"You definitely were."
"I would've won eventually."
"Mhm." She took a sip of her coffee. "I believe you."
You couldn't stop smiling. There was something almost ridiculous about it. None of these things were particularly important. Tiny, forgettable moments.
And yet Becky seemed to notice every single one before you had the chance to ask.
"Well." A familiar Irish voice cut through your thoughts.
You both looked up to find Lyra standing a few seats away, her own backpack slung over one shoulder. "I was wondering if I'd find you two."
"Morning," Becky smiled.
Lyra's eyes immediately landed on the collection of things spread across your lap. Coffee. Breakfast. Water. Then back to Becky. "You've already started."
Becky frowned. "Started what?"
Lyra laughed. "The tour." She pointed towards your breakfast. "You've packed snacks, I'd bet money you've already got painkillers in your backpack."
Becky looked genuinely confused. "I do."
"I know you do."
Lyra smiled at you. "She's impossible after someone she loves gets hurt."
You laughed. "I've noticed."
"No." Lyra grinned. "You've noticed about... five percent."
Becky rolled her eyes affectionately. "Don't encourage her."
"I'm serious!" Lyra laughed. "Last year I mentioned I had a headache once."
You looked curious. "What happened?"
"She somehow produced painkillers, water, a cereal bar and one of those little cooling patches for your forehead."
You blinked. "...Seriously?"
Becky shrugged. "It helped."
"It absolutely did." Lyra smiled warmly. "That's just Becky." She looked between the two of you before adding quietly, "She can't fix everything, so she fixes whatever she can."
The boarding announcement crackled over the speakers before either of you replied. People immediately began standing. Collecting bags. Joining the queue. You reached for your suitcase. Your hand closed around empty air. Becky was already holding it, again.
You looked at her.
She smiled innocently. "What?"
You just laughed, slipping your uninjured hand into hers instead. "Nothing."
Because arguing was becoming pointless. And if you were honest, having someone quietly making every difficult moment just a little bit easier was starting to feel less like losing your independence and more like being loved in a language you'd never really understood before.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Walking into a WWE arena as anything other than a fan felt surreal. Your visitor's pass bounced lightly against your chest as Becky led you through a maze of corridors that somehow seemed even bigger behind the scenes than they ever looked on television.
Road cases lined the walls, crew members hurried past carrying lighting equipment, someone called for a camera operator, music echoed faintly from the arena bowl where rehearsals were already underway.
You couldn't stop looking around. "This is" You laughed quietly. "insane."
Becky smiled without slowing down. "It gets less exciting."
"I don't believe you."
"You will."
"I definitely won't."
She glanced over her shoulder just in time to catch you stopping to watch two members of the ring crew assembling the barricades. "You coming?"
"Oh." You hurried after her.
"Sorry."
"You'll get distracted all day."
"I probably will."
The women's locker room was already buzzing when Becky pushed the door open. Almost immediately, several heads turned. "She's here!" Before you even had chance to react, Lyra crossed the room with a huge smile. "There she is!" She wrapped you in a careful one-armed hug, making sure to avoid your cast completely. "How's the wrist?"
"It still exists."
"I can see that."
Bayley wandered over next, taking one look at the bright blue cast before letting out a sympathetic wince. "Oof."
"I know."
"What happened?"
"I lost a fight with a wet floor."
Bayley nodded solemnly. "They're dangerous."
"The floor won."
"It usually does."
Maxxine appeared beside her with a warm smile. "We've all been dying to meet you properly."
You laughed. "I feel like I know everyone already."
"That's because Becky talks about you constantly."
Your eyebrows lifted immediately. "Oh?"
Across the room, Becky was pulling her gear bag out of a locker. "I do not."
"You absolutely do," Lyra called back. "'She'd love this café.' “She'd think this dog was cute.'"
Bayley grinned. "'I should take her there one day.'"
You looked at Becky, who had suddenly become incredibly interested in finding a clean T-shirt. "You've been gossiping."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
"I've been making conversation."
Lyra laughed. "Conversation that somehow always ends with you."
Your smile softened. The thought of Becky seeing little things on the road and immediately thinking of you made your heart ache in the best way.
The next hour disappeared surprisingly quickly. You sat chatting with Lyra and Bayley while Becky headed off to production meetings. Every now and then someone else wandered over to introduce themselves. Most of them had already heard about "Becky's girlfriend with the broken wrist."
Apparently news travelled fast backstage.
"So..." Bayley leaned back in her chair. "How are you coping?"
"I'm going slightly mad."
"I knew it."
"I've never been this... unproductive."
"You've worked since you were what, sixteen?"
"Seventeen."
"There you go."
You sighed. "I don't know how to just sit still."
Before Bayley could answer, Becky reappeared in the doorway. She didn't say anything. She simply walked over and placed a bottle of water on the table in front of you. The lid had already been loosened. Then she put a small packet of painkillers beside it.
"You've got twenty minutes."
You frowned. "Until what?"
"Until your next dose."
"I wasn't going to forget."
Becky just gave you a look.
Lyra snorted into her coffee. "Sure."
"I wasn't!"
Becky smiled to herself. "You absolutely were."
You opened your mouth to argue. Then realised you genuinely had forgotten."Maybe."
"I know." She squeezed your shoulder gently before disappearing again. Just like that. In and out. As though she'd only come back to make sure you were alright.
Bayley watched her leave before looking at you. "See?"
"What?"
"She doesn't even realise she's doing it."
A couple of hours later, you wandered out towards the curtain to watch rehearsals. The arena was still mostly empty. Crew members adjusted cameras around ringside while wrestlers walked through entrances under the direction of producers. You stood quietly off to one side, fascinated.
"You alright there?"
You turned to find one of the production assistants smiling at you. "Yeah."
"First time backstage?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"A little."
You laughed. "I feel like a kid at a museum."
"They all do the first time."
You watched Becky in the ring, talking through something with a producer before running the sequence again. She looked completely different out there. Focused. Confident. Every movement deliberate. You'd seen her wrestle hundreds of times. Watching her work up close somehow made you admire her even more.
"You look proud." The production assistant's voice pulled you from your thoughts.
"I am."
"She's lucky."
You smiled. "I think I'm the lucky one."
By the time rehearsals finished, the arena had become noticeably busier. Crew rushed in every direction as show time crept closer. You checked your phone. Nearly four o'clock, your stomach rumbled. Apparently airport yoghurt wasn't quite enough. You glanced around. Maybe there was somewhere to grab—
"There you are." You turned to find Becky weaving through the corridor towards you. In one hand she carried two paper bags. In the other two coffees. "You vanished."
"I was watching rehearsal."
"I know." She handed you one of the bags. You looked inside. A sandwich. Crisps. A little fruit pot. The exact sparkling water you always bought from meal deals.
You looked back up. "When did you do this?"
"After rehearsal."
"You had media."
"I know."
"You had production."
"I know."
"You've barely stopped all day."
"I know."
"So when exactly did you have time to go shopping?"
She shrugged. "I made time."
Your chest tightened. "Becky"
"What?"
"You didn't have to leave the arena just to buy me lunch."
"I know."
She took a sip of her own coffee. "But if I'd left you to buy it..." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "...you'd have come back with three chocolate bars and a packet of crisps."
You tried to look offended. "I eat vegetables."
"Occasionally."
"I had fruit yesterday."
"I bought that too."
You laughed, shaking your head. "I can't win." "Nope."
She reached over, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from your shoulder before nodding towards the sandwich. "Eat."
"What if I'm not hungry?"
"You are."
"How do you know?"
She looked at her watch. "You always get hungry around four if you skipped a proper breakfast."
You blinked. "...That's weird."
"It's observant."
"It is a little weird."
She smiled. "I'll take that."
You looked down at the lunch in your hands, then back up at the woman standing in front of you. She'd crossed an entire arena between rehearsals, interviews and production meetings just to make sure you ate something you'd actually enjoy. It wasn't grand, it wasn't flashy, it wasn't even something anyone else would probably notice.
But somehow those were becoming your favourite kinds of moments. The quiet ones. The ones where Becky never asked for recognition.
She simply saw something that would make your day a little easier and did it before you even realised you needed her to.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
By the fourth city, you'd settled into something that almost resembled a routine, wake up, travel, coffee, arena, watch rehearsals, spend the afternoon talking to whoever wandered into the women's locker room, watch the show, hotel, repeat. It should have felt easy. Instead you were exhausted.
Not physically, mentally. Everything took longer. Buttoning your jeans one-handed, tying your hair, putting toothpaste on your toothbrush, opening bottles. Even answering messages took twice as long because your dominant hand remained trapped inside a bright blue cast that seemed determined to remind you it existed every few minutes.
Worst of all you hated asking for help. You'd always been the person people came to. The one lifting anxious Labradors onto examination tables. Holding nervous cats wrapped safely in towels. Helping elderly owners carry bags of prescription food to their cars. Looking after everyone else had become such a normal part of your life that you barely thought about it anymore.
Now someone was constantly looking after you and some stubborn part of you still hadn't figured out how to let that happen without feeling guilty.
The hotel room was quiet when you and Becky finally got back after another live show. You slipped your trainers off with a tired sigh. Your wrist throbbed, your shoulders ached, all you wanted was a shower and bed. Becky disappeared into the bathroom. You assumed she was brushing her teeth.
Instead, you heard the bath running. You smiled to yourself. Of course. She emerged a minute later. "I've put your towel on the radiator so it's warm, you've got clean pyjamas on the bed. I've charged your Kindle and your phone."
You looked over. "Becky."
"What?"
"You've had your own match tonight."
"I know."
"You don't have to keep doing all this."
"I know." She said it so casually. As though those three words explained everything.
You sighed, rubbing tiredly at your forehead. "I can run my own bath."
"I know."
"I can find my own pyjamas."
"I know."
"I can charge my own phone."
"I know."
"So stop." The room fell silent. The words hung in the air far longer than you'd intended. Becky didn't look angry. If anything she looked surprised. You closed your eyes. "I'm sorry."
"No." She shook her head gently. "You don't have to apologise."
"I didn't mean to snap."
"I know."
You laughed bitterly. "I just..." You struggled to find the words. "I hate this." Becky stayed exactly where she was. Giving you space. Not interrupting. "I hate feeling slow. I hate that everything takes forever. I hate that I need help opening stupid water bottles." Your voice cracked despite yourself. I hate that you have to keep doing things for me. You've got enough on your plate already."
Silence settled between you. Then Becky crossed the room. Not quickly. Not cautiously. Just steadily. She stopped in front of you. "You finished?"
You let out a watery laugh. "...Maybe."
"Good." She reached for your good hand. "I've been waiting."
"What?"
"For you to tell me what's actually bothering you."
You frowned. "I just did."
"No." She smiled softly. "You told me what happened, you didn't tell me why you're upset."
Your shoulders slumped. Because she'd seen straight through you. You looked down at your cast. "I don't like feeling... useless." The word came out so quietly you barely heard it yourself.
Becky's expression immediately softened. "You are not useless."
"I know logically. But it feels like it." You looked around the room. "You carry my bags, you open everything, you make my food, you remember my medication, you've basically become my second pair of hands."
She squeezed your fingers gently. "Can I tell you something?" You nodded. "I've never once done any of those things because I thought you couldn't."
You looked up. "What?"
"I know you can carry your bag. I know you can make your own tea. I know you can sort your own suitcase." Another gentle squeeze. "I've seen you wrestle seventy-pound dogs into bathtubs."
A laugh escaped you through your tears. "They didn't always want to."
"I know."
"I've watched you work twelve-hour shifts. Drive home. Cook dinner. Then get up and do it all again." She smiled. "You're the most capable person I know."
Your throat tightened. "Then why..."
She looked down at your hand before answering. "Because right now..." She lifted your casted wrist ever so carefully. "...everything costs you more." You stayed quiet. "Opening a bottle, getting dressed, carrying your bag, they're all little things." She shrugged. "But they take energy and you've only got so much." The room was silent except for the water still quietly running in the bathroom. "So" She smiled "If I can save you a little bit of that energy" She brushed her thumb across your knuckles. "why wouldn't I?"
A tear slipped down your cheek. You laughed softly as you wiped it away with the back of your good hand. "You make it sound so obvious."
"It is." She smiled. "You spend your whole life making other people's days easier." Another shrug. "So..." She tilted her head. "I thought it was about time someone did the same for you."
You couldn't stop crying now. Not because you were upset. Because nobody had ever said something that made you feel so completely understood.
Becky noticed immediately. "Oh, sweetheart..." She stepped forward, wrapping one arm carefully around your shoulders and pulling you gently against her chest. "I'm sorry."
You shook your head. "Don't apologise."
"I've made you cry."
"You've made me feel loved."
Her arms tightened around you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there in the middle of the hotel room, listening to the steady beat of her heart beneath your ear.
Eventually, you laughed quietly. "You know..."
"What?"
"I think you're impossible."
She kissed the top of your head. "I've been told."
"You never let me struggle."
"No."
"You never let me carry anything."
"No."
"You never even let me open yoghurt."
She chuckled. "Can I make one request?"
You tipped your head back to look at her. "What?"
"When you think you need to do everything yourself..." She brushed another tear from your cheek. "...just let me."
Three simple words. Just let me.
Not because she thought you were weak. Not because she thought you needed saving. Simply because easing your burden, however small, was the most natural expression of love she knew.
For the first time since you'd broken your wrist you realised that maybe accepting help wasn't taking something away from Becky. Maybe it was allowing her to love you in the way that came most naturally to her.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The following Friday in Boston started earlier than usual. By half past eight, the arena was already buzzing with production meetings, camera rehearsals and crew wheeling endless road cases through the corridors. You wandered into catering with your visitor's pass swinging against your hoodie, still rubbing sleep from your eyes. The smell of fresh coffee hit you almost immediately.
"Healed yet?" You looked up to find Lyra already sitting at one of the long tables, a bowl of fruit balanced in front of her.
You laughed. "I think you're legally required to stop asking me that. I've got another few weeks."
She winced. "Right."
You slid into the chair opposite her. "I've started counting down."
"I don't blame you."
A yawn escaped before you could stop it. Long travel days and late finishes were finally beginning to catch up with you.
"You look shattered."
"I feel shattered."
"You sleep alright?"
"Mhm. I just..." You shrugged. "I miss work."
Lyra smiled sympathetically. "I know."
Before either of you could say anything else, Becky appeared carrying two trays. Not one, two. She set the first down in front of you. Coffee. Orange juice. Porridge with blueberries. Toast. The little yoghurt you always picked. Then she placed the second tray opposite you before sitting beside you instead of across from you.
You looked between the food and Becky. "When did you even do this?"
"You were talking."
"I'd been here about thirty seconds."
"Mhm."
"You've somehow completed an entire breakfast."
"I walk fast."
Lyra laughed into her coffee. "She absolutely does."
You looked down at the tray. "This is exactly what I would've picked."
Becky frowned. "I know."
"You didn't even ask."
"I didn't need to."
You couldn't help smiling. "No, I suppose you didn't."
Halfway through breakfast, your phone buzzed. Emma. A picture message. Buddy. The same golden Labrador who had accidentally started this whole adventure. He was lying dramatically across the reception floor with a tennis ball balanced between his paws.
Emma: He still refuses to apologise.
You burst out laughing.
"What?" Becky asked. You turned the phone around. She smiled immediately. "He looks guilty."
"He looks proud of himself."
"He probably is."
You typed back one-handed.
Tell him he's lucky he's cute.
A second later another message appeared.
He's currently trying to steal Sharon's sandwich.
You laughed even harder. "I miss them."
Becky reached over, absent-mindedly rubbing your shoulder. "I know."
It was such a small gesture that you barely thought about it.
Until Lyra looked between the two of you with the tiniest smile. "What?" You asked.
"Nothing." She laughed. "I was just thinking" She nodded towards Becky. "You don't even notice anymore."
"What?"
"The little things."
You frowned. "What little things?"
Lyra blinked. "Exactly."
You looked at Becky. Then back to Lyra. "I don't understand."
Lyra rested her chin in her hand. "Watch."
The opportunity came less than two minutes later. You reached for the little pot of jam beside your toast, the lid refused to move. Instinctively, you turned towards Becky. You didn't even have to ask. She'd already taken it, twisted the lid off, handed it straight back. Never stopping her own conversation with Bayley, who had just wandered over. "There you go."
"Thanks."
"No bother." The exchange lasted perhaps three seconds.
Lyra smiled knowingly. "Told you."
"Told me what?"
"You two do that all the time."
You frowned. "Do what?"
"You never ask." Lyra pointed at Becky. "She just knows."
"I mean..." You looked at the jam. "I couldn't open it."
Lyra laughed. "No. I mean everything. She moved your chair closer before you sat down."
You blinked. "She did?"
"She grabbed your coffee before you walked in."
"I thought catering did that."
"They did."
"She picked it up."
You looked at Becky. She looked genuinely confused. "I was getting mine."
Lyra continued. "She moved your spoon onto the left side because of your cast."
You looked down. Sure enough she had. At some point. Without you noticing.
"I..." You honestly hadn't realised.
Lyra smiled softly. "That's what I meant. You've stopped seeing it."
"No..." You corrected quietly. "I've started expecting it." The words left your mouth before you'd even thought about them. Silence settled around the table. Not awkward. Just thoughtful.
Becky looked at you. "You alright?"
You smiled. "I was just thinking."
"Dangerous."
You laughed. "I know."
The show itself flew by. You spent most of the evening tucked away behind the curtain with a headset-wearing producer explaining camera positions while Becky prepared for her match. You'd become surprisingly fond of watching everything happen behind the scenes. The organised chaos, the countdowns, the split-second timing. It fascinated you. After Becky disappeared through the curtain for her entrance, you found yourself standing beside Adam Pearce. He folded his arms, watching the monitor with an approving nod. "You settling into tour life?"
"I think so."
"You've become part of the furniture."
You laughed. "I hope that's a compliment."
"It is."
He smiled. "I've also got to say..." He glanced towards the monitor where Becky was making her entrance. "I don't think I've ever seen Becky this relaxed on the road."
You looked over. "What do you mean?"
"Usually she's worrying about what's happening back home." He shrugged. "Checking her phone, making sure you're alright. This time” He smiled. "you're here." The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. Adam continued. "I think you've done just as much for her as she's done for you."
Before you could answer, someone's headset crackled loudly. He excused himself with a quick nod, disappearing back towards Gorilla.
You stood there for another moment. Watching Becky in the ring, thinking. You'd spent weeks feeling guilty because she'd been carrying your bags, making your tea, opening bottles, remembering medication. You'd never stopped to consider what if bringing you here hadn't just been about looking after you? What if it had made her life easier too?
You smiled to yourself.
Maybe acts of service weren't always about washing clothes or making dinner.
Maybe sometimes it was simply doing whatever you could to make the person you loved worry a little less.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
By the final stop of the tour, the cast had somehow become part of you. You no longer caught yourself reaching for things with your right hand every five minutes. You'd mastered tying your hair one-handed. You could get dressed in half the time it had taken during that disastrous first week. Even brushing your teeth no longer felt like an Olympic sport.
Things were getting easier. Not because your wrist had healed overnight. Because you'd adapted.
More importantly you'd stopped apologising.
The hotel overlooked the river, the city lights reflecting in shimmering streaks across the water outside your window. Becky had disappeared downstairs after saying something about "five minutes."
You'd learned by now that five minutes in Becky-time could mean anything from three minutes to half an hour. So instead of wondering where she'd gone, you curled up on the sofa with your Kindle. The battery was full of course it was. You smiled to yourself. Some habits weren't changing any time soon.
You'd barely finished a chapter when the hotel room door clicked open. "I'm back."
You looked up. Becky stood in the doorway balancing a paper bag under one arm and two takeaway cups in the other. "You left for coffee?"
"Mhm."
"You didn't tell me."
"You were reading." She walked over, setting everything carefully on the coffee table. "I didn't want to interrupt."
You looked inside the paper bag. Your favourite bakery. The one you'd wandered past three days earlier. The one where you'd spent a good five minutes staring through the window. "You..." You looked back at her. "...how?"
"What?"
"This bakery."
"You said it smelt nice."
"I did on Tuesday."
"I know."
"You remembered?"
She looked genuinely puzzled. "You wanted to try it."
"I said one sentence. You remembered one sentence from three days ago."
She shrugged as though it required absolutely no effort. "I was listening."
You stared at the warm pastry in your hands. Not because it was expensive. It wasn't.
Not because it was particularly romantic. It wasn't.
Because she'd noticed. One passing comment. One absent-minded observation.
And somehow she'd filed it away for later. "You've been thinking about this for three days."
"I've been waiting until we had time."
Your heart melted.
The two of you sat together by the window while the evening settled outside. Neither of you spoke much. You didn't need to. Becky flicked idly through something on her phone while you picked apart the pastry beside her. Every so often she'd point out something she'd found online. A video of an Irish Wolfhound puppy that instantly made you laugh. A picture of a cat that looked permanently offended. A news story about a rescued fox.
Normal things. Comfortable things.
You'd always thought love needed to be loud. Big gestures. Grand declarations. Flowers. Fancy dates.
Instead it looked a lot like this. Sharing a pastry, laughing at silly videos, sitting in comfortable silence while your feet rested against hers on the sofa.
"I'm getting another drink." You looked over. "You want one?"
Normally your first instinct would've been, "No, I'll get it."
Instead you smiled. "Please."
Becky smiled back. "Tea?"
"Mhm."
She disappeared towards the little kitchenette. You watched her quietly. The way she filled the kettle before grabbing your favourite mug. The one she'd quietly claimed for you on the first night because the handle was easier to hold with your left hand. She didn't even think about it anymore. It was automatic. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she opened the little cupboard. Paused. Then looked over. "We're nearly out of your painkillers."
You blinked. "I didn't even realise."
"I know."
"I'll grab more before we leave tomorrow."
Another tiny thing. Another thing she'd noticed before you had.
A knock at the hotel door interrupted the moment. "I'll get it." You stood.
Halfway across the room you heard footsteps behind you. You smiled without turning around.
"You know..."
"What?"
"I can answer the door."
"I know."
You reached the handle first. Opening it to find Lyra standing outside with a grin. She looked between the two of you. Then burst out laughing.
"What?" You asked.
"I watched that happen."
"What?"
"You got to the door first."
You frowned. "So?"
Lyra pointed at Becky. "She still followed you."
"I was..." Becky stopped. Thought about it. "...making sure."
"Making sure of what?" you laughed.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I just..." She rubbed the back of her neck, laughing at herself. "...I suppose I wanted to make sure you didn't have to use your bad hand."
You looked down. The handle was already in your left hand. You'd naturally adjusted weeks ago. "You realise I would've been alright."
"I know."
Lyra shook her head affectionately. "You're hopeless."
Becky grinned. "I've been told."
After Lyra left, you closed the door behind her and turned back towards Becky. She still looked faintly embarrassed. "I didn't even think."
"I know."
"I just got up."
"I know."
"You think I'm ridiculous."
"I think..." You walked over until there was barely any space between you. "...I finally understand."
Her expression softened. "What do you mean?"
You reached up with your good hand, gently straightening the collar of her hoodie. A tiny thing. One she'd usually do for you. "I spent weeks trying to stop you."
"Mhm."
"I kept thinking you were helping because you thought I couldn't."
She shook her head immediately. "I know."
You smiled. "But now I know..." You brushed an invisible speck of fluff from her shoulder. "...you just like making my day a little easier."
For a moment, Becky didn't say anything. She simply looked at you with that impossibly soft expression that always seemed reserved just for you. Then she leaned down, pressing a slow kiss against your forehead. "My favourite thing." She whispered it so quietly you almost missed it.
"What is?"
"Looking after you."
Your eyes stung unexpectedly. Not because she'd said anything extraordinary. Because she'd said it so simply. As though it was the easiest truth in the world. You wrapped your arms carefully around her waist. "I think..."You smiled into her shoulder "...I'm finally getting better at letting you."
She held you a little tighter. "You are and do you know what?"
"Hm?"
"It makes my job much easier."
You laughed.
"Your job?"
"Mhm." She kissed the top of your head. "My favourite one."
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Six weeks passed far quicker than either of you expected. Not that Becky agreed. She claimed every single one had lasted approximately three months. You argued that was dramatic. She reminded you she was dating a veterinary nurse who had attempted to carry a full washing basket one-handed less than twenty-four hours after breaking her wrist.
You admitted she had a point.
Just not out loud.
The cast came off on a rainy Tuesday morning. You couldn't stop staring at your arm. It looked strange, smaller somehow, paler than the rest of your skin. Your wrist felt stiff, your fingers reluctant to move after weeks of being confined, but it was free. The consultant smiled as you carefully rotated it. "It'll take a little while to build the strength back up."
You nodded. "I expected that."
"Ease yourself back into things."
"I will."
"No lifting anything heavy for another couple of weeks."
You smiled sheepishly. "I've heard that before."
"I imagine someone at home has been reminding you."
You laughed. "You've no idea."
Two days later, the two of you were back on the road. The arena felt almost comforting now. You knew the corridors. The catering staff greeted you by name. Production assistants smiled as you passed. Even security waved you through without checking your pass twice. You'd somehow become part of the travelling family.
Becky was still asleep when you woke in the hotel room that morning. For a few moments, you simply watched her. Curled beneath the duvet. Hair spread messily across the pillow. One hand tucked underneath her cheek, peaceful.
You smiled to yourself. She looked so different like this. No cameras. No championship mindset.
Just your Becky.
Your eyes drifted towards the bedside table. Her phone sat on charge. Her watch beside it. Her travel itinerary tucked underneath. Without really thinking about it you quietly climbed out of bed.
The coffee machine hissed softly in the kitchenette. You remembered exactly how she liked it. Not because she'd ever written it down. Because you'd watched her make it hundreds of times, strong. Just enough milk to take the edge off, no sugar.
You placed her favourite mug beside yours. Then filled both.
Next came breakfast. You found the yoghurt she'd bought yesterday. Cut up the strawberries she'd said looked good in the supermarket. Toasted two slices of sourdough. By the time everything was plated neatly on the little hotel table. the room still hadn't stirred behind you.
Perfect.
You wandered back into the bedroom as quietly as possible. Her gear bag sat half-zipped on the chair. You crouched beside it, boots, knee pads, gear, spare laces, make-up bag, headphones, water bottle, everything she'd normally double-check before leaving. You smiled as you tucked the last item neatly inside. Then zipped it closed.
A movement behind you caught your attention. "You've been busy." You turned. Becky stood in the bedroom doorway, still sleepy, rubbing one eye. She looked from you to the packed gear bag. Then to the breakfast waiting on the table. Then the two mugs of coffee.
For once she looked completely speechless.
You smiled. "Morning."
She blinked. "What's all this?"
"Breakfast."
"I can see that."
"And your bag's packed."
"I can see that too."
You walked over, handing her one of the mugs. She accepted it automatically, still looking completely bewildered. "You didn't have to do all this."
"I know." Her eyebrows lifted. You couldn't help smiling. "I finally got to say it."
A quiet laugh escaped her. "You've been waiting, haven't you?"
"A little."
She took another slow look around the room. "You packed my bag."
"Mhm."
"You made breakfast."
"Mhm."
"You charged my headphones."
"They were nearly dead."
"My water bottle's full."
"You always forget."
"I don't always forget."
"You forgot yesterday."
"...Fair." She shook her head, laughing softly to herself. "You've been paying attention."
"I've had a very good teacher."
Something in her expression melted. Not pride. Not surprise. Something softer than either.
You stepped closer. "For six weeks..." You gently adjusted the collar of her hoodie where it had folded underneath itself. "...you never let me carry anything alone." You smoothed it flat. "You made coffee, you remembered medication, you packed bags., you ran baths, you made sure I ate." Your fingers brushed a tiny crease from her sleeve. "So today" You smiled. "I wanted to make your morning a little easier."
For a moment Becky didn't move, didn't speak. She simply looked at you. Then, very quietly, she reached for your right hand. The one that had spent six weeks hidden beneath a cast. She turned it over carefully in hers, her thumb brushing absent-mindedly across your wrist. "Does it hurt?"
"A little."
"You should still take it easy."
"I know."
She looked up. "I mean it."
"I know."
Another smile. "You don't have to prove anything."
"I'm not." You intertwined your fingers with hers. "I'm not doing this because I can again." She tilted her head. "I'm doing it because now I understand." She waited. You squeezed her hand gently. "This..." You nodded towards the breakfast. The packed bag. The coffee. "...was never about the broken wrist."
Her eyes softened immediately. "No."
"It was about love."
A beat passed between you. Then another. Finally Becky smiled. The kind of smile that reached her eyes before it reached her mouth. "You know..." She stepped closer until your foreheads rested together. "...this might've been my favourite morning of the whole tour."
You laughed quietly. "Because I packed your bag?"
"No." She kissed your forehead. "Because you let me love you." Your throat tightened. "And now..." She glanced down at the coffee still warming her hands. "...you're loving me back in my own language."
You leaned forward, kissing her gently. Slowly. The kind of kiss that didn't need an audience or an occasion. Just the two of you.
When you pulled away, Becky rested her forehead against yours once more.
After eating breakfast you turned to her "So..." You smiled.
"So?"
"You ready to go?"
You looked towards the hotel room door. Her gear bag waited neatly beside it. Everything she'd need for the morning was already taken care of. You reached down before she could. Lifting her gear bag onto your shoulder.
She instinctively reached for it.
"I've got it." The words left your mouth with a grin.
Becky stopped. Then smiled to herself. "I know." She didn't take it back. She simply slipped her hand into yours instead.
Together, you left the hotel room. Not because either of you needed the other to carry the weight. But because, after six weeks of learning each other's language, you'd discovered that love was never really about grand gestures.
It was the coffee already waiting when the other person woke up, the packed bag by the door, the hand that reached out before anyone had to ask.
The quiet thought that appeared dozens of times a day: How can I make today a little easier for the person I love?
For Becky, that question had always been second nature.
Now, as you walked down the corridor with her hand warm in yours and her bag resting comfortably on your shoulder, you realised it had quietly become second nature to you too.
Monday mornings in airports always looked the same. Half-asleep travellers shuffled towards departure gates with coffees clutched like lifelines. Suitcases rattled endlessly across polished floors. Announcements echoed through the terminal every few minutes, barely loud enough to drown out the steady murmur of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter from families beginning their holidays.
For most people, airports were stressful. For wrestlers, they were just another Monday.
"You know" Austin Theory yawned loudly as he adjusted the strap of his duffel bag. "I've spent more time in airports this year than I've spent in my own apartment."
You glanced sideways. "Probably."
"I don't think that's healthy."
"You wrestle for a living."
"Exactly." He sighed dramatically. "I should get frequent flyer therapy."
You snorted quietly. "I don't think that's a thing."
"It should be."
Bron walked a few steps ahead, one hand wrapped around a black coffee, the other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. As usual, he wasn't contributing much to the conversation. He rarely did before ten in the morning.
Maxxine, on the other hand, somehow looked like she'd already conquered the day. She walked beside Austin with a fresh coffee in one hand and enough energy to make everyone else look exhausted. "I think airports are fun."
Austin looked at her in disbelief. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You enjoy this?"
"I like people watching."
"I like sleeping."
You smiled faintly to yourself, letting their conversation fade into the background as your attention drifted elsewhere. The airport wasn't particularly interesting. Just another chain terminal with the same polished floors, the same cafés and the same souvenir shops every other city seemed to have.
Still something caught your eye. A clothing store sat just ahead, its front display filled with oversized hoodies, vintage-style jackets and stacks of folded sweatshirts. Your gaze lingered for barely a few seconds. One hoodie in particular hung on a mannequin near the entrance. Oversized, heavyweight, charcoal grey, faded enough to look lived in. Simple. No loud logos. No bright colours. Exactly the kind of thing you'd wear until it practically fell apart.
You slowed almost instinctively.
Maxxine noticed. "What?"
You nodded towards the window. "Nice hoodie."
She followed your gaze. "Oh, that's cute."
"It is."
Austin barely looked. "It's just grey."
You shrugged. "I like grey."
"I know you do."
Maxxine laughed. "I don't think I've ever seen you voluntarily wear colour."
"I own green."
"You own dark green."
"It still counts."
Austin shook his head. "Y'all dress like you're permanently attending someone's funeral."
You looked at him completely deadpan.
"I've never trusted people who wear neon."
He placed a hand over his heart. "That was personal."
"It was."
Maxxine giggled. "You two bicker like siblings."
"We do not."
"You absolutely do."
You smiled slightly before taking one last glance at the hoodie. It was nice, really nice but you already owned more hoodies than your wardrobe comfortably held. Besides, there wasn't much point buying another one.
With a quiet shrug, you kept walking. Within seconds, your attention had moved on completely.
A few minutes later, the four of you had settled near your gate. Austin immediately collapsed into one of the seats with another dramatic sigh. "If this flight gets delayed" He pointed vaguely towards the departure board. "I'm going home."
"You are home."
"You know what I mean."
Maxxine laughed, sitting beside him. You rested your backpack by your feet before pulling your headphones from one of the pockets. The terminal buzzed quietly around you. People hurried past. Children ran circles around tired parents. Someone nearby argued with a vending machine. Normal, comfortable. You'd just started scrolling through your playlist when a familiar shadow stopped in front of you.
You looked up, Bron.
He held out a shopping bag.
You frowned. "What's this?"
He simply lifted it a little higher. "Yours."
You blinked. "What?"
"The hoodie."
For a second your brain completely failed to catch up. "What hoodie?"
He looked at you like the answer was obvious. "The one you stopped for."
Realisation dawned. Your eyes dropped to the logo printed on the side of the bag, the same shop. "You went back?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"When you were talking."
"I was talking for, like, two minutes."
"Long enough."
You stared at him. "Bron."
"What?"
"You bought it?"
He nodded once. "You liked it."
Your fingers slowly closed around the handles of the bag. "I" A laugh escaped you. "I was just looking."
"I know."
"So why'd you buy it?"
He shrugged. "That's your colour."
Silence. Not because it was a particularly grand statement. Because he said it with complete certainty. As though there had never been another possible outcome.
You looked back down at the bag. "It is?"
He frowned very slightly. "Yeah. you wear charcoal all the time."
"I do?"
"It makes your eyes stand out."
Your heart stumbled somewhere in your chest. He said it so matter of factly. No awkwardness. No attempt to flirt. Just an observation. Something he'd noticed.
