"I can't believe you did that." Marlena said, puffing on her cigar and with an exasperated expression upon her face while seated on her chair, looking at Goldust, who was pretty much curled up on the couch, arms crossed in front of his chest and face all scrunched up in a grumpy expression.
"What were you expecting to happen? That he would dip you in his arms and go for a kiss?" Marlena scoffed, running her fingers through her hair. Honestly, she had no idea what Goldust was even trying to accomplish with what he did just a couple hours earlier.
"I'm aware I did not think this through, thank you very much." Goldust said bitterly, reaching for the long cigarette holder resting on top of the small table near the couch, lighting up the cigarette on the tip and taking a long, deep drag.
"Alright, but you still didn't tell me what your plan was." Marlena said as she watched Goldust throw a fit.
"I don't know. I was just tired of waiting around. I mean, I didn't expect anything, but to have a door closed right on my face without a word! I never felt so insulted in my entire life… Who does that?" Goldust tapped his foot on the floor impatiently, taking a couple quick drags from his cigarette. "What's his problem? What is he? Some kind of animal?"
"Well, it is your fault for falling in love with someone so dry and dull." Marlena commented, and saw Goldust choke on smoke.
"I am not in love! How many times do I have to say that?" Goldust got up, and began pacing around the hotel room. He also didn't appreciate Marlena calling Undertaker dull, since he was everything but that, but let it slide. "I was just looking to have some fun. But how can I have fun when I can't even start a conversation?" He stammered off some more, taking more drags from his cigarette… but no smoke was coming. "Oh, what's wrong with this thing now?"
"Baby, you already burned through your cigarette in less than a minute. I think you need to go take a bath and calm down." Marlena suggested, leaning back on her chair.
Goldust sighed heavily, putting down the cigarette holder back on the table. "You are right. You are right. I must calm myself." He took a long, deep breath, a hand on top of his chest. "Would you like to accompany me, my dear?"
"Would love to, but I think you need some time off on your own to think about what you did." Marlena said, and smiled in amusement when Goldust rolled his eyes at her.
"Time off? Thinking about what I did? What am I? Ten?" He asked, hands on his waist.
"Based on your little outburst just now, yes." Marlena teased, and got a grunt in reply.
With that, Goldust went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a small click.
He took another deep breath, and walked up to the somewhat small bathtub inside the room, plugging the drain and opening the faucets to get the water running.
For a long moment, he just sat on the edge of the tub, looking down at the water filling it. He was absolutely angry, in ways he had never been before. He had his advances shot down before but… there was something inherently different about being rejected this time around. Was it because he considered Undertaker such a high prize that having no perspective of attaining it made his blood boil? Was he really so not used to not getting what he wanted he considered Undertaker's behavior to be atrocious, at best?
He sighed lightly, finally getting up to take off his robe, hanging it on a nearby hook. He kicked off his boots and took off his gloves, before sliding out of his jumpsuit and almost carelessly tossing it on the floor. He moved his hand to take off his wig, but stopped midway, and decided not to.
As soon as the tub was full, he dropped some salts in it before entering, letting the warm water envelop him.
For the longest time, Goldust just sat there, looking down at his own lap submerged in water, breathing in the soft perfume of the salts, trying his best to relax.
He hated losing his temper like that. But honestly, Undertaker was testing him with all that stalling. There was shyness and then there was whatever the other man was doing. Or maybe he was reading things all wrong? Maybe Undertaker was just harboring resentment towards him and those glances were nothing more but the deadman trying to intimidate him. It could very well be it.
And if that was the case then Goldust's plan backfired beautifully and, in retrospect, maybe coming on to him like that since day one wasn't such a great idea after all. He should have known trying to be upfront with a guy like that would end in disaster.
He sighed and shook his head, getting a handful of water and throwing it on his face.
C'mon, Goldie, get a goddamn grip! He thought to himself, washing off some of the make up on his face, tinting the water in black and gold. This is not a disaster.
And even if it was, he was going to try and find a way to salvage it. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, now he blew everything in the worst way possible by confronting Undertaker and getting absolutely no feedback, but by God, he was going to do it. After all, Undertaker didn't straight up say "no" to him... right? So maybe he still had a chance?
It was being real hard to keep a positive attitude about the entire situation, but he wasn't going to allow himself to quit. It was bad enough he got his confidence taken down a few pegs, he wasn't going to let his determination go down the same path.
Undertaker wanted subtle? Goldust could do subtle.
After all, he was a very good actor, wasn't he?
In the meantime, Undertaker was dealing with his own share of conflict. Thankfully, he was able to keep a very neutral facade in front of Bearer, even after all the stuff Goldust said to him, which was good, because the last thing he needed to top it all off was a long lecture into the night about how "vile" the other man was. Undertaker gotten it the first thirty times Paul told him that.
And now, as Bearer slept on his bed at their shared hotel room, he sat at the small desk in it, looking at an almost muted television set which was tuned into some old movie Undertaker was barely paying attention to. He thought it was a little stupid how he was more or less watching a movie while trying to avoid thinking about a man who did them for a living.
Maybe he was setting himself up for trouble after all.
