A/N: This pairing may sound weird. Like, really, really weird. But I came up with this ship earlier, and after talking it over with some cool friends on Tumblr, I realized how much sense it could make. Sun and moon, day and night; outgoing and outspoken social outcast encounters a lone wolf with a dark past. Plenty of room for development, right? So I'm taking it places. Let me know what y'all think.
It was just an act. All part of an act.
Baron Corbin stood proud and fulsome, unsmiling, beside the Andre the Giant memorial trophy. He absorbed the chants of "NXT! NXT! NXT!" shaking the chockfull arena. Listened to Cole and Co. express their interest in the superstar, congratulating his efforts and telling the story of a bright future. He could enjoy the moment, sure. Live there for now.
But he couldn't stay.
By the time this was over he'd revert to his brooding self.
It crept up on him even sooner than expected, as he towed the glimmering trophy with him backstage. Superstars he passed by were far too busy contemplating their own 'Mania matches, whether they were up and coming or long over. There was Kalisto, celebrating a victory over Ryback with his partner, Sin Cara. There was Dean Ambrose, talking it up with Roman Reigns about Triple H and Brock Lesnar and victory and defeat and, in Ambrose's words, "not enough blood." There were those damn Social Outcasts, hooting and hollering about "going viral"—mostly Slater, anyway. High-fives and hugs and back pats and butt slaps like this was a goddamn football game.
No congratulations for Baron Corbin. Anyone who touched him didn't mean to and wouldn't even apologize for bumping into him.
Why should he have expected anything different in these parts?
He was a loner in the NXT and he'd be a loner here.
That's the way the world worked.
That's the way he wanted it.
The locker room was overcrowded. Showers turning on and off, towels whipping, far more body parts of his fellow athletes than Baron cared to see. Noise and conversation and laughter and traded insults resonated off the walls, between the bays of lockers. It was madness here, pure madness. Not even NXT Takeover events had this much bedlam to them.
Can't you all just shut up?
His locker was naturally too small to store his trophy in, so he kept it close by, balancing it on a bench and waiting for clearance before hitting the shower. Not that he expected anyone to steal his prize. He'd tear the hair from the scalp of the man foolish enough to try.
No compliments. No welcomes. Not even a second glance.
Baron Corbin lifted gray eyes to all of them.
It was easier not to care.
One or two at a time, wrestlers filed out of the locker room. Peace obtainable at last. Evidently the Rock had some discourse prepared for his return to Wrestlemania and everyone was just thrilled to hear what he had to say.
Baron kneaded the taut skin of his bicep where he'd taken a hit early on in the battle royal. The area was tender but nothing he couldn't shake off. A bruised bone, at the very most. It took a lot to hurt a brute like Baron Corbin.
Quite a lot.
If he wanted, he could fool himself into thinking the pain had something, if only a little, to do with the burn marks on that same bicep. He could still envisage that particular discomfort as if they were seconds old and not years.
The tattoos concealed them.
Pain was meant to be forgotten, scars to heal. But this was his life now. Hurt came with the package. Absolute guarantee.
Cordial teasing between Dolph Ziggler and Sami Zayn resonated as the door creaked shut. He was alone again.
Baron Corbin undressed and, leaving his trophy unattended, stepped into a hot shower. The water was generous to his strained muscles. He took his time, rinsing off, letting water trickle from his matted locks. This is the way it should, and would be. He only needed himself.
Even if himself was an asshole sometimes.
He could still feel those burn marks. No amount of alleviation could distract from those.
Baron let himself soak for a long time before drawing out of heated, wet isolation. He shut the water off and tied his towel around his waist. Time to get the hell out of here. He'd had his 'Mania moment. He'd yelled and rejoiced and received the praise, but he hadn't smiled.
If he did, it hadn't really been intended. Or sincere.
Just an act. All part of an act.
Baron Corbin rounded the corner and, as pleasantly warm as he'd been just moments ago, froze in place.
He thought he'd been alone.
