୨ৎ .ᐟ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 ── booker t.
. ݁₊ ⊹ plot: you and booker t have been at each other’s throats in the locker room, trading barbs before every show. one night after another round of teasing, booker helps you carry a fuck ton of things you were struggling with, because you just had to be so independent. you huff, “you make it really hard to hate you.” and he just smirks.
. ݁₊ ⊹ notes: if you told me in my fanfic life that i would be writing for BOOKER T, i’d probably call you stupid. but here i am and i’m honestly glad it was requested by an anon for the 100 follower event!!! hope they like it!
the locker room had long since emptied, the chatter and footsteps fading into the bowels of the arena. only you lingered, really, trying to wrestle your life into your arms at once: a rolling suitcase stuffed with gear, a gym bag slung over one shoulder, your jacket half slipping off, and a takeout container balanced precariously on top of it all. also, a cup of soda wobbled in your hand, threatening disaster with every step.
“you tryna juggle the whole damn arena, or what?”, booker’s voice carried from the doorway of the open locker room door, smooth and smug. he leaned against the frame like he had all night to watch you struggle, towel hanging loose around his neck, that grin of his cutting across the dark light.
you shot him a scowl sharp enough to pierce. “better than sitting around running your mouth all day.”, you hissed, your drink sloshing dangerously as you adjusted your grip.
booker pushed off the doorframe, strolling over with his natural unhurried swagger that only made your irritation spike higher. before you could protest, he plucked your rolling suitcase right out of your hand. “you’re a disaster waitin’ to happen.”, he said, wheeling it effortlessly out the door and down the hall.
“hey! i… i didn’t ask you to do that!!”, you snapped, hurrying after him with your drink and gym bag still clutched stubbornly.
“yeah, well, i ain’t askin’ either.”, he fired back, grin widening, clearly enjoying himself. your footsteps echoed together as you walked, banter ping-ponging between them like always. you tried to land your usual sharp jabs, but the edge softened with each laugh that slipped through. booker glanced at you, voice dipping low. “girl, you’d run yourself into the ground just to prove a point.”
the words caught you off guard, slicing through the teasing with something disarmingly genuine. before you could stop yourself, the truth tumbled out: “you make it really hard to hate you.”
booker slowed, smirk carving deeper as he turned his head to catch your flustered face. “that’s ‘cause you don’t hate me, sucka.” he chuckled, shaking his head. you groaned, rolling your eyes, but the laugh that broke from you gave you away. the banter continued, lighter now, buzzing with something new.