if you think you've seen this before ... welcome! you have! the original, full version of this is over on ao3! but if you're exclusive to ffnet, i figured i'd get my annual validation and Ego Boost(TM) and throw this over here, too. plus ... do you smell that? a smell. a kind of smelly smell. a smelly smell that smells... LIKE A SEQUEL! AHHHH! c:

prepare for the longest slowburn of your lives. :D

cover image by yarnshoes on tumblr. please give him a follow if ya can!

-Cookie

Roman Reigns has always been the kind of guy who knows where he's going and how he's going to get there; son of NFL Hall of Famer-turned-business-tycoon Sika and his wife Lisa, a social worker for the state of Florida, success flows through his veins, from his good grades to his time on the football field. He's magic on the field, whether he's running at a player to take them down to prevent a score or simply giving orders from the sidelines, he's a leader through and through. Spitting image of his father, who oozes charisma and strength with a dash of intimidating, though his mother's easygoing, kind personality takes him down a bit.

Admittedly, he's kind of a mama's boy, but that only means he's got a good streak a mile-and-a-half wide. Comes in handy when he's still trying to figure out what social life he's got.

As a football player, there's an image he has to uphold. He shows it on the field, where he's son of Sika, defensive-tackle Roman 'Big Dog' Reigns, 235-pounds of steel, determined to never, ever break.

But he isn't just 'son of Sika', Roman Reigns. He's not just a defensive tackle with a knack for hurting people. Underneath his jersey and football gear, he's just a 17-year-old guy who likes football, playing video games, and hanging out with his buddies.

People forget that, sometimes.

Sometimes he does, too.

That's why it was nice that he had people like his cousins, Jimmy and Jey, to drag him out of the house and to force him to ease up on his training regimen before the team's first home game at the end of the week.

And he was totally ... totally ... grateful.

"C'mon, uce, it's not that bad. An hour won't kill you."

Roman levels a look at his cousin, Jimmy, dark eyebrows knit in frustration. "Might not kill me, but it's sure as hell gonna annoy me. Parties ain't my thing, so explain to me again how this is supposed to help me?"

Jimmy, with a big grin on his face - he must have known Roman would say something like that - just says, "Between Uncle Sika and you, I swear, it's like the word 'fun' was ripped outta your vocabulary. Just trust me!"

He could do that. Begrudgingly, but he could.

"Fine. An hour."

Jimmy led Roman into the estate of their class president John Cena, where music bopped against the painted walls and the smell of the grill in the back overrode every instinct in Roman's body to turn back. Teenagers were scattered everywhere throughout the first floor, that Roman could see, from the front hallway to the living room, the kitchen, all spilling outside to the back patio. Already, he could feel the pressure locked between his shoulders ease and the stubborn square of his shoulders dissipate.

"Hey-hey, Big Dog!"

Roman turns around at the voice, hand already poised in a handshake as Mojo Rawley, one of his teammates, comes up from behind him to clap his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Mojo."

"Wow, I can't believe you actually got him to come," that was to Jimmy, who's beaming under the attention, and Roman can't help but sigh - it might just be high school football to some people, but to him, his father, it's much more, and he really has to buckle down and take it seriously if he wants to pursue it professionally. In fact, that's all he had ever wanted. "Rome, bro, it is so good to see you in normal clothes. Sometimes, I swear all you wear is your gear."

Roman looks down at himself: he's wearing a white tee shirt, fitted to his thin body and muscular chest and shoulders, and a pair of basketball shorts. It's what he wears mostly for working out, which is what he'd been getting ready to do before the Usos dragged him away from his in-home gym. But he doesn't look too bad in this, and he looks back up and rubs behind his neck, feeling embarrassed for some reason. "It's nice to see you too."

A lot of Roman's attention is held by Mojo, who proceeds to pull him through the Cena estate, showing him where the rest of the football guys are hanging out - near the pool, as expected, though some are still scattered around the house - and filling him in on the 'who is' and 'what is' that had managed to happen between that day at school and now.

Apparently, an injury bug was going around, with a couple of guys on the team tearing ligaments and another with a sprained wrist. Nothing that needed surgery, thank god, but something he needed to keep his eye on.

Once he got comfortable in a lounge chair next to some of his teammates, one hour turned to two, and before he knew it, he was knee-deep in conversation. It helped that the topic was mostly football, and when the topic changed, he could let his attention taper off.

Not that he didn't care about his teammates' personal lives, because of course he did. He'd just rather not hear about the sex they had or this week's rumors about who knew what.

