Thinking about Hangman falling in love with Will Ospreay and not knowing what to do with that emotion or even be able to look at it directly so he folds it up into a teeny tiny box and hides it inside himself but lets it drive everything he does because then Will is still there.
Him looking directly into the camera and telling Will the title is waiting for him like it's an incantation that will guarantee Will comes back healthy and whole.
Hangman trying to be the champion and man Will believed he was, the kind of champion he thinks Will would be, because the worst thing that could ever happen is Will coming back and standing across the ring with disappointment in his eyes.
Hangman laying awake at night remembering Will catching his eye that time the Death Riders caught them both, how scared he'd been, and how Hangman had tried to signal to him that everything would be okay. Will had believed him. Hangman doesn't know why Will had believed him.
Hangman dreaming about being able to save Will, save him from the cage, from the Death Riders, from the DCF, from shadows he can't remember when he wakes up. Dreaming about throwing his body over Will's the way Will had for Kenny and Kenny had for him, being able to complete that chain and pay it all back. Dreaming about not feeling any of the blows raining down because all that matters is Will clinging onto him because even barely conscious Will knows Hangman will keep him safe. Dreaming about walking behind Will in the back after a match, maybe they were tagging, maybe the match was against each other, Hangman's never quite sure, seeing Will's legs buckle and catching him before he can fall. Will murmuring I'm all right cowboy, just...just give me a minute into the curve of Hangman's neck. Hangman letting Will lean all his weight against him until his legs steady, until his exhausted muscles stop trembling under Hangman's fingertips.
Hangman waking up from those dreams hard and not knowing why, there's nothing erotic about them, the hell is that all about, and then pointedly not thinking about it for the rest of the day.
Hangman passing someone who uses the same shampoo as Will, or the same cologne, and the wind shifting just enough to stop him in his tracks but not knowing why, just knowing he lost his train of thought all of a sudden.
Hangman having the stray memory of how well his hand fit around the back of Will's head and absently flexing his fingers to hold onto that thought as long as possible.
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