His fingers tapped on the desk softly, and the only thing cutting through the silence was an occasional snore from Paul. Undertaker didn't mind the noise though. It wasn't like he actually needed sleep ever since he became what he was now. Sometimes he did need to rest though, but he found much better repose in caskets than on beds.
But bed or not, he wasn't going to be able to rest either way. Not with his brain firing up thought after thought like it was. He leaned back on his seat, eyes still on the television screen.
Making eyes at him... Was Undertaker really doing that? Was he really looking at Goldust a certain way that made it look like he was trying to... flirt with him, of all things?
Undertaker found that unlikely. Unfortunately, it didn't change the fact he was now thinking about it. Did he... was he developing feelings without realizing? It wasn't like he would be able to tell, considering how he spent almost his entire life going out of his way to avoid contact with others, and the very few people he associated with, which weren't dead, were more familial figures than anything else.
Up to that point, the only two people he created actual bonds with were Brother Love and Bearer. But Love had gone down an endless spiral of religious fanaticism Undertaker wanted to have nothing to do with, so they grew apart until their paths completely diverged and he didn't hear from the man again.
As for Paul, he was the only thing still connecting Undertaker to his past, so it was a dead giveaway he would form a bond with the shorter man, like it or not.
And by isolating himself in such way, he admitted he wasn't exactly the best at reading his own emotions, let alone the emotions of others. Dead people don't show emotions. They are just empty shells and, admittedly, a lot easier to deal with.
But, in the wild possibility he was developing feelings, what was he supposed to do about those anyway? How would he ever be able to "drop a hint", as Goldust so eloquently put a few hours prior? He honestly had no idea, and to make matters worse, he had no one to consult about the matter. Not that he would even if he had. Relying on others was never his thing.
How long could he go on with it though? Shoving things to the back of his mind and hoping they would disappear on their own? Because that worked so well up until that point, right? It wasn't like he was circling around the same thoughts over and over for the past month or so.
Undertaker groaned, turning off the television set and sitting there in almost pitch blackness, wasn't for the small lampshade on the bedside table near the corner of the room.
The following morning, Bearer found Undertaker still sitting on that chair, looking out the window. He considered asking if the other stayed up all night, but the answer was rather obvious. Instead, he chose to ask if Undertaker was feeling alright, and got just a nod in response. Just how many times had he asked Undertaker if he was OK the last few weeks? A whole lot more than usual, that much he could tell, which in itself was rather odd. After all, Undertaker had very predictable and patterned habits outside the ring – and sometimes inside the ring too. It wasn't like him to behave in ways that differed from his usual routine.
Still, even though Paul was sure something was amiss, he decided not to pry for answers to his questions. He was sure he wouldn't like them. Specially with that golden freak preying upon Undertaker.
As for Goldust, his night wasn't exactly peaceful either. He hardly got any sleep, and shifted in bed a lot more than he usually did. And because of that Marlena didn't get any sleep either, which made her consider getting them separate beds the following weeks.
The bath only partially helped to rest his head, because even though he somewhat figured out the source of the problem with his approach, and even though he was an excellent actor, just what kind of "part" was he supposed to play anyway? He never liked resorting to improvising.
An idea did occur him during his stirring, but it was so absurd he couldn't believe he actually came up with it. It was a lot more subtle than talking face to face, but still rather crazy.
Although, Goldust couldn't remember when was the last time he wasn't at least a little crazy.
During that night's event, when Undertaker found himself on his own inside his locker room, because Bearer left screaming about something related to Mankind he didn't bother paying attention to, he heard a sound similar to that of a piece of paper being scraped against the floor. He moved his head to look at the door, his gaze dropping down to find a note near it.
He slowly got up, walking up to the paper and crouching down to grab it. When he unfolded it, he found some words scribbled on it in a rather fancy handwriting.
Would talking through the phone get your tongue a little more loose? Give me the number to your room through the door so we can talk~
Undertaker looked at the paper, then at the door, than back to the paper, blinking a few times. It didn't take a genius to know who slipped that thing under his door. He raised a hand to turn the knob and confront Goldust, but stopped midway. He looked at the note once more, contemplating the idea for a moment.
Goldust was very persistent, Undertaker would give him that. After all, trying to approach him a second time after being shot down just the day before was a little admirable.
In one hand, he didn't want to talk to Goldust. At all. But on the other hand, what if actually having a conversation could help clear his mind from those persistent thoughts and ideas that kept coming around?
It wasn't something he wanted, but maybe it was something he needed.
He walked to the other side of the room, grabbing a pen from the table and writing the number on the back of the paper that was on his hand, along with the hours he assumed Bearer wouldn't be in the room. He didn't want to explain why they were getting calls. Or who was calling.
Undertaker took a look at the note one more time, sighing heavily to himself. What in God's name was he doing? Shouldn't he just write a big "no" on that paper and never speak of that ever again?
Still, he went on with it. And when he finally slipped the paper under the door it was when he realized just how silly and childish the entire thing was.
And it wasn't like Goldust was finding the situation any more dignified. What was that he told Marlena? That he wasn't a high school kid with a crush? Well, he sure was acting just like one, slipping notes under doors and getting strangely excited about getting someone's number. With so many roles to pick, he had to choose that one.
Still, there was no disguising the clear spring on his step and the smile on his lips as he walked back to his own locker room, stuffing the note into one of the pockets of his robe.