"Knock knock."
Tyler's stomach drops. He's done a great job of avoiding Johnny for the past few days, but he knew that eventually time would run out. Unfortunately, hiding from his tag team partner forever would definitely be frowned upon.
"What do you want?" He snaps. He turns arounds and picks at imaginary lint on his fluffy purple vest.
"We're up soon," Johnny says. He shifts around on his feet and clears his throat. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to me. I'm sure you have your reasons but you could at least have the decency to be polite."
"Whatever." Tyler simply wants the conversation to end. Focusing on his match is what's important right now, not personal drama. "Just don't fuck up in the ring and we'll see about me being polite."
"Enough with the bullshit, Tyler." Johnny clenches his jaw.
"Ex-cuse me?" Tyler scoffs and bows up to the other man. "I don't owe you anything, okay?" He jams his finger into the middle of Johnny's chest. "Nothing. You're nothing. It happened and it's over." He's seething now, face red hot and hands balled into fists. "Count your blessings and move on."
"Some fuckin' blessing."
This is awful. Beyond awful. Tyler didn't mean to start a fight but now he wants nothing more than to punch Johnny's perfect teeth down his throat. Instead, he smacks him hard across the face. The other man's jaw drops and he holds his hand to his cheek. He looks as though he wants to scream and cry and fight just as much as Tyler does, but there's also a profound sadness in his eyes—a look of genuine hurt. Apologizing is not in Tyler's nature. He hates how vulnerable and weak it makes him feel, but, goddamn it, Johnny looks so pitiful, like a dog who's been kicked, and it stirs something inside of him. Tyler swallows his pride and looks away sheepishly.
"Look, I'm sorry." The words are nearly impossible to spit out.
Johnny stares at him like he just fell from the sky. "You're sorry?"
"I'm not going to repeat myself," Tyler says. Once was more than enough.
"You're driving me crazy," Johnny says with a sigh. He shakes his head and rubs his temples. A smile tugs ever so slightly at his lips and it makes Tyler want to melt. Fuck this handsome man who just had to shove his way into Tyler's life. Sure, he'd been the one that decided to team up with R Truth against Goldango, therefore involving himself in Johnny's life, but Tyler doesn't like to overthink things. The point is, Johnny ended up right in front of him in all of his sexy, sparkling glory and it's both infuriating and wonderful at the same time. "Don't think for a second that I'm not still angry at you."
"Fair enough." Tyler crosses his arms and taps his foot impatiently. "Look, let's just go out there and show them what us pretty boys can do." Tyler says. He heads to the door but Johnny catches him by the wrist and pulls him back into a tight hug. Tyler's first instinct is to jerk away, but instead he shuts his eyes and leans into the other man.
Something that sounds vaguely like 'thank you' is mumbled into Tyler's hair and he can't help but grin. Stupid Name Johnny-Fandango-Whoever is going to be the death of him.
It takes all of twenty seconds after the bell rings for Tyler to end up in the corner—perfectly smooth ponytail now a thing of the past—with R Truth and Goldust both attacking him while he's down. Ten more seconds and his forehead's busted open and he's seeing red. Nobody fucks with his face and gets away with it. The rest of the match is a blur, partially because it's incredibly short lived, and partially because adrenaline is pulsing through his body. After a tag or two—that part he does remember—he pins Goldust and gets the win. When his music starts pumping, he rolls out of the ring and into Johnny's arms. The older man is all smiles and pulls Tyler in close as they walk up the ramp and out of the arena. He looks so proud, so happy. Tyler's chest feels like it's going to burst. God, winning feels fantastic after losing for so long. It's almost fantastic enough to make him forget about the extensive damage to his forehead. Almost.
Tyler screams as soon as they're out of earshot of any cameras. "Can you fucking believe this?" He points to the blood on his head and furrows his brows. He storms off with Johnny right on his heels.
"It's not that bad."
"Not that bad?I" Tyler kicks over a trash can that he passes, scattering paper across the floor.
"Get a hold of yourself," Johnny says, grabbing him by the shoulders and stopping him dead in his tracks. Tyler pouts. "It's just a little cut, alright? We'll go clean it off and you'll be fine."
