Sure, they weren't a tag team anymore, but that didn't mean you couldn't spare anymore. Sure, Cesaro was still rehabbing a little bit, buying time before he returned, but he still wanted to spar.
Which is why the Swiss man was flailing about in the Performance Center with his former tag partner, Jack Swagger. It was rather fun, stepping back into the ring together, forgetting their differences and blowing off steam. A small crowd of NXT talent and those even farther back in developmental had gathered, but they paid no mind.
If Cesaro was being honest with himself, however, he would have loved participating in anything with Jack because ever since they had rekindled their friendship, his feelings had become more than platonic. Without Zeb breathing down their necks, Antonio got to see more of Jack that was truly Jack. And he loved it. Loved the way Jack, who normally spoke slow and quiet in the presence of Zeb, grew more animated with his lisp more pronounced as something exciting or cool happened. Or the way Jack would always have a banana at every meal, let it be a ham sandwich or spaghetti or sushi. Or the fact that he'd always buy extra and shove the food off to Cesaro. Because food meant friendship, meant love and affection in Jack's language. He loved that Jack would flinch at the cheesiest of horror movies just as hard as he'd laughed at B minus comedy flicks.
Sure, Cesaro's smitten, but he's a professional and doesn't push Jack. Doesn't even know if the younger male is into men and decides that if friendship is all he can get, then he'll cherish every second of it. Which is why Antonio is rushing to Jack's aid, in an instant, cursing his reflexes for not being fast enough. Because at one moment the blonde is stepping out of the ring to climb down the steel steps, but in the next moment he's fallen face first onto the ground, having busted his nose open.
"What happened out there, Hoss?" Antonio's voice laced with concern as the trainer ices Jack's nose, informing him he's lucky he didn't break his nose.
Jack hesitated, a bizarre and almost guilty expression crossing his droopy blue eyes before he shakes his head. Cesaro had a silver tongue, however, and Jack was painfully and explicitly honest without a deceptive bone in his body. "I thought the step was, like…closer."
Well now Antonio is confused because Jack didn't have a habit of hallucinating, but he begins replaying back some of their sparring. He wasn't rusty, but something certainly was off with Jack. Overshooting or undershooting grapples, grabbing at an ankle that wasn't quite close enough. "Jack…?"
"Yeah?"
"When was the last time you had your eyes checked?"
The American shifts uncomfortably then, sliding the ice from his swollen nose and shooting Cesaro a rather pathetic look. "Er…5…maybe 8 years? Don't thee why that matters, Toni…what are you doing?"
Cesaro has his own phone out then, nimble fingers dialing quickly before the dial tone. "Making you an appointment for America's Best."