You swallowed against the sudden warmth threatening to creep into your cheeks. "I didn't know that."
"I did."
Austin, who had been half-listening while scrolling through his phone, finally looked up. "Hold on." Neither of you answered. Austin looked between the shopping bag and Bron. "Dude."
Bron glanced over. "What?"
"You left, you went back, you bought her the hoodie." Austin pointed dramatically at you. "Because she looked at it."
Bron frowned slightly. "Yeah."
Austin blinked. "She didn't even touch it."
"I know."
"She literally looked at it for three seconds."
Bron took a sip of his coffee. "She liked it."
Austin looked as though he'd just been told the sky was green. "You bought an entire hoodie" He paused. "because she looked at it."
Bron nodded again. "That's usually how shopping works."
Maxxine covered her mouth, trying, and failing, to hide a smile.
Austin turned towards her. "Back me up."
She shook her head immediately. "Nope."
"This is weird."
"No." She looked fondly between you and Bron. "I actually think it's really sweet."
Bron looked genuinely confused. "Why?"
Maxxine smiled. "You noticed."
He shrugged. "So?"
Austin threw both hands into the air. "'So?'" He pointed accusingly at Bron. "You remembered the exact hoodie she looked at, you remembered the colour. You remembered she didn't own one like it."
Bron frowned. "She does."
Austin paused. "What?"
"She has one."
"Then why buy another one?"
"'Cause that one's getting worn out."
You slowly turned your head. "Excuse me?"
Bron looked back at you. "The sleeves."
"What about them?"
"They're fraying."
You hadn't even noticed. "I" You looked back up at him. "How did you know that?"
He shrugged for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. "You wear it all the time." Like it explained everything. Maybe to him it did.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Not because of the hoodie sitting in your hands. But because somewhere between flights, training sessions and television every week, Bron had noticed your favourite hoodie was wearing out. He hadn't mentioned it. Hadn't made a fuss. He'd simply replaced it before you needed to.
You looked down at the shopping bag again, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Thank you."
Bron's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "No problem."
You pulled the hoodie from the bag. It was just as soft as you'd imagined. Without another word, you slipped it over your head, pulling it on over what you were already wearing. It hung comfortably from your shoulders, slightly oversized exactly the way you liked.
Bron gave one small nod. "Told you."
You looked at him. "What?"
"Your colour."
Austin watched the entire exchange in complete disbelief before leaning towards Maxxine. Quietly enough that he thought neither of you would hear, he muttered, "That man has absolutely no idea he's the most romantic idiot alive."
Maxxine smiled knowingly. "No." She watched Bron absent-mindedly straighten the hood where it had folded awkwardly against your shoulders before stepping back as though he'd done nothing unusual at all. "I don't think he does either."
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RAW days always followed the same rhythm. Hair, makeup, gear, production meetings, warm-ups, interviews. Then, somehow, before you had time to think about it, showtime.
The women's locker room buzzed with the familiar kind of organised chaos that came with television days. Hairdryers hummed. Music played from someone's speaker in the corner. Gear bags lay open across benches, every wrestler insisting they had a system despite appearances suggesting otherwise. You sat in front of your locker with one leg crossed over the other, carefully fastening the last buckle on your boots.
Your gear for the night hung neatly beside you. Black, silver, simple. Exactly how you liked it.
The only decision left was jewellery. You opened the small case you always travelled with. Inside sat rows of earrings organised far more neatly than the rest of your belongings ever were.
Maxxine wandered over, already dressed for the show. "You've got more earrings than I own shoes."
You didn't look up. "I doubt that."
"It's close." She leaned against the lockers, watching as you studied two pairs. One was matte black. The other, polished silver hoops.
"Hmm."
"What?"
"I can't decide."
"You?" She looked genuinely surprised. "I thought you always knew."
"I usually do."
You held both pairs up. "Black?" you lifted them closer to your face "Or silver?"
Maxxine tilted her head thoughtfully. "The silver makes your makeup pop."
You considered them. "Maybe." Then you frowned again. "I don't know."
"You could always ask Bron."
You laughed under your breath. "Ask Bron about earrings?"
"Yep."
"You'd trust his opinion?"
Maxxine gave you a look. "I absolutely would."
Before you could answer, the locker room door opened. Bron stepped inside, fresh from whatever meeting Adam Pearce had dragged The Vision into. He wasn't looking for anyone in particular, until he spotted you. His expression softened almost immediately. "There you are." He wandered over, hands tucked into the pockets of his joggers. "You ready?"
"Almost." You held up both pairs of earrings. "Help me settle something." He looked down. "Black or silver?"
He didn't even hesitate. "Silver."
You blinked. "That was quick."
"Mhm."
"Why?"
"They match."
You frowned slightly. "What do they match?"
"The stitching." Silence.
"The stitching?" you repeated.
Bron nodded towards your gear hanging beside your locker. "The silver around your knee pads." You slowly turned to look. Sure enough running around the edges of your knee pads was a strip of metallic silver stitching, tiny. Barely noticeable unless someone was really looking. You looked back at him. "You noticed that?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"When you changed it."
"I." You laughed quietly. "I changed it weeks ago."
"I know."
"How long ago?"
He thought for a second. "Three."
"Three what?"
"Weeks."
Your eyebrows lifted. "You know how many weeks ago I changed my gear?"
Maxxine stared openly now. "Bron."
"What?"
"You noticed the stitching."
He frowned. "Yeah."
"The tiny stitching."
"Mhm."
"The silver stitching."
He looked between the two of you, completely baffled. "It's different."
Maxxine laughed. "No, I know it's different. I'm just trying to understand how you know it's different."
Bron shrugged. "You wear the black earrings when there's no silver." He pointed towards the pair in your hand. "You wear those when there is."
The room fell quiet. Your mouth opened slightly before closing again. "You" You looked down at the earrings. "You've memorised that?"
He looked at you as though you were asking whether the sky was blue. "I guess."
"You guess?"
"I never thought about it."
Maxxine let out the tiniest squeal before immediately covering her mouth. "Oh my God."
Bron looked over. "What?"
She pointed between the two of you. "That."
"What?"
"You just said you've memorised her jewellery."
"I didn't."
"You literally did."
"I didn't memorise it."
"You knew exactly which earrings she'd wear with which gear!"
He frowned harder. "I just noticed."
You couldn't stop smiling. Not a huge grin. Just that small, involuntary smile that always seemed to appear whenever Bron said something completely ordinary that somehow managed to make your heart ache.
He caught it immediately. "You smiled."
"I always smile."
"No." He shook his head once. "That one."
"What one?"
"The little one."
You looked away instinctively, suddenly far more interested in clipping the silver hoops into your ears. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You smiled."
Maxxine watched the exchange with the kind of expression usually reserved for people witnessing puppies discovering snow for the first time. Neither of you seemed remotely aware of what you were doing. Bron wasn't flirting. You weren't blushing dramatically. It was just comfortable, natural. Like the two of you existed on the same wavelength.
The locker room door swung open again.
Austin wandered in carrying two bottles of water. "There you" He stopped mid-sentence. "Why is everyone looking emotional?"
Maxxine pointed at Bron. "He memorised her earrings."
Austin frowned. "Her what?"
"Her earrings."
He looked at Bron. "You serious?"
Bron accepted the bottle Austin handed him. "What?"
"You know which earrings she wears with which gear?"
Bron unscrewed the cap and nodded.
Austin blinked. "Why?"
Bron looked genuinely confused by the question. "They match."
Austin turned slowly towards you. "How long have you two been dating?"
"Just over a year."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Right." Then back to Bron. "And in that year” He gestured vaguely towards your ears. "you've apparently become a professional jewellery consultant?"
Bron took a sip of water. "I don't know anything about jewellery."
Austin laughed. "Clearly!"
"You just know hers," Maxxine added with a grin.
Bron looked at you for a second. Then shrugged. "I guess."
Austin rubbed both hands over his face. "This is getting ridiculous."
You laughed. "What?"
"Dude." He pointed at Bron. "You don't realise this isn't normal, do you?"
Bron frowned. "What isn't?"
"You."
"What'd I do?"
"You remember everything about her."
Bron looked over at you again. His gaze lingered for just a second. Not analysing. Not searching. Simply, familiar. Like he knew you as well as he knew himself. Then he looked back at Austin. "I mean" Another shrug. "I look at her."
Austin stared. "I'm surrounded by lunatics."
You felt warmth spread through your chest at those four simple words. I look at her.
He hadn't meant them to sound romantic. He'd said them with complete sincerity. As though paying attention to you was the easiest thing in the world. As though it had never occurred to him that there was any other way to love someone.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
House shows were, in your opinion, one of the better parts of touring. There were no television production meetings, no endless media obligations, no rushing from one interview to the next.
Just wrestling, travel and enough free time to actually explore whatever city you'd landed in.
The afternoon before the show found you, Bron, Austin and Maxxine wandering through a quiet street lined with independent cafés and little family-owned shops.
Austin had insisted he wanted coffee. Twenty minutes later, he'd somehow accumulated a pastry, an iced drink and a paper bag full of sweets.
"I don't appreciate the judgement," he said, catching you looking at the overflowing bag.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"I absolutely was."
Maxxine laughed, slipping her arm through Austin's. "You've bought enough sugar to survive the apocalypse."
"You never know."
Bron walked beside you, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans, his sunglasses resting on top of his head despite the clouds beginning to roll in. He wasn't saying much. He rarely did. He seemed perfectly content simply walking next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed every now and then as you moved down the pavement.
It was comfortable, easy, the kind of silence that never needed filling. Then your attention drifted to a shop window. A small independent record store sat nestled between a florist and an old bookshop. Vintage posters covered the glass, vinyl sleeves filled the display, a handwritten sign in the window simply read: COME HAVE A DIG.
You smiled. Bron noticed immediately. "You wanna go in?"
You looked at him. "Can we?"
He gave one small nod. Austin groaned dramatically.
"A record shop?"
"You don't have to come."
"I don't understand vinyl."
"You don't have to."
He sighed. "I'll suffer for friendship."
"You'll survive."
"You don't know that."
Maxxine rolled her eyes affectionately. "You'll live."
The little bell above the door chimed softly as all four of you stepped inside. The shop smelled faintly of old paper, polished wood and coffee from the café next door. Music played quietly through old speakers somewhere near the back. Rows upon rows of vinyl stretched across wooden shelves, organised alphabetically with handwritten dividers. You exhaled softly. "I love places like this."
Bron glanced over. "I know."
You wandered off almost immediately, fingertips brushing lightly over album covers as you moved through the rows. Some you recognised instantly, others you'd never seen before, there was something calming about it. No rushing, no agenda, just browsing. Bron followed a few steps behind. Not because he had any particular interest in records. Mostly because he liked watching you enjoy things.
Every so often you'd stop. Tilt an album towards the light. Read the back. Smile to yourself before sliding it carefully back into place.
Meanwhile Austin had already become bored. He leaned towards Maxxine. "How long do you think this takes?"
She smiled. "As long as she wants."
"I've never understood records."
"You don't have to."
"I just don't get why anyone would buy music that big."
Maxxine laughed. "They're collectors' items."
"They're giant circles."
She ignored him.
Across the shop, you stopped in front of another display. One album caught your eye immediately. Beautiful artwork. Deep forest greens and muted golds wrapped around an illustrated woodland scene. You gently lifted it from the shelf. "Hm."
Bron noticed. You turned it over, reading the track list.
The artwork alone almost convinced you to buy it, almost. "It is pretty," you murmured.
Bron looked at the cover. "Yeah."
"I've never listened to them."
"You could."
"I could."
You smiled to yourself before carefully sliding it back into its place.
"What?" Bron asked.
"It's probably not sensible."
"You want it."
You shrugged. "A little."
"So get it."
You smiled faintly. "I don't really need another record."
"You don't."
"I've already got loads."
"You do."
"And they're expensive." You gave the sleeve one last fond glance before stepping away. "It'll still be here for someone else."
Bron watched you walk towards the next aisle. His eyes lingered on the space you'd just left behind.
Then, quietly, he doubled back.
You'd completely forgotten about the record by the time the four of you reached the arena. The afternoon disappeared into training, hair and makeup, warm-ups. Before long, you were back in your hotel room after another successful show, having changed into an oversized band T-shirt and a pair of loose joggers.
A knock sounded at your door.
You didn't even have to ask who it was. "It's open."
Bron stepped inside carrying two takeaway teas. Standard. Almost every evening ended this way. He handed one to you before sitting beside you on the sofa. "You survived."
"So did you."
"Barely."
You smiled, taking a sip. The comfortable silence settled almost immediately.
Then Bron reached down beside his feet. "I got you something."
You looked over. "You what?"
He held out a brown paper bag. Your eyebrows lifted. "Bron."
"What?"
"You know you don't have to keep buying me things."
"I know."
You accepted the bag anyway. It felt flat. Square. Curiosity slowly replaced amusement as you folded back the top.
Then froze, the record, the exact one from the shop.
You stared at it. "Bron."
He looked up from his coffee. "What?"
"You went back."
"Mhm."
"When?"
"After you looked at candles."
"You disappeared I thought you went to the bathroom."
"I did."
"And then?"
"I bought it."
You looked back down at the album cover. "I told you I wasn't getting it."
"I know."
"So why”
He frowned slightly, as though it was obvious. "You kept picking it up."
"I picked it up once."
"Three times."
You blinked. "Three?"
"You looked at it, you put it back, you walked away, you came back, you looked again." He counted it off on his fingers like he was reciting something completely ordinary. "You smiled every time."
Your throat tightened. You hadn't even realised you'd gone back to it. "You remembered that?"
"You wanted it."
"I said I didn't need it."
"You didn't." Another shrug. "But you wanted it."
Silence filled the room. You carefully traced your thumb over the edge of the sleeve. "I don't even know if I'll like the music."
"You liked the artwork."
A quiet laugh escaped you. "I did."
"It'll look good with the others."
You looked up. "You've noticed my records?"
"They're colour organised."
"You've looked?"
"I live there half the week."
You couldn't help smiling. "You've memorised my shelves."
"I guess."
There it was again. That same answer. Not dramatic. Not intentional. Just honest.
You looked down at the record once more before shaking your head with a quiet laugh. "You know"
"What?"
"I think you pay more attention to my life than I do."
Bron looked genuinely puzzled. "I just look."
You laughed softly. "I know."
No. That wasn't quite right anymore. He didn't just look, he noticed. Every single time.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The last box left your apartment just after four in the afternoon. The front door stood open, letting a warm breeze drift through rooms that sounded strangely unfamiliar without furniture softening the echoes. For the first time in nearly four years the apartment looked empty.
No records lined the shelves, no blankets were draped over the sofa, no candles flickered on the windowsill. Even the little glass whale Bron had bought you months earlier had disappeared into a carefully labelled box.
You stood in the middle of the living room, your hands tucked into the pockets of your black hoodie as you looked around one final time. It felt odd. Like someone had quietly erased all evidence that you'd ever lived there.
Behind you, Bron taped another box shut before glancing up. "You okay?"
You nodded automatically.
He watched you for another second. "You don't look okay."
A quiet laugh escaped you. "I am."
"You sure?"
You looked around the room again. "It's just weird."
He waited. You appreciated that about him. He never rushed you into filling silences. "I've lived here since I got signed. My first apartment. My first place that actually felt like mine." You smiled faintly. "I know it's only walls."
"They're your walls." You looked over at him. He was already watching you.
"They've seen a lot."
He nodded once. "They have."
You smiled to yourself. "You know” You looked towards the patch of wall where your record player had always lived. "I learnt how to cook in this kitchen."
"You burnt toast."
"I burnt everything."
"You nearly set the smoke alarm off."
"I definitely did."
"The neighbours hated you."
"They absolutely did."
A laugh escaped both of you. The heaviness eased, if only a little. You wandered slowly through the apartment one last time. Your fingers brushed lightly over the empty bookshelf, the windowsill. The doorway where you'd measured yourself against the frame after every new pair of wrestling boots, convinced they somehow made you taller.
Bron followed a few steps behind, quiet. Content to simply be there.
You stopped in front of the bare wall where your records had lived. "It doesn't even look like my apartment anymore."
"No." He stepped beside you. "It doesn't."
You glanced sideways. "You know what I'm going to miss most?"
"What?"
"The little routines, the coffee by that window, the record every Sunday morning, the candle I always lit when it rained."
Bron looked around the room like he was memorising it. Then he nodded once. "We'll have new ones."
Not you.
We.
The word settled warmly in your chest.
You smiled. "I'd like that."
The new apartment felt impossibly bright, boxes filled every room. Austin immediately dropped one beside the kitchen island before dramatically wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. "I've earned pizza."
"You carried two boxes," Maxxine said.
"They were emotionally difficult boxes."
"They had towels in them."
"They were still heavy."
You laughed, shaking your head.
Bron disappeared into the bedroom with another armful of boxes. You assumed he was unpacking.
Instead a few minutes later he reappeared carrying a long, neatly wrapped package. He stopped in front of you. "This is yours."
You frowned. "Bron."
"What?"
"We're literally moving house."
"I know."
"So why have you bought me something?"
He shrugged. "'Cause we're moving house."
You laughed. "I don't think that's how this works."
"It is."
"It definitely isn't."
Austin looked up immediately. "Oh, he's bought another present."
Maxxine smiled knowingly. "I wondered how long it'd take."
You accepted the parcel with an amused shake of your head. "You really didn't have to."
"I know."
Carefully peeling back the paper, you revealed a beautifully crafted wooden record stand. Simple oak, clean lines, a small brass plaque fixed to the front.
NOW PLAYING
For a second you just stared. Your fingertips traced the smooth wood. "Bron."
He shifted slightly on his feet. "What?"
"This is” You swallowed. "This is beautiful."
He nodded towards it. "You never had anywhere for the one you were listening to."
Your eyes lifted. "What?"
"In your old apartment, you'd lean it against the speaker." He mimed the angle with one hand. "It kept falling over."
Your mind immediately replayed it. Every Sunday morning. Coffee. Music. The sleeve propped awkwardly against the record player because you always meant to buy a stand and never had.
"You remembered that?"
"You kept saying you'd get one."
You blinked. "I did?"
"You never did, so" Another one of those familiar little shrugs. "I did."
Silence settled over the room.
Austin looked between the two of you before quietly muttering, "That's ridiculous."
Maxxine smiled. "What?"
"He notices everything."
You looked back down at the stand in your hands. Not expensive. Not flashy. Just exactly right.
Bron scratched absent-mindedly at the back of his neck. "I thought" He glanced around the apartment. "first record in the new place should have somewhere to go."
Your throat tightened. It wasn't really about the record stand. It was the fact that he'd thought about your first morning here. He'd pictured you making coffee, choosing an album, starting a new routine.
He hadn't just bought you furniture. He'd imagined your life.
You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him before he had time to react. His hands settled naturally around your waist. "Thank you."
He rested his chin lightly against the top of your head. "You like it?"
You laughed quietly into his hoodie. "I think" You looked up at him. "you're making it very difficult for me to pretend you aren't romantic."
He frowned immediately. "I'm not."
Austin barked out a laugh from the kitchen. "Brother, you bought her a custom record stand because you noticed she leaned albums against the speaker."
Bron looked genuinely confused. "Yeah?"
Austin pointed dramatically. "That is the most romantic thing you've done all year."
Bron glanced down at you. Then back at Austin. "I just noticed."
You smiled to yourself. There it was again. Not poetry. Not speeches. Not grand declarations.
Just simple words that somehow meant everything.
I just noticed.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
A month later, the apartment finally felt lived in, the last moving boxes had disappeared. Your records filled the shelves again, plants had reclaimed every windowsill. The little oak record stand Bron had given you sat proudly beside the player, displaying whatever album happened to be spinning that evening. It had become part of your routine. Coffee, music, dinner, home.
You'd never realised how quickly somewhere unfamiliar could begin to feel like yours.
A quiet knock sounded against the open apartment door before Austin wandered in carrying a pizza box. "I'm here."
"We noticed," you called from the kitchen.
Maxxine followed behind him with a bottle of wine balanced carefully against her shoulder. "You said casual dinner." Austin held up the pizza. "I understood the assignment."
"You understood takeaway."
"I also understood the assignment."
Bron appeared from the hallway carrying four glasses.
The evening settled into the kind of comfortable rhythm you'd all fallen into over the past few
months. Pizza disappeared, Austin lost spectacularly at cards, Maxxine laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink twice, music played quietly in the background from your record player.
Eventually, Austin wandered into the living room, looking around as though seeing the apartment properly for the first time. "It already looks like you've lived here for years."
You smiled. "It feels like it."
He nodded towards the shelves. "Still alphabetised?"
"Colour coded."
"That's somehow worse."
"It's absolutely better."
"I'll never understand you."
Bron, who was clearing empty plates into the kitchen, looked over without missing a beat. "The jazz section's alphabetical."
Austin blinked. "What?"
"The rest is colour." Silence.
Maxxine slowly looked at Bron. "You know how her records are organised?"
He frowned. "Yeah."
Austin looked at you. "I'm not asking him questions anymore."
You laughed. "Wise choice."
Later that evening, after Austin and Maxxine had headed back to their hotel, the apartment settled into a comfortable silence. Rain tapped softly against the windows, the city outside blurred beneath streaks of water.
You wandered into the kitchen to make tea while Bron disappeared into the hallway. You assumed he was checking the lock. Instead he returned carrying a small paper bag.
You looked over your shoulder. "What's that?"
He held it out. "You forgot something."
"I did?" You frowned. "I don't remember buying anything."
"You didn't."
Another gift. You laughed quietly. "Bron"
"What?"
"You've got to stop doing this."
"I do?"
"You're making everyone think you're secretly romantic."
"I'm not."
"You keep saying that."
"'Cause I'm not."
Smiling to yourself, you accepted the bag, inside was a candle, simple, matte black glass, no ribbon, no dramatic wrapping.
You lifted the lid. The scent hit you almost instantly. Cedar, a little vanilla, rain, old books, something warm you couldn't quite place. You froze. Your smile faded into something quieter. "Bron."
He looked up from where he was putting mugs away. "What?"
You brought the candle a little closer. "This."
"What about it?"
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. "It smells" You stopped. Then looked at him. "Like my old apartment."
Bron nodded once. "Yeah."
Silence filled the kitchen. You stared at the candle. He hadn't bought something that smelled nice. He hadn't picked the most expensive one.
He'd found, this.
"You remembered?"
He looked confused by the question. "You always lit that cedar candle." You swallowed. "The one by the window, you'd make coffee, put music on, open the balcony door." He spoke so casually. As though he was simply describing the weather. "When it rained" He glanced towards the window where droplets still slid slowly down the glass. "the whole apartment smelled like that."
Your eyes stung. You hadn't even realised you'd stopped buying that candle after you moved. Somehow, without thinking, that smell had disappeared from your life.
Bron had noticed. Not because you'd mentioned it. Not because you'd complained.
Simply because it had changed.
"I..." You laughed softly, though it came out a little shaky.
"I didn't even realise I missed it."
"I know."
"You knew?"
"Mhm."
"How?"
"You haven't lit a candle since we moved."
You blinked. "Seriously?"
"You always used to." He shrugged. "I figured you forgot, so" He nodded towards the bag. "I got another one."
Your thumb brushed across the cool glass, this wasn't about a candle. It wasn't even about your old apartment. It was about the fact that Bron had quietly recognised that something which had once brought you comfort had vanished during all the chaos of moving.
And instead of pointing it out he'd simply brought it back.
You looked up at him. "Come here."
He crossed the kitchen without hesitation. The moment he was close enough, you reached for his hand. "I've got a question."
"Okay."
"When you buy me things" He nodded. "What goes through your head?"
He frowned thoughtfully. "I dunno."
"You must think something."
Another pause. Then, "You'll like it."
You smiled. "No, I mean before that."
He thought a little longer this time.
"When I see something" His thumb absent-mindedly brushed over your knuckles. "I picture where it'll go." You stayed quiet. "The record stand, next to your player. The hoodie, you'd wear it after shows." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The candle" He looked down at it. "I thought it'd make this place feel like home."
That was it. The tears came before you could stop them.
Bron's expression immediately shifted. "Hey."
"What?"
"What's wrong?"
You laughed through the tears, shaking your head. "Nothing."
"You sure?"
You nodded. "You're just" You looked around your apartment, st the records. The wooden stand. The framed print. The hoodie hanging over the chair. Now the candle. "You keep giving me little pieces of a life."
Bron looked around too, as though trying to see what you saw. "I just wanted it to feel like ours."
You reached up, cupping his face with both hands. "It does."
Outside, the rain continued to fall. Inside, you lit the candle. Within minutes, cedar and vanilla began drifting gently through the apartment. You closed your eyes for just a second. It smelled exactly like rainy Sundays in your old home.
Only now when you opened your eyes again Bron was standing in the kitchen. Waiting for the kettle to boil. Looking completely at home there.
The smell hadn't brought you backwards.
It had simply carried your favourite part of the past into a future the two of you were building together.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
A week later, RAW had rolled into Chicago. The arena was already alive when you arrived. Production crew hurried through the corridors balancing cameras on their shoulders. Music drifted from the ring where rehearsals were already underway. Someone somewhere was loudly arguing about catering, business as usual.
You'd just finished getting changed when Maxxine appeared in the doorway of your locker room. "You busy?"
You looked up from lacing your boots. "For you?"
She smiled. "I need coffee."
"I thought that's why catering existed."
"It does."
"I don't want catering coffee."
You laughed. "So I'm your excuse?"
"Exactly."
You stood, grabbing your hoodie from the back of the chair. "Come on then."
The café across the road from the arena had become something of a tradition whenever schedules allowed. It was quiet, smelled permanently of fresh coffee and cinnamon.
Most importantly it was just far enough away that fans rarely wandered inside. You and Maxxine settled into your usual corner with two coffees between you.
For a while, conversation stayed light, travel, gear, matches.
Austin accidentally shrinking one of Maxxine's jumpers in the hotel laundry. "He swore he followed the label."
"I don't think Austin's ever followed instructions in his life."
"He looked genuinely offended when I said that."
You laughed. "I would've paid to see his face."
Maxxine smiled into her coffee before tilting her head. "So"
You already recognised that tone. "What?"
"I've been thinking."
"That's dangerous."
"It is."
You took another sip. "What about?"
"You."
You groaned quietly. "Oh no."
"And Bron."
"There it is."
She laughed. "I've noticed something."
"You and everyone else."
"No" She leaned forward slightly. "I mean something different."
You rested your chin on your hand. "I'm listening."
She was quiet for a moment. "Has Bron ever bought you something he likes?"
You frowned. "What?"
"A gift." She shrugged. "Has he ever picked one because he thought it was cool?"
You blinked. "I" Your mind immediately started running through every present. The hoodie, the record stand, the vinyl, the candle, even the earrings he'd insisted matched your gear. "No."
Maxxine nodded once. "I didn't think so."
You looked down into your coffee. "I've never really thought about it."
"I have." She smiled. "Because Austin bought me a jumper last week."
You laughed. "What was wrong with it?"
"It was bright orange."
"That sounds like Austin."
"It absolutely sounded like Austin."
She grinned. "He bought it because he thought it was fun." You smiled. "And Bron, he never does that."
You looked at her. "What do you mean?"
She stirred her drink slowly. "The hoodie. You'd already wear something like it. The record stand, you already had the records. The candle. You'd had that scent for years." She paused. "He's never tried to change what you like."
The words settled over you. You'd never considered it before. Bron had never bought you something because he wanted you to become someone different. He'd never tried to influence your style or your hobbies or your home. Every gift had simply supported the person you already were.
"He pays attention," Maxxine continued quietly. "But not in a" She searched for the right word. "controlling way." You nodded slowly. "He just sees you."
There it was again. Those words. You remembered Austin joking that Bron had no idea how romantic he was.
You remembered Bron saying, I just notice.
You remembered him describing where your record player sat.
The mugs you reached for. The earrings that matched your gear. The candle you'd stopped lighting. Every single gift had started with the same question.
What would make her smile?
Not, What do I want her to like?
You smiled to yourself. "I don't think he even realises he's doing it."
Maxxine laughed. "Oh, he definitely doesn't."
"He'd deny it."
"He absolutely would."
The two of you shared a knowing smile. After a moment, Maxxine spoke again. "You know my favourite one?"
"The record stand?"
She shook her head. "The candle."
You looked up. "Really?"
She nodded. "Because." Her smile softened. "that wasn't about an object."
"No."
"That was him noticing you'd lost a feeling." Your throat tightened. "He brought it back."
You looked out through the café window for a second. Rain clouds were gathering over the city. Typical.
You smiled. "He did."
Back at the arena, you wandered through the backstage corridors with Maxxine, still thinking about the conversation. You rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into Bron.
"There you are."
"There I am."
He looked between you and Maxxine. "You got coffee."
"Mhm."
He reached out without thinking, gently brushing a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. "You've got foam."
"What?"
"Here." His thumb caught the tiny drop of milk on the corner of your mouth before he stepped back as though he'd done nothing unusual.
"You missed a bit."
You stared at him for half a second. "Thanks."
He wandered off towards Gorilla Position before either of you could say anything else. Maxxine waited until he'd disappeared around the corner. Then she looked at you. "He didn't even think about that."
You smiled. "I know."
"He just saw it." You watched the empty corridor where Bron had vanished and suddenly you realised that was exactly how he'd loved you from the very beginning. Not through speeches, not through grand gestures. But through hundreds of tiny moments where he simply noticed something before anyone else did. A loose thread, an empty wall, a favourite scent, a worn-out hoodie, a smile in a record shop.
Things everyone else walked straight past. Things Bron never seemed capable of missing and somehow that made you feel more loved than any bouquet of flowers or expensive necklace ever could.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The drive home after RAW was quieter than usual. Not awkward, just comfortable.
Chicago's skyline slowly disappeared in the rear-view mirror, replaced by long stretches of motorway illuminated by orange streetlights. The radio played softly in the background. Bron drove with one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel, the other occasionally tapping absent-mindedly against the centre console in time with whatever song was playing.
You watched the lights blur past outside your window. Your conversation with Maxxine had refused to leave your head all evening. She'd been right. Every single gift sitting in your apartment had started with the exact same thing. Bron had noticed something. Not something expensive, not something dramatic. Just, something.
You glanced across at him.
His attention never left the road. "What?"
You smiled. "You know me too well."
He looked over for half a second before returning his eyes to the motorway. "I do?"
"You knew I was looking."
"I could feel it."
A laugh escaped you. "That's terrifying."
"It's true."
"You are impossible."
He smiled to himself. "So I've been told."
By the time you got home, it was nearly midnight. The apartment greeted you with the familiar scent of cedar from the candle you'd lit before leaving for the arena that morning. The hallway lamp cast a warm glow across the living room, the record stand sat beside the player, your leather jacket hung from the hook by the door, the framed print rested above the records.
Little pieces of your life. Little pieces of him. Bron disappeared into the kitchen to put the kettle on, of course he did.
Tea before bed had become another one of your routines.
You wandered slowly around the living room while the kettle began to hum. Your fingertips brushed over the edge of the record stand. The charcoal hoodie folded over the arm of the sofa. The candle still flickering gently on the windowsill. Then... You opened the small cupboard beneath the record player. Inside sat a little collection of things Bron had given you over the past year. The record, the earrings, the tiny ceramic raven. The leather care kit he'd bought after noticing you spent ages cleaning your favourite jacket with an old T-shirt because you "never got around" to buying proper supplies.
Even that. He'd noticed. You laughed quietly to yourself.
"You laughing at me?" Bron called from the kitchen.
"Maybe."
"I haven't even said anything."
"You don't have to."
He walked back into the room carrying two mugs. He handed one to you before noticing what you'd been looking at. "Oh."
You glanced down at the cupboard. "I was just..,"
"You were organising."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I was thinking."
He nodded once. "Okay."
You closed the cupboard gently. "Can I ask you something?"
"Mhm."
"You have to answer honestly."
"I always do."
"I know."
You sat down on the sofa, tucking one leg beneath you. Bron sat beside you, turning slightly so he was facing you. For a moment you simply looked at him. Then you asked the question that had been sitting in the back of your mind all week. "Why do you always buy me things?"
He frowned. "'Cause I like buying you things."
"I know but" You searched for the words. "It's never random."
"No."
"You never buy something because it's expensive."
"No."
"You never buy something because it's trendy."
"No."
"You always" You looked around the apartment. "buy something that fixes something." You smiled softly. "They all solve a problem I didn't even realise you knew about."
Bron looked down into his mug for a second. "I guess."
"You guess?"
He shrugged. "I don't really think about it."
"Then what do you think about?"
Silence stretched between you. Not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful.
Finally, he spoke. "I see stuff." You waited. "You'll stop walking outside a shop."
"Mhm."
"You'll pick something up. You'll put it back. You'll look at it again." He looked at you. "I know you." Your chest tightened. "You sigh when your jacket zip sticks. You move records around when you can't decide what to play, you light candles when you've had a bad day, you wear silver when your gear's got silver on it, you always drink from the black mug if you're tired." He smiled just a little. "You don't notice you're doing any of it. So” Another shrug. "I do."
There it was again. So simple, so very Bron. You laughed softly, feeling tears prick unexpectedly behind your eyes. "You know"
"What?"
"I used to think gifts were about the thing."
He tilted his head slightly. "They're not."
"They're about being seen."
His brow furrowed, considering your words. "I suppose."
You shook your head. "No."
"You don't suppose."
"You've been showing me that for over a year." You reached for his hand. "Every present you've ever bought me" Your thumb traced slow circles over his knuckles. "has told me the exact same thing." He looked at you expectantly. "You pay attention."
He smiled. "I do."
"You make me feel like nothing about me is too small to matter." He stayed quiet. "The way I organise my records, my favourite hoodie, the candle I forgot to replace, the wall I kept saying I'd decorate, my coffee, my jewellery." You laughed through the tears now. "You remember all of it."
Bron squeezed your hand gently. "'Cause it's you."
The room fell silent. Not because there was nothing left to say. Because that was enough. As though that explained everything. As though loving you had made remembering effortless.
You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. "I don't think you realise how loved you make me feel."
"I try."
"I know."
"No." He shook his head gently. "I don't try."
You frowned. "What do you mean?"
His eyes met yours. "I don't have to remember." He smiled, that small, quiet smile that only ever seemed to belong to you. "I just do."