But Bo Dallas stood before his trophy, admiring it with a certain flicker in his eye—jealousy, perhaps?—still garbed in the singlet he'd worn in the battle royal. Bo moved those smiling eyes—even without lips, his eyes managed to somehow smile on their own, there was no other way to describe it—onto Baron's nearly-nude physique.
"Hi," Bo said, clasping his hands together. "Um, I didn't really get a chance to talk to you earlier, 'cause, y'know, we were fighting and stuff, but I wanted to welcome you to the WWE."
Baron didn't move. Couldn't if he wanted to. Bo was sort of in his way and he wasn't dropping his towel in front of the kid.
"Um," Bo said, filling the silence, "I know you probably already know who I am. But I thought it'd be kinda rude to just, y'know, let you walk on by and not say hi. So hi! Here I am."
Baron's lips parted as if to speak, but they pressed together. What the hell is he doing…? Why?
Bo's yearning to speak was unyielding. "I know you're from the NXT. And you're good. I've seen you fight, man, and you just rock it every time. I'm from the NXT too. Um, wasn't sure if you knew that or not. I know what it's like down there. Nice, right? Good people. Sorry, I'm rambling, uh…"
This was kind of adorable, in a pathetic way. But Baron still couldn't comprehend this. Of all the guys to talk to him tonight, for someone to actually welcome him to the business…Bo Dallas?
"Anyway." Bo Dallas tugged his hands apart, only to clap them together again before his face. His entire countenance was so damn bright. "I know you're drippy over here and probably want me to buzz off so you can get dressed. But I just wanted to introduce myself and say hi, welcome. So. Hi. Welcome. Oh, and congratulations on your win tonight. It was a tough match, but you made it through okay."
Amazingly, Bo Dallas lifted a hand towards Baron.
Baron stared it down like it was a snake.
Hospitality was a stranger.
Use your words, Corbin. Don't be a fucking idiot over here.
"Uh…" Baron tried.
Wow, you're exciting and interesting. No wonder everybody hates you, you dick.
Bo pressed his lips together, patiently waiting for an answer. One way or the other. Didn't matter. Let him in or shut him down, Corbin, but for God's sakes, stop standing here like a dumb asshole…
"Hi." The word alone strangled him. He forced another out past his constricted throat: "Thanks."
Bo lowered his hand before Baron considered shaking it. The light in his eyes had dwindled but it hadn't completely departed. Kid's too happy. It's annoying. I beat him tonight. I beat all of them.
But does that really make you better than all of them?, a separate voice accused. It was his own, yet different somehow. More disdainful. That voice judged him a lot.
The door squeaked and the head of Heath Slater poked inside. "Yo, Bo, you comin'?"
Ah. Of course. Even little Bo Peep had his posse to tend to.
"Yeah, in a minute," Bo answered him.
In a minute? The hell was that "minute" supposed to contain? Baron sure wasn't sticking around for another second of his…his…weird niceness thing going on, let alone for sixty of them.
Screw it. Baron heaved past Bo and yanked his locker open, retrieving his clothes in a handful. He refused to make contact with those smiling eyes of Bo's again. They made him feel uncomfortable as all hell. Baron stormed back towards the showers and hid himself away in a stall, hoping Bo would be gone by the time he emerged, fully clothed.
He was.
Baron was alone, yet again.
The way it should have been.
And Bo hadn't swiped Baron's trophy. Smart kid. He'd been eyeballing it pretty hard but he made the right call.
Baron set a hand atop his prize, atop Andre's obviously disproportional head. At the end of the day, the end of his 'Mania moment…what was this, really? What was the trophy?
Just metal and paint.
What was his life?
Just guaranteed hurt.
As for Bo Dallas?
Baron could only shake his head. Confusion bleached to insight. He was just like the rest of them. Haughty and loud and stupid.
And yet…
Baron's head tremored again. No. No "and yet." Bo Dallas was just another guy. He wasn't different. Weird, yes, but no different.
Maybe that kindness was just an act, too.
Fine then. Let him act his ass off.
Baron Corbin was the lone wolf and damn if it wasn't going to stay that way.