Tyler grumbles and stomps into his dressing room. He studies his forehead in the mirror with a frown. Okay, maybe he is overreacting. He can't even really see a cut and the only blood is already dry and flaking off. Gross. He digs through his duffel bag and pulls out a small first aid kit. He more or less shoves it into Johnny's hands.
"I'm pretty sure you can manage to do this on your own," Johnny says, but it doesn't stop him from pulling out an alcohol pad, some Neosporin and a Band-Aid.
"Of course I can, but you're here so…fuck, that burns." Tyler hisses as Johnny wipes the cut clean.
"Tyler, I swear, you don't even need a bandage."
Tyler checks the mirror and has to agree. The cut's all but invisible. "Alright, fine, but if it busts open and I start looking like Stone Cold at 'Maina 13 it's all your fault."
Johnny laughs. "You're such a drama queen."
"Pretty rich coming from a man who's also wearing sparkles and has a tendency to turn everything into some shitty Dancing with the Stars reject scenario." He's not serious, for once, and he hopes that his tone conveys that.
"Oh yeah?" Johnny puts his hands on Tyler's hips and sways to a rhythm that only he can hear. "Don't act like you don't want to dance with me."
"Ugh, I don't dance." Tyler says, scrunching up his face. He catches himself though and stops immediately. Avoiding wrinkles is crucial."Party, sure, but no dancing." Tyler has been to more club openings and exclusive parties than he can count, but that always ends in him getting shit-faced and having drunken sex and passing out in an unknown bed, not dancing. He doesn't like the idea of being pressed up against so many sweaty people, most of them probably uggos.
"We're going to have to change that, then."
Tyler raises an eyebrow. "I don't think so."
"Where are you staying tonight?" Johnny asks, still holding on to Tyler as he continues to swivel back and forth.
"If I tell you will you quit that stupid hip shaking?"
Johnny stops himself and cocks his head to the side. "Yeah, I guess."
"I'll text you the directions." Tyler says, breaking away from Johnny to retrieve his cell phone. He types away and hits send. "There you go."
"Thanks." He smiles and kisses Tyler's cheek.
"This doesn't mean anything, you know." Tyler says. He needs to nip this in the bud before this continues. He doesn't want Johnny to have any expectations of sex or cuddling or anything remotely romantic. It's not romantic. This whole situation feels so strange. Tyler's not quite sure what he wants. After their last hotel encounter ended so uncomfortably, he's hesitant to even invite Johnny over for the night.
"I know." Johnny says. "We can just...hang out or something."
"Yeah, we can just hang out," Tyler echoes. Ugh, he hates himself. He knows exactly where this is going and it pisses him off to no end. He doesn't want to fuck. Well, okay, he kinda does, but he's so conflicted about it that it makes him feel sick. "I want to get out of here." He haphazardly shoves his belongings into his bag, not even bothering to change clothes.
"I'll walk you outside," Johnny says. Tyler starts to protest on his way out the door but Johnny's already right behind him. In the end, it ends up being a good thing as they encounter Golden Truth in the hallway. Johnny delivers a cheesy insult and Tyler laughs for the cameras before they continue on their way.
"The second we lose to those decrepit uggos, I'm leaving wrestling for good." Tyler spots his car in the lot and hits the unlock button. "Well, here we are." He shrugs and his eyes dart around anxiously. Why the fuck is he so anxious?
"I'll meet you at the hotel, then?" Johnny checks his phone, presumably looking at the directions.
"Yeah, just…" Tyler takes a deep breath. "Just come by whenever. I'll be awake."
"Right. Okay." Now it's Johnny who looks nervous. "I'll see you in a bit." There's so much tension and Tyler can't put his finger on the root cause of it. He probably could if he really thought about it, but that's something he definitely doesn't want to do at the moment. They exchange tight-lipped smiles before both turning away and going about their own business. Tyler throws his bag into the passenger side of his car and slams the door shut as he flops into the driver's seat. He sits, unblinking, for what seems like an eternity. His mind races with so many thoughts and, unfortunately, what seem like emotions. He feels so empty and hollow and his heart truly aches. Aches for something more than what he's willing to accept. He slumps forward against the steering wheel and lays his head down on it.
For the first time in ages, Tyler Breeze starts to cry.