Your heart ached. Because you believed him. He wasn't making lists in his head. He wasn't buying gifts because he thought he should. He simply carried little pieces of you everywhere he went.
Without effort. Without expectation.
Because somewhere along the way the details of your life had become part of his.
You leaned in the rest of the way, kissing him softly. When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again.
"So..." He murmured. "You like the gifts?"
You laughed so hard you had to hide your face against his shoulder. "I love them."
He wrapped an arm around your waist. "Good."
A comfortable silence settled over the apartment once more. The candle flickered gently on the windowsill, the record player hummed quietly in the corner.
Outside, rain began to patter softly against the glass.
Inside, surrounded by every thoughtful little gift he'd ever given you, you realised something.
Bron had never really been giving you presents. He'd been leaving behind proof. Proof that, in a world where everyone was always rushing to the next town, the next show, the next airport, someone had always been paying attention.
AN: a lil fluffy piece for my Chronic Pain Sister @onlyangel4 🖤
And of course I gotta tag @dpriestxripleysgirl 🫶🏻🖤
Solo knew that morning something was off.
Of course he did. He always knew. They’d only been dating for four months, but they’d been best friends for five years before that. Long enough to learn the secret language of her body, the subtle shifts in her breathing, the way her eyes would sometimes focus on something just beyond the visible horizon when the pain began to whisper through her nerves. Solo Sikoa on television was a menace, a wall of silent, brooding intensity, all coiled violence and sharp, knowing glares. He was the one who spoke with his fists, who ended conversations with a single, devastating thud.
But the Solo she knew was different. With her, his edges sanded down into something warm and patient. He was funny in a dry, understated way that made her snort-laugh at inappropriate moments. He was quiet, not with emptiness, but with a deep, listening stillness. And he was soft with her in a way he never showed anyone else...a softness that lived in the calloused pad of his thumb brushing her cheekbone, in the low rumble of his voice when he asked if she’d eaten, in the way he’d simply exist beside her without demanding a single thing.
When she woke up in the plush, anonymous hotel bed that morning, the first thing she registered wasn’t the filtered sunlight through the blackout curtains. It was the deep, familiar ache in her hips, a dull throb that had settled into the sockets like rusted hinges. Having chronic pain, something that couldn’t be seen by the naked eye, that didn’t bleed or bruise or show up on any scan, was a special kind of lonely. Because there were no visible symptoms, people often treated it like a ghost story: unsettling, but ultimately something you chose to believe in. They’d offer advice about yoga, or hydration, or positive thinking, their eyes politely skeptical. But the aches in her joints and muscles were as real as the bed beneath her, as the man sleeping soundly beside her. She lived with a constant, low-grade hum of discomfort, a background static to her life. But this…this was a flare. The static had been cranked into a screaming feedback loop, radiating from her hips down her thighs and up her spine, a cruel electricity that made every movement a calculated decision.
But she came out of the hotel bathroom smiling. A practiced, gentle curve of her lips that she’d perfected over years. Her hoodie, one of his, smelling faintly of his sandalwood cologne and the arena, was pulled on over her head, the sleeves swallowing her hands. A pair of soft, forgiving leggings and her most supportive sneakers completed the armor. She was ready to face the day, to perform wellness.
Solo looked up from his phone, charging on the nightstand, and smiled when he saw her. It was a real smile, one that crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. Then, as she moved toward her suitcase, his smile didn’t fade, but it changed. It became observational. He watched the careful, slightly stiff way she walked across the room, the slight hesitation before she bent, not at the waist, but with a deep knee bend, to pick up her folded pajamas that had fallen from her hand. He saw the minute tightening around her eyes, the almost imperceptible catch in her breath as she straightened. And he knew.
“Baby? You okay?” he asked softly, his voice a low gravel in the quiet room. He was already moving, coming to stand next to her as she tried to stuff the pajamas into a corner of the suitcase.
She nodded quickly, a little too vigorously. “Yeah. I’m good. Just tired, my love,” she said, her voice bright with false energy. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the solid warmth of his shoulder, hiding her expression in the familiar terrain of his skin and t-shirt. He held her, one large hand splayed against her back, the other coming up to cradle the back of her head. He didn’t call her out. He just held her, letting her hide, his silence more telling than any question.
***
It was rainy and dreary outside, a gray drizzle that slicked the asphalt and turned the city lights into smeared watercolor paintings. Solo drove the rented SUV, his large hands relaxed on the wheel, his gaze constantly flicking to the passenger seat. He studied her the whole drive over to the arena where Smackdown would be held that night. He noted the way she sat, not lounging, but positioned precisely, her weight shifted slightly to one side. He saw the subtle, instinctive wince that tightened her whole body when they hit a pothole, a flash of distress she smoothed away in a heartbeat. He noticed the way she held her own wrist, her thumb rubbing circles into the palm, a self-soothing gesture she was unaware of. He noticed everything she tried so desperately to hide, each piece of evidence cataloged in the quiet, observant vault of his mind.
They walked through the labyrinthine back halls of the arena, the air thick with the smell of popcorn, industrial cleaner, and sweat. His boots echoed on the concrete, a steady counterpoint to the softer sound of her sneakers. They reached his private locker room, a sanctuary of sorts, where Tama Tonga and Talla Tonga were already waiting, stretching and laughing about something on a phone.
“Sister!” Tama said, his face breaking into a wide grin. He enveloped her in a careful but hearty hug. Talla followed suit, his embrace gentler, his eyes knowing. They’d been around long enough, they’d seen the days she moved slower, the days her smiles were more brittle. They never mentioned it, just offered the solid, uncomplicated support of their presence.
She gave them a genuine smile, the first real one all day, and gratefully sank onto one of the long, low couches against the wall, stretching out with a soft sigh that was half relief, half pain. The boys went back to discussing the tag match Solo and Talla had that night, the strategy against their opponents, the flow of the match. Their voices were a comfortable rumble in the background.
As the anticipation of the night built, Tama and Talla started teasing each other, the energy morphing from focused to playful. A mock argument about who was the better dancer escalated into playful shoves, then into a wrestling tussle in the center of the room. They were laughing, a pillow from the couch was grabbed, thrown...it was harmless, brotherly chaos.
The pillow, aimed at Tama’s head, went wide. It sailed across the room and struck her leg, just above the knee.
It wasn’t hard. It was a pillow. But it landed directly on the epicenter of the fiery ache in her quadricep. A flinch ripped through her, sharp and involuntary, her breath hissing in between her teeth before she could stop it.
Solo saw it. He’d been watching her, not the boys.
“Guys!” he snapped, his voice cutting through the laughter like a whip. It was harsher than he meant, layered with a protective ferocity that startled even him. “Chill the fuck out or go do that shit outside.”
The room froze. Tama and Talla stopped, looking from Solo’s rigid back to her on the couch. The air tightened, stretched like taffy pulled to its snapping point. Then Talla’s eyes softened with understanding. He nodded once, a silent apology. Tama clapped a hand on Solo’s shoulder, a wordless *my bad*, and the tension dissipated as quickly as it had come, replaced by a respectful quiet. They went to catering to grab some food.
She hadn’t even noticed her eyes getting heavy, lulled by the warmth of the room and the ebb of adrenaline from the moment. But suddenly, she opened them, and the world had shifted. The room was dimmer, the only light coming from a single lamp. And Solo was there, standing across the room in his gear, the black and red shorts, the heavy boots, his thumb and wrist meticulously taped into a weapon. He was a portrait of controlled power, but he was looking at her, his expression soft in the low light.
“How long did I fall asleep for?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep, quiet as a secret.
Solo turned fully and smiled at her softly. That smile. It never failed to make her heart stutter, to send a warm, vulnerable pulse through her chest. Because he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing, like everything else, the arena, the match, the crowd, was just background noise.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, walking over. He crouched in front of the couch, bringing himself to her level. “You slept about three hours. I figured you needed it.” He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. His touch was infinitely gentle. “By the way…I got you some chicken and rice from catering. Plain, easy, A ginger ale.” He paused, his dark eyes holding hers. “And if you need it…”
He reached into his open duffle bag and pulled out the small, orange prescription bottle. Her pain medication. She tried not to use it too often, hated the fuzzy feeling, hated the idea of seeming weak, of needing a chemical crutch.
She sat up slowly, every movement deliberate, and blinked at him, the sleep and surprise mingling into a wave of overwhelming tenderness.
“Solo, you… you didn’t need to—”
He cut her off, not with words, but with that soft smile again. He sat on the edge of the couch next to her, taking her hand in both of his. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, a slow, deliberate press of warmth. “Yeah, I did, angel,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her hand. “I could tell in your sleep last night you were starting a flare. When you rolled over, you whimpered. You got that little wrinkle, right here.” He touched the space between her eyebrows. “And this morning…the way you moved, like you were calculating every step. The way you barely touched your breakfast. When I kissed your forehead, I knew you weren’t sick with a fever. It was…deeper than that. So…” He shrugged one massive shoulder, a gesture so simple it nearly broke her. “I just wanted you to be okay.”
Her eyes filled up with tears, hot and sudden, blurring his beloved face. She swiped at them hastily with the oversized sleeve of his hoodie, a choked sound escaping her.
“Solo… I don’t—how’d you…” she couldn’t finish, the words crumbling under the weight of his quiet, unwavering perception.
She was used to a different script. She was used to her pain being minimized, met with impatient sighs or well-intentioned but useless suggestions. She was used to being told she just wasn’t tough enough, that she needed to push through, that it wasn’t that bad, that maybe it was stress. She’d built walls around that part of herself, prepared for the doubt, armored against the disbelief.
But here he was. Solo Sikoa. One of the toughest, most feared men she’d ever known. A man who lived in a world of visible, applauded violence. And he had noticed the invisible war she was fighting even before she had fully acknowledged it herself. He had taken steps to help, quietly, without fanfare. He hadn’t made a big show of it, hadn’t demanded gratitude or used it as leverage. He just…saw her. And he acted.
“I watch you,” he said simply, as if explaining the most basic truth in the world. His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “You’re my favorite thing to see. I know when you’re hurting more than usual. I know when you’re getting overwhelmed by the noise, or overstimulated by the lights… I know the difference between your tired smile and your real one. I know you.”
The power of being seen... Like truly seen, in all her fragile, aching reality, and not just looked at, was overwhelming. It wasn’t a pitying observation; it was a form of devotion. It flooded her, warm and terrifying and beautiful, washing away the loneliness she hadn’t even let herself feel. She unwrapped her arms from around herself and instead wrapped them around him, pulling him close. She pressed her face to the side of his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin, and that underlying note of him that was just home. Her breath hitched, shaky against his collarbone.
They sat like that for a long while, his arms a solid band around her, her face hidden in the safe harbor of him. The distant roar of the arriving crowd was a muffled ocean.
Finally, he kissed her temple, his lips lingering. “Here,” he murmured, his voice back to its practical, caring tone. “Lay back down. I’ll turn the TV on low so you can watch my match from back here. You don’t need to walk all the way to Gorilla and sit in some uncomfortable plastic chair. Not tonight.”
He stood and, with a tenderness that belied his warrior’s physique, helped her settle back onto the couch. He grabbed his own hoodie from his bag, folded it with careful precision, and propped it under her head like a pillow. He then used the small microwave in the corner to warm the container of chicken and rice, brought it to her with a plastic fork, and placed the opened ginger ale on the floor within easy reach. He set the prescription bottle next to it, a silent, non-judgmental option. Every action was methodical, thoughtful, a silent liturgy of care.
He straightened up, looming over her for a moment, his expression shifting into one of playful command. “Now. I’m gonna go kick some ass. And then we are leaving. Straight back to the hotel. And I’m gonna run you a hot bath with those salts you like. And I’m gonna order whatever you want to eat, even if it’s just soup. And I’m gonna take care of my baby.” He pointed a finger at her, a mock-stern glint in his eye, though the crooked smile gave him away. “And she better not argue with me about it. Alright?”
She giggled, a soft, watery sound of pure affection, and reached up, squeezing his hand. “Yes, sir. No argument from me,” she teased, her voice still thick with emotion.
He playfully narrowed his eyes at her, the Solo Sikoa the world saw flickering in his gaze before it melted back into the man who was hers. “Now don’t go startin’ that,” he said, a slight laugh shaking his shoulders. “Tonight ain’t about that. Tonight is about being soft. Sweet. Me taking care of you.”
He leaned down, one last time, and captured her lips in a kiss that was a promise...soft, lingering, and filled with a depth of feeling that needed no words. Then, with a final brush of his thumb over her cheek, he turned and left the room, the door clicking shut softly behind him, leaving her in the quiet, dim room, surrounded by the tangible evidence of his care, her heart so full it almost made her forget the ache in her bones.
That night, after the match was done, a brutal, beautiful symphony of controlled chaos that ended with Solo and Talla standing victorious over the Motor City Machine Guns, the crowd’s roar still vibrating in the concrete bones of the arena, he came back to the locker room. He didn’t strut. He moved with a quiet, focused energy. He ran a quick, efficient shower, the water sluicing away the sweat, the grime of the ring, and the lingering adrenaline. He toweled off, the muscles in his back and shoulders moving like topography under his skin, and began to pack his gear with the same methodical care he’d shown earlier.
She watched him from the couch, tucked deep into the oversized hoodie, the hood drawn up so it framed her face like a sanctuary. Her eyes followed the familiar ritual: the careful folding of his taped wrist wraps, the zipping of the duffle, the way he pulled on a soft, worn T-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting pants. When he turned, finally dressed, shoes on, he caught her watching and a slow, easy laugh rumbled out of him.
“You’re gonna disappear, you burrow any further in there,” he teased, his voice warm and rough from the match. He was rewarded with a soft, genuine smile from the depths of the hoodie, one that reached her eyes and made them crinkle at the corners.
He could tell she’d taken one of her pills. Not two, that would have left her expression hazy, her movements delayed. This was just the one. It softened the sharp lines of pain around her mouth and eyes, leaving her looking peaceful, a little fuzzy around the edges, like a photograph with the focus gently pulled. It didn’t erase her; it just gave her a respite.
He walked over, his movements deliberately unhurried, and extended a hand. He helped her stand, his grip firm and grounding. He tossed his heavy duffle over one shoulder with effortless strength, then wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her into the solid warmth of his side, keeping her anchored against him as they navigated the emptying corridors.
He drove slower than normal back to the hotel, his large hand resting on the gear shift before eventually finding hers, lacing their fingers together on the center console. He avoided potholes and bumps with a driver’s concentration usually reserved for high-speed chases, each smooth mile a silent gift. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, a steady, rhythmic comfort.
When they got into the quiet sanctuary of their hotel room, he guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. He called room service, his voice low. “Chicken noodle soup, easy on the salt. And a grilled cheese, crispy but not burnt. Give us about an hour, please.” He hung up and began to slowly undress himself, down to his boxer briefs, his movements fluid in the dim lamplight. Then he disappeared into the bathroom.
She kicked off her sneakers and socks, the simple act a relief, and let herself fall backwards onto the cool duvet with a sigh. Soon, she heard the rush of water filling the tub, a steady, promising sound. Then, the air began to change, carrying the clean, sharp scent of eucalyptus and the calming sweetness of lavender, the bath salts she kept in her toiletry bag for the worst days. He’d remembered.
The bathroom door opened, spilling warm, steamy light into the bedroom. He walked over, a silhouette of gentle strength, and took her hand. “C’mon, baby. Lemme take care of you,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost a vibration in the quiet room.
She let him lead her into the cloud of fragrant steam. He turned her gently to face him, his hands going to the hem of her shirt and the hoodie. He pulled them slowly, carefully, up and over her head, his knuckles brushing her sides with a feather-light touch. He paused, cocking an eyebrow at the realization she hadn’t worn a bra, then a soft, incredulous laugh escaped him as he shook his head, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead, a kiss that said 'of course you didn’t, why would you, you were hurting'.
Then, in a move that stole the breath from her lungs, he knelt down in front of her. His hands went to the waistband of her leggings, his fingers deft and unhurried as he slid them down. He helped her step out of them, then her underwear, his movements reverent and slow. All the while, he looked up into her eyes, his own dark gaze holding hers with an intensity that felt like falling. He looked at her like he’d gotten lost in the depths of her and never, ever wanted to be found.
He stood, a fluid uncoiling of muscle, and pushed his own boxers down, stepping out of them. He stepped into the deep, steaming bath first and sat, the water rising around his waist. Then he reached for her, his hands strong and sure on her hips, guiding her in, turning her, and pulling her back to settle against the broad plane of his chest. The water was perfect, hot enough to seep into her aching joints and muscles, but not scalding. It enveloped her, and his arms enveloped her within it.
For a long time, she just lay there, her head lolled back against his shoulder, her eyes closed. He didn’t speak. His hands began to move, slick with the fragrant water. He started with her arms, his palms sliding in slow, sweeping motions from her shoulders to her wrists, then back up. Then his hands moved to her hips, his thumbs tracing gentle, non-invasive circles over the sorest points, not pressing to work out the pain, just soothing the space around it. He moved to her knees, his touch a whisper against her skin. It was not a massage; it was an act of benediction.
After a while, he reached for the plastic cup he’d placed on the tub’s edge. He filled it and slowly poured the warm water over her hair, thoroughly wetting it. Then he squeezed a dollop of her shampoo into his palm and began to lather it into her scalp. His fingers worked in soft, gentle circles, kneading the tension from the base of her skull, trailing through the strands with infinite care. The tenderness of it, the sheer domestic intimacy of this fearsome man washing her hair with the focus of a sacred ritual, built a pressure behind her eyes. She bit her lip, keeping the tears at bay, for now.
He rinsed her hair with cup after cup of clear water, his hand shielding her eyes. Then he took the bar of soap and began to wash her body. His hands moved over her shoulders, down her back, over her ribs. When he washed her breasts, cupping the warm, soapy water over them, his touch was devoid of any sexual intent. It was pure, unadulterated care. A cleansing. A claiming of a different kind. He washed her stomach, her legs, her feet, attending to every part of her as if it were precious.
By the time he was finished, rinsing the last of the soap from her skin, she realized there were silent tears tracking down her cheeks, mixing with the bathwater. She didn’t sob; she just overflowed.
She had never been taken care of like this. Not ever. She’d been loved, in ways, but never with this degree of selfless, meticulous reverence. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t obligation. It was a conscious, intentional act of seeing her need and meeting it with absolute, unwavering grace. It made something bloom wide and hot in her chest, a feeling that had been germinating for years, moreso since the slow, inevitable shift from best friend to something more. But this? This act of kneeling service, this silent liturgy of comfort, cemented it. It gave the feeling a name, a weight, a permanence.
Love.
She felt loved, utterly and completely. And she loved him. The words had hovered between them for weeks, a palpable, unspoken presence. They felt huge, tectonic. To say them would change the axis of their world. But here, in the warm, scented water, held against the steady beat of his heart, it didn’t feel scary. It felt like the only true thing left in the universe.
She sat with that revelation, letting it settle into her bones, as she leaned against him in the quiet. The only sounds were the soft lap of water and the synchronized rhythm of their breathing.
“C’mon,” he murmured eventually, his lips brushing her damp temple. “Let’s get you up and dressed so we can get your food when it gets here, baby.” He kissed her cheek when she nodded.
He moved first, rising from the water with a soft cascade, and stepped out. He dried himself quickly with a plush towel before slipping into a clean pair of boxers and soft shorts. Then, he turned back to her, extending a hand. He helped her rise, water streaming from her body, and immediately wrapped her in a warm, dry towel, rubbing her arms gently. He took one of his own oversized T-shirts, soft from countless washes, and pulled it over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves. He fetched the hair dryer, set it on low, and carefully dried her hair, his fingers combing through the strands until they were fluffy and warm.
Then, he did it again. He knelt. He picked up her clean, folded underwear and, holding them open, guided her feet into the leg holes. He pulled them up for her, his hands smoothing the fabric over her hips so she didn’t have to bend or strain. The act was so profoundly simple, so devastatingly kind, it took her breath away all over again.
He stood and kissed her softly, his thumb stroking the damp curve of her cheek. He gave her a smile that was all quiet joy, then turned to walk out of the bathroom, giving her space.
She couldn’t hold it in anymore. The words were a living thing in her throat, beating to get out. As he passed, she grabbed his hand and tugged him back. He turned, a question in his eyes, his hands coming to rest naturally on her hips.
“Solo, I—…” she faltered. Her hands, which had come up to rest against his chest, were trembling.
He stilled, his gaze searching her face. “What? What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if sensing the magnitude of the moment.
She looked up at him in the dim, steamy light of the bathroom, her eyes shining with fresh, unashamed tears, and a smile broke through, radiant and sure. “I…I love you.” The words were so soft, so airy, he thought for a second he’d imagined them, conjured them from the deepest wish of his own heart.
He blinked. A hurricane of emotions, shock, wonder, disbelief, and a staggering, soaring joy, swept across his face. He let out a breathy, incredulous laugh, his hands tightening almost imperceptibly on her hips. “Baby…say that again.” His voice was husky, a plea wrapped in awe. “I—please? Say it again.”
She giggled, the sound light and free, the last of the pain and tension melting away under the warmth of his gaze. She slid her arms fully around his neck, feeling loose, feeling better, feeling loved.
“I love you,” she said, stronger now, the words solid and real in the space between them.
He closed his eyes, a soft chuckle of pure, unadulterated happiness shaking his shoulders. He leaned his forehead against hers, their breath mingling. “God…” he whispered, the word a prayer. “I love you too, baby. So much. I have for…well, a few years now, but…” He trailed off with a small, helpless shrug that made her laugh, the admission so perfectly, awkwardly him.
Then he kissed her.
It was soft, and deep, and endless. The kind of kiss that makes your toes curl into the plush bathmat and your soul feel like it’s finally come home. It was a promise, an affirmation, a sealing of the truth they’d both just spoken into existence.
As she kissed him back, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, she knew with a certainty that resonated in every healed and healing part of her. She was where she was always meant to be. With him. Living, and being loved, in the most breathtakingly intentional way.
so this might be a longshot but I really need some fluff comfort in my life right now.
ive been open with you guys about me having elhers danlos syndrome and well today has been the worst flair up of my life so if any of my fic writer moots fancy writing any of my many favs x chronic pain!reader i will owe you my life
reminders of you. maxxine dupri. language of love series.
maxxine dupri x girlfriend!reader
gift receiving
author's note: please ignore that not all the supporting cast are on the same brand, this was a last minute scramble.
The airport buzzed with the kind of controlled chaos that only existed at six in the morning. Announcements echoed overhead every few minutes, their words blending into the steady hum of rolling suitcases, quiet conversations and coffee machines working overtime. Travellers hurried past in every direction, some half asleep, others already looking as though they'd been awake for hours.
You loved it. There was something exciting about airports.
Maybe it was the promise of ending up somewhere completely different by the end of the day. Maybe it was the little gift shops. Probably the gift shops.
"You're impossible." You looked sideways, already smiling before you found the source of the voice. Jey walked beside you with one hand wrapped around a takeaway coffee, his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. "What did I do?"
"You've been in this airport five minutes."
"So?"
"You've already stopped three times."
"I have not."
He raised an eyebrow. "You wanted to look in the bookshop."
"It looked cute."
"You wanted coffee."
"I needed coffee."
"You've got coffee."
"I wanted another coffee."
Jey laughed, shaking his head. "And then..." He pointed towards a brightly lit shop a few metres ahead. "You stopped dead because you saw a rack of postcards."
"They're nice postcards."
"They're postcards."
"There could've been a duck on one."
"A duck?"
"You don't know."
He looked at you for a long moment before letting out a theatrical sigh. "I forgot you find joy in literally everything."
You grinned. "It makes life more fun."
"I'll give you that."
You bumped his shoulder lightly as the two of you continued walking through the terminal.
Around you, several other members of the RAW roster wandered in little groups, all heading towards the same gate after another busy weekend of shows. Maxxine had disappeared somewhere a few minutes earlier. Probably coffee or snacks or both.
You smiled to yourself. She never could walk past a convenience shop without convincing herself she needed something.
Jey noticed you glancing around. "You lost your wife?"
"My girlfriend."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Same difference."
You laughed. "She's probably just getting food."
"Mhm."
"You know she gets distracted."
"Oh, I know." He took another sip of coffee. "Last month she disappeared for twenty minutes because she wanted pretzels."
"They were good pretzels."
"They were."
You couldn't argue with that. The pretzels had been excellent.
You'd barely taken another few steps before you heard a familiar voice calling your name from somewhere behind you. "Babe!"
You turned instinctively.
Maxxine was jogging towards you through the terminal, a bright pink shopping bag swinging enthusiastically from one hand. A huge grin stretched across her face.
You couldn't help smiling back. "There you are."
"I found you!"
"I noticed."
She slowed to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath but looking far too pleased with herself. "What've you got there?" you asked, nodding towards the bag.
"Oh!" Her eyes lit up all over again. "I got you something."
Jey looked between the two of you. "Already?"
Maxxine ignored him completely. She reached into the little paper bag with exaggerated care before pulling out a tiny pink dinosaur keyring. It couldn't have been more than two inches tall. It wore an absurdly happy expression. Its little arms stuck out from its body as though it wanted a hug. You stared at it, then at Maxxine. Then back at the dinosaur. A laugh escaped before you could stop it. “...What is this?"
Maxxine held it out proudly. "It's a dinosaur."
"I can see that."
"It's pink."
"I can also see that."
"It reminded me of you."
You blinked. "It did?"
"Mhm."
"Why?"
She shrugged so casually it was almost funny. "I dunno."
"You don't know?"
"It's cute." She gently wiggled the keyring. "And it made me think of you."
That was it. No complicated explanation. No hidden meaning. Just: I saw this. I thought of you.
Warmth spread through your chest so quickly it almost caught you off guard. You carefully took the little dinosaur from her hands, turning it over between your fingers. Its tiny painted smile made you laugh again. "It is kind of adorable."
"I know."
Maxxine watched your face with obvious anticipation. "You like it?"
You looked back up at her. "I love it."
The relief on her face appeared instantly. "You do?"
"Of course I do."
Without another thought, you slipped your backpack off your shoulder and searched for the zip on the front pocket. "What're you doing?" Maxxine asked.
"You'll see." You unclipped your existing keyring before fastening the tiny pink dinosaur onto the zip pull. It swung happily against the fabric of your backpack. You smiled. "There."
Maxxine's entire expression softened. "You put it on already."
"Well, yeah."
"You don't have to."
"I wanted to." You slung the backpack back onto your shoulder, glancing down at the little dinosaur as it bounced gently against your side. "Now he gets to come everywhere with me."
For a second Maxxine simply looked at you. Then she smiled. Not her loud, mischievous grin. Not the one she wore when she was winding people up backstage. Just a quiet, hopelessly fond smile that reached all the way to her eyes. "You know..." She stepped a little closer, slipping her hand into yours as naturally as breathing. "I was worried you'd think it was silly."
You looked genuinely surprised. "Maxxine."
"What?"
"I would've loved it if you'd handed me a pebble."
She burst into laughter. "A pebble?"
"Mhm."
"If you told me it made you think of me" You squeezed her hand gently. "I'd probably keep that too."
Jey made a loud, exaggerated gagging noise beside you. "Oh, come on."
The two of you looked over. He pointed accusingly between you. "Y'all have been standing here having a full emotional moment over a dinosaur."
You looked down at the keyring. "It's a cute dinosaur."
"It ain't even a realistic dinosaur."
Maxxine gasped dramatically. "Excuse you?"
"It looks happy."
"It is happy."
"It has little blush marks."
"Exactly."
Jey pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot believe this."
You laughed. "What?"
He gestured helplessly at the keyring. "You disappeared for five minutes."
Maxxine nodded proudly. "Mhm."
"You came back with a dinosaur." "Mhm."
"And somehow" He pointed at your backpack. "it's already attached."
You looked at him with complete sincerity. "Well..." You shrugged. "It belongs there now."
Jey stared for another second before shaking his head with a laugh. "You two are ridiculous."
Maxxine grinned. "I know. But we're cute."
"I never said that."
"You were thinking it."
"I absolutely wasn't."
"You definitely were."
As the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal, Jey started walking towards the gate, muttering something under his breath about "being surrounded by lovesick weirdos." You laughed, watching him disappear into the growing queue. Then you looked back at Maxxine. "Thank you."
She smiled. "For what?"
You gently flicked the little dinosaur, watching it sway happily from your backpack. "For thinking of me."
Her thumb brushed absent-mindedly across the back of your hand. "I always think of you."
The words were so simple. So matter of fact. As though there had never been another possible answer. You felt your heart melt a little more. Then, still hand in hand, the two of you followed the rest of the roster towards your gate, the tiny pink dinosaur bouncing cheerfully against your backpack with every step. It was the first gift of the tour.
Neither of you realised it would be the first of many.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
By the time the next city rolled around, the rhythm of tour had settled comfortably back into place. Early flights. Long travel days. Hotel rooms that all blurred together after a while. Arena corridors that somehow managed to feel familiar no matter where in the world you were.
You'd always loved it.
Every week felt like opening a new chapter. The moment the bus pulled into the loading dock behind the arena, you were already peering out of the window. "Ooh."
Jey looked up from his phone. "What?"
"I think there's a little market across the road."
"You ain't even got off the bus yet."
"I've got eyes."
"You've got a problem."
You laughed. "I like exploring."
"You like getting distracted."
"Those are different things."
"Mhm."
He stood, grabbing his backpack from the overhead shelf. "Just don't wander off before call time."
"I won't."
"You said that in Chicago."
"I got lost once."
"You got lost twice."
"The second time wasn't my fault."
"You followed a cat."
"It looked like it knew where it was going."
Jey stared at you for a long moment. "You know what?"
"What?"
"I don't even wanna know."
You laughed all the way off the bus.
An hour later, the arena had come alive. Crew members hurried through the corridors carrying equipment. Music echoed faintly from one of the locker rooms. Someone shouted for a producer halfway down the hall. You'd just finished unpacking your gear when your stomach reminded you that breakfast had been several hours ago. Perfect excuse for catering. As you rounded the corner, you spotted Jey already loading far too many potatoes onto his plate. "You know they're gonna make more."
He looked over his shoulder. "I know."
"So why've you got enough for six people?"
"'Cause they're good."
"I can't argue with that."
"You wanna hash brown?"
You looked down at his overflowing plate. "I don't think you'd survive losing one."
"You right."
You grabbed your own tray, smiling politely at the catering staff as they served you. The room buzzed with conversation. Chelsea was halfway through telling an animated story to Tiffany. A few producers sat together discussing the night's show. It felt comfortable. Like another strange family dinner.
You'd barely sat down beside Jey when a familiar voice drifted across the room. "Babe!"
You looked up instinctively. Maxxine practically skipped towards your table, holding something behind her back.
Jey sighed dramatically. "Oh no."
She ignored him completely, stopping beside your chair with an excited smile. "I got you something."
You couldn't help laughing. "Again?"
She tilted her head. "What do you mean 'again'?"
"You literally bought me a dinosaur three days ago."
"And?"
"And now you've bought me something else."
"Mhm."
She still hadn't moved whatever she was hiding behind her back. You smiled. "What is it?"
"You have to close your eyes."
You raised an eyebrow. "Maxxine."
"Please?"
You laughed softly. "Okay."
Setting your fork down, you obediently closed your eyes.
"I don't trust either of you," Jey muttered.
"You weren't invited," Maxxine replied.
You heard the rustle of paper. Then something small being placed carefully into your hand. "Okay. You can look."
Opening your eyes, you looked down. Nestled in your palm was a packet of strawberry sweets. For a second, you simply stared at them. The bright red wrapper. The little cartoon strawberries printed across the front. Your expression softened almost immediately. "Maxx."
She suddenly looked a little nervous. "You like them?"
You looked back up. "Where did you even find these?"
"There was a little international food shop next to the hotel."
"You went in there?"
"Mhm. I was looking around and..." she shrugged. "I saw them."
You smiled. "I haven't seen these in years."
"I know."
"You" Your eyebrows knitted together. "How did you know?"
"You told me."
"I did?"
She nodded. "Ages ago."
"When?"
"You said your grandma used to buy them for you when you stayed at her house."
You blinked. "I..." You genuinely couldn't remember saying it. It had probably been months ago. Maybe longer. Just one passing conversation after training. Something you'd mentioned without thinking twice. "You remembered that?"
Maxxine looked confused. "Course I did."
"As in." You held the sweets up slightly. "You remembered one random thing I said months ago?"
"It wasn't random."
"It was."
"You smiled when you told me." She said it so matter of factly. "You looked really happy."
"So when I saw these." Another little shrug. "they made me think of you."
Your chest tightened. Not because of the sweets themselves. Because she'd remembered. Out of all the conversations you'd had, all the cities, all the flights.
She'd held onto one tiny memory because it had mattered to you. Without thinking, you stood from your chair and wrapped your arms around her.
She laughed in surprise. "Oh!"
You hugged her tightly. "Thank you."
Her arms immediately found their way around your waist. "I wasn't sure if they were the right ones."
"They are."
"You sure?"
You nodded against her shoulder. "They're exactly right."
Jey watched the entire exchange over the top of his coffee. Then slowly looked around the table. "She bought you sweets."
You pulled back just enough to smile at Maxxine. "She remembered my grandma."
Jey blinked. "What?"
You looked at him. "I told her once that my grandma always kept these in her handbag."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"Last year maybe?"
Jey looked at Maxxine. "You remembered that?"
She frowned slightly, as though he was asking the world's most obvious question. "Yeah."
"Why?"
She looked between the two of you. "'Cause she smiled when she talked about it."
Jey opened his mouth. Closed it again. "Huh."
You smiled fondly at Maxxine. "I can't believe you remembered."
She reached up, absent-mindedly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I remember everything you tell me."
The words were quiet. Natural. As though there wasn't anything extraordinary about them. To Maxxine, there wasn't. Loving you meant paying attention. It meant remembering the stories that made you light up. The foods you missed, the songs you hummed without realising, the tiny details that everyone else forgot. She didn't think of it as making an effort. She just loved you.
Jey watched her brush her thumb gently across your cheek before picking up her own tray. As she wandered off to grab some lunch, he slowly turned back towards you. "Does she do this a lot?"
You smiled to yourself, carefully turning the packet of sweets over in your hands.
"A little."