When two hours turn to three, he feels his phone ring.

Getting up, he heads into the house, and as he reaches for his phone in his pocket, he bumps his elbow on the railing of the staircase leading up to the second floor. Swinging around it and heading up the stairs, he looks at it.

Thank God it was his mother.

"Hey, Mom."

"Roman, where are you?"

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he stands up straighter; there weren't many he would bother to lie to, but one he would never lie to is his mother. Of course, he's not about to tell her that he's at a party, either. "I'm with Jimmy and Jey. They dragged me out of the house again."

"Those boys!" his mother laughs, and Roman feels himself relax. "Sometimes I think they do it more to annoy your father than to save you. Are you having a good time?"

"Yeah, somewhat. Sorry I didn't say anything. I told them an hour tops."

His mother hums thoughtfully. "Well, in any case, it's almost supper time. You coming home soon?"

He hadn't noticed he'd turned into a room, never mind that it was presumably Cena's bedroom, but he quickly walks out of it and walks over to the window in the hallway, glancing out it; Jimmy and Jey are now standing at the grill, telling a story or singing, he's not sure which, but he can plainly see they're having a good time doing it. Doesn't want to put an end to their fun, but he doesn't really want to have to come up with a lie to his father as to where he was and why he hadn't been training.

Clearing his throat, he walks back down the stairs. "Yeah, I'll be there." Hopefully someone can give me a ride. "See you in a few."

"Goodbye, dear- oh! While you're out, can you get some more coconut milk?"

"Yeah, sure."

As he comes down the stairs, shoving his phone in his pocket on the way, he feels something settle in his gut; he might have griped about it when he first got here, but being able to unwind after a couple of weeks of nonstop training - breaks in-between for school and sleep, of course - had actually felt pretty good, had helped him relax a little bit. Not that he didn't have fun, but he certainly didn't have other people that were willing to face his father's wrath in exchange for a break quite like his cousins. Loves them like hell for it.

Swinging his body back around the railing and headed back toward the back patio, he feels a nervous thrumming under his fingertips; Roman was anything but mean, but somehow it felt like he was doing some sort of injustice by tearing one of his cousins away from the party just to take him back home. They never complain or anything, it wasn't like that, but he knew they thrived around people and brought the party-person out of everyone.

When he gets outside, Jey is already headed in his direction.

"Hey, cos, you gotta go?"

"Yeah. Mom just called me. I can walk home, though, it ain't that far - plus she wants me to stop by the store."

"Gotcha." Meeting Roman in a high five then pulling him into a hug, Jey digs little play-punches into his arm. "Don't push yourself too hard, uce, okay? Jimmy might be a li'l impulsive sometimes-"

"Sometimes?" Roman raises his eyebrow.

"-okay, most times. Look, he might be nuts, but he cares about you. We both don't wanna see you burn out. Football's your dream, but treat it like a job, all serious 'n shit, and you will. You can still enjoy it like we used to."

Roman nods.

"I'll drive you home," Jey says.

"Thanks, uce."

Normal for Roman is dinner at 6pm every night, whether it was his mother cooking a delicious Italian meal or his father taking the reins and cooking a Samoan delicacy. Whatever it was, he ate it after grace and then, after he was finished, he helped his mother clean up the kitchen. Taking as long as possible, because what awaited him up in his room was the cruelest thing ever to a kid in school.

Homework.

It was still early in the year, so he didn't have a lot, but he usually got around to it at about 7pm, muscles weighted after football practice and stomach full from dinner. It doesn't take him long to finish his homework, but it takes him a while to start, because he can't seem to put his phone down.

Normal.

It's about 10pm, maybe a little after, when he finally starts getting ready for bed. He undresses and redresses into his sleep shorts - he's a hot sleeper, no matter the weather, so he wears as little clothes as possible without sleeping naked - and goes to the window to open it, the screen behind it letting in some of the cool Pensacola breeze, carrying salt from the ocean and the smell of dying bonfires. He loves his little beach town, and is reminded why at night, as he gazes across the street at the expanse of water reflecting the night sky back at itself.

Normal is quietly scuffling back to his bed, peeling off the comforter and sheet, but only draping the sheet back on his person. Normal is scrolling through his phone at texts he'd missed and grinning at ones he hadn't, before he decides at around 11pm that he's tired enough to stay asleep.

For the next few days until his football game, it'll be normal, just like today. After that, however, will be anything but normal.

But Roman ... as he sleeps restfully, blissfully unaware ... he doesn't know it yet.