"A little?"
You laughed. "She likes bringing me things."
Jey leaned back in his chair. "I ain't never seen somebody make buying candy look like a love letter."
You looked down at the wrapper again, your smile impossibly soft. Maybe to everyone else, they were just strawberry sweets. To you, they tasted like your grandma's kitchen, summer holidays, sticky fingers, laughter and the girl who loved you enough to remember a story you'd almost forgotten telling.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Three weeks later, Monday Night RAW had taken over another city. The arena was already alive by the time you arrived. Road cases rattled through the corridors. Production assistants hurried between meetings with clipboards tucked under their arms. Music drifted out of the locker rooms, clashing with the muffled thud of someone practicing bumps in the ring. You'd somehow managed to get there early. Which, for once, meant your locker wasn't buried beneath gear, makeup bags and the general chaos that always seemed to appear by the end of the night.
You smiled to yourself. "Perfect."
Setting your backpack down on the bench, you unlocked your locker and pulled the metal door open. There it was, your little collection.
It had started with the pink dinosaur keyring. Now, it had quietly taken over the entire inside of your locker. The dinosaur still hung proudly from a small hook near the top. Next to it was another keyring Maxxine had found in the airport a week later, a tiny smiling cloud with rosy cheeks because, according to her, "It looks happy all the time. Like you."
A postcard from Seattle was tucked beneath a magnet shaped like a coffee cup.
A tiny sheet of strawberry stickers sat beside a pressed daisy Maxxine had rescued from the pavement outside a hotel because, "It was still pretty."
There was a little enamel pin shaped like a frog. A purple friendship bracelet, a bookmark covered in tiny stars, a folded napkin with a doodle Maxxine had drawn while the two of you waited for your food one afternoon.
Even the wrapper from the strawberry sweets had been flattened carefully inside a clear plastic sleeve. You smiled as you straightened the corner of the postcard.
"You've made quite the mess."
The familiar voice made you glance over your shoulder. Jey wandered into the locker room carrying two coffees.
He stopped beside you. "You want-“ His sentence died halfway through. "What."
You blinked. "What?"
His eyes slowly travelled across the inside of your locker. "What is all this?"
You looked back at it. "Oh." You smiled. "My stuff."
"Your." He pointed helplessly. ".Stuff?"
"Mhm." He stepped closer. "You've got" His eyes landed on the dinosaur. "The little dinosaur."
"Yep."
"You still got him?"
"Of course."
He looked lower. "The sweets wrapper."
"Mhm."
"You kept the wrapper?"
You looked genuinely confused. "Yeah."
"Why?"
You shrugged. "It reminds me of that day."
He stared. Then pointed again. "This frog?"
"She won it for me."
"The bracelet?"
"She bought it from a little craft market."
"The postcard?"
"She wrote on the back."
Jey carefully pulled it free just enough to read the handwriting.
Saw this and thought you'd love the colours. Love you. - Maxx ❤️
He slowly slid it back into place. Then noticed something else. "Are those flowers?"
You nodded. "They're from when we walked through that park in Portland."
"You pressed them?"
"I did."
His eyes widened. "You really kept everything."
"I told you."
"I thought you meant like" He gestured vaguely. "The important stuff."
You looked at him with complete sincerity. "It is the important stuff."
For a moment, Jey didn't know what to say. He looked back inside the locker. Nothing in there was expensive. Most of it probably cost less than a coffee. Tiny souvenirs. Little trinkets. Random things most people would've thrown away. Yet every single one had been placed carefully. Like it belonged. Like it mattered.
"You know" he said quietly. "I've never seen anybody keep things like this."
You smiled softly. "I like looking at them."
"Why?"
You reached up, gently spinning the pink dinosaur keyring between your fingers.
"'Cause I remember exactly when she gave me each one."
You pointed around the locker. "This one was the airport before Chicago. The bookmark was after we got caught in the rain. The duck pin came from that tiny gift shop where Maxxine got distracted because she thought the owner looked like her aunt."
Jey laughed. "That does sound like her."
You smiled. "And this" You carefully picked up the flattened sweet wrapper. "was the day she remembered my grandma." Your thumb brushed lightly across the plastic sleeve. "I don't really see gifts anymore."
Jey frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"They're memories." You looked back at your little collection. "When tour gets really busy" Your voice softened. "or we've had a rough week I open my locker."
"You do?"
You nodded. "And then I remember all the little moments."
Every gift came with a story. Every story reminded you how loved you were.
Jey leaned against the lockers beside you, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "You know"
"What?"
"I kinda get it now." You looked over. "It ain't really about what's hanging in there."
You shook your head. "Not even a little."
He laughed quietly. "It's the fact she keeps seeing something..." He nodded towards the dinosaur. "...and immediately thinks of you."
You smiled. "Exactly."
Before either of you could say anything else, the locker room door swung open. "Babe!"
You turned instinctively. Maxxine walked in carrying two protein shakes in one hand and a tiny paper gift bag in the other.
Jey looked at the bag. Then at you. Then back at Maxxine. He sighed dramatically. "Again?"
Liv frowned. "What?"
"You bought her something else?"
She looked down at the bag as though she'd forgotten she was holding it. "Oh." A sheepish smile spread across her face. "Maybe."
Jey threw one hand into the air. "I don't know why I keep actin' surprised."
You laughed as Maxxine wandered over, immediately slipping her free hand into yours. "I got distracted."
"I can see that."
"There was a little gift shop next to the hotel."
"There always is."
"I wasn't even looking."
"Mhm."
"I just" She held the bag out towards you. "saw something."
Your smile was already growing. "What did you see?"
Her grin mirrored yours. "Open it."
From the corner of the room, Jey watched you take the bag with the same excitement as every other time. He smiled to himself. Maybe everyone else saw a couple exchanging little presents. He was beginning to understand that it was something much simpler than that. Every gift was Maxxine's way of saying the exact same thing. I was thinking about you.
And somehow you'd found a way to keep every one of those thoughts.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The tiny paper bag sat on your lap while you and Maxxine ate lunch together in catering. You hadn't opened it yet. Not because you weren't excited. Quite the opposite, you liked making her wait.
Maxxine bounced her leg beneath the table, stealing glances at the bag every few seconds. "Aren't you going to open it?"
You smiled innocently. "I am."
"When?"
"In a minute."
"You've been saying 'a minute' for five minutes."
"I'm building suspense."
She groaned dramatically, dropping her forehead onto your shoulder. "I don't like suspense."
"I know."
"I need immediate gratification."
"I also know." You reached up, absent-mindedly running your fingers through the ends of her hair. "You're very impatient."
"I'm excited."
"I can tell."
Across the table, Jey watched the interaction over the rim of his coffee. "You know" He looked at Maxxine. “I ain't never seen somebody so desperate for another person to open a present."
Liv didn't even look up. "I need to know if she likes it."
Jey frowned. "She has liked every single one."
"I know."
"So why you worried?"
"'Cause this one might be different."
You smiled, gently rubbing small circles against her back. "It won't be."
"You don't know that."
"I know you."
She finally lifted her head, pouting at you. "You're biased."
"I absolutely am."
Chelsea wandered into catering at that exact moment, immediately spotting the three of you. "Ooh."
She slid into the empty seat beside Jey. "What're we doing?"
Jey nodded towards the gift bag. "Maxxine bought another present."
Chelsea looked at the bag. Then at Maxxine. Then back at the bag. "Again?"
Maxxine blinked. "What?"
"You literally bought her something last week."
"And?"
Chelsea laughed. "I love how confused you get every time someone points this out."
Maxxine frowned. "I don't buy that much."
Jey nearly choked on his drink. "You serious?"
"What?"
"You buy her somethin' every city."
Maxxine looked thoughtful. "Do I?" Three pairs of eyes stared back at her. She slowly smiled. "Oh."
"You genuinely didn't realise?" Chelsea asked.
"I just" Maxxine shrugged. "see things."
"And?"
"They remind me of her."
Chelsea clutched dramatically at her chest. "Oh, that's sickening."
You laughed. "I think it's cute."
"Of course you think it's cute."
"It is cute."
Jey nodded. "It is."
Chelsea pointed accusingly at him. "Don't encourage them."
"I'm just tellin' the truth."
Maxxine glanced at you, almost apologetically. "Am I buying you too much stuff?"
Your expression softened immediately. "What?"
"I don't want to overwhelm you."
You reached across the table, taking her hand without hesitation. "Maxx." She looked at you. "I have never once looked at something you've given me and thought, 'I wish she hadn't bought this.'"
"You haven't?"
You shook your head. "Not ever."
She squeezed your hand gently. "I just like making you smile."
"I know."
"I see things" Her thumb traced absent-minded circles across your knuckles. "and then I picture your face." The table fell quiet. Even Chelsea stopped joking. Maxxine continued, almost embarrassed now. "I don't even think about buying them. It just" Another little shrug. "happens."
You smiled so softly it made her heart ache. "You know my favourite part?"
"What?"
"It isn't getting the presents."
"It isn't?"
You shook your head. "It's knowing that wherever you are" You intertwined your fingers with hers. "you've got me in the back of your mind."
Maxxine's eyes searched yours. "I always do."
"I know."
"No..." She smiled, impossibly fond."...I mean always."
There wasn't a hint of exaggeration in her voice. You believed her completely. Because she wasn't talking about the gifts. She was talking about the quiet moments in between. Walking through airports. Passing little market stalls. Stopping outside shop windows. Seeing something small and ordinary and instinctively wondering whether you'd smile if she brought it home.
Chelsea looked between the two of you before sighing dramatically. "I can't decide whether this is the cutest thing I've ever witnessed." She reached for her bottle of water. "or whether I need both of you to be significantly less in love in public."
Jey chuckled. "Good luck with that."
You laughed, resting your head briefly against Maxxine's shoulder. "So..."
You glanced down at the gift bag. "Can I open it now?"
Maxxine's face lit up all over again. "Please."
Carefully, you untied the little ribbon and folded back the tissue paper. Nestled inside was a tiny plush duck wearing an oversized yellow raincoat. You stared at it for a moment. Then slowly looked up. "Maxx."
She immediately started laughing. "I know."
"What is he wearing?"
"A raincoat."
"I can see that."
"It reminded me of the day we got caught in the rain."
You blinked. "The umbrellas?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "You laughed for like ten minutes because the duck on yours looked angry."
You looked back down at the plush. The little embroidered duck really did have a comically grumpy expression. A laugh bubbled out of you. "Oh my God..."
"You remember."
"Of course I remember."
You hugged the tiny duck to your chest. "I love him."
Maxxine's answering smile was so bright it almost outshone the fluorescent lights above the catering tables.
Jey leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a laugh. "There she goes."
Chelsea smiled into her drink. "What?"
Jey nodded towards Maxxine. "Look at her."
Chelsea followed his gaze. Maxxine wasn't looking at the duck anymore. She was watching you. Completely captivated by the way you smiled down at something that had cost less than ten dollars.
Chelsea's own smile softened. "She doesn’t buy the gifts because she likes shopping."
Jey nodded. "Nah." They watched Maxxine grin as you carefully tucked the little duck into your backpack, making sure its head poked out of the top so it could "see the arena." "She buys 'em because that smile's worth every penny."
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Another city, another airport, another early morning that blurred into another long travel day.
The roster had claimed an entire corner of the departure lounge, scattered across rows of seats with coffees balanced on armrests and backpacks tucked beneath chairs. Some people slept. Some watched films. Some complained about the flight delay. You sat cross-legged in your seat, quietly reading a book while Jey scrolled aimlessly through his phone beside you. Maxxine had wandered off ten minutes earlier. You hadn't questioned it, she had the attention span of a magpie. She'd probably spotted a coffee shop or something pink in one of the terminal windows.
You smiled to yourself. It could have been any of the above.
Jey noticed. He tucked his phone into his pocket, stretching his legs out in front of him. "So..."
"What?"
"I got a question."
"Okay."
"How many gifts you reckon she's bought you now?"
You frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know."
"Guess."
You closed your book over one finger. "Hmm, a lot."
"Helpful."
You laughed. "I've genuinely never counted."
"Twenty?"
"More."
"Thirty?"
"Probably."
Jey's eyebrows climbed. "Thirty?"
"Maybe."
"You serious?"
"I don't know." You shrugged. "She's been doing it for ages."
"For how long?"
You thought for a moment. "Pretty much since we started dating."
Jey blinked. "Hold on."
"She's bought you somethin' almost every city"
"Mhm."
"For your whole relationship?"
You nodded. "I guess so."
He let out a slow whistle. "Damn."
You smiled faintly. "I've never really thought about it."
"You've never thought about it?"
"Not like that."
He looked at you for a long second. "I don't think you realise what she's actually doing."
You tilted your head. "What do you mean?"
Before he could answer, "Babe!"
You both looked up. Maxxine hurried back towards you, a paper cup in one hand and a tiny brown paper bag in the other. Jey didn't even react anymore. He simply pointed. "There it is."
You laughed.
Maxxine slowed to a stop in front of you. "I brought you coffee."
"You brought yourself coffee."
"I brought us coffee."
She handed you the second cup with a grin before offering over the little paper bag. "And I got you something."
You smiled. "I had absolutely no doubt."
She giggled. "I know."
You peeked into the bag. Inside sat a tiny enamel pin shaped like a little fox curled up asleep. It was no bigger than your thumbnail. You looked up. "It's adorable."
"I know!" She looked ridiculously pleased with herself. "I walked past it and..." She pointed at the pin. "...its little face." You waited. "It looked cozy."
You smiled. "And?"
"It made me think of you."
"There it is," Jey muttered under his breath.
You laughed softly before clipping the pin carefully onto the strap of your backpack. "There."
Maxxine watched with that same soft expression she always wore whenever you immediately found somewhere for one of her gifts. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"You never put them away."
"'Cause I like seeing them."
She smiled so brightly that it almost made your own cheeks hurt. "I know." Satisfied, she wandered off to say hello to a few other people from the roster.
Jey watched her leave. Then looked back at you. "See?"
You frowned. "See what?"
He nodded towards Maxxine. "She was gone" He checked his watch dramatically. "Eight minutes."
"So?"
"And somehow" He gestured to the fox pin now sitting proudly on your bag. "she still found somethin' that reminded her of you."
You smiled. "She does that."
"No..." He leaned forward slightly. "I don't think you're hearin' me."
You closed your book completely. "What?"
He was quiet for a moment. "You know what I'd buy somebody if I was in an airport?"
"What?"
"A bottle of water." You laughed. "Maybe a sandwich."
"Sounds practical."
"I ain't lookin' at little foxes."
You smiled. "No?"
"Nah."
He shook his head. "My brain ain't wired like that."
You looked down at the tiny pin. "I guess hers is."
"It is."
He smiled. "But that's kinda the point." You looked back up. "She's walkin' around airports, markets, gift shops, train stations, hotel lobbies." He counted them off on his fingers. "And every single place she goes" He tapped the fox gently. "she's thinkin' about you."
The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. You stared at the little sleeping fox. It had probably cost a few dollars. Something most people would've walked straight past. To Maxxine it had become a reminder of you. "I" You swallowed around the sudden lump in your throat. "I never thought about it like that."
"I figured." Jey smiled warmly. "You've been lookin' at the presents." He nodded towards where Maxxine was laughing loudly with Bron across the lounge. "You should probably start lookin' at what they're sayin'."
You frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
He looked at you as though the answer was obvious. "They're all sayin' the same thing."
Every tiny thing she'd ever handed you with that familiar smile. "I saw this..." "It made me think of you."
Your eyes drifted back to Maxxine. She was in the middle of an animated story, laughing so hard she had one hand over her mouth. She caught you looking. Without missing a beat, she smiled. Not because anything exciting had happened. Not because anyone else was watching. Simply because she had seen you. You smiled back automatically.
Jey noticed. "There."
"What?"
"That."
"What? She smiled,
“So did you."
You looked away, trying and failing to hide your grin. "Shut up."
He laughed quietly. "I've been watching you two for months." He stood, picking up his backpack as the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. "I still don't think either of you realise how lucky you are."
You stayed seated for another moment, your thumb brushing absent-mindedly over the tiny fox
pin clipped to your bag. It wasn't just a fox. It wasn't just a gift. It was proof that, in the middle of another busy airport, with hundreds of strangers walking past Maxxine had still found a quiet moment to think of you and somehow that meant more than the gift itself ever could.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Tour had finally slowed down. Not for long. Just enough to breathe. A handful of days at home before everyone packed their suitcases all over again. It felt strange waking up in your own bed instead of another hotel room. Stranger still opening a wardrobe that wasn't living out of a suitcase. You'd barely finished unpacking when your phone buzzed.
Maxxine Can I come over?
A smile spread across your face before you'd even opened the message.
You: Always.
An hour later, a familiar knock echoed through your apartment. You opened the door to find Maxxine standing there in an oversized hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low over her blonde hair and a takeaway bag balanced carefully in one hand. "I brought dinner."
You laughed. "I was wondering if you were coming over because you missed me”
"I did." She leaned forward to kiss you quickly. "But I also wanted tacos."
"I knew there was an ulterior motive."
"There usually is."
You stepped aside to let her in. The moment she crossed the threshold, she kicked off her trainers and sighed happily. "I've missed your apartment."
"I've missed having an apartment."
She laughed. "Fair."
You disappeared into the kitchen to grab plates while Maxxine wandered further inside. Nothing about the place had really changed. The same soft blanket draped over the sofa. The same framed photographs on the shelves. The same plants that somehow hadn't died despite your schedule. She smiled to herself.
Home.
Then her eyes landed on something hanging beside the front door. The pink dinosaur keyring. It dangled from a little brass hook with your spare keys. Maxxine stopped walking. "Huh." A small smile tugged at her lips. "I forgot about him."
You called from the kitchen. "What?"
"Nothing!" She wandered further into the living room. On the bookshelf sat the tiny glass whale she'd found in Seattle. Next to it the sleepy fox pin rested in a little ceramic dish with a handful of rings. The pressed daisy was framed between two pieces of glass, catching the afternoon sunlight. The frog pin sat clipped onto the strap of a tote bag hanging over the back of a chair. She blinked. "No way."
"You alright?" you called.
"Mhm!" Her voice came out a little quieter this time. She wandered towards your kitchen. The fridge made her stop all over again. Held beneath cheerful magnets, some she'd bought, some you'd already owned, were postcards. Every single postcard she'd ever picked up for you on tour. One had a scribbled heart.
Another simply read, Saw this and thought of you.
Another, Missed you all morning.
Her chest tightened. She reached up, fingertips brushing one of the corners. "You actually" She whispered more to herself than anyone else. "kept them."
"You found the postcards?" You walked into the room carrying two plates.
Maxxine turned slowly. "You put them on your fridge."
You looked between her and the postcards. "Yeah.I thought they'd look nice."
"They do." She looked around again. Then back at you. "The whale's on your bookshelf."
"Mhm."
"The fox pin."
"Mhm."
"The dinosaur."
"Mhm."
"The flowers."
"Mhm."
She frowned slightly. "How many things have I actually bought you?"
You laughed. "I've never counted."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." You set the plates down before wandering over to stand beside her. "They're just” You looked around your apartment. "everywhere."
Maxxine's eyes followed yours. Only now, she noticed even more. The duck in the yellow raincoat sat proudly amongst your books. The bookmark peeked out from the novel on your coffee table. The friendship bracelet was looped around the neck of a little jewellery stand. The tiny cloud keyring hung from the zip of your suitcase. She'd walked straight past them. Because she'd never expected to see them again. "I" Her voice caught unexpectedly. "I thought you'd put most of them in a drawer."
You looked at her with complete confusion. "Why would I do that?"
"I don't know."
You smiled softly. "They're my things."
"No" She laughed quietly. "I mean, they're not expensive."
You reached for her hand. "I know."
"So why" She looked around the apartment one more time. "why are they all out?"
You squeezed her fingers gently. "So I can see them." The answer was so immediate. So simple. It made her throat tighten. "When I walk past the bookshelf" You nodded towards the little glass whale. "I remember you dragging me into that tiny shop because you said it 'felt magical.'"
Maxxine laughed through the sudden sting in her eyes. "I did say that."
"When I make coffee" You smiled at the postcards. "I see your handwriting."
"When I grab my keys" You reached over, gently tapping the dinosaur. "I remember you running across the airport looking so excited because you'd found him." Her eyes were beginning to shine now. You barely noticed. "I don't really see objects anymore." You looked around your apartment with quiet affection. "I just remember us."
Silence settled between you. Maxxine looked at every tiny trinket again. Not one of them matched your decor. Not one of them belonged in the same colour palette. The dinosaur was ridiculous, the duck was lopsided, the whale was no bigger than her thumb. Yet somehow they made your apartment feel unmistakably yours because they told the story of your relationship, one tiny memory at a time.
She looked back at you. Very quietly, she asked, "You really kept everything?"
You smiled. "Of course I did." A tear escaped before she could stop it. You blinked. "Babe?"
She laughed, embarrassed, wiping quickly at her cheek. "I'm okay."
"You sure?"
She nodded, though another tear had already appeared. "I just" Her voice wobbled. "I never thought they mattered that much."
You stepped closer until your hands rested gently on either side of her face. "They don't."
She frowned. "What?"
"The gifts don't." Your thumbs brushed away the tears gathering beneath her eyes. "You do." She stared at you. "The presents were never my favourite part."
"No?" You shook your head. "My favourite part was knowing that no matter where you went" A soft smile found your lips. "you always took me with you."
Liv let out a tiny, watery laugh. "I always will."
You leaned forward, resting your forehead against hers. "I know."
Around you, the apartment sat quietly filled with tiny dinosaurs, sleepy foxes, postcards and pressed flowers. To anyone else they were just little souvenirs collected over months on the road.
To the two of you they were proof that love didn't always arrive in grand gestures.
Sometimes it looked like a pink dinosaur from an airport gift shop because someone had walked past it, smiled, and thought, she'd love this.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
RAW had wrapped later than expected. By the time you finally escaped the arena, most of the roster had already disappeared towards the hotel buses, exhausted after another long night. The city had settled into that quiet hum that only seemed to exist after midnight. Streetlights reflected off rain-slick pavements. The summer air was cool enough that Maxxine immediately reached for your hand the second the two of you stepped outside.
You smiled, intertwining your fingers with hers. "Tired?"
She nodded dramatically. "So tired."
"You were bouncing off the walls an hour ago."
"I crashed."
"I can see that."
She leaned her head against your shoulder as you walked. "I think wrestling should come with mandatory nap time."
"I'd support that."
"You'd nap too."
"I absolutely would."
She smiled. "I knew it."
The hotel was only a short walk from the arena. Neither of you were in any rush to get there. Not when the streets were quiet enough that you could actually hear each other talk. Halfway down the block, you slowed to a stop outside the tiny convenience shop tucked onto the corner.
Maxxine frowned. "What?"
You nodded towards the brightly lit window. "I'll be two minutes."
"You need something?"
"Mhm."
"What?"
"It's a surprise."
She gasped dramatically. "For me?"
You grinned. "Maybe."
Her eyes widened immediately. "You bought me something?"
"I haven't yet."
"You might?"
"I said maybe."
She clutched at your arm. "Hurry."
Laughing, you slipped inside.
The shop couldn't have been bigger than your living room. Shelves overflowed with snacks, postcards, travel-sized toiletries and rows upon rows of tiny souvenirs designed for tourists passing through. You wandered slowly. Not really looking for anything in particular. Then you spotted it. Tucked between a rack of magnets and a display of keychains sat the smallest little plush wolf, grey, fluffy. Its ears were slightly too big for its head. One paw stuck up awkwardly as though it was waving.
You smiled instantly. It was adorable. Without another thought, you picked it up.
The elderly cashier smiled knowingly as you paid. "Gift?"
You looked down at the little wolf. "Yeah."
"For someone special?"
You smiled. "The most special."
Maxxine was exactly where you'd left her. She looked up the moment the shop door opened. "Well?"
You walked over with your hands hidden behind your back. "I got you something."
Her entire face lit up. "For me?"
"Mhm."
"What for?"
You shrugged. "No reason."
"You don't need a reason?"
"No."
She laughed softly. "I like that answer."
You held out the tiny plush wolf. She stared at it. Then looked back at you. "A wolf?"
"It reminded me of you." She blinked.
"Me?"
"Mhm."
"Why?"
You smiled. "I don't know."
"You don't know?" "It just did."
She looked back down at the little wolf, gently turning it over in her hands. "It has ears."
"I know."
"They're not tiny, they're enormous."
"I know." You couldn't stop smiling. "It just" You shrugged in exactly the same way she always did. "Made me think of you."
For a moment, Maxxine simply looked at you. Then she laughed. Not loudly. Just softly. The kind of laugh that came from somewhere deep in her chest. "You've been listening."
You tilted your head. "To what?"
"Me." She looked between you and the little wolf. "You even said it the way I do."
You laughed. "I might have borrowed your line."
"I noticed."
She looked down at the plush again, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over one of its oversized ears. "I love him." "I hoped you would."
Without another word, she stepped forward and wrapped both arms around you. You hugged her back immediately. "You know" she murmured into your shoulder.
"What?"
"I've spent all this time buying you little things because they reminded me of you."
"Mhm."
"I never realised" She pulled back just enough to look at you. "that you were doing exactly the same thing."
You smiled. "I think you've rubbed off on me."
"I definitely have." She grinned. "You've become sentimental."
"I was always sentimental."
"You absolutely were."
"You just gave me an excuse."
Her smile softened. "I like this version of you."
You reached up, gently tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I like every version of you."
She laughed quietly. "You know."
"What?"
"I actually got you something too."
You blinked. "You did?"
She nodded proudly. "I bought it after the show."
You burst into laughter. "Maxxine!"
"What?"
"We've become a problem."
"We've become adorable." She reached into the pocket of her hoodie before pulling out something impossibly small. A tiny enamel pin. It was shaped like a little golden retriever. Its tongue hung out. Its tail curved into a heart.
You smiled before she'd even handed it over. "Why a dog?"
She shrugged. "It looked happy."
"And?"
"It made me think of you."
You laughed so hard you had to wipe at the corners of your eyes. You carefully pinned the little dog onto the strap of your backpack, right beside the sleepy fox. The wolf still rested safely in Maxxine's hands. She looked at it, then at you. Then quietly said, "You know what my favourite part is?"
"The gifts?"
She shook her head. "No, the smile you get every time I give you one."
You felt your cheeks warm. "I was about to say the exact same thing."
For a second, neither of you spoke. You simply stood beneath the glow of the streetlights, smiling at each other in the middle of an almost empty pavement. Two wrestlers. Two backpacks full of gear. Two people who had somehow filled an entire relationship with tiny dinosaurs, sleepy foxes, postcards, pressed flowers and plush wolves.
None of it had ever been about how much the gifts cost. None of it had been about birthdays or anniversaries or holidays. It had always been something much simpler.
Every trinket, every postcard, every keyring, every little plush, every carefully remembered sweet.
Every gift carried exactly the same message.
I was somewhere without you and even then you were still the first thing on my mind.
You reached for Maxxine's hand once more, her fingers fitting so naturally between yours that it felt like they had been made to. "Come on."
She smiled. "Yeah?"
"The hotel's this way."
She glanced down at the little wolf tucked safely against her chest before looking back at you. "I think he's going to live on my bedside table."
You laughed. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"So every morning." She squeezed your hand gently. "I'll see him."
"And?"
Her smile was impossibly soft. "He'll remind me of you."
You leaned over to kiss her temple, unable to stop smiling yourself. "I thought he might."
Hand in hand, the two of you disappeared down the quiet street, carrying another pair of tiny souvenirs that would, before long, find a home among all the others. Not because either of you needed more things. But because, in a life spent constantly moving from one city to the next, you had quietly built something far more valuable than a collection.
You had built a home out of every little moment that had ever made them think of each other.
The women's locker room buzzed with the familiar rhythm of another tour morning. Hair dryers hummed somewhere near the mirrors. Someone was hunting for a missing boot. Music drifted faintly from a speaker balanced precariously on top of an open suitcase, changing songs every few minutes as different people connected their phones. It felt less like a workplace and more like organised chaos. Which, after long enough on the road, had somehow become comforting.
You sat cross-legged on one of the sofas, phone balanced in your hands, your attention completely stolen by an article you'd stumbled across over breakfast. A grin slowly spread across your face. "Oh." You scrolled a little further. "Oh, that's adorable."
Across the room, Rhea looked up from lacing her boots. "What is?"
"You have to look at this."
She didn't move. "You've said that before."
"And?"
"It was a goat wearing pyjamas."
"It was cute. it was wearing little ducks."
"It was." She smiled despite herself before pushing herself off the bench. "I still don't know why you thought I needed to see it."
"Because you're my best friend."
"I walked right into that one."
You beamed as she dropped onto the sofa beside you. "Exactly."
You held your phone out towards her. "It's not another goat."
"It better not be."
"It's a little independent bookshop."
Rhea frowned. "...Okay?"
"It's only ten minutes from the arena."
She looked between the screen and your excited expression. "And?"
"And look."
You swiped through the photos. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, dotted with cosy armchairs, trailing plants and little handwritten recommendation cards. One corner housed an old café with mismatched furniture and homemade cakes displayed beneath glass domes. "Oh my God." You all but bounced where you sat. "They've got a resident cat."
Rhea couldn't help smiling. "I knew there was a catch."
"His name's Marmalade."
"Of course it is."
"Apparently he just walks around judging everyone."
"I respect that."
You laughed. "So..." You nudged her shoulder. "Wanna come?"
Rhea's expression immediately shifted into one that you recognised all too well. The apologetic one. "I can't."
Your shoulders fell just a fraction. "Oh."
"I've got media after lunch."
"Right."
"Then photos."
"Yeah."
"And Priest wants to go over something before the show."
You nodded, already smiling again. "That's okay."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
"There'll be another city."
"There always is."
It wasn't unusual. Every week you found something, a museum, a café, a bakery, a little market tucked down a side street. Half the fun of touring, to you, was remembering that every city had people who called it home. You liked seeing the bits that weren't arenas and airports.
Most weeks nobody else had the time or the energy. You'd never really minded exploring on your own.
Rhea reached over, gently bumping your knee with hers. "I would've come."
"I know."
"If I wasn't working."
"I know."
"You know I like your weird little adventures."
"They're not weird."
"They're a little weird."
"They're charming."
"They're weird."
You laughed. "They can be both."
"They absolutely can." Rhea glanced back at your phone. "You gonna bring me back a picture of the cat?"
"I'll bring you several."
"Good."
"And maybe a bookmark."
"You don't read."
"I know."
"I'll still get you one."
"See?" Rhea shook her head affectionately. "That's why I can't say no to you."
You smiled. "I wasn't trying to convince you."
"I know."
"You're just nice."
"Unfortunately."
"Very unfortunate. You make it difficult to maintain my terrifying reputation."
"I think the tattoos do most of the work."
"And the resting bitch face."
"You don't have one."
"I absolutely do."
"You've smiled at me six times this morning."
"That's because you're annoying."
"You love me."
Rhea rolled her eyes. "I tolerate you."
"You bought me coffee."
"You forgot your wallet."
"You also bought me a muffin."
"You looked sad."
"I wasn't sad."
"You looked like you were about to be."
You laughed, leaning your head briefly against her shoulder. "I appreciate you."
"I know."
A voice echoed from the doorway. "Catering?"
You looked up to find a handful of people already heading out for lunch. Perfect timing. You slipped your phone into your pocket before standing. "Come on."
Rhea pushed herself to her feet. "I suppose I need feeding."
"You absolutely do."
"You buying?"
"You know I can't afford to keep buying your lunch."
"I was testing my luck."
"You fail every week."
"One day."
"You've got a better chance of convincing Jey to pay."
Rhea snorted. "Now that's funny."
The two of you wandered out into the corridor together, still talking over one another as you made your way towards catering. The arena seemed even busier now. Crew members hurried past carrying lighting equipment. Someone jogged in the opposite direction with a headset clutched in one hand. A producer called after one of the referees disappearing around the corner. You smiled to yourself, you loved this part, not just the wrestling, everything around it. The people. The routine. The feeling that every week, no matter what city you woke up in, you were surrounded by familiar faces. As you stepped into catering, the smell of fresh coffee and warm food immediately greeted you.
Rhea reached for a tray. "So..."
She glanced sideways at you. "Who are you going to ask?"
You looked at her innocently. "What do you mean?"
"You ask someone every week."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
"I just..." You shrugged. "...don't like exploring by myself if I don't have to."
Rhea smiled. "I know."
Your eyes drifted around the room, searching more out of hope than expectation. Most people were already sitting in little groups. Chelsea and Tiffany laughed loudly at one table, Damian and Truth occupied another, a few members of production sat in the corner discussing the night's show. You drew a small breath. Maybe everyone really was busy this week.
Then, from across the room your eyes met Solo's. He'd been sitting quietly near the end of one of the tables, halfway through his lunch. The second he noticed you looking over, he gave a small nod.
You smiled automatically, lifting your hand in a cheerful wave. "Hi, Solo!"
He nodded again. "Hey."
Rhea looked between the two of you. Then back at Solo. Then at you.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You should ask him."
You blinked. "Solo?"
"Mhm."
"I don't know him that well."
"So?"
"What if he thinks it's weird?"
Rhea looked over your shoulder just in time to see Solo glance in your direction again before quickly looking back down at his plate. "No," she said quietly, a knowing smile growing on her face. "I don't think he'd think it was weird at all."
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Catering slowly emptied as people disappeared in different directions. Some headed for production meetings. Others drifted towards the gym. A handful made a beeline for the coaches' office, folders tucked under their arms. You stood near the drink station, absent-mindedly stirring your iced coffee as you looked down at the map on your phone. The bookstore was only a twelve-minute walk away, you could easily go on your own, you always had before.
Still, Rhea's words lingered in the back of your mind. You should ask him.
You glanced up. Solo was still sitting at the same table, finishing his lunch in complete silence while the room buzzed around him. He didn't seem busy. But then again he never really seemed anything.
You smiled to yourself. What's the worst he can say?
Taking a quiet breath, you walked over. "Hi again."
Solo looked up almost immediately. "Hey."
"You, um..." You shifted your coffee from one hand to the other. "...you busy?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Oh." You smiled. "Good."
A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows, waiting patiently for you to continue. "I found this little bookshop nearby."
You held your phone out so he could see the photos. "It has a café." He looked. Then looked at you. Then back at the phone. "They've got a cat." Another beat of silence. "Marmalade." You pointed excitedly at the orange cat sprawled across one of the armchairs. "He just walks around the shop apparently."
Solo studied the picture for a second longer than you'd expected. "...Orange."
"Very." You laughed. "I was going to walk over before call time." You suddenly felt a little awkward. "You don't have to or anything. I just thought..." You rubbed the back of your neck. "...if you weren't doing anything..."
Before you'd even managed to finish the sentence, "I'll come."
You blinked. "...Really?"
He nodded once. "Yeah."
Your face lit up so quickly it almost caught him off guard. "Oh!" You smiled so brightly it made something warm settle quietly in Solo's chest. "Okay."
He stood, grabbing his hoodie from the back of the chair. "When?"
You glanced at your watch. "Now?"
"Okay."
"...You don't need convincing?"
"No."
"You don't want to think about it?"
"I'm thinking." You waited. "...I wanna go."
A grin spread across your face. "Perfect."
You turned towards the exit. "This way."
Solo fell into step beside you without another word.
The walk into the city was comfortable almost immediately. Not because either of you filled every second with conversation. Because you didn't feel like you had to. You happily pointed out things as you noticed them. "Look."
Solo followed your gaze. A tiny dog wearing an oversized yellow raincoat trotted proudly past its owner. He looked at the dog. Then at you. You were already smiling. "...Cute."
"I know."
A few minutes later "Oh!"
"What?"
"There." You pointed towards a mural covering the side of a brick building. "I love finding stuff like that."
Solo stopped beside you while you admired it for a moment. "You take pictures?"
"Mhm. You don't?" He shook his head. "You should."
"...Maybe."
You snapped a quick photo before continuing down the street.
The conversation drifted naturally. Mostly led by you. "So where's your favourite place you've wrestled?"
Solo thought for a second. "...Japan."
"Oh?"
"Mhm."
"Why?"
"The crowds."
"They're loud?"
He smiled faintly. "...Sometimes."
You laughed. "I've heard they're amazing."
"They are."
"What about yours?"
You looked thoughtful. "I think..." A smile spread across your face. "...Honestly?" He nodded. "I don't think it's about the cities."
"No?"
"It's the random little memories."
He looked across at you. "What kind?"
"Oh..." You started counting on your fingers. "The bakery in Boston, the beach in San Diego, the old record shop in Nashville, the woman in Seattle who gave me an extra cookie because she liked my earrings."
Solo listened quietly. "...I barely remember the arenas."
You smiled. "But I remember all the little adventures."
He looked ahead for a moment. Then quietly said, "...That's nice."
You looked over at him. "You think?"
"Mhm."
"You should come on more." The words left your mouth so casually you barely thought about them. "You'd probably like it."
Solo didn't answer straight away. Instead a tiny smile appeared. "...Yeah."
"I think I would."
The bell above the bookshop door chimed softly as you stepped inside. Immediately, the noise of the city disappeared. Warm lighting spilled across rows and rows of wooden bookshelves. The café in the corner smelled faintly of cinnamon and fresh coffee. Someone sat curled up in an armchair reading by the window.
And, just as promised an enormous ginger cat lay sprawled across the middle of the front counter, completely unbothered by the customers wandering around him.
You gasped quietly. "Marmalade."
Solo looked towards the cat. "...Big."
"He is!"
You crouched down beside the counter, holding one finger out carefully. The cat lazily stretched before rubbing his head against your hand. Your smile somehow became even brighter. "Oh, hello."
Solo stood a couple of feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He wasn't looking at the cat anymore. He was looking at you. Watching the way you laughed softly every time Marmalade bumped his head against your hand. Watching how excited you became over something so small. You looked happy. Completely, effortlessly happy. "You were right."
You looked back at him.
"Hm?"
"He's friendly."
"I told you!" You stood again. "Come here." Solo hesitated. "You can pet him."
"I don't..."
"Marmalade likes everyone." You held your hand out towards him. "Come on."
For reasons he couldn't quite explain Solo stepped closer. You gently guided his hand towards the cat's head. "There." Marmalade immediately leaned into the scratch behind his ears.
Solo's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. "...Huh."
You laughed. "I know."
"He's soft."
"I know."
For the next few seconds neither of you said anything. You simply stood shoulder to shoulder, absent-mindedly petting a sleepy bookstore cat while the world outside carried on without you.
Eventually, you looked over at him with an easy smile. "I'm really glad you came."
Solo looked back at you. There wasn't even a second's hesitation. "...Me too."
And somehow. he realised he wasn't talking about the bookshop. He wasn't even talking about the cat. He was talking about spending the afternoon with you.
He just didn't know it yet.
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A week later, another city greeted you through the aeroplane window. From above, it looked like every other place you'd flown into over the past few months, grids of roads, clusters of buildings, tiny cars moving like ants beneath scattered clouds. You still smiled anyway. Every city had something worth finding. Even if it was just a good coffee shop.
The rental bus rumbled towards the arena while conversations drifted lazily around the seats. Some people slept with their heads against the windows. Others watched films on their phones. Chelsea and Tiffany were halfway through a debate about whether cereal counted as soup. You decided it was safer not to get involved.
Instead, you pulled out your phone and opened the little folder you'd created months ago.
Tour Ideas.
Each city had its own note.
Little recommendations you'd saved from TikToks, travel blogs, Instagram reels and comments
from fans. Bookshops, vintage markets, parks, museums, independent cafés. You scrolled until you found today's city. Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh..."
Across the aisle, Rhea looked over the top of her sunglasses. "What've you found now?"
You turned your phone around. "A little bakery." Rhea studied the photos. It was tucked into a narrow brick building with flower boxes beneath every window. Glass cabinets displayed rows of pastries dusted with icing sugar, and handwritten menus hung behind the counter. "They make cinnamon rolls the size of your head."
Rhea nodded approvingly. "Now you've got my attention."
"They've also got homemade hot chocolate."
"Hm."
You watched her hopefully.
"You coming?"
She sighed dramatically. "I wish."
"So that's a no."
"I've got media."
"Again?"
"I'm very popular."
You snorted. "So I've heard."
"And after media I've got rehearsal." She reached over and squeezed your knee. "But you should still go."
"I probably will."
"You definitely will."
"I don't like wasting cities."
"I know." Rhea smiled to herself. "I know."
By the time everyone had settled into their locker rooms and grabbed something to eat, the familiar pre-show routine had already begun. The corridors filled with producers carrying clipboards. Music drifted from somewhere near Gorilla. Someone hurried past balancing four takeaway coffees.
You wandered into catering with your phone already unlocked. "Okay..."
Chelsea looked up immediately. "There it is."
You frowned. "What?"
"The face."
"What face?"
"The 'I've found somewhere' face."
Tiffany laughed. "Where's today's adventure?"
You grinned. "A bakery."
Chelsea clasped her hands together dramatically. "I love bakeries."
"I know."
"But I've got glam."
"I know."
"You'll bring me something back?"
"If there's anything left."
"There better be."
You laughed, looking around the room. "So..." Your voice lifted just enough for the nearby tables to hear. "...anyone fancy coming?"
There was a chorus of responses.
"I've got a meeting."
"Need a nap."
"Sorry."
"Maybe next week."
You nodded happily. "No worries." You'd expected as much. You turned to grab your water bottle
"I'm coming."
You smiled before you even looked up.
Somehow you'd expected that answer too. Solo stood from his chair, sliding his phone into his pocket.
Jimmy watched him. Then looked at Jey. Then back at Solo. "...Again?"
Solo glanced over. "What?"
"You goin' to another little café?"
"It's a bakery." You corrected automatically.
Jimmy grinned. "My bad."
"A bakery." Solo gave a single nod. "Mhm."
Jey rested his elbows on the table. "I thought you were gonna hit the gym."
Solo shrugged. "Later."
Jimmy frowned theatrically. "You hate crowds iIt's the middle of the afternoon, it'll be busy."
Another shrug. "S'alright."
Jey slowly leaned back in his chair. "Huh."
Solo ignored him completely, looking back at you instead. "You ready?"
You smiled brightly. "Yeah."
As the two of you headed for the door, Rhea appeared carrying two bottles of water. She watched you leave. Then looked at the twins. "You two seeing this?"
Jimmy didn't take his eyes off the doorway. "Oh, we're seeing it."
The bakery smelled like butter before you even opened the door. Warm air wrapped around you as little bells chimed overhead. Behind the glass counter sat rows of pastries in every shape imaginable. Croissants, fruit tarts, cookies, brownies. And right in the centre the enormous cinnamon rolls.
You gasped. "They weren't lying."
Solo looked at them. "wow."
"They're huge!"
You turned to him with the excitement of someone who'd just discovered buried treasure. "We're sharing one."
He blinked. "I don't really—"
"We're sharing one."
He almost smiled. "...Okay."
A few minutes later you managed to carry the oversized plate to a little table by the window. Two forks. One cinnamon roll. One hot chocolate. One coffee. You stared at the pastry. "I think this could feed a family."
Solo picked up his fork. "You first."
"No." You pushed the plate slightly towards him. "You came because I invited you."
"You first."
You narrowed your eyes playfully. "We're doing this?"
"Mhm."
"...Fine." You cut off a ridiculously oversized bite. It nearly fell off the fork. You laughed. "This is impossible."
Solo watched you carefully balance it all the way to your mouth. The second your eyes widened he already knew. "It's good?"
You swallowed quickly. "Oh my God."
"That good?"
You nodded enthusiastically. "You have to try it."
You cut another piece before holding your fork out without thinking. "Here." The moment froze for half a second. You realised what you'd done. "Oh!" Your cheeks warmed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to” Before you could pull the fork back Solo leaned forward slightly and took the bite anyway. Your brain stalled completely. "...Sorry."
He looked at you, chewing thoughtfully. Then gave one decisive nod. "...Good."
You laughed, relief washing over you. "I know!"
For the next twenty minutes, the two of you slowly demolished the cinnamon roll while you talked about everything and nothing. You told him about the tiny aquarium you'd visited on your last holiday. He admitted he'd never actually been inside one. "You've never been?" He shook his head. "You'd love it."
"Mhm?"
"They've got little jellyfish."
He smiled faintly. "You like jellyfish?"
"I like everything."
"I noticed."
You laughed. "I can't help it."
"No." He looked out of the window for a second before quietly adding, "...I don't think you should."
The words were so quiet you almost wondered if you'd imagined them. You looked at him. "What?"
He met your eyes. "You always get excited."
You smiled sheepishly. "I do."
"It's nice."
Warmth spread through your chest. "Thanks."
He just nodded, taking another sip of his coffee.
It wasn't until your phone buzzed with a reminder for call time that you realised nearly an hour had disappeared. You blinked. "We should probably head back."
Solo checked the time. "...Yeah."
Neither of you sounded particularly enthusiastic about it. As you stood, you carefully folded the leftover half of the cinnamon roll into a takeaway box. "You taking it?"
You nodded. "Chelsea threatened me if I came back empty-handed."
Solo's mouth twitched. "...Fair."
You laughed.
Together, you stepped back out into the sunshine and began the walk towards the arena. As you chatted away beside him about where next week's tour stop might be, Solo found himself doing something he almost never did. He hoped there would be another little adventure. Not because he cared about bakeries or bookshops or museums. But because somewhere between sharing one cinnamon roll and listening to you talk about jellyfish with complete sincerity he'd realised those afternoons had quietly become his favourite part of every tour stop.
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The following week, you found yourself in another city, another hotel, another arena, another little pin waiting to be added to the map you kept saved on your phone. You smiled to yourself as you walked through the loading bay, suitcase rolling behind you. Every place felt new.
That was your favourite part. No matter how many times you'd toured, there was always another little coffee shop to discover or another street to wander down.
Rhea fell into step beside you, coffee already in hand. "So."
"So?"
She took a sip. "What's today's adventure?"
You laughed. "I haven't decided yet."
"You've definitely decided."
"I've narrowed it down."
"How many options?"
"...Five."
Rhea groaned. "Five?"
"I couldn't choose."
"You never can."
"I like them all."
"You always do."
You unlocked your phone as the two of you walked through the maze of corridors, pulling up the folder labelled Tour Ideas. "Okay." You turned the screen towards her. "So there's a botanical garden."
"Mhm."
"A tiny comic book shop."
"Mhm."
"A second-hand record store."
"Mhm."
"Oh!" You scrolled again. "And apparently there's a little family-run ice cream place that makes everything fresh every morning."
Rhea smiled despite herself. "You're impossible."
"I know."
"I swear you get more excited about exploring than wrestling."
You gasped dramatically. "I can love two things."
"You definitely can."
As you reached the women's locker room, Rhea nudged your shoulder. "So..."
She looked at you over the rim of her coffee cup. "Which one are you taking Solo to?"
You blinked. "What?"
She looked completely innocent. "I didn't say anything."
"You absolutely did."
"I asked a question."
"I haven't even asked anyone yet."
"Mhm."
"You think he's coming?"
"I do."
"What makes you think that?"
Rhea only smiled. "You'll see."
By lunchtime, the arena had settled into its familiar rhythm. People drifted in and out of catering between meetings, music played quietly from someone's speaker, a production assistant hurried through carrying enough paperwork to bury themselves under.
You wandered in with your tray balanced carefully in one hand. The moment Chelsea spotted you she pointed her fork in your direction. "There she is."
You frowned. "What?"
"Explorer."
You laughed. "I have a name."
"Barely."
Tiffany looked up. "So where are we going?"
You looked around the table in confusion. "What do you mean 'we'?"
"The imaginary group that asks before abandoning us."
"I don't abandon anyone."
Chelsea smiled. "You kind of do."
"I invite everyone."
"You do."
"You all say no."
"Correct."
"So that's hardly my fault."
Rhea sat down beside you, trying very hard not to smile. "So..." She rested her chin on her hand. "Where are you going today?"
You pulled your phone out. "I found this botanical garden."
Chelsea immediately sighed. "I'd actually love that but I've got glam."
You'd barely finished speaking when a familiar voice came from behind you. "I'll come."
Without even thinking, you smiled. "Hi, Solo."
He gave a small nod as he stopped beside the table. "Hey."
You looked up at him. "I found a botanical garden."
"Mhm."
"They've got butterflies."
He nodded once. "...Okay."
"I thought we could walk there."
"Okay."
You smiled brightly. "Perfect."
Across the table Chelsea slowly lowered her fork.
Tiffany looked at Rhea.
Rhea took a very deliberate sip of her drink.
Chelsea leaned a little closer. "...Has he..."
Tiffany whispered back, "...been on every one?"
Rhea didn't answer. She simply raised one eyebrow.
The three of them watched as you happily continued telling Solo about the botanical garden while he listened with complete attention, occasionally asking the odd quiet question. "...They've got a koi pond too."
"Mhm."
"And apparently a greenhouse full of orchids."
He nodded. "...Sounds nice."
"I thought so."
You looked at your watch. "Oh."
"We should probably head off soon."
"Yeah." Solo hadn't even picked up his tray yet. He simply turned around. "I'll grab my stuff."
"Okay!"
You smiled after him before sitting back down. Only then did you notice the three women staring at you. "...What?"
Chelsea blinked. "Nothing."
Tiffany nodded far too quickly. "Absolutely nothing."
Rhea looked down at her lunch to hide the grin spreading across her face.
You frowned. "You're all being weird."
"Nope."
"Very normal."
"The normalest."
You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think that's a word."
"It is today."
You laughed, shaking your head. "You lot are strange."
As soon as you wandered off to refill your water bottle Chelsea immediately turned to Rhea. "...Okay."
Rhea smiled into her coffee. "What?"
"What is happening?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Tiffany nodded. "I've literally never seen Solo volunteer for anything."
Rhea leaned back in her chair. "I know."
Chelsea frowned thoughtfully. "Has he ever said no to her?"
The three of them fell silent. Thinking. Rhea counted on her fingers. "Bookshop, bakery, botanical garden."
Chelsea added, "He was with her at the airport last week."
Tiffany looked up. "And I saw them walking back from the hotel together after SmackDown."
Another pause.
Rhea finally smiled to herself. "...Huh."
Chelsea looked at her. "'Huh?'"
"I think..."
Rhea glanced across the room just in time to see Solo return with his backpack slung over one shoulder, automatically walking over to where you were waiting by the door.
You smiled at him. He nodded back. Without discussing it, the two of you fell into step beside each other and disappeared down the corridor.
Rhea watched until you were out of sight. Then she looked back at Chelsea and Tiffany. "I don't think he's going because of the places."
Chelsea's eyebrows shot up. "You think he's going because of her?"
Rhea smiled knowingly. "I've had that feeling since the bookshop."
Tiffany laughed softly.
"Oh..." Chelsea grinned. "...He's got it bad."
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the conversation you'd just inspired, you looked over at Solo as the afternoon sunshine hit your face outside the arena. "You know..."
"What?"
"I've never actually been to a botanical garden before."
He looked at you. "No?"
You shook your head. "So..." A smile spread across your face. "...we get to experience our first one together."
For reasons he couldn't quite explain that made him smile too.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Another Friday, another city, another arena. By now, it had become something of a tradition. You'd arrive, you'd unpack just enough to make the hotel room feel lived in, you'd spend the morning bouncing between production meetings, rehearsals and catching up with everyone you'd only seen a few days earlier.
Then, somewhere around lunchtime you'd appear with your phone. "So..."
The word barely left your mouth before Jimmy called across catering. "Where we goin' today?"
Laughter rippled around the room. You smiled. "I haven't even said anything yet."
"You don't gotta." Chelsea pointed her fork towards you. "You found somewhere."
"I did."
Jimmy leaned back in his chair. "Course you did."
You laughed, unlocking your phone. "There's a little market by the river."
"Mhm."
"They've got handmade jewellery."
"Mhm."
"Oh! and apparently someone sells homemade fudge."
Chelsea looked tempted for a split second. "...No. I've got hair."
Tiffany shook her head. "I've got media."
Rhea smiled into her coffee. "I've got absolutely nothing..." Your face brightened. "...But I'm not coming."
You pouted dramatically. "Traitor."
She shrugged. "I'm busy."
"You just said—"
"I'm busy."
"You've become very suspicious recently."
"I've always been suspicious."
You narrowed your eyes. "I don't believe you."
Jimmy was already looking past you. "You gonna ask him?"
You turned. "Him who?"
As if summoned simply by the conversation Solo walked through the catering doors. Jimmy couldn't help himself. He looked at Jey. Then dramatically checked an imaginary watch. "Right on time." Jey snorted into his drink.
Solo frowned. "What?"
"Nothin'."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
You looked between the three of them in complete confusion. "...Have I missed something?"
"Nope."
"Not at all."
Jimmy waved you off. "So..." He nodded towards Solo. "Ask him."
You blinked. "I was going to."
"I know."
"...How?"
"'Cause you always do."
You laughed. "I don't always."
"You absolutely do."
You walked over to Solo before anyone else could continue whatever strange joke they were all apparently in on. "Hi."
"Hey."
"I found a market." He waited. "There'll be food."
"Mhm."
"And jewellery."
"Mhm."
"And there's a man who makes tiny glass animals."
For the first time since you'd met him Solo's eyebrows lifted just a little. "...Glass animals?"
You nodded enthusiastically. "Tiny ones."
He thought for all of half a second. "...Let's go."
The market wound its way alongside the river in a patchwork of colourful stalls. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed above your heads despite the afternoon sun still shining brightly. The smell of fresh bread mixed with coffee and cinnamon drifted through the warm air. Someone nearby played an acoustic guitar while children chased each other between the stalls.
You smiled almost immediately. "I love places like this."
Solo glanced at you. "I know."
"You do?"
"You always smile."
Your smile somehow grew even wider. "I do."
"You do."
You wandered slowly, stopping every few feet because something else caught your eye. "Oh!" You hurried towards a stall covered in tiny ceramic animals. "They're adorable." Solo followed without complaint. You picked up a tiny duck no bigger than your thumb. "Look."
He looked. "...Cute."
"It has a little hat."
"It does."
You laughed quietly before setting it back down. At the next stall, an elderly man sat behind dozens of tiny blown-glass animals that glittered in the sunlight.
You crouched down almost immediately. "They're beautiful."
The man smiled warmly. "Take your time."
You carefully admired each one. Foxes. Owls. Whales. Tiny turtles no bigger than your fingernail. Then You spotted it. "Oh..." You reached for a tiny orange cat. Its tail curled around its paws exactly like Marmalade's had in the bookshop.
The man noticed your smile. "You like that one?"
"It reminds me of a cat I met."
He chuckled. "That's a good enough reason."
You turned it carefully between your fingers before reluctantly placing it back down. "It's really pretty."
Solo looked from the cat to you then quietly wandered a few steps away while you became distracted by another display. A minute later, you thanked the stall owner and continued walking.
Completely unaware that Solo had lingered behind for just a moment.
"You know..." You looked over as the two of you walked along the river.
"What?"
"I've noticed something."
Solo glanced at you. "What?"
"You've started talking more."
He looked genuinely surprised. "I have?"
"Mhm. At first I think I spoke enough for both of us."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You still do."
You laughed. "I know but..." You nudged his shoulder lightly. "...I like hearing what you've got to say."
For a moment, he didn't answer. Then quietly, "I like listening."
"I know."
"It makes it easy."
"What does?"
A small shrug. "Being around you."
Your heart softened. "I hope that's a good thing."
"It is."
The words came so naturally that neither of you really stopped to think about them.
You eventually found a quiet bench overlooking the river. You sat down with two lemonades and a paper bag full of warm fudge you'd somehow been convinced to buy after sampling "just one piece." You tore off a tiny square and held the bag out. "Wanna try?"
Solo nodded. "Mhm."
He reached into the bag only for your fingers to brush. It was barely a second. Barely anything at all.
Yet somehow neither of you moved straight away. You looked up. His eyes were already on you. The sounds of the market seemed to fade into the background. For just a heartbeat it was only the two of you, then someone shouted happily across the river.
The moment broke. You smiled shyly, looking back down at the bag. "...Sorry."
"For what?"
"I don't know."
"You didn't do anything."
"I know."
He took the piece of fudge, turning it over thoughtfully before taking a bite.
You watched him expectantly. "Well?"
He chewed. Then nodded once. "...Good."
You laughed. "That's all I get?"
"It's really good."
"There we go."
He almost smiled. "You happy now?"
"Very."
The two of you sat there for a while longer, watching boats drift lazily past.
It wasn't silent. But it was quiet. Comfortable. The sort of quiet that only existed between two people who never felt any pressure to fill every pause.
Eventually, you sighed happily. "I think this might be my favourite one."
Solo looked at you. "The market?"
You shook your head. "The afternoon."
He followed your gaze to the river. "Mine too."
He wasn't talking about the market.
And this time he knew it.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The pattern became impossible to ignore, not for you, you were still blissfully unaware.
But for everyone else?
It had become the easiest game on tour.
Every new city, someone would ask exactly one question.
"Where's she taking Solo today?"
Another Monday, another airport, another early morning. The women's locker room hadn't quite woken up yet. Chelsea sat curled up on the sofa with a coffee almost as big as her head. Tiffany scrolled through her phone. Rhea was attempting to convince herself that six in the morning should be illegal.
You wandered in with your backpack still slung over one shoulder. "Morning!"
Rhea looked up. "You're smiling."
"I am."
"It's six."
"I know."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You found somewhere."
Your grin widened. "...Maybe."
Chelsea groaned dramatically. "She's done it again."
You laughed as you dropped into the seat beside Rhea. "It isn't even that exciting."
"What is it?"
"A little aquarium."
Rhea blinked. "...An aquarium?"
"They've got rescued sea turtles."
Rhea chuckled. "So..." She leaned back. "You asking him?"
You frowned. "Him?"
"The very large Samoan who's apparently become your personal tour guide."
You looked genuinely confused. "You mean Solo?"
"Mhm."
"I mean..." You shrugged. "I'll ask everyone."
Chelsea and Rhea exchanged a look. Neither of them said a word.
By lunchtime, the game had already begun. Jimmy spotted you walking into catering with your phone in your hand. He didn't even look up from his lunch. "There she is."
Jey glanced over. "What's today's adventure?"
You smiled. "Aquarium."
Jimmy nodded thoughtfully. "Nice." Then he looked around the room. "Where Solo at?"
As if the universe enjoyed proving him right the catering doors opened. Solo walked in.
Jimmy immediately slapped Jey's arm. "There."
Jey burst into laughter. "I swear he got a tracker."
Solo frowned. "What?"
"Nothin'."
"You keep sayin' that."
"'Cause there ain't nothin'."
You walked over before the twins could confuse you any further. "Hi."
"Hey."
"So..." You unlocked your phone. "I found an aquarium."
"Mhm."
"They've got rescued sea turtles."
He nodded. "Okay."
"And little penguins."
"Mhm."
"And jellyfish."
Something softened in his expression. "You like jellyfish."
Your face lit up. "You remembered?"
He looked almost surprised that you'd sounded so pleased. "...Yeah."
You smiled. "I do."
He nodded once. "I'll come."
Before you'd even asked.
You blinked. "Oh. I..." A little laugh escaped you. "I was actually about to ask."
"I know."
"You knew?"
"Mhm."
"You would've said yes?"
He looked at you as though there wasn't another possible answer. "Yeah."
You smiled so warmly it made his chest tighten. "Okay, meet you after lunch?"
"Mhm."
"Perfect."
You wandered off towards the dessert table, happily humming to yourself.
The second you were out of earshotJimmy slowly turned towards Solo. "Bro."
"What?"
"You ain't even let her finish."
Solo frowned. "So?"
"So?" Jey laughed. "She didn't even ask yet."
"I knew what she was gonna say."
Jimmy leaned forward. "And you already knew your answer."
"...Yeah."
The twins stared at him. Completely speechless.
Finally, Jimmy spoke. "You know you could say no."
"I could."
"But you don't."
"No."
"Why?"
Solo looked genuinely confused by the question. "'Cause I wanna go."
Jey rubbed a hand down his face. "That ain't what I'm askin'."
Solo stayed quiet.
Jimmy tried again. "You don't even like aquariums."
"I never said that."
"You've never been."
"So?"
"So why you goin'?"
Solo opened his mouth. Then paused. His answer should have been easy. He could have said he wanted to get out of the arena. He could have said he was bored. He could have blamed the sea turtles. Instead the only honest answer sat quietly in his chest. Because she asked. Because she smiled when he said yes. Because somewhere between bookshops and bakeries and markets those afternoons had become the part of tour he looked forward to most.
He didn't say any of that. He simply shrugged. "...Sounds fun."
Jimmy stared. Then looked at Jey. "You hear that?"
Jey nodded solemnly. "I heard it."
"He lying."
"He lying real bad."
Solo rolled his eyes. "I ain't lying."
"You are."
"You hate museums."
"I went."
"You hate shopping."
"I went."
"You don't even drink coffee."
"I still went."
Jimmy stood dramatically, pointing across the room towards where you were laughing with Rhea over something one of the catering staff had said. "You know why."
Solo followed his finger automatically. You were still smiling, still laughing, still completely oblivious to the fact that three people were talking about you. His expression softened without him noticing.
Jimmy caught it immediately. "There."
Jey nodded. "There."
"What?"
"That."
Solo looked back at them. "What?"
"The face."
He frowned. "What face?"
Jimmy couldn't stop grinning. "The one you get every time you look at her."
Solo opened his mouth to argue. Nothing came out. Because for the first time he wasn't entirely sure they were wrong.
An hour later, the two of you wandered slowly through the cool, blue-lit aquarium. A rescued sea turtle glided lazily past the glass. You pressed your hands together excitedly. "Look."
Solo didn't answer, you turned. He wasn't looking at the turtle. He was looking at you. "What?"
He blinked, as though you'd caught him doing something. "...Nothin'."
You smiled. Then looked back at the turtle.
Neither of you noticed Rhea standing on the upper level with Damian Priest, looking down into the enormous central tank. She glanced from you, to Solo then smiled to herself. Damian followed her gaze. "...What's that look for?"
Rhea folded her arms. "I've been watching this happen for about a month."
"Happen?"
She nodded towards the two of you. "He hasn't looked at a single fish."
Damian frowned. "...Huh."
Rhea laughed quietly. "Exactly."
"He keeps saying yes because of the adventures." She shook her head. "No." Damian looked back down just in time to see you excitedly point at another exhibit, immediately setting off towards it. Without hesitation Solo followed. Not because he'd read the sign. Not because he cared what was in the next tank. Simply because you were going there. Rhea smiled. "He'd follow that girl anywhere."
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A few weeks passed, a few more cities, a few more little adventures. A record shop where you spent twenty minutes trying to convince Solo to buy a vinyl player despite the fact he didn't own a single record. A tiny art gallery where you accidentally spent almost an hour sitting on a bench trying to decide whether one abstract painting was "deeply moving" or "just three blue circles." An animal sanctuary where Solo had quietly become attached to a goat that kept following him around.
You'd laughed so hard you'd nearly cried. "You've got a friend."
He looked down at the goat. "...Mhm."
"I think he likes you."
The goat nudged his leg. Solo reached down absent-mindedly to scratch behind its ears. "...He's alright."
You'd taken approximately twelve photos. Rhea had made one of them her lock screen.
By now, the adventures had become expected. Not just by everyone else.
By you.
You found yourself looking forward to them as much as the shows.
Because somewhere along the way you'd stopped thinking of them as exploring new cities. They'd simply become your afternoons with Solo.
You were halfway through getting ready when your phone buzzed. A single message.
Solo: You busy?
You smiled. He never texted much. Usually only if it was important or apparently if there was a free afternoon.
You quickly typed back.
You: No! Why?
Three little dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Solo: Found somewhere.
Your eyebrows lifted. Solo? You replied almost immediately.
You: You found somewhere??
This time, his response came a little quicker.
Solo: Thought you might like it.
For a second you simply stared at your screen a smile slowly spread across your face.
You found him waiting just outside the hotel lobby. Hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Just like always. Except, this time, you weren't the one holding directions on your phone. "You planned today?"
He nodded. "Mhm."
"I'm impressed."
A tiny smile appeared. "I remembered."
"You remembered what?"
"You always find places."
"I do."
"So..." He shrugged. "...Thought I'd find one."
Something warm fluttered in your chest. "Okay."
"So where are we going?"
He started walking. "You'll see."
It turned out to be a little hill overlooking the city. Nothing touristy. No cafés, no markets, no museums. Just a quiet walking path leading up to an old stone viewpoint where you could see almost the entire skyline. The afternoon sun painted everything gold. You slowly turned in a circle. "Solo..." He looked over. "This is beautiful."
"Mhm."
"How did you find it?"
"I asked."
"Who?"
"Hotel guy."
You laughed. "You asked the concierge?"
"He said tourists don't usually come here."
You looked out across the rooftops again. "I can see why."
"It’s quiet."
"It is."
"I thought..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "...you'd like that."
You smiled at him. "I love it."
For a while, neither of you spoke. You simply leaned against the old stone wall, watching the city stretch endlessly beneath you. The breeze tugged gently at your hair. Somewhere below, a church bell rang. It was peaceful, wonderfully peaceful.
Eventually, you looked sideways at him. "So..."
"What?"
"You've never suggested somewhere before."
He nodded. "I know."
"What changed?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "You always plan everything."
"Mhm."
"You always find nice places."
"I try."
"So" Another shrug. "Thought it was my turn."
Your heart squeezed. "You didn't have to."
"I know."
"But I wanted to."
The simplicity of the answer stole every other thought from your head. You looked back out at the view, trying to ignore the strange warmth blooming in your chest. It lingered there, long after the conversation had ended.
As the sun began to dip lower, you sat on a nearby bench, sharing a packet of crisps you'd picked up from a vending machine in the hotel lobby. You nudged the packet towards him. "Last one."
He looked inside. One lonely chip remained. "You have it."
You shook your head. "No. You."
"We're doing this again?"
"Mhm." You laughed.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
You reached into the packet at exactly the same moment he did. Your fingers brushed, again.
This time neither of you pulled away immediately.
You looked up. He was already looking at you. Not saying anything. Just looking.
Your stomach fluttered, it was different. You couldn't explain how. It just was.
You smiled first. "What?"
He blinked, almost as though you'd pulled him out of a thought. "...Nothin'."
"You keep saying that."
"Mhm."
"But it never feels like nothing."
For the first time since you'd met him Solo looked genuinely flustered. His eyes dropped to the packet in your hands. "Sorry."
Your smile softened. "You don't have to apologise."
A comfortable silence settled between you again. Only now it didn't feel quite the same.
Because for the first time you caught yourself wondering why Solo had remembered how much you loved finding hidden little places. Why he'd gone out of his way to ask someone at the hotel. Why he'd wanted to surprise you. Why every spare afternoon for the last two months had somehow ended with the two of you wandering through another city together. The answers should have been obvious, yet somehow, you'd never really stopped to ask the question.
Until now.
As you looked over at him again, watching the breeze lift the edge of his hoodie while he quietly admired the view, one thought settled gently into the front of your mind.
Maybe, these little adventures hadn't become your favourite part of tour by accident.
Maybe they had become his favourite part too.
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The next city arrived with grey skies and light rain. The kind that never seemed to fall particularly hard, yet somehow managed to soak everything anyway.
By lunchtime, the arena had settled into its usual rhythm. Music echoed faintly from somewhere down the corridor. People wandered in and out of catering between rehearsals. Crew members rushed past with headsets pressed against one ear. Nothing about the day felt unusual.
Until you walked into catering. Phone already in hand.
Rhea noticed first. "Oh no."
You looked up innocently. "What?"
"You've found somewhere."
"Maybe."
Jimmy, who'd only just sat down with his lunch, let out a dramatic groan. "Every week."
"I don't force anyone to come."
"No." He looked across the room. "You don't have to."
You frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing." Jey coughed into his drink to hide a laugh. Chelsea smiled into her coffee. Tiffany suddenly found the table incredibly interesting.
You looked between all of them. "Why are you all being weird?"
"We're not."
"You are."
"We're really not."
"You definitely are." You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before giving up. "Fine." You unlocked your phone. "So..." "I found this little planetarium."
Jimmy immediately looked towards the catering doors. "Three..."
Jey grinned. "Two..."
Chelsea bit her lip. "One..."
Almost on cue the doors opened. Solo walked in. He paused for barely a second before spotting you. Then naturally he started walking over.
Jimmy threw both hands into the air. "I TOLD YOU!"
Solo frowned. "What?"
"You ain't even got here yet!"
"Okay?"
"You don't know where she going."
Solo looked at you. You smiled. "Hi."
"Hey."
"I found a planetarium."
He nodded once. "Okay."
"It starts in forty minutes."
"Mhm."
You smiled. "Wanna come?"
"Yeah."
Jimmy physically dropped his fork onto the table. "There!"
Jey buried his face in his hands. Chelsea laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her drink.
You looked around the room, completely bewildered. "What?"
Jimmy pointed dramatically at Solo. "You!"
"What?"
"You ain't even askin' questions no more!"
Solo blinked. "I know where we're going."
"That's not the point!"
You looked between them. "I'm confused."
"We know." Rhea laughed softly. "You've both been confusing for weeks."
You frowned. "We have?"
Jimmy looked at Solo. "You tell her."
Solo stayed quiet Jey nudged him. "Go on."
Another silence. The room somehow became noticeably quieter. Even a few people at nearby tables had started pretending not to listen. You looked at Solo. "You don't have to if they're teasing."
He looked back at you. Then quietly said, "They're right."
You blinked. "About what?"
A long pause. Long enough that you wondered if he was going to change his mind. Instead he looked down at the floor for a second before meeting your eyes again. "I don't really care where we're going."
Your smile faltered slightly. "You don't?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Oh." For some reason That stung a little. You looked down at your phone. "I thought you liked the adventures."
"I do."
"You just said-"
"I like 'em" He searched for the words. Then found them. "...'Cause you're there." Silence. Complete silence. "I'd go anywhere with you." His voice stayed as calm and steady as it always was. As though he wasn't quietly turning your entire world upside down. "It could be a bookshop, a bakery, a museum, a walk, I don't really mind." Another tiny shrug. "My favourite part" His eyes never left yours. "isn't where we go." Your heart pounded. "It's spending time with you."
No grand declaration. No dramatic speech. Just the truth.
Simple. Honest. Entirely Solo.
You stared at him for what felt like forever. Then, very quietly "So" Your smile slowly returned. "if I told you I'd actually forgotten to plan something today..." He waited. "You'd still want to go?"
"Yeah."
"What if we just walked around for an hour?"
"Mhm."
"What if we sat in a coffee shop?"
"Okay."
"What if we bought absolutely nothing and just wandered?"
A tiny smile appeared. "Sounds nice."
You laughed softly, warmth blooming right through your chest. "So" You stepped a little closer. "It was never about the places."
He shook his head. "Never."
"It was me?"
Another nod. "Always."
You felt your cheeks warm. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were the one struggling to find the right words. Then you smiled. The same bright smile he'd quietly fallen for somewhere between a sleepy bookshop cat and an oversized cinnamon roll. "I've got an idea."
He tilted his head. "What?"
You slipped your phone into your pocket. "No plans, no maps, no recommendations. Just…” You held your hand out towards him. "let's go and get lost."
For a second, Solo simply looked at your outstretched hand. Then, without hesitation, he slipped his fingers into yours. His hand was warm. Steady. Like it had always belonged there.
A quiet chorus of exaggerated sighs echoed behind you.
Jimmy clutched dramatically at his chest. "'Bout damn time."
Jey laughed. "I've been watchin' this for two months."
Rhea just smiled, arms folded across her chest. "I told you all."
Chelsea leaned against Tiffany with a grin. “I knew the adventures were dates."
"They weren't dates," you protested, laughing.
Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "You spent every week exploring cute places with one man."
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. "...Oh."
The entire room burst into laughter.
Solo looked down at you, the corner of his mouth lifting into that rare, soft smile you had learned to treasure. "What?"
You nudged his shoulder. "You could've told me."
He shrugged. "I liked watching you figure it out."
You laughed, intertwining your fingers with his a little more securely. "Come on."
"Where we going?" You smiled up at him. "I haven't got the slightest idea."
For once, there was no carefully researched itinerary. No saved TikToks. No list of hidden gems waiting on your phone. Just a rainy city. A free afternoon. And the boy who had quietly turned every ordinary adventure into your favourite memory.
Solo gave your hand a gentle squeeze as you stepped out into the corridor together. He had been right all along.
tour buddy. chelsea green. language of love series
chelsea green x girlfriend!reader
quality time
The alarm went off at an hour that should have been illegal. You didn't even bother opening your eyes before reaching blindly across the hotel bedside table in search of your phone.
5:03 a.m.
You let out a long, dramatic groan before dropping your head back onto the pillow. "No."
Beside you, Chelsea hummed sleepily. "No what?"
"It's still night."
"It objectively isn't."
"It feels like it."
She smiled without opening her eyes. "I know."
You buried your face further beneath the duvet. "We should boycott morning flights."
"We don't really get a vote."
"We should."
"We'd lose."
"We don't know that."
Chelsea finally cracked one eye open, grinning before she'd even looked at the time. "We definitely know that."
You sighed so dramatically it earned a quiet laugh from her. Tour had taught you many things. How to fall asleep almost anywhere, how to unpack a suitcase in under five minutes, how to survive on airport coffee far more often than anyone should.
Most importantly how to function on an alarming amount of very little sleep.
Neither of you particularly enjoyed the early mornings. You'd simply become professionals at complaining about them.
Chelsea stretched lazily beside you before throwing the duvet back with considerably more enthusiasm than you'd managed. "Come on."
"I refuse."
"You have a flight."
"I know."
"You have to get up."
"I know."
"So?"
You reached an arm towards her without moving anything else. "I'd rather stay here."
She laughed softly before taking your hand anyway. "I know."
For a few seconds neither of you moved. You simply sat there, still half asleep, hands loosely intertwined in the middle of a hotel bed that looked almost identical to the one you'd slept in three nights before and the one before that. Sometimes you genuinely forgot which city you were waking up in. "Chelsea?"
"Hm?"
"...Where are we?"
She frowned thoughtfully. A beat passed. "...Honestly?"
"Mhm?"
"I was hoping you knew."
You burst into laughter. "No."
"I think..." She looked around the room as though the beige curtains might provide the answer. "...Detroit?"
You reached for your phone. "Cleveland."
"So close."
"They're not."
"They both start with the same letter."
"They don't."
She blinked. "...Right."
"You've been awake for thirty seconds."
"I told you it was too early."
You climbed out of bed with considerably more effort than dignity, shuffling across the room towards your suitcase.
Behind you, Chelsea had already wandered into the bathroom, cheerfully singing something that sounded vaguely like the entrance music of three different wrestlers mashed together.
You smiled to yourself. There wasn't a morning on tour where she wasn't making some sort of noise. Humming, talking, singing. Narrating what she was doing as though invisible cameras followed her twenty-four hours a day.
The silence never lasted long once Chelsea Green was awake.
"I've got a very important question." Her voice drifted through the open bathroom door.
"Oh?"
"What are we wearing today?"
You laughed. "...Gear?"
"No." She reappeared, toothbrush balanced dramatically between her fingers. "Airport outfits."
"I don't think airport outfits are a thing."
"They are absolutely a thing."
"I think they're just clothes."
"They're a statement."
"They're joggers."
"They're fashionable joggers."
You pulled one of your hoodies over your head. "They're grey."
"They're elevated."
"They're cotton."
"They're couture."
You raised an eyebrow. "Couture?"
She nodded confidently. "Couture."
"...You've completely made that up."
"I absolutely have not."
"You absolutely have."
She gasped dramatically, one hand resting over her heart. "My own girlfriend questioning my fashion expertise."
"I've seen what you packed."
"You loved what I packed."
"I loved about eighty percent."
"Eighty-five."
"Eighty."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Eighty-three."
You pretended to consider it. "...Deal."
Less than an hour later, the hotel lobby buzzed with familiar faces. Suitcases rolled across polished floors, someone yawned loudly near reception, a production assistant balanced three takeaway coffees while trying not to drop their phone, the entire roster somehow managed to look simultaneously exhausted and ready for television.
Chelsea slipped her fingers through yours as the two of you followed the group towards the waiting shuttle. "You hungry?"
"Starving."
"Airport breakfast?"
"You know airport breakfast is ridiculously overpriced."
"I know."
"So?"
She looked at you as though you'd asked the most ridiculous question imaginable. "We're making memories."
"By spending twelve dollars on a croissant?"
"Exactly."
You laughed. "I admire your optimism."
"It's one of my best qualities."
"So I've heard."
The shuttle ride passed in a blur of half-finished conversations and sleepy complaints. By the time you reached the airport, the sun had only just begun creeping over the horizon. The terminal felt strangely peaceful, not empty, just quieter than usual.
Business travellers hurried between gates with coffees clutched in one hand, families tried to keep sleepy children awake, the smell of fresh pastries drifted from a café near security.
Chelsea stopped walking immediately. "There."
You followed her gaze. "It's six in the morning."
"I know."
"We literally had breakfast at the hotel."
"We had toast."
"So?"
"This..." She pointed dramatically towards the display cabinet. "...is breakfast."
You looked at the price of a bacon roll. You looked back at Chelsea. "You cannot be serious."
"I've never been more serious."
"It's nearly fifteen dollars."
"It's an investment."
"In cholesterol?"
"In happiness."
You shook your head, already laughing. "You are impossible."
"I've also been told that's one of my best qualities."
"You've mostly been told that by yourself."
"Positive reinforcement."
Somehow, despite complaining the entire time, the two of you ended up carrying one breakfast between you anyway. One bacon roll. One hash brown. Two coffees. Chelsea insisted it was "financially responsible."
You suspected she simply wanted an excuse to steal half of everything you ate. The gate area was still relatively quiet, so instead of sitting in the rows of uncomfortable airport chairs, you found an empty stretch of carpet beside the window overlooking the runway.
Chelsea kicked her trainers off immediately before sitting cross-legged.
"You know there are seats."
"I know."
"So?"
"The floor has better vibes."
"The floor has... vibes?"
"It does."
You lowered yourself beside her, still shaking your head. "I think touring has finally broken you."
"It set me free."
You handed her the breakfast bag. "I'll let you have the first bite."
"Really?"
"Mhm."
"That's true love."
She took an enormous bite. Far larger than necessary. Then looked back at you innocently. "What?"
"You've just eaten half of it."
"I was checking."
"Checking what?"
"Quality."
You stared at her. "...The quality." You laughed "And?"
She nodded thoughtfully while chewing. "It's excellent."
You laughed so hard you almost spilled your coffee. "You're unbelievable."
"I've never claimed otherwise."
She tore off a much more reasonably sized piece this time before holding it out towards you. You accepted it with an exaggerated sigh. "I can't believe I let you get away with this every single trip."
"You love me."
"I do."
"So..." She shrugged. "...you'll keep sharing your breakfast."
You smiled despite yourself. "Probably."
"I knew it."
For a little while, the two of you simply sat there, sharing a breakfast sandwich, passing coffees back and forth, and watching planes taxi slowly across the runway. Neither of you felt any rush to fill the silence. Chelsea rested her shoulder lightly against yours. You leaned into it without thinking. There would be another airport next week, another hotel, another rental car, another city that blurred into the next. But somehow no matter where tour took you, Chelsea always found a way to make even the most ordinary Tuesday morning at Gate 17 feel like the start of a little adventure.
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The rental car smelled faintly of fresh upholstery and airport coffee. You dropped your backpack onto the back seat before sliding into the passenger side with a sigh of relief, stretching your legs out in front of you as Chelsea climbed into the driver's seat.
She looked far too excited for someone who'd been awake since five. "Ready?"
You looked around the empty car. "For what?"
She plugged her phone into the dashboard. "The concert."
"We're driving to the hotel."
"Exactly."
She tapped the screen with all the confidence of someone who had spent the last ten minutes planning this very moment. The speakers crackled to life. For approximately three seconds, peaceful instrumental music played.
Then, "IT'S GONNA BE ME—"
You physically jumped.
Chelsea, meanwhile, slapped the steering wheel in delight. "Excellent choice."
"It wasn't a choice."
"It absolutely was."
"You've just assaulted me with NSYNC."
She grinned. "I eased us in."
"Eased us in?"
"This is the warm-up."
"I'm scared to ask what comes next."
"You should be." She pulled out of the airport, sunglasses perched on top of her head despite the fact the sun was still hiding behind thick clouds. "I've spent years perfecting this playlist."
"I don't think 'perfecting' is the word I'd use."
"You haven't even heard it yet."
"I've heard enough."
"You've heard one song."
"I know enough about your music taste."
She gasped dramatically. "My music taste is elite."
"You have three different versions of the same Taylor Swift song."
"They're different recordings."
"They sound identical."
"They absolutely do not."
You smiled to yourself, resting your elbow against the window as the airport slowly disappeared behind you. This happened every week. Different airport. Different rental car. The same conversation. Chelsea always insisted on driving if she could. You always pretended to complain about her playlist. Neither of you ever actually wanted it any other way.
The song changed.
Then changed again.
Then, "...Chelsea."
"What?"
"Is this..." You frowned at the speakers. "...the soundtrack from High School Musical?"
She didn't even glance away from the road. "Mhm."
"You skipped from Fleetwood Mac to High School Musical."
"I believe in variety."
"I think you believe in emotional whiplash."
She laughed. "You'll thank me in about thirty seconds."
"I really won't."
The chorus arrived and Chelsea looked at you expectantly.
You folded your arms. "No."
"What?"
"I'm not doing it."
"You know every word."
"I don't."
"You absolutely do."
"I've never heard this song in my life."
She raised one eyebrow. "You performed the entire dance at a house show in Glasgow because the music accidentally came on."
Your cheeks warmed. "That was different."
"How?"
"I was committed to the bit."
"And now?"
"I'm retired."
Chelsea reached over and turned the volume up another notch. "I don't believe you."
"I've matured."
"You've become boring."
"I've become twenty-seven."
"Same thing."
You held out for nearly a full minute. Then the second chorus started. Without thinking, you quietly sang one line.
Chelsea's head whipped towards you so quickly you worried she might pull a muscle. "I knew it!"
"I only sang one bit."
"You're singing."
"I'm humming."
"You are absolutely singing."
"I'm supporting you."
She laughed so hard she nearly missed the turnoff.
Within another song, the two of you were no longer pretending. The windows stayed firmly shut, sparing everyone else on the motorway, but inside the car it might as well have been a sold-out arena. Chelsea used her water bottle as a microphone. You pointed dramatically at invisible audience members every time a chorus hit.
When an old pop anthem came on, Chelsea reached over and grabbed your hand during the key change as if the moment demanded emotional support. "We're absolutely winning a Grammy."
"We're not even recording."
"Minor detail."
Traffic slowed at a set of lights. A family in the car beside you glanced over. Chelsea happened to be in the middle of an unnecessarily passionate performance, complete with exaggerated facial expressions and one hand conducting the imaginary band. The little girl in the back seat burst into giggles and Chelsea noticed immediately. Without missing a beat, she gave the child an exaggerated bow from behind the steering wheel. The girl clapped.
Her mum laughed, shaking her head.
The lights turned green.
Chelsea waved dramatically as you pulled away. "I've still got it."
"You've got something."
"I made her day."
"You probably did."
"I think I should start charging for appearances."
"You've just performed Dancing Queen in a Nissan."
"Art comes in many forms."
You leaned back in your seat, laughing so hard your stomach ached. This. This was why you loved touring with her. Most people would remember the flights, the early mornings, the delays, the endless miles of motorway stretching between airports and arenas. You remembered Chelsea convincing you to sing at the top of your lungs before nine in the morning. You remembered laughing at traffic lights with complete strangers. You remembered her turning an ordinary drive to the hotel into something you'd still be talking about months later. The playlist settled into something calmer for a while. Chelsea rested one hand lightly on the steering wheel, the other tapping absent-mindedly against the centre console in time with the music. You looked out of the window, watching a new city slowly unfold around you.
"Hey."
You turned back towards her. "Hm?"
"I'm glad you always say yes."
"To what?"
She smiled, eyes still fixed on the road. "All the silly little things."
You blinked. "What do you mean?"
"The playlists, the random cafés, the tourist traps, the walks, the stopping because I saw a cute bookshop." She shrugged. "You never make me feel silly for wanting to do them."
You smiled softly. "I don't think they're silly."
"No?"
"They're my favourite part."
She looked over at you for just a second. "The city?"
"You." Her smile was immediate. "No matter where we are..." You reached across the centre console until your fingers found hers, letting your hands rest together between the seats. "...I know we're going to have fun."
Chelsea squeezed your hand gently. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"You didn't need to hope."
"I know." She brought your joined hands briefly to her lips while the car waited at another red light, pressing a quick kiss across your knuckles before letting them settle back onto the console.
Outside, the sat nav announced another turn, another hotel, another arena waiting somewhere ahead. Inside the car, though, it didn't really matter where the road ended. As long as Chelsea was behind the wheel, singing far too loudly and getting distracted by every song that came on the radio the journey always ended up being your favourite part.
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By the time you'd both checked into the hotel, unpacked just enough to stop yourselves living entirely out of suitcases, and changed into something a little more comfortable, the afternoon sun had settled warmly over the city. Call time wasn't for another few hours.
Which, according to Chelsea, meant there was an important decision to make. She stood in the middle of the hotel room with one hand on her hip. "So."
You looked up from tying your trainers. "So?"
"What are we doing?"
You blinked. "I thought we were going to the arena later."
"We are."
"I thought that was the plan."
"It is."
You waited. She smiled expectantly. "...You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The one where you already know what you want to do."
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"Chelsea."
"What?"
"You've got the face."
"What face?"
"The 'I've secretly planned an entire afternoon' face."
She gasped dramatically. "I don't have a face."
"You absolutely do."
She lasted all of three seconds before breaking into a grin. "...I found a bookstore."
You laughed. "Of course you did."
"It has three floors."
"You looked this up before we landed, didn't you?"
"...Maybe."
"You definitely did."
"I believe in preparation."
"You believe in shopping."
"They're basically the same thing."
You shook your head fondly, grabbing your room key from the bedside table. "So we're going to the bookstore."
"We're starting at the bookstore." You narrowed your eyes. "Starting?"
She linked your arm through hers as you headed for the door. "I've also got a bakery."
"Oh?"
"And a record shop."
"Chelsea..."
"And this tiny little vintage store that everyone says is amazing."
"You've planned a route."
"I made a map."
"You made a map?"
"It has colour coding."
You stared at her. "...You made a colour-coded map."
She looked impossibly proud of herself. "I did."
"I love you."
"I know."
The city buzzed with the lazy energy of a warm afternoon. People sat outside cafés with iced coffees balanced on tiny tables. Street musicians played on busy corners. Cyclists weaved effortlessly through traffic while tourists stopped every few feet to take photos.
Chelsea took approximately twelve steps before stopping. "Oh my God."
You smiled knowingly. "What?"
She pointed excitedly across the street. "Look."
You followed her finger. A little independent florist had spilled buckets of colourful flowers onto the pavement outside. "They're pretty."
"They're gorgeous."
Before you'd even finished your sentence, she'd already tugged you across the crossing. "You don't even want flowers."
"I know."
"So?"
"I want to look at them."
You laughed, allowing yourself to be pulled along. This happened every single city. Chelsea never rushed anywhere she wanted to see everything. Not the famous landmarks, the little things. The bakery tucked down a side street. The mural painted on the side of an old brick building. The coffee shop with handwritten menus. She noticed everything and somehow you'd started noticing them too.
The florist smiled as Chelsea admired every arrangement like she was judging an international competition.
"They're beautiful," Chelsea said.
"They really are."
The woman behind the display beamed. "Thank you."
After another minute spent deciding which bouquet was her favourite despite having absolutely no intention of buying one, Chelsea finally wandered away. "I liked her."
"The florist?"
"She seemed lovely."
"You spoke to her for about forty seconds."
"I know."
"You've decided she's lovely."
"I trust my instincts."
"You do."
She slipped her hand into yours as you continued walking. "So..."
"What next?"
"The bookstore."
"I had a feeling."
It took exactly six minutes inside the bookstore for Chelsea to disappear. One moment she'd been beside you. The next she was gone. You wandered slowly through the shelves until you spotted her sitting cross-legged on the floor of the travel section, completely absorbed in a book she'd picked up. "There you are."
She looked up with a guilty smile. "I got distracted."
"I can see that."
"You have to look at this."
You crouched beside her. "What is it?" She turned the book around. It was a collection of photographs from old wrestling territories across North America. Your eyebrows lifted. "You found that quickly."
"I manifested it."
"I don't think that's how bookstores work."
"It worked, didn't it?"
You smiled, leaning your shoulder gently against hers as the two of you flicked through the pages together. Neither of you said much. You didn't need to. Every now and then Chelsea would point at an old arena. Or a particularly ridiculous ring outfit from decades ago. Or a photograph that reminded her of someone backstage.
Mostly you just sat there, on the floor. In the middle of a quiet bookstore. Perfectly content.
Eventually, Chelsea closed the book with a soft sigh. "I love places like this."
"You do."
"They're quiet."
You looked at her, amused. "You?"
"I know."
"You've voluntarily stopped talking for nearly five whole minutes."
"I can be peaceful."
"You can. occasionally."
She nudged your shoulder. "I heard that."
"I wanted you to."
She smiled before standing, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans. "Come on."
"What now?"
"Ice cream."
You laughed. "It was a bookstore five seconds ago."
"I've evolved."
"You change your mind every ten minutes."
"I contain multitudes."
"You contain distractions."
"They're more fun."
You stepped back out into the sunshine together. The afternoon stretched ahead of you with no real plan beyond following whatever caught Chelsea's attention next. A bakery became coffee, coffee became a walk through a little park, the park became sitting on a bench sharing a cinnamon roll because Chelsea insisted it "looked too good for one person."
At one point she stopped dead in the middle of the pavement. "What?"
She pointed excitedly at a tiny souvenir shop. "They've got magnets."
You laughed. "We don't even collect magnets."
"We do now."
Twenty minutes later, you walked back out carrying the most ridiculously oversized magnet shaped like the city's skyline. "It doesn't even fit on a normal fridge."
"Exactly."
"You only bought it because it made you laugh."
She looked at you like that was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I did."
You shook your head, smiling to yourself as she happily tucked the bag under her arm.
The funny thing was, if someone asked you what you'd done that afternoon, the answer wouldn't sound particularly exciting. You'd wandered through a bookstore, shared a cinnamon roll, bought an impractically large fridge magnet, looked at flowers neither of you intended to buy.
Objectively it was an incredibly ordinary afternoon.
But as Chelsea reached for your hand again while excitedly pointing out another little shop further down the street, you realised something.
You couldn't remember the last time an ordinary afternoon had felt quite so extraordinary.
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Backstage always felt louder than the crowd ever did. People hurried through the corridors carrying equipment cases almost as tall as they were. Production assistants darted between dressing rooms with headsets pressed against one ear. Music from someone's entrance echoed faintly through the concrete hallways before disappearing beneath overlapping conversations and the distant thud of bodies hitting the ring during rehearsals.
It should have felt chaotic. Instead it had become strangely familiar. You adjusted the strap of your gear bag as you stepped out of your locker room, glancing instinctively down the corridor.
You didn't even have to think about where your feet were taking you.
There were half a dozen directions you could have gone. Hair and makeup, gorilla, catering, medical.
Instead you turned left.
Chelsea's dressing room sat three doors down. The door was already open. You knocked lightly against the frame anyway.
She looked up from the makeup chair, her face immediately brightening. "There you are. I've been looking for you."
You looked pointedly at the corridor between your rooms. "...We're about twenty feet apart."
"I know. it was a very difficult search."
You laughed as you stepped inside.
The room looked exactly like every shared women's locker room eventually did before a show. Gear hung from hooks along the wall. Open makeup bags covered every available surface. Someone's curling iron rested dangerously close to a pile of jackets. Chelsea sat in front of the mirror while one of the makeup artists carefully blended the final touches around her eyes.
"You busy?" you asked.
She glanced towards the artist. "Am I busy?"
The artist smiled without looking up. "You've got about... six minutes before wardrobe steals you."
Chelsea grinned triumphantly. "You heard her."
"So?"
"So..."
She patted the empty chair beside her. "...sit."
You did. Without question, without asking why, six minutes was six minutes. She reached for your hand almost immediately, absent-mindedly intertwining your fingers while the makeup artist continued working as though this happened every single week.
Which, it did.
"You eaten?" Chelsea asked.
"Mhm."
"What did you have?"
"Pasta."
"Catering pasta?" You nodded. She winced dramatically. "My condolences."
"It wasn't that bad."
"It was."
"You haven't even tried it."
"I don't have to."
You smiled. "You are unbelievably dramatic."
"I've built a career on it."
The makeup artist laughed quietly. "I can confirm that's true."
Chelsea pointed at her reflection. "See? You've got witnesses now."
"I've always had witnesses." You squeezed her hand gently. "I still like you."
"I knew you would."
The artist stepped back after another minute. "Done."
Chelsea studied herself in the mirror before smiling. "I look expensive."
You looked at her. "You do."
She turned towards you expectantly. "Just expensive?"
You pretended to think. "Mmm..."
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm waiting."
"You look..." You smiled. "...like you're about to complain to at least three members of management."
Her laugh filled the room. "Now that is a compliment."
"It suits you."
The makeup artist packed away her brushes. "I'll leave you two to it before someone comes looking."
"Thank you!" Chelsea called after her.
The door clicked shut.
The room immediately became quieter. Chelsea stood, smoothing down her ring gear before walking over to where you sat. Without saying anything, she rested her forehead gently against yours. You smiled. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Chelsea."
"I just missed you."
You blinked. "...We've literally been in the same building all day."
"I know."
"But not together."
You couldn't really argue with that. Since arriving, you'd crossed paths countless times, passing each other in corridors, sharing coffee in catering, walking to production meetings. Each interaction lasted a minute or two before someone needed one of you somewhere else. Now for the first time all day nobody was asking for anything.
"You've got your match soon."
"So do you."
"You nervous?"
She shook her head. "Not really."
"You?"
"A little."
Chelsea reached up, adjusting the zip on your jacket that had folded awkwardly beneath your chin. "There."
"Thank you."
"I've also noticed..." She frowned thoughtfully. "...your necklace is backwards."
You looked down. Sure enough it was. "You've got a talent for spotting things."
"I know."
She turned it around before smoothing it back into place. "There."
"You've fixed me."
"I always do."
You smiled softly. "I appreciate it."
"I know."
A knock sounded at the open door. One of the producers leaned inside. "Chelsea, five minutes."
She gave them a thumbs up. "Got it!"
As soon as they disappeared, she looked back at you. "I've still got four minutes."
You laughed. "You timed him."
"I always do."
"You are unbelievable."
"I prefer efficient."
She reached for both your hands this time. "So."
"So?"
"What are we doing for dinner after?"
"I thought we'd order room service."
"Ooh." She nodded enthusiastically. "I like that plan."
"Pizza?"
"Definitely."
"Dessert?"
"Obviously." You smiled. "I don't think we've ever had a serious conversation about food."
"We don't need one."
"No?"
"We always agree."
"You've got me there."
Another voice echoed down the corridor. "Chelsea!"
She sighed dramatically. "They're ruining my quality time."
You laughed. "I think they're expecting you to wrestle."
"Very inconsiderate."
"You should probably go."
"I know."
Neither of you moved. Chelsea looked at you for another second before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around your waist. You hugged her back automatically. The embrace wasn't rushed. It wasn't dramatic, just familiar, comfortable. The sort of hug that happened dozens of times a week simply because it could.
When she finally stepped back, she smiled up at you. "Right."
"Right."
"You go have an amazing match."
"You too."
"I'll meet you straight afterwards."
"You always do."
She leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. Then another. "For luck."
"You've already given me luck."
"I'm giving you extra."
You laughed. "I'll take it."
One last call came from somewhere down the corridor. "Chelsea!"
She groaned dramatically. "I'm coming!"
She looked back at you one final time. "Race you to the hotel?"
"You know you'll spend twenty minutes talking to everyone after the show."
"I will."
"So I'll definitely win."
She pointed a finger at you. "Don't get cocky."
You smiled as she finally disappeared into the corridor, already greeting people she passed with the same infectious energy she carried everywhere.
You watched her go for a moment before turning towards Gorilla yourself. There were thousands of people waiting on the other side of the curtain. Matches to wrestle. Interviews to film. Photos to take. A whole evening still ahead. But somehow, your favourite part of every show had already happened. It wasn't the entrance or the crowd or even stepping into the ring.
It was those six quiet minutes in a dressing room, sitting hand in hand with the person you loved, simply because neither of you could think of anywhere else you'd rather spend them.
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By the time you finally made it back to the hotel, it was well past eleven. The adrenaline from the show had begun to wear off somewhere between leaving the arena and climbing into the rental car, replaced by the kind of exhaustion that settled pleasantly into your bones after a good night's work.
Chelsea unlocked the hotel room with a dramatic sigh. "I'm home."
You laughed behind her. "This isn't home."
"It is for tonight." She pushed the door open before immediately kicking her trainers off into opposite corners of the room. One landed neatly by the wardrobe. The other bounced off the suitcase rack.
You looked at her. "...Really?"
"I'll find it tomorrow."
"You absolutely won't."
"I absolutely won't." You bent down to pick it up anyway, placing it beside the other one. "I appreciate you."
"I know."
She smiled as she shrugged off her jacket. "I was hoping you'd do that."
"I know you were."
Tour had a funny way of making even the nicest hotel rooms blur together. Different city, different carpet, different artwork on the walls. The same crisp white bedding, the same tiny kettle, the same armchair that looked comfortable but somehow never was. You'd stopped paying much attention to the rooms months ago. The person you shared them with mattered far more than the wallpaper.
Chelsea disappeared into the bathroom to wash off her makeup while you changed into an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts, happily abandoning any attempt at looking presentable. A few minutes later, she emerged with damp hair tucked behind her ears and one of your hoodies pulled over her ring gear shorts.
You smiled immediately. "That's mine."
She looked down innocently. "Is it?"
"You know it is."
"I thought it looked familiar."
"It literally has my initials on the sleeve."
She examined the embroidered letters. "...That does explain it."
"You are impossible."
"I've been told."
"Mostly by me."
"Mhm."She wandered over before stealing the hairbrush from your hand. “My turn."
You turned around without even thinking. She'd done this hundreds of times before. Travelling meant constantly helping each other with the little things. Undoing stubborn boot laces, fixing zips, straightening gear, brushing out hairspray after a match. You stood quietly while she worked the brush gently through your hair, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft strokes of the brush and the distant hum of traffic outside the hotel window. It was strangely peaceful. "There." She gave your shoulder a gentle pat. "All done."
You looked over your shoulder. "Thank you."
"Always."
Your fingers found hers for just a second before she wandered towards the bed. "So..." She flopped backwards onto the mattress with absolutely no elegance whatsoever. "What now?"
You glanced at the television. "We could go downstairs."
"No."
"Find somewhere for dessert?"
"No."
"Watch a film?"
"Mmm..." She considered it for a moment. "...Also no."
You smiled. "What do you want to do?"
She held one hand out towards you. "This." You slipped your hand into hers, allowing her to tug you down onto the bed beside her. The mattress bounced gently beneath your weight. Within seconds, Chelsea had shuffled closer until your shoulders touched, then your knees, then, apparently deciding that still wasn't close enough, she rested her head lightly against yours. "There."
"There?"
"Perfect."
You laughed quietly. "We're literally just lying here."
"I know."
"In silence."
"I know."
"You've chosen silence."
She smiled with her eyes closed. "I chose you."
Your heart softened immediately.
For a while that was all you did. The television stayed off, neither of you looked at your phones. Outside, the city carried on without you, headlights drifting past the window in soft streaks of light. Inside the room, time seemed to slow. Chelsea traced lazy patterns across the back of your hand with her thumb. You watched the ceiling. Every now and then one of you would point something out.
"That crack looks like Florida."
"It absolutely doesn't."
"It does if you squint."
"I'm not squinting."
"You lack imagination."
"I have excellent eyesight."
"Debatable."
Then it would fall quiet again. Not because the conversation had run out. Because neither of you felt the need to keep it going. Eventually, Chelsea rolled onto her side so she could look at you properly. "You know what my favourite part of touring is?"
You pretended to think. "The airports?"
"No."
"The rental cars?"
"They're in the top ten."
"The giant fridge magnet?"
"Current number one purchase."
You smiled. "What then?"
She reached over, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "This."
You frowned slightly. "This?"
She nodded. "The bit after."
"After what?" "The show."
Her smile was small, but impossibly fond. "Everyone always talks about the crowds, the entrances, the matches, the titles."
"They're amazing."
"They are but..." She looked around the hotel room. "...this is the bit I look forward to."
You followed her gaze. The room was nothing special. Half-open suitcases lay on the luggage rack. Your gear bags were still dumped by the door. The room service menu sat folded on the bedside table.
It was just another anonymous hotel room. "I don't get it."
"You don't?" She shook her head gently. "I don't care where we are." She squeezed your hand. "It could be the fanciest hotel in the world." "Or somewhere with questionable wallpaper and tiny towels."
You laughed. "So... every hotel."
"Exactly." She grinned. "It all feels the same. What makes it different..." Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. "...is that I get to end every day with my favourite person."
Your chest tightened. "You really mean that?"
She looked genuinely confused. "Of course I do."
"I just..." You smiled shyly. "I didn't realise you'd been thinking about it."
"I think about it every trip." She shrugged. "We spend all day making memories. Then we come back here and I get to hear about your match. You hear about mine. We steal each other's hoodies. You complain about my alarm for tomorrow. I'll complain about yours. It just..." She smiled. "...makes every city feel a little bit like home."
You reached across the space between you, cupping her cheek. "I think that's my favourite thing you've said today."
She leaned into your hand instinctively. "Really?"
"Mhm."
"I've said a lot today."
"You always do and somehow..." You smiled, brushing your thumb softly across her cheek. "...I still never get tired of listening."
Chelsea's grin was immediate. "So..."
"So?"
"I can keep talking?"
You laughed, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. "I don't think I'd know what to do if you ever stopped."
She gasped dramatically. "Well, that's good."
"Why?"
"Because I've already got tomorrow's conversation planned."
You rolled your eyes affectionately. "Somehow I knew you were going to say that."
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The airport looked exactly like every other airport you'd passed through that year. Bright departure boards, the smell of coffee drifting through the terminal, rolling suitcases rattling over polished floors, sleepy travellers queuing for breakfast despite it barely being seven in the morning. If someone had asked you whether you were in Texas, Illinois or Arizona...
You probably wouldn't have been able to answer immediately. The cities had started blending together somewhere around month three, the memories hadn't.
Chelsea walked beside you, one hand hooked around the handle of her suitcase while the other stayed comfortably wrapped around yours. She yawned dramatically. "I'm tired."
"You said that before we even left the hotel."
"I've remained consistent."
"I'll give you that."
She rested her head briefly against your shoulder as the queue for security slowed to a stop. "You know what we need?"
"What?"
"A holiday."
You looked at her. "We're literally travelling."
"I know but this is work travelling."
"So?"
"I want holiday travelling."
"What's the difference?"
She thought for a moment. "Less ring gear."
"Fair."
"More beaches."
"I can get behind that."
"And absolutely no five a.m. alarms."
You laughed. "Now that sounds impossible."
"I choose optimism."
"You always do."
"I have to." She smiled up at you. "I've got you to convince."
Nearly an hour later, you found yourselves sitting by the gate with two coffees balanced between you. Your bags rested against your legs. Chelsea had slipped one earbud into your ear, keeping the other for herself while some random playlist drifted quietly between the two of you. Neither of you paid much attention to it. You were too busy watching the world go by. A little boy hurried past, proudly dragging a suitcase almost as big as he was, an older couple shared a newspaper, a group of wrestlers walked through the terminal, laughing loudly about something that had clearly happened before either of you had arrived. It all felt strangely peaceful.
Chelsea nudged your arm. "Look." You followed her gaze. A woman sat cross-legged on the floor near the window, reading a book while her husband slept against his backpack beside her.
You smiled. "That's us in thirty years."
Chelsea laughed. "No."
"No?"
"We'll still be talking."
"You think?"
"I know."
You smiled.
"I think you'll still be getting distracted."
"I definitely will."
"And you'll still pretend every airport café serves the world's best breakfast."
"They do."
"They objectively don't."
"You can't prove that."
"I've eaten them."
"So have I."
"And?"
"I remain optimistic."
You shook your head fondly. Some things, you suspected, would never change.
Your flight was delayed by fifteen minutes. Nobody around you seemed particularly pleased. Chelsea, on the other hand, leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smile. "Extra coffee time."
"You'd find a silver lining in anything."
"I would."
"I know."
She looked over at you. "What?"
You glanced down at the paper coffee cup in your hands. "I was just trying to remember..."
"What?"
"...what my favourite part of this week was."
Chelsea smiled. "The giant fridge magnet?"
"It was impressive."
"The cinnamon roll?"
"Also excellent."
"The bookstore?"
"I loved the bookstore." She waited. "But?" You looked at her. "My favourite part..." A smile spread across your face almost without your permission. "...was sitting on the airport floor sharing breakfast with you."
She blinked. "Really?"
"Mhm."
"Not the city?"
"The city was lovely."
"The show?"
"The show was great."
"The shopping?"
"You bought a magnet the size of a dinner plate."
"It was iconic."
"It was." You laughed. "But none of that's what I'll remember first."
"What will you remember?"
"You stealing half my breakfast."
"I stand by that decision."
"You singing High School Musical in the rental car."
"You joined in."
"I did."
"You brushing my hair after the show."
"You looked after me too."
You shrugged gently. "It was all just..." You searched for the right word. "...us."
Chelsea's smile softened into something quieter. "I think that's why I love touring."
"You do?"
She nodded.
"I get to see all these amazing places." She gestured vaguely towards the terminal around you. "But if I'm honest..." Her fingers found yours between the armrests. "...I don't think the places are actually the point."
You intertwined your fingers with hers. "No?"
She shook her head. "I could be anywhere." She smiled. "As long as you're there too."
The boarding announcement echoed through the gate. Passengers immediately began standing despite the airline clearly calling rows one through five first. Chelsea watched the chaos unfold with amusement. "They're never going to get on any faster."
"They never do."
She stayed exactly where she was, making no attempt to join the queue. "We've got ages."
"We do."
She looked at you. "So..."
"So?"
"What city is next?"
You frowned thoughtfully. "I honestly can't remember."
She burst into laughter. "Me neither."
For a second, the two of you simply looked at each other before laughing even harder. A nearby businessman glanced over, smiling despite himself.
You wiped at the corner of your eye. "We're hopeless."
"We really are."
"But we'll figure it out."
"We always do."
Eventually your boarding group was called. You stood together, adjusting your backpack onto your shoulder before reaching automatically for Chelsea's hand. She squeezed it once. "Ready?"
You looked out through the huge windows lining the terminal. Another plane, another flight, another city waiting somewhere beyond the cloud, another week of arenas, hotels, rental cars, early alarms, airport breakfasts, bookshops, late-night room service, tiny adventures that would probably sound completely ordinary to everyone else.
You smiled. "Yeah."
Chelsea tilted her head. "For the flight?"
You shook your head. "For another week with you."
She grinned, slipping her fingers more firmly through yours as the two of you joined the queue. The destination would fade eventually. The airport would blur into the next one. The hotel keycards would end up forgotten in the bottom of a suitcase. But years from now, when neither of you could remember what city you'd flown into on a random Tuesday in the middle of tour you knew you'd still remember sharing one breakfast, singing far too loudly in a rental car, browsing a quiet bookstore, lying in a hotel room doing absolutely nothing.
Because the places had never been what made those trips unforgettable.
It had always been the person you were lucky enough to experience them with.
one more thing. cody rhodes. language of love series
cody rhodes x wife!reader
words of affirmation
The smell of coffee reached you before your alarm ever had the chance. You smiled into your pillow, eyes still closed as the familiar sounds of your morning drifted through the house. A cupboard door opened somewhere downstairs. The coffee grinder whirred for a few seconds before falling quiet again. A spoon clinked gently against ceramic.
Cody was awake, which meant there was absolutely no point trying to steal another ten minutes of sleep.
You stretched slowly beneath the duvet before finally dragging yourself out of bed, padding across the bedroom floor with considerably less enthusiasm than your husband seemed to possess before eight in the morning. The house felt comfortably lived in. One of Cody's hoodies hung over the banister where he'd clearly abandoned it the night before. A pair of trainers sat beside the front door instead of on the shoe rack. Somewhere in the living room, the television murmured quietly with the morning news despite nobody actually watching it.
You smiled to yourself, some things never changed.
By the time you reached the kitchen, Cody already had his back to you, grey joggers, a faded WWE T-shirt, bare feet against the wooden floor, his attention was entirely focused on pouring coffee into two mugs waiting patiently beside the kettle. He hadn't noticed you yet.
You leaned against the doorway instead, deciding to enjoy the view for a moment. There was something unfairly comforting about watching him exist when he didn't know you were looking. The gentle hum under his breath, the way he automatically reached for the sugar you always forgot, the slight crease between his eyebrows as he concentrated on not spilling the coffee despite doing this exact routine every single morning. You weren't entirely sure how someone could make making coffee look endearing. Yet somehow, he managed it.
Without turning around, he smiled. "You're staring."
Your eyebrows lifted. "I wasn't."
"Were too."
"You don't even know I'm here."
"I do." He finally looked over his shoulder, amusement already dancing across his face. "I can feel it."
"You can feel me looking at you?"
"Mhm."
"That's ridiculous."
"It is."
"And yet..." He picked up one of the mugs before crossing the kitchen towards you. "...I was right."
You accepted the coffee with a grateful smile. "You got lucky."
"I don't believe in luck."
"No?"
"I believe my wife is incapable of being sneaky."
You gasped dramatically. "I am incredibly sneaky."
"You walked down the stairs like a herd of elephants."
"I absolutely did not."
"You absolutely did." He leaned down to press a quick kiss against your forehead before taking a sip of his own coffee. "You also sighed before you even reached the bottom step."
"I was waking up."
"You sounded personally offended that morning had arrived."
"I was."
"I know."
You laughed into your mug. Marriage suited the two of you. Not because anything had dramatically changed after the wedding. It hadn't. You'd still stolen his hoodies. He'd still stolen your side of the bed every single night before insisting he hadn't moved an inch. You still argued over whose turn it was to unload the dishwasher before inevitably doing it together anyway. If anything marriage had simply made the ordinary parts of life feel even more like home. Cody glanced towards the clock on the microwave. "We should probably leave in ten."
"We?"
"I'm dropping you off."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
"You've got your own meetings."
"I know."
"You'll be going the opposite direction."
"I know."
You narrowed your eyes. "So..."
"So I'm dropping my wife off."
"You say that like it's a privilege."
"It is."
You rolled your eyes affectionately. "You're unbelievable."
"I've been told." He reached for your free hand, absentmindedly intertwining your fingers as the two of you stood together in the middle of the kitchen. Neither of you spoke, you didn't need to. The silence between you had never been awkward. Just peaceful. The kind earned through years of knowing each other well enough that conversation wasn't required every second.
Eventually, you glanced at the clock yourself. "We really should get going."
"I know."
Neither of you moved. You smiled. "Cody."
"I know."
"You just said that."
"I know."
You laughed, giving his hand a gentle tug towards the hallway. He followed willingly this time, collecting his car keys from the bowl by the front door while you shrugged on your jacket. Your wedding ring caught the morning sunlight streaming through the window. You adjusted the sleeve over it absentmindedly.
Cody noticed anyway, he always noticed. "You ready?"
"Mhm." You slipped your bag onto your shoulder before stepping closer, rising onto your toes to kiss him. It was soft, quick, comfortable. The kind of kiss shared by people who knew there would be another one waiting later. "I love you," you murmured.
His smile was immediate. "I love you too."
You squeezed his hand once before turning towards the front door. Your fingers had only just brushed the handle when you stopped. "...One more thing."
You heard the quiet laugh before you turned around. "What?"
"You look really handsome today."
He blinked. For just a second, genuine surprise crossed his face. "Thank you."
"I mean it."
"I know."
Satisfied, you turned back towards the door. You managed exactly three steps. "...Actually."
Behind you, you heard him chuckle. "There's another one, isn't there?"
"There might be."
"I knew it."
You looked back over your shoulder. "I really liked waking up next to you this morning."
His entire expression softened. "My love..."
"What?"
"We wake up next to each other every morning."
"I know."
"So?" You shrugged, smiling. "I still liked it."
For a moment, he simply looked at you. Like you'd said something extraordinary instead of something so wonderfully ordinary. Then he crossed the hallway in three easy strides until there wasn't even an inch of space left between you.
His hands settled lightly on your waist. "I've got one."
"Oh?"
"Mhm." He kissed the corner of your mouth. "I really liked waking up next to my wife this morning too."
You smiled so hard your cheeks began to ache. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"I know." He kissed your forehead this time.
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The drive to work lasted just under twenty minutes. Twenty-three, if Cody insisted on taking what he claimed was the "better route." You still maintained it wasn't. "It's literally three minutes longer."
"It has less traffic."
"It has three more sets of traffic lights."
"But less traffic."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"It makes perfect sense."
You laughed quietly, turning your head to watch the streets drift by outside the passenger window. It was the same conversation you'd had at least six times before. Maybe more. Neither of you had any intention of changing your minds. That wasn't really the point. The point was getting to spend another twenty-three minutes together before the day pulled you in opposite directions.
By the time Cody pulled into the car park outside your office, the conversation had somehow wandered from traffic to breakfast cereal, then to whether Pharaoh had always known exactly when Cody was about to leave for tour.
"He absolutely does."
"Cody."
"I'm serious."
"You think the dog understands your travel schedule?"
"I know he does."
You smiled. "I think you're giving him too much credit."
"I think you're underestimating him." He put the car into park before looking at you with complete sincerity. "He can tell."
"...You know what?"
"What?"
"I hope you're right."
"I am."
"I'll choose to believe you."
"I appreciate that."
You leaned across the centre console, kissing him softly. "I'll see you tonight."
"You will."
You reached for the door handle. "...One more thing."
His hand paused halfway towards starting the car again. "There it is."
"What?"
"I was wondering how long it'd take."
You smiled. "I'm really proud of you."
His eyebrows knitted together. "For what?"
"For everything." You shrugged lightly. "You work harder than anyone I know."
A small smile spread across his face. "You don't have to say that."
"I know."
"You already tell me."
"I know."
"So why are you telling me again?"
"Because I thought it."
He laughed under his breath. "I don't think your brain has a filter."
"No it just... says things."
"When they're nice. I'm not complaining." His hand reached across the console until it found yours. "I've got one."
"You always do."
"I do." He squeezed your fingers gently. "I don't think I tell you enough how much I admire the way you care about people."
You blinked. "What?"
"You just... do." He smiled, looking at your joined hands instead of you. "You remember everybody's birthdays, you always check in on people, you make everyone around you feel included, you don't even realise you're doing it."
Your chest warmed. "Cody..."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
"I've watched complete strangers leave conversations with you smiling." He finally looked back at you. "That's a gift."
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then you laughed softly, mostly because you could already feel yourself getting emotional and refused to cry in his car before nine in the morning. "You're ridiculous."
"So my wife keeps telling me."
"I married a professional speech giver."
"You did."
"It's very dangerous."
"It is."
"You can make me emotional before I've even started work."
"I'd apologise..." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "...but I'm not actually sorry."
"I knew you were going to say that."
"I know."
You smiled, shaking your head. "I really do have to go."
"You do."
This time you actually climbed out of the car. You'd made it halfway across the car park before your phone buzzed.
You didn't even have to look to know who it was.
Husband One more thing.
You laughed out loud. The woman walking past glanced over curiously. You smiled apologetically before opening the message.
I forgot to tell you...
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Thank you for making ordinary mornings my favourite part of the day.
You stood completely still in the middle of the pavement. People continued walking around you. Car doors slammed somewhere behind you. Someone laughed across the car park. For a moment, the rest of the world faded quietly into the background. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. You smiled to yourself before typing back.
One more thing.
Almost immediately, the typing bubble appeared again.
I knew there'd be one.
Your smile only grew.
Thank you for never making ordinary feel boring.
You pressed send. Locked your phone. Made it all the way through the revolving doors of the building, past reception, into the lift. The doors were almost closed when your phone buzzed again. You sighed dramatically, already laughing.
The man standing beside you glanced over. "Good news?"
"The best kind."
He smiled politely as you looked down at your screen.
One more thing.
You make being married look really easy.
You bit back another smile. By the time the lift reached your floor, you'd stopped trying to win.
There was simply no beating a man who loved you enough to turn every goodbye into three more. And if you were honest you didn't think either of you wanted to.
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By lunchtime, the morning had somehow disappeared. You'd barely looked up from your desk since walking through the office doors, one task bleeding into the next until your calendar looked more like a game of Tetris than a schedule. The only reason you realised what time it was came when your stomach reminded you. Loudly. "...Right." You rubbed a hand over your face before reaching for your phone.
Three unread messages.
All from the same person.
Husband Hope your meeting went well.
Remember to eat.
One more thing.
You laughed before even opening the last one.
You've got this.
Simple. Five words. They still made you smile. You checked the time.
12:47.
If you left now, you'd have just enough time to make it to the Performance Centre before Cody's afternoon meetings started.
You'd promised him lunch earlier in the week anyway. Besides you missed him.
The reception staff greeted you with familiar smiles as you stepped inside. After years of travelling alongside Cody whenever schedules lined up, you'd become a familiar face. "He's in the gym," one of them told you.
"Thank you."
"You'll probably hear him before you see him."
You laughed. "That sounds about right."
Sure enough, the unmistakable thud of weights reached you before the room itself came into view. You followed the sound, weaving through corridors until the doors opened into the training area. The place buzzed with its usual energy, someone climbed into the ring, music echoed faintly through overhead speakers, conversations overlapped with the metallic clink of barbells meeting the floor.
Your eyes found Cody almost immediately. Not because he stood out. Because they always did. He was midway through talking to one of the younger talent, gesturing animatedly while listening just as carefully as he spoke. You waited. There was no rush. Eventually, he glanced in your direction. The change in his expression happened instantly. His smile spread before he'd even properly registered you were there. "There she is." His voice carried across the room.
You couldn't help smiling. "There you are."
He excused himself from the conversation without hesitation, crossing the gym in quick strides until he reached you. "Hi."
"Hi."
He leaned down to kiss you, completely unconcerned by the fact that half the room had just watched him do it. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I brought lunch."
"You brought lunch?"
You held up the paper bag. "I figured somebody had to make sure you remembered to eat."
He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "My hero."
"I know."
"You came all this way just to feed me?"
"You texted me three reminders."
"I was worried."
"You were projecting."
"I absolutely was." He laughed, slipping his hand into yours. "Come on."
The two of you ended up sitting outside on a pair of production cases tucked just beyond the loading bay. It wasn't glamorous.
The sun was warm. The air smelled faintly of fresh tarmac. Someone drove a forklift across the far side of the car park, perfect. You handed Cody his sandwich.
He looked inside the bag. "...You got my favourite chips."
"I did."
"I didn't even ask."
"I know."
"You remembered."
"I always do."
He smiled to himself before taking a bite. For a while, conversation wandered wherever it pleased. Stories from your morning. Someone in creative accidentally replying all to an email. A dog you'd seen wearing tiny boots on your way into work. Cody insisting the boots were probably practical. You insisting they were fashionable. The argument remained unresolved.
Eventually, you checked the time. "I should probably let you get back."
His shoulders dropped dramatically. "I disagree."
"I'm sure you do."
"I think you should stay here all afternoon."
"I have a job."
"So do I."
"And?"
"I'd simply rather spend it with you."
You laughed, gathering the empty wrappers. "Unfortunately, adulthood has other ideas."
He stood as you did, brushing the crumbs from his hands. "I'll walk you out."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
"You've got people waiting."
"I know."
"You always know."
"I usually do."
The walk back through the building was slow. Not because either of you walked particularly slowly. Because neither of you seemed especially interested in reaching the exit. By the time the front doors came into view, you stopped. "I'll see you tonight."
"You will."
You leaned up, kissing him quickly. "I love you."
"I love you too."
You took three steps towards the door. "...One more thing."
He smiled immediately. "I was wondering when it'd happen." You laughed. "What?"
"I think..." You paused, trying to find the right words. "I think you're really good at making people feel like they belong." His smile faltered. Not from discomfort. From surprise. You continued before you lost your nerve. "I watched you in the gym." He glanced back over his shoulder instinctively. "You listened to every single person who spoke to you. You remembered everyone's names. You made time for everybody. You never made anyone feel like they were interrupting you." You smiled softly. "I don't think you realise how much that matters."
For perhaps the first time all day Cody was speechless. He blinked once. Then smiled in that quiet, almost bashful way he rarely did. "I..." A small laugh escaped him. "I've never thought about it like that."
"I have."
He looked at you for another moment. "I think I needed to hear that."
Warmth spread through your chest. "I'm glad."
Just as you turned to leave, his voice called after you. "Hey."
You looked back. He was still standing exactly where you'd left him. One hand tucked into his pocket. The other lifted slightly to catch your attention. "...One more thing."
You laughed. "I knew you had another."
"I always do." He smiled. "You make every day worth coming home from."
Before you could answer, "Oh, for the love of—" Both of you turned. CM punk stood a few feet away, shaking his head so dramatically it bordered on theatrical. "I've watched this goodbye happen four times."
Cody looked completely unbothered. "Have you?"
"Yes."
"You've said goodbye." Punk held up one finger. "Then kissed." A second finger. "Then said 'one more thing.'" A third. "Then complimented each other." A fourth. "And now you're doing it again."
You bit your lip, trying very hard not to laugh.
Punk looked between the two of you. "You realise you're insufferable, right?"
Cody didn't miss a beat. "I've been told."
"By me."
"I know."
Punk pointed towards the exit. "Go."
Then pointed at Cody. "And you." Another point. "Stop looking at your wife like she's hung the moon." Cody frowned slightly. "I can't really help that."
Punk closed his eyes. "I walked straight into that one."
You laughed openly this time. "I'll actually go now."
"You probably should," Punk muttered.
You started walking backwards towards the doors.
Cody lifted a hand in a small wave. "So..."
You smiled knowingly. "So."
"I'll see you tonight?"
"You will."
This time, you made it all the way outside before your phone buzzed in your pocket. You didn't even need to look. You already knew exactly how the message would begin.
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The drive home felt slower than usual. Not because of traffic. Because neither of you was in any hurry to fill the silence. The radio played quietly, some playlist Cody had insisted was perfect driving music despite the fact it seemed to jump wildly between classic rock, country and songs you'd never heard before.
"You've definitely skipped something."
He looked up from the dashboard. "What?"
"This playlist."
"I haven't."
"It doesn't make sense."
"It makes perfect sense."
"It went from Elvis to Shinedown."
"Mhm."
"And now..." You glanced at the display. "...Johnny Cash."
"It's called range."
"It's called musical whiplash."
He laughed, drumming absentmindedly against his knee. "I like variety."
"I can tell."
The conversation faded naturally after that. Not awkwardly. Comfortably. The kind of silence built over years of knowing neither of you had to perform for the other. You rested your elbow against the door, watching the evening blur gently past the window. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Cody looking at you. "What?"
"Hm?"
“You just looked at me."
"I did."
"Why?"
He smiled to himself. "No reason."
"Cody."
"I was just thinking."
"Dangerous."
"I know."
"You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The one where you're about to say something ridiculously sentimental."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You absolutely do."
He lasted another thirty seconds. Maybe.
"I think you're my favourite person."
Your heart did that annoying little flip it only ever seemed to do around him. "You have to say that."
"I don't."
"You married me."
"I did."
"So it'd be a little concerning if I wasn't."
"I suppose."
You reached across the centre console until your hand found his. His fingers intertwined with yours immediately, like they always did. "I think you're mine too."
He looked over briefly, smiling so warmly it made your chest ache. "That's good."
"Oh?"
"I'd hate to be competing with someone."
You laughed. "I don't think there's much competition."
"No?"
"No." You squeezed his hand gently. "I've met you."
"And?"
"I've been biased ever since."
His ears turned faintly pink. It still amazed you that after everything he'd accomplished, after standing in front of thousands of people without so much as a flicker of hesitation, you could still fluster him with a single sentence. "You know..." he said quietly.
"Hm?"
"I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing you say things like that."
"Really?" He shook his head. "Never."
"Good."
He glanced at you again. "Good?"
"I'd hate for you to start taking them for granted."
"I couldn't."
"You'd better not."
"I don't think I physically could."
You smiled to yourself. Outside, the traffic slowed to a gentle crawl at a red light. Cody rested your joined hands against the gear stick, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. "You know what I like?"
"What?"
"These bits."
"The traffic?"
He laughed. "No. I was going to say..." He looked out through the windscreen for a moment, searching for the right words. "...the in-between bits." You frowned thoughtfully. "The drive home, the coffee before work, the five minutes before we fall asleep, the little conversations in supermarket queues." His thumb traced another slow circle across your hand. "I think people spend so much time waiting for the big moments that they forget how lovely the ordinary ones are."
You watched him for a second. "You've thought about this."
"I have."
"I can tell."
He smiled sheepishly. "I think..." He shrugged. "I just really like doing ordinary things with you." The traffic began moving again.
You sat quietly for a few moments, letting his words settle. Then "...One more thing."
He laughed immediately. "I knew there'd be one."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"I think..." You looked down at your joined hands before meeting his eyes again. "I've never felt ordinary since I met you."
He blinked. "What?"
"You keep calling these ordinary moments."
"I know."
"They don't feel ordinary." He stayed quiet. "They feel..." You smiled softly. "...like the kind of moments people miss when they're gone."
His throat bobbed. For a second, you wondered if you'd embarrassed him. Then he lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss against your knuckles while the car waited at another set of lights. "I don't know how I got so lucky."
"You've said that today."
"I know. I'll keep saying it."
"You don't have to."
"I do." He smiled. "Because every time I think I've already told you everything..." He glanced at you, that familiar sparkle returning to his eyes. "...I remember one more thing."
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The moment you stepped through the front door, Pharaoh came skidding across the wooden floor. His nails clicked loudly against the hallway as he practically launched himself at Cody first, tail wagging so enthusiastically his entire body seemed to move with it.
"There he is!" Cody crouched immediately, laughing as Pharaoh attempted to climb into his lap despite weighing considerably more than he seemed to realise. "I missed you too, buddy." Pharaoh responded by enthusiastically licking the side of his face. You slipped your shoes off, watching the reunion with a smile.
"I think I've been replaced."
Cody looked up. "What?"
"He barely acknowledged I came home." Pharaoh finally wandered over to you, accepting a scratch behind the ears before promptly returning to Cody. You folded your arms. "See?"
"He just knows who the fun parent is."
"Oh, does he?"
"He does."
"I fed him."
"I wrestle with him."
"I took him for a walk."
"I let him win."
"You absolutely do not."
"I absolutely do."
You laughed, bending down to kiss the top of Pharaoh's head before heading towards the kitchen. "Come on."
Cody stood, giving Pharaoh one final pat. "Dinner?"
"Dinner."
Cooking together had never been particularly efficient. It wasn't because either of you couldn't cook, you could. It was because one of you always ended up talking or laughing or stealing ingredients before they made it into the pan, usually all three.
"You chop." Cody handed you a chopping board.
"I'll cook."
"You don't trust me?"
"I trust you."
"You hesitated."
"I trust you with knives."
"But?"
"I don't trust you not to wander off halfway through."
"I've never done that." He simply looked at you. "...Recently."
"There it is."
You grinned, reaching for the peppers. The kitchen settled into its familiar rhythm. The gentle sizzle of onions hitting the pan. The steady tap of your knife against the chopping board. Music humming softly from the speaker on the windowsill. Neither of you spoke for a while. Not because there wasn't anything to say. Just because there didn't always have to be. You slid the chopped vegetables across the counter towards him. He smiled. "Perfect timing."
"I know."
He stirred everything together before reaching for the garlic. Without looking, he held the cloves out towards you. You took them automatically. Years together had taught you a quiet choreography. Neither of you needed instructions anymore. You simply... knew where the other would be. What they'd need next. "Can you—"
"Already doing it." You held up the garlic press.
He laughed. "I married a mind reader."
"You married someone who knows your cooking routine."
"Same thing."
You smiled to yourself. "...One more thing."
He looked up from the pan immediately. "I was wondering when it'd happen."
"I really love watching you cook."
He blinked. "You do?"
"Mhm."
"Why?"
You shrugged. "You always look so... focused."
"I am focused."
"I know."
"You make that face."
"What face?"
"The little one."
"I don't have a face."
"You absolutely do."
You scrunched your eyebrows together dramatically. "You get these tiny lines here." You reached up, gently brushing your fingertip between his brows. "And you start talking to the food."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
"I've never spoken to a vegetable in my life."
"Cody."
"What?"
"You just told the onions they were 'doing great.'"
He stared at you. "...Did I?"
"You did."
"I don't remember doing that."
"I know."
A laugh escaped him as he rubbed the back of his neck. "That's slightly embarrassing."
"I thought it was adorable."
"You did?"
"I married you, didn't I?"
His smile returned so easily it almost looked automatic. "You've got strange standards."
"I've got excellent standards."
He shook his head fondly before returning his attention to the stove. For approximately forty-five seconds. Then, "...One more thing." You smiled without even looking up from the herbs you were chopping. "I like that you always make enough."
You frowned. "Enough?"
"For tomorrow."
You glanced towards the saucepan. "I always make leftovers."
"I know."
"You've mentioned that before."
"I know." He stirred the sauce thoughtfully. "But I realised something today."
"What?"
"You never make enough because it's practical." You paused. He looked over at you. "You make enough because somewhere in your head..." His smile softened. "...you assume someone should always have a meal waiting for them." Your hands stopped moving. "I've watched you do it for years." He shrugged. "You don't even think about it, you just..." He gestured vaguely towards the saucepan. "...care."
You hadn't.
Thought about it, that was.
You simply always doubled recipes. Made extra portions. Kept containers in the freezer. It had never occurred to you that Cody had noticed. "I didn't realise you paid attention."
He looked genuinely confused. "My love..." He set the wooden spoon down. "I pay attention to everything you do." Your heart squeezed painfully against your ribs.
Before you could answer, a sharp smell drifted through the kitchen. You both froze. The garlic. "Oh no." You spun towards the pan just as Cody did. He reached it first, hurriedly stirring the slightly-too-brown garlic into the sauce before it crossed the line from toasted to burnt. You burst into laughter. "This is your fault."
"My fault?"
"You distracted me."
"You were the one complimenting me."
"You started it this morning."
"I did."
"You've been emotionally ambushing me all day."
He laughed so hard he had to steady himself against the counter. "I have not."
"You absolutely have."
"I regret nothing."
"I know you don't."
You reached for the wooden spoon. "Taste."
He obediently leaned down, taking the smallest bite. He hummed thoughtfully.
"What?"
"It's good."
"You hesitated."
"I was building suspense."
"Cody."
He smiled. "It's perfect."
You rolled your eyes. "Liar."
"I'm married to an excellent cook."
"You have to say that."
"I absolutely don't."
He stole another bite before you could stop him. "I choose to."
You sighed dramatically. "You are impossible."
"I've been told."
"By your wife."
"My very intelligent wife."
You pointed the wooden spoon at him. "Flattery isn't going to stop me noticing you stole another spoonful."
"It wasn't flattery." He smiled. "It was an observation."
And somehow you believed him.
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Dinner ended the way it usually did. With Cody insisting he'd wash up, with you insisting you'd cooked just as much as he had, with the two of you somehow ending up standing shoulder to shoulder at the sink anyway.
"You know this defeats the point."
"What does?"
"Arguing over who does the washing up."
"We're not arguing."
"We absolutely are."
"I'd call this a discussion."
"You've been trying to steal the sponge for three minutes."
"I have."
"And I've successfully defended it."
"I'll simply dry, then."
"You were going to dry anyway."
"I know."
You smiled to yourself as you passed him another plate. There was something strangely comforting about the routine. Wash. Pass it over. Dry. Put it away. It wasn't particularly exciting. It didn't need to be.
The conversation drifted easily between half-finished stories from your day, what Pharaoh had apparently done while you'd both been at work, and whether either of you had remembered to buy milk.
"You forgot."
"I absolutely didn't."
"You absolutely did."
"...I absolutely did."
"I'll get some tomorrow."
"I know."
When the last plate finally disappeared into the cupboard, Cody reached past you to switch the kitchen light off. "Living room?"
"Definitely."
The sofa had somehow become your place over the years. Not because it was especially comfortable, it wasn't. The cushions were beginning to lose their shape, and one corner still dipped slightly where Pharaoh insisted on sleeping every afternoon. You'd talked about replacing it more than once. Neither of you ever actually had.
It held too many evenings. Too many lazy Sunday mornings. Too many nights exactly like this one.
You settled into your usual corner before Cody disappeared briefly into the kitchen. He returned carrying two mugs. "Tea?"
"You remembered."
"I usually do."
He handed one to you before sitting close enough that your knees brushed. Not long after, that wasn't close enough anymore. Without either of you acknowledging it, he stretched one arm along the back of the sofa. You leaned naturally into his side. His arm settled around your shoulders, there, better. "What are we watching?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
"You picked."
"I know."
"So?"
"I wasn't paying attention."
You laughed.
"Then why did you put it on?"
"I wanted background noise."
"You don't actually care what's happening."
"Not remotely."
You looked at the television. Something dramatic appeared to be unfolding. Neither of you could have explained the plot if your lives depended on it.
Five minutes passed. Maybe ten. You couldn't have said. Your attention wandered between the television and the steady rise and fall of Cody's breathing beside you. His thumb traced absent-minded circles against your upper arm. The same slow pattern, over and over. You weren't entirely sure he realised he was doing it. "...One more thing." You smiled without taking your eyes off the screen. "I've run out."
You turned to look at him. "What?"
"I think I've officially told you every nice thing I can think of."
You gasped dramatically. "No."
"I have."
"You haven't."
"I genuinely have."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I've been complimenting you since seven this morning."
"You've barely scratched the surface."
He laughed quietly. "I don't know..."
"You've still got loads."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I promise you—" You interrupted him with a look. He sighed theatrically. "...Fine."
"I knew it."
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hm." You waited patiently. After nearly thirty seconds, his face brightened. "There it is."
"I knew you'd find one."
"I remembered."
"What is it?"
His smile softened. "I love how safe I feel with you."
The words landed differently from all the others. Quieter. More thoughtful.
You frowned ever so slightly. "Safe?"
He nodded. "I know people usually talk about feeling safe because someone protects them." He looked down at your intertwined hands. "But that's not what I mean." You stayed quiet, letting him find the words. "I mean..." He let out a small breath. "I never have to be anyone else when I'm with you."vYour heart squeezed. "You've seen me stressed." He counted softly against your fingers. "You've seen me frustrated, scared, exhausted, you've seen every version of me." He looked back at you. "And somehow..." His smile was almost shy. "...you've loved every single one."
Emotion caught unexpectedly in your throat. "Cody..."
"I don't think I tell you enough how much that means to me."
You reached up, resting your hand gently against his cheek. "You don't have to earn being loved."
"I know."
"I've never expected you to."
"I know."
"You don't have to be 'The American Nightmare.'" A tiny smile appeared. "You don't have to have all the answers, you don't have to be perfect, you just have to come home."
He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch. "I can do that."
"I know."
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The television continued talking quietly in the background. Outside, rain had started tapping softly against the windows. You smiled to yourself. "...One more thing."
He laughed into your hand. "I knew there'd be another."
"There always is."
"What is it?"
You brushed your thumb gently across his cheek. "I've never once doubted that I was loved." His eyes met yours. "Not for a second." You shrugged lightly. "You've made sure of that."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was full. Full of years. Of ordinary mornings. Late-night conversations. Airport goodbyes. Shared dinners. Countless tiny moments that, stitched together, had quietly become a life.
Cody smiled. "I think..." He leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. "...that's my favourite one you've said today."
You smiled back. "I was saving it."
"I noticed."
"I've still got one left."
He chuckled. "I don't believe you."
"You'll have to wait until bedtime."
"Oh?"
"Mhm."
He kissed the tip of your nose. "I'll be counting the minutes."
"You usually do."
"I know."
And for the first time all day neither of you felt the need to say anything else. There was still one more thing. But it could wait until the lights were out.
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The house had settled into its familiar nighttime rhythm. The television had long since switched itself off after neither of you had paid attention to it for nearly an hour. Even Pharaoh had given up trying to convince somebody to throw one last toy before bed, choosing instead to curl himself into a contented heap in his favourite corner of the living room.
You smiled down at him as you switched the downstairs lights off. "He gave up."
Cody glanced over your shoulder. "He'll pretend he wasn't asleep the second we move."
"Of course he will."
"He has a reputation to maintain."
You laughed quietly before reaching for Cody's hand. "Come on."
The two of you climbed the stairs together, your fingers still loosely intertwined. It had become one of those habits neither of you had ever consciously started. Somewhere along the line, walking through the house hand in hand had simply become... normal. By the time you reached the bedroom, Cody had already wandered towards his side of the wardrobe. "You stole another hoodie."
"I borrowed another hoodie."
"You've been borrowing that one since October."
"I haven't given it back yet."
"So..."
"So it's still borrowed."
He shook his head, smiling to himself. "I married a thief."
"You married someone with excellent taste."
"I did."
You disappeared into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed, returning a few minutes later to find Cody already sitting against the headboard, absently flicking through a book he clearly hadn't read a single page of. "You've been on that chapter for three days."
"I know."
"You like pretending."
"I do."
"You've read the same paragraph every night."
"It keeps me company."
"You could've just said you were waiting for me."
"I could've." He closed the book with a soft thud, placing it on the bedside table. "But this sounded more intellectual."
You laughed as you climbed into bed beside him. The mattress dipped beneath your weight. Almost automatically, Cody shifted closer. One arm wrapped around your waist. Your head settled against his shoulder. Neither of you had to think about it anymore. It was simply where you fit. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow across the room.
You let out a contented sigh. "This is my favourite part of the day."
Cody looked down at you. "Really?"
"Mhm."
"More than coffee?"
"Barely."
He laughed. "I'll take second place."
"It isn't second."
"Oh?"
"It's tied."
"I can live with that."
Silence settled comfortably around you. Not awkward. Not expectant. Just peaceful.
The kind of silence that only existed between two people who had long since realised they never needed to fill every empty space with conversation.
Eventually, Cody reached over and switched the lamp off. The bedroom softened into darkness. Only the faint orange glow from the streetlamp outside slipped between the curtains. You closed your eyes. Listened to the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Counted perhaps twenty seconds, maybe thirty.
Then, “Cody?"
He smiled before he'd even answered.
"There it is."
You laughed. "You knew."
"I've been waiting."
"Mhm."
"You promised me there was one left."
"There is."
He shifted slightly until he was facing you, even in the darkness. "What is it?"
You traced absent-minded circles against the back of his hand. "I don't think we've ever gone to sleep angry."
He was quiet for a moment. "No."
"Not once."
"We've been frustrated."
"We've disagreed."
"You've annoyed me."
"I've definitely annoyed you."
He smiled. "But no."
You nodded against his shoulder. "I was thinking about that today."
"What brought that on?"
"I don't know." You shrugged lightly. "I just realised..." You smiled softly. "...I really like that we've always chosen each other before we've chosen being right."
The room fell quiet again. When Cody finally spoke, his voice was gentler than before. "My dad used to tell me something."
You looked up. "What?"
"He used to say..." Cody paused, as though hearing the words exactly as they'd been spoken years before. "'Never assume you'll get another chance to say something kind.'" Your heart squeezed. "He'd say life has a funny way of reminding you that tomorrow isn't guaranteed." His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles. "I think..." He let out a small breath. "I carried that with me." You stayed quiet. "I've spent so much of my life travelling, so many airports, so many hotel rooms., so many mornings where I'd kiss you goodbye and think..." His smile was small. "...what if that's the last thing I ever say to my wife today?" Emotion tightened your throat. "So I decided a long time ago..." He looked at you in the darkness. "...that if I thought something kind..." His fingers squeezed yours gently. "...I'd say it."
You blinked quickly. "So that's why."
He nodded. "I never wanted there to be something I wished I'd told you."
Your eyes stung. "You know..." You whispered. "I think I've accidentally started doing the same thing."
"I noticed."
You laughed quietly. "I can't seem to stop."
"I hope you never do."
A comfortable silence stretched between you. Then "...One more thing."
He chuckled. "I wondered who was going first."
"I don't ever want you to wonder if you're loved."
His answer came so quickly it almost overlapped yours. "I never have."
You smiled. "Good."
"My turn?"
"Mhm."
He reached up, even in the darkness somehow finding your face with effortless certainty. "I don't ever want you wondering either."
"You've made that impossible."
"I'll keep making it impossible."
"You don't have to."
"I know." His forehead rested gently against yours. "But I want to."
You smiled, your eyes already beginning to grow heavy. “I love you."
"I love you too."
A few moments passed.
You thought that was it. Then, "My love?"
You laughed into the darkness. "What?"
"...One more thing."
"You promised there wasn't another."
"I lied."
"You did."
His smile was unmistakable, even though you couldn't properly see it. "I don't think..." He pressed one last kiss against your forehead. "...I'll ever run out."
You smiled so widely it almost hurt. "I don't think I will either."
The room fell quiet once more. This time, neither of you broke the silence. You simply lay there in the darkness, tucked safely into the arms of the person who had somehow turned an ordinary Tuesday into your favourite kind of love story. And somewhere between I love you and one more thing, you drifted off to sleep, already certain that tomorrow would bring another ordinary morning and another reason to remind each other just how loved you both were.
the text. tiffany stratton. language of love series.
tiffany stratton x girlfriend!reader
words of affirmation
The suitcase sat open on the bed, somehow looking twice as full as it had an hour earlier. You leaned against the bedroom door with your arms folded, watching Tiffany zip another jacket into the already overstuffed case before immediately unzipping it again. "I don't think that's going to fit," you said.
"It literally will."
"It literally won't."
She shot you an offended look over her shoulder. "You have absolutely no faith in me."
"I have faith in you," you corrected with a grin. "I don't have faith in the laws of physics."
"They're more like... suggestions."
You laughed quietly as she attempted to sit on top of the suitcase to force it closed. It worked for approximately three seconds before the zip protested and split back open just enough to undo all her hard work.
"There." She pointed triumphantly at it. "It closed."
"It reopened."
"It was closed."
"For a moment."
"Still counts."
You shook your head, crossing the room to help before she declared war on the poor suitcase. "Move."
She narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"
"I've watched you fight this thing for fifteen minutes."
"I was winning."
"You were absolutely not."
"You don't know that."
You gently pushed her aside, ignoring the dramatic gasp she let out as though you'd committed the greatest betrayal imaginable. Folding one hoodie slightly differently and shifting a pair of trainers to the opposite side was all it took before the zip slid effortlessly around the case. You looked up. "There."
Tiffany stared. "...I hate that."
"You should."
"I was literally about to do that."
"Mhm."
"I was."
"You definitely were."
She stepped forward anyway, wrapping both arms around your waist from behind before resting her chin against your shoulder. "I would've figured it out."
“Eventually”
"I don't like your attitude."
"I know."
"You should apologise."
"For what?"
"For doubting me."
You turned your head just enough to catch the exaggerated pout she was wearing. "I'm not apologising."
She sighed dramatically. "This relationship is so toxic for me."
"Oh, is it?"
"Mhm."
"You seem alright."
"I've suffered immensely."
You laughed again, reaching up to smooth a strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. "You're going to survive five days."
She wrinkled her nose. "I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."
Neither of you did. Tour weeks weren't exactly rare anymore. They'd figured out how to make the constant travel work months ago, settling into a rhythm of airports, FaceTimes, hotel rooms and hurried reunions whenever your schedules finally lined up again. It wasn't ideal. But it was yours. You stepped out of her hold so she could finally close the suitcase properly, and she immediately wandered over to your wardrobe instead. "...Tiffany."
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled one of your oversized hoodies from its hanger with suspicious confidence.
"Tiff."
"What?"
"That's mine."
"I know."
"So..."
"So..."
You watched as she folded it with absolutely no intention of putting it back.
"You already packed."
"I found room."
"You absolutely did not."
"I'll make room."
"You own hoodies."
"I own hoodies," she agreed. "I don't own your hoodie."
You laughed through your nose. "You stole my grey one last month."
"I borrowed it."
"You never gave it back."
"Because you looked so happy letting me keep it."
"I don't remember that."
"I do."
She tucked it neatly into the suitcase before you could stop her. "There."
"You know that's my favourite one."
"I know."
"You are unbelievable."
"I know." She smiled far too sweetly to feel even slightly guilty. "You smell nice."
"You can't steal my clothes because I smell nice."
"I absolutely can."
"No, you can't."
"I literally just did."
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop smiling despite yourself. "You are the worst."
"And yet..." She walked back over until there was barely any space left between you. "...you adore me."
"I tolerate you."
"Liar."
Her hands found yours automatically, fingers weaving together so naturally neither of you seemed to think about it anymore.
The apartment had fallen strangely quiet. The suitcase was packed. Her phone buzzed on the bedside table with another reminder that she should already be leaving if she wanted to beat traffic to the airport. Neither of you reached for it. Tiffany looked down at your joined hands before gently swinging them once. "I'll call you tonight."
"I know."
"And tomorrow."
"I know."
"And probably three more times before I actually go to sleep."
"I know."
"You sound thrilled."
"I am."
"You don't look thrilled."
You smiled softly. "I'm just going to miss you." The honesty slipped out before you could dress it up into something lighter.
Her expression softened immediately. "I'll miss you too."
"I know."
She leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before resting hers against yours. "Five days."
"It'll go quickly."
"It always does."
There was another buzz from her phone. She sighed. "I hate responsible people."
"You are responsible people."
"I know." She groaned. "It's exhausting."
You reached past her to pick up her phone before slipping it into the pocket of her jacket. "Come on."
She made absolutely no effort to move. Instead she wrapped both arms around you again, burying her face into your shoulder. "No."
"Tiff..."
"No."
"You have a flight."
"I've decided not to go."
"Oh?"
"Mhm."
"I'm sure WWE will understand."
"They should."
"They definitely won't."
"They'll survive."
You smiled into her hair. "You are so dramatic."
"I've been told." Eventually she let you go with the kind of exaggerated reluctance only Tiffany could pull off. You followed her downstairs, suitcase wheels clattering over every tiny crack in the pavement until the waiting car came into view. The driver climbed out to load her luggage into the boot while Tiffany lingered beside you instead. She took both of your hands again. "I'll text you when I land."
"You always do."
"I'll FaceTime tonight."
"You always do."
She tilted her head. "You make me sound predictable."
"You are predictable."
"I prefer reliable."
"I'll give you that."
She smiled, satisfied with the compromise. You squeezed her hands once before letting them slip away. "You'll be too busy to miss me anyway." The words left your mouth so casually you barely registered saying them. It was only after they landed that you noticed Tiffany's smile disappear. Not dramatically, just enough.
Her brows pulled together in the smallest frown. "What?"
"You'll be busy," you repeated with a shrug. "Shows, media, travelling..."
She looked at you for another second, almost like she was trying to work out whether you actually believed what you'd just said.
Then she stepped back into your space. "No."
You blinked. "No?"
"No." She reached up, brushing her thumb lightly across your cheek. "I'll be busy." Another gentle stroke of her thumb. "I'll also miss you." She smiled, softer now. "Those things aren't mutually exclusive."
You felt a small warmth spread through your chest despite yourself. "I know."
"I don't think you do."
Before you could answer, she leaned in and kissed you, slow enough to make the airport deadline worth risking, gentle enough to settle every frantic thought that had started bubbling beneath the surface the moment you'd watched her zip that suitcase shut. When she finally pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours one last time. "I'll see you in a couple weeks."
"You'd better."
"I always keep my promises."
The driver cleared his throat politely from beside the car. Tiffany sighed dramatically towards the sky. "He's ruining my moment."
You laughed. "I think he's trying to stop you missing your flight."
"Details." She squeezed your hand one final time before climbing into the back seat. You stood on the pavement until the car disappeared around the corner, lifting a hand when she waved through the window. Only once it had vanished completely did you turn back towards the apartment. The silence greeted you before you even unlocked the door. It was funny how somewhere could feel so much bigger after one person left.
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The apartment stayed quiet in a way you never quite got used to. Not empty. Just missing something. You noticed it most in the evenings, when there was no voice drifting in from another room, no half finished conversation carried through the walls, no blonde whirlwind stealing your blanket before claiming she'd been there first.
The first morning wasn't so bad. You woke up out of habit, reached for the other side of the bed, and smiled to yourself when your hand found nothing but cold sheets. Your phone was already waiting on the bedside table.
Tiff Landed!!
The hotel room is ugly.
Miss you already.
A second message arrived before you'd even opened the first.
Also they gave me weird tiny pillows.
You laughed quietly.
You Your priorities are incredible.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
I know. Call you later?
The first couple of days slipped by in the comfortable rhythm you'd built over months of travelling. Good morning texts, pictures of airport coffees, faceTimes from hotel rooms while Tiffany sat cross-legged on an unmade bed, still wearing half her gear because she'd been too excited to call you before changing. Sometimes she'd ramble about a match, sometimes you'd tell her about your day, sometimes neither of you said much at all.
Just having her there, even through a screen, was enough. It worked. Until it didn't.
Wednesday started with your laptop crashing. Not freezing, crashing, completely. You stared blankly at the black screen before trying the power button again, nothing. "...Seriously?"
After three increasingly desperate attempts, it finally flickered back to life. Only for the document you'd spent all morning working on to announce it couldn't be recovered.
You closed your eyes. It was fine, annoying. But fine, you'd rewrite it.
An hour later you knocked your coffee clean across the kitchen counter while reaching for your phone. The mug somehow missed everything except the notebook you'd been using. Dark liquid soaked through the pages almost immediately. "Oh, come on." You snatched it up far too late. The ink bled into soft grey streaks before your eyes, perfect.
By Thursday afternoon the rewritten work still wasn't finished because another email had landed asking for unexpected revisions. Nothing impossible. Just enough to push everything back. You rubbed your eyes at your desk, blinking away the ache beginning to build behind them. Your stomach growled. You glanced at the clock. Half past three. You'd forgotten lunch, again.
"I'll eat in a minute."
You didn't.
That evening Tiffany called while walking through the corridors of another hotel. The camera bounced with every step. "I swear every hallway looks exactly the same."
You smiled. "I think they buy them in bulk."
"They literally do." She pushed open her room door before dramatically collapsing backwards onto the bed. "I'm exhausted."
"You wrestled."
"I know."
"You travelled."
"I know."
"You've been awake since...?"
"Four."
"You should sleep."
"I wanted to talk to you."
Something warm settled in your chest. "I appreciate the sacrifice."
"I know you do." She propped her phone against a water bottle so both hands were free, immediately beginning the complicated process of removing enough bobby pins to qualify as a construction project. You watched her work and she watched you watching her. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You've got your thinking face."
"I don't have a thinking face."
"You absolutely do."
"I don't."
"You squint."
"I do not."
"You've literally been squinting at me for the last thirty seconds."
You hadn't even realised. Your expression softened into something closer to a smile. "I'm just tired."
"Mhm." She didn't sound convinced. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
"Just one of those weeks."
"What happened?"
You hesitated. "My laptop died."
She gasped dramatically. "No."
"I lost some work."
She frowned. "That sucks."
"I spilled coffee everywhere."
"Baby."
"And work's been a bit... annoying."
"You've eaten though?"
"...Yeah."
The lie came too quickly. Tiffany tilted her head. "You hesitated."
"I didn't."
"You literally did."
"I just had to think."
"You had to think whether you'd eaten lunch?"
You looked away from the screen. "...Maybe."
She sighed. "You forgot."
"Maybe."
"You definitely forgot."
"I got distracted."
"You always get distracted."
"I know."
There wasn't any judgement in her voice. Only concern. "You need to eat."
"I will."
"Now."
"I'll make something after we hang up."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She studied your face for another second before nodding. "Good."
The conversation drifted onto lighter things after that. Chelsea had accidentally locked herself out of her rental car. Someone had hidden one of Tiffany's boots before the show. Nick had somehow managed to keep a straight face through the entire thing. By the time you said goodnight, you genuinely felt lighter. That was the thing about Tiffany. She somehow made everything seem manageable simply by talking to you.
Friday morning started with doomscrolling. A mistake. You knew it was. Still, you found yourself lying in bed, absentmindedly flicking through social media before you'd even properly opened your eyes. One comment caught your attention. Then another, then another, most people were kind. They always were. But every now and then someone said something that lodged itself somewhere it shouldn't. It wasn't even particularly creative. Just dismissive. Questioning your work. Questioning why anyone cared. You knew better than to take strangers seriously, you closed the app.
Made breakfast, washed the dishes, started work.
And somehow the words followed you anyway.
That night Tiffany called from the airport. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail. No makeup, grey hoodie, she looked tired. Beautiful. But tired.
"There you are."
"There I was."
"I thought you'd abandoned me."
"I considered it."
"Rude." She smiled anyway. "What've you been up to?"
"Oh... not much."
"Work?"
"Mhm."
"How'd it go?"
"It got done."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic."
"I'm just tired."
"You've said that every day this week."
You looked down at your lap. "I guess I have."
She was quiet for a moment. Not awkwardly. Just thinking. "You sure you're okay?"
You nodded automatically. "I'm okay." It came so easily. The familiar answer. The safe answer. "I'm just looking forward to you coming home."
Her smile returned. "I'm looking forward to coming home too." A boarding announcement echoed through the terminal behind her. She grimaced. "That's me."
"Go."
"I don't want to."
"I know."
"I'll call you tomorrow?"
"You always do."
"I always will."
You smiled. "I know."
She blew you a kiss before the screen disappeared. You stared at the now-dark display for another few seconds before setting your phone beside you on the sofa. The apartment fell silent again.
For the first time all week the silence didn't just feel lonely.
It felt loud.
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You didn't expect the silence to bother you quite so much. By Saturday evening, you should have been used to it. You should have settled into the routine by now. Instead, the apartment seemed quieter than it had all week. The television filled the room with meaningless background noise while your laptop sat open on the coffee table in front of you, the cursor blinking patiently at the end of a sentence you'd rewritten four times.
You stared at it. Deleted it. Tried again. Deleted that too. Your phone buzzed. Without thinking, your hand reached for it.
Tiff Baby :(
You smiled despite yourself.
You Hi.
The typing bubble appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Flight got delayed.
You frowned.
Again?
Yep. Been sitting at the gate for nearly two hours.
You imagined her exactly as she always was during delays, legs tucked underneath herself in an airport chair, expensive headphones around her neck, complaining to absolutely anyone who would listen.
Poor you.
I know.
I'm incredibly brave.
You laughed quietly.
The bravest.
Three dots appeared. Then stopped. Then started again.
I was gonna FaceTime but the airport Wi-Fi keeps dying.
It's okay.
I'll call when I land.
You looked back towards the untouched document on your laptop.
Don't worry about it.
She replied almost instantly.
I always worry about it.
Before you could answer, another message arrived.
Actually...
Then another.
Give me a second.
You frowned. The typing bubble stayed there. Longer than normal. Long enough that you assumed she was being interrupted. Then your phone vibrated again. Not once. Three times. Four. Five. One enormous message filled your screen.
I know you've been saying you're okay all week. And maybe you are. But I also know you. So just in case your brain's being mean to you today, here's a few things I'd like to remind you of.
You blinked. Your thumb hovered over the screen. Then you kept reading.
You always make enough dinner for two, even when I'm away, because you say leftovers taste better than cooking twice. You apologise to tables when you walk into them. You still laugh at your own jokes before you've finished telling them. You remember everybody's birthdays without putting them in your calendar. You somehow know exactly where everything I lose is, even when I swear I've already looked there. You leave the last bite of dessert for me every single time. You don't even think about it anymore. You just do it.
Your chest tightened. The smile on your face had softened into something much smaller. Much more fragile.
The message continued.
You always stop to wave at dogs. You thank bus drivers. You still get excited when the moon looks particularly pretty. You make every hotel room feel less lonely just by answering the phone. You celebrate my wins like they're bigger than your own. You've never once made me feel like I had to earn being loved.
A lump settled stubbornly in your throat. You swallowed around it.
There was more. So much more.
Not generic compliments, Not things anyone could have written, Things Tiffany had noticed, tiny pieces of you that you'd never imagined anyone was paying attention to.
You make people feel important. You make me feel safe enough to be completely myself. You make ordinary days my favourite ones. Home stopped being a place a long time ago. Now it's just wherever you happen to be.
Your vision blurred, you blinked quickly. It didn't help.
The final few lines were shorter. Almost like she'd thought about them the longest.
I know you don't always see yourself the way I do. So until you can borrow my eyes.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you realised it had escaped. You laughed quietly at yourself, wiping it away with the sleeve of your hoodie. One last line waited at the bottom.
And tomorrow, if your brain starts lying to you again...
Read this again.
You stared at the screen. Read it again. Then immediately scrolled back to the top, slower this time. You pictured Tiffany sitting in a noisy airport terminal, surrounded by delayed flights and strangers rushing past, taking the time to type every single word.
No. Not type. You knew her. This wasn't something she'd thrown together while waiting to board. There was no way someone came up with details like you apologise to tables in five minutes. You could almost picture her adding to it over time. A note in her phone, a sentence here, another there. Every time she caught you doing something that made her smile. The thought made your chest ache.
Your phone buzzed again.
Tiff Don't overanalyse how long it took me to write that. Your eyebrows lifted. She knew you far too well. Another message appeared before you could reply.
Just let me love you, okay? ❤️
You looked back down at the message she'd sent. Then at the little heart sitting underneath it. For the first time all week the apartment didn't feel quite so empty.
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Sunday morning arrived quietly.
You woke before your alarm. For a few blissfully unaware seconds, everything felt normal. Then your eyes landed on the empty side of the bed, right. Another day. You reached for your phone almost on instinct. Not because there were any new notifications. Because you wanted to read it again. Your thumb found Tiffany's conversation without thinking. The message was still there, stretching far enough down the screen that the tiny "Read more" prompt had long since disappeared.
You started from the top. By the time you reached the end you realised your shoulders weren't sitting quite as high as they had when you'd woken up. The knot in your chest had loosened.
Only a little. But enough.
Enough was something.
The day didn't magically improve. Your laptop still chose the worst possible moments to freeze, work still demanded revisions you hadn't expected, the washing machine started making a noise that definitely hadn't been there before, life continued exactly as it always had. The only difference was now, whenever your thoughts started turning against you, you knew where to go.
Monday afternoon. Your inbox pinged. Another email. Another request for changes. You read the first sentence. Felt that familiar frustration creeping up your spine. Before your brain could finish constructing all the reasons why you weren't good enough your phone was already in your hand. One tap.
Tiff
You didn't even read the whole thing this time.
Your eyes landed halfway down.
You make people feel important.
You stared at the sentence for a few seconds.
Then locked your phone. Took a breath. Opened your laptop again. The revisions suddenly didn't feel quite so impossible.
Tuesday evening. The supermarket was busier than usual. Someone barged past your trolley without so much as an apology. You reached for the pasta sauce on the top shelf, knocking another jar sideways in the process. It shattered against the floor. The sharp crack echoed down the aisle. "Oh my God." Heat rushed into your face. "I'm so sorry."
An employee hurried over. "It's alright."
"I can help"
"It's okay."
"No, really, —"
The embarrassment settled heavily in your chest as you stepped back to let them clean it. You knew accidents happened. You knew they did. It didn't stop your brain from replaying the sound over and over as you wandered towards the checkout. By the time you reached your car, you'd convinced yourself everyone in the shop thought you were an inconvenience. You sat behind the steering wheel without starting the engine. Unlocked your phone. Scrolled. There it was.
You apologise to tables when you walk into them.
A tiny laugh escaped you.
You could almost hear Tiffany's voice saying it. Shaking her head. Smiling. The embarrassment melted away just enough for you to start the car.
Wednesday. You caught yourself smiling at a golden retriever outside a café. Its tail wagged furiously against the pavement while its owner struggled to untangle the lead from a bench. You waved without thinking. The dog barked happily. Halfway down the street, you stopped. Opened your phone.
You always stop to wave at dogs.
"...You're unbelievable."
A passer-by glanced at you curiously. You smiled to yourself and kept walking.
Thursday night. Sleep refused to come. You'd turned your pillow over twice, fluffed it. Moved to the other side of the bed. Checked the time far too many times. Eventually, with a sigh, you reached for your phone from the bedside table. The room glowed softly in the darkness.You didn't scroll this time. You knew exactly where your favourite sentence was.
Home stopped being a place a long time ago. Now it's just wherever you happen to be.
Your throat tightened. You missed her. God, you missed her. Not in the dramatic, all-consuming way films liked to portray. Just in all the little moments. The second mug staying in the cupboard, nobody stealing the duvet, nobody talking through whatever you were trying to watch, nobody absentmindedly humming while getting ready in the morning. The spaces she'd quietly filled before leaving had become impossible not to notice. You pressed the phone lightly against your chest. It wasn't the same. Of course it wasn't. But somehow it made the bed feel a little less empty.
By Friday afternoon, you realised something. You'd stopped opening the message because you were upset. Now you opened it because it made you smile because every sentence sounded exactly like Tiffany. You could hear the playful emphasis she'd put on certain words. Picture the little grin she'd have worn while writing others. It had become less like reading a text and more like borrowing a piece of her until she came home. When your phone buzzed with another notification from the same conversation, you smiled before you'd even looked.
Tiff Guess who's boarding their flight home?
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By the time you heard keys fumbling against the front door, you were already smiling. Not because the lock had actually opened. Because nobody else on earth managed to make unlocking a door sound quite so complicated. The handle rattled. "...Seriously?" A muffled huff came from the other side. "I literally live here."
You laughed, pushing yourself off the sofa just as the door finally swung open. "There she is."
"There I am." Tiffany stood in the doorway with one hand still on her suitcase, her hair slightly windswept from the journey home and a hoodie you'd seen disappear into her hanging from her shoulders, your hoodie. She looked exhausted, eyes a little heavier than usual. Travel bag slipping down one shoulder. But the second she saw you her entire face lit up. She barely gave herself time to let go of the suitcase before she crossed the hallway in quick strides and wrapped both arms around you. The hug was immediate, firm. The kind that squeezed every lonely evening of the past week into something much smaller. You buried your face against her shoulder, laughing quietly when she rocked the two of you from side to side. "I missed you."
"I know. I missed you more."
"You definitely didn't."
"I absolutely did."
"You've been surrounded by people all week."
She pulled back just enough to look at you. "And none of them were you."
You smiled. "I missed you too."
"I know." She leaned in, kissing you once. Then again. Then one more quick kiss to the tip of your nose. "I've decided," she announced, "tour is cancelled."
"Oh?"
"Mhm."
"You told WWE?"
"Not yet."
"I think they'll want a little more notice."
"They'll cope."
You laughed, reaching down to pull her suitcase fully inside before nudging the door shut with your foot. The apartment felt different already. Louder. Warmer. Like somebody had switched the lights on without actually touching them. Tiffany kicked her trainers off carelessly, letting them land somewhere in the general direction of the shoe rack without making even the slightest attempt to actually use it.
You noticed. "So we're still doing that?"
"What?"
"The shoes."
"They're near the shoe rack."
"They're in a different postcode."
"They know where they're supposed to be."
You shook your head. "I gave up trying to change you months ago."
"I know." She smiled proudly. "It's one of your better qualities."
You rolled your eyes. "Come here."
"I am here."
"Closer."
She obeyed immediately, slipping one hand into yours as naturally as breathing while you wandered together into the living room. Neither of you spoke for a while. You didn't need to. She flopped dramatically onto the sofa with an exhausted groan. "I'm never getting on another plane."
"You say that every trip."
"This time I mean it."
"Mhm."
"I do."
"You've got Smackdown in three days."
"...Don't ruin this for me."
You laughed, sitting beside her. For a few peaceful minutes, the only sounds were the hum of the fridge from the kitchen and Tiffany absentmindedly tracing lazy circles across the back of your hand with her thumb. She'd always done that, without thinking, without even realising. Your phone buzzed softly on the coffee table. You reached over to check it. A delivery notification. Nothing important. You unlocked the screen anyway before setting it back down. You didn't notice Tiffany watching.
"What?” You frowned. "My wallpaper?"
"No."
"My contact photo?"
"No."
You looked at the screen. "I don't know what you are looking at."
She leaned sideways, trying to peek properly. "You just opened our chat."
"I didn't."
"You literally did."
"I was checking a notification."
"Mhm." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "And somehow you accidentally ended up looking at me."
"I wasn't"
"You absolutely were."
Heat crept into your cheeks. "I wasn't."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"You've got the guilty face."
"I don't have a guilty face."
"You absolutely do." Before you could stop her, Tiffany leaned across your lap with surprising speed and snatched your phone from the coffee table.
"Tiff—"
"Evidence." She grinned triumphantly as she unlocked it with the passcode she'd known for months. "You trust me too much."
"I know."
She opened your messages. Found your conversation. Then she stopped smiling. Not because she'd found anything bad. Because the first thing she saw wasn't today's conversation. It was her message, still open, still sitting exactly where you'd left it before the delivery notification arrived. Her thumb hovered over the screen she could see where you'd highlighted little sections with heart reactions. One sentence had two, another had a crying emoji. There were tiny replies scattered underneath different paragraphs across the week.
You remembered that?
I love you.
Shut up.
❤️
You hadn't expected her to ever see them. She looked back up at you. "...Baby."
You suddenly found the pattern on the sofa cushion incredibly interesting. "What?"
"You've been... replying to it?"
"It felt weird not to."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You've read it again."
You scratched absentmindedly at the sleeve of your hoodie. "...Maybe."
She raised an eyebrow. "How many times?"
You hesitated. "...I don't know." She gave you a look. "...Twenty." Another look. "...Seven." Silence. "...Twenty-eight."
Tiffany laughed, not at you. Just softly like her heart had grown two sizes in the space of a few seconds. "You actually counted?"
"I stopped pretending I wasn't rereading it after about fifteen."
She looked down at the message again, then back at you. There was something wonderfully unfair about how easily she could make you feel seen. "You know," she said quietly, "I was hoping you'd read it twice."
You blinked. "Twice?"
"Mhm Not..." She glanced at the phone. "...twenty-eight."
You smiled sheepishly. "I had a rough week."
The laughter faded from her expression, replaced by something much softer. She reached over, lacing your fingers together. "I know."
It wasn't pity. It wasn't sadness. Just understanding. She'd known long before you'd admitted it.
The room settled into a comfortable silence. Your phone still rested between you, Tiffany's message filling the screen exactly as it had every day that week. Neither of you reached to lock it, neither of you needed to. Tiffany looked back down at it, smiling to herself as she scrolled through the reactions you'd left beneath different sentences. "You hearted the pasta one."
"It was cute."
"You cried at the hotel room one."
"I did."
"You laughed at the table one."
"...I did."
"And you replied 'shut up' to the dog one."
You covered your face with one hand. "I forgot I'd done that."
"I didn't." She nudged your shoulder with hers. "I was very offended."
"You absolutely were not."
"I recovered."
"Barely."
She laughed quietly before her eyes drifted back to the message. Her thumb brushed lightly over the screen. "You know..." She hesitated. "I didn't actually write this at the airport."
You looked at her. "I figured."
"You did?"
"There was no way you randomly remembered I apologise to furniture."
"Told you."
"Tables."
"Same thing."
"They're completely different."
"They're both objects."
You smiled, shaking your head. "What did you mean?"
She tucked one leg underneath herself on the sofa, turning until she was facing you properly. "I started it before I left."
"Before tour?"
She nodded. "Way before." Your eyebrows lifted. "I have a Notes app folder."
"You have a what?"
"A folder."
"Tiffany."
"What?"
"You have a folder?"
"I know how to use technology."
"I never said you didn't."
"You implied it."
"I absolutely did."
She reached for her phone from beside her bag, unlocked it, and held the screen out towards you. There, buried between shopping lists and gear ideas, sat a note simply titled: Things I Love About You ❤️
Your breath caught.
"You weren't supposed to see that."
"I don't think I was supposed to read it twenty-eight times either."
"Twenty-eight is still insane."
"I had free time."
"You absolutely did not." She smiled. "Every time you did something that made me smile..." She shrugged. "I wrote it down."
You looked back at the note. It was much longer than the message she'd sent. Far longer. Little bullet points, half-finished thoughts, tiny observations, dates beside some of them.
One simply read: Held my hand in the car because she knew I was nervous.
Another: Got excited because she saw a really fluffy pigeon.
Another: Fell asleep halfway through a film but still insisted they'd watched the ending.
You laughed through the sudden sting behind your eyes. "You've been collecting these."
"For months."
"Why?"
She looked at you as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because I never wanted to forget them."
The answer landed somewhere deep inside your chest. Not because it was elaborate. Because it wasn't. It was simple. Every tiny thing you'd convinced yourself was forgettable she'd been making a note of. You reached for her hand. "I don't think anyone's ever looked at me that closely before."
"They should." She squeezed your fingers. "They're missing out."
You laughed softly. "You know..." You glanced at the still-open message on your phone. "There were a few days this week where I really believed all the stupid things my brain was saying."
Her expression softened. "I figured."
"I almost believed them."
"Almost?"
You nodded. "Then I read this." You lifted the phone slightly. "Again." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "And again." She laughed. "And again."
"You've made your point."
"I don't think I have."
She watched you for a moment before reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm really glad you borrowed my eyes."
The words settled gently between you.
You thought about the week. About the empty apartment. The rewritten emails. The spilled coffee. The comments that had lingered far longer than they deserved. None of those things had disappeared. Life hadn't magically become easier. But every time your confidence had started to crack Tiffany had already left something there to hold it together.
You leaned forward until your forehead rested against hers. "I love you."
"I know." She smiled. "I love you too."
Outside, the evening carried on as it always did. Cars passed below the apartment windows, someone laughed somewhere out in the street, the world kept moving, inside, though, everything felt wonderfully still.
Your phone buzzed quietly on the coffee table. Another notification. Another email. You barely looked at it before turning the screen face down. It could wait.
Because for the first time all week, you didn't need to borrow Tiffany's eyes anymore.
She was home.
everyday i ask myself why the fuck i decided to do another degree.
writing this dissertation while it is 30 degrees in a country with no ac might actually be the end of me
