good girl
'cause i don't need them anymore

[summary]

Truth and lies, and blurry nights.

[beginning note]

Remember what I said about messing with the timeline? Yeah, forgot to mention that Bayley's still champion during and after the draft, and she loses it during Takeover: Brooklyn II, that's when she first faints to the Asuka lock. This will coincide with Finn winning the Universal title in Summerslam, but we'll get to that later down the line. I'm sure there'll be a lot more for me to change-up in the near future, but I'll mention them as they come.

Bayley's eyes snap open—like waking up from a nightmare in cold sweat. Only this time, it's worse—much, much worse. Breathing hard and desperate, she turns slowly to her side, getting a face full of dark brown—almost black—matte hair, covered in sweat, alcohol and bad decisions. She jerks away, hitting the back of her head against the tinted glass window, barely open to let the barest of light and oxygen in. God, she needs more air. Looking down, she realizes that she's not entirely naked, which is a good sign. To be fair, neither is he. They both have their bottoms on, and her bra haphazardly thrown on top of her breasts. She's not sure if they were dumb enough to do it but smart enough to dress themselves up before falling asleep, or if they just never crossed the line at all. It doesn't matter, she thinks to herself. Because they still kissed, and they still probably dry humped each other in the back of her car. Shit like that irrevocably breaks friendships.

She picks up her clothes, strewn across the seat and floor, trying to understand how she got to this point. She doesn't remember drinking that much—she swears it was just one drink. Then again, she can hardly recall if she and Finn did in fact have sex so really, who's to say how much she actually drank. Shaking her head, she firmly resolves that nothing more than a few kisses happened between them. And unless Finn remembers the explicit penetration of his body against hers, then she doesn't have to mention it. Who even knows if he'll remember anything they did the night before, anyway? Pulling her shirt on, she takes a quick glance at his deeply snoring figure. He has no idea—and he doesn't have to know. She can pass this off as both of them stumbling into the car and falling asleep. She just hopes he doesn't remember shit.

Opening the car door, she gently slides out, careful not to slam it back to a close. Looking around, she realizes that her car is the only one left parked by the club. That's going to be a pain to explain, but reasonable enough to say she didn't want to drive back to the hotel drunk. Sure, Carmella might maul her alive, and Sasha might give her a long talking to about worrying them, but that's better than saying she may or may not have accidentally had sex in the back of her car with the Finn Bálor. Walking to the nearest café – which just so happens to be across the street of the parking lot – she thinks she might as well get the two of them some breakfast. And coffee—lots of fucking coffee. A small ding announces her arrival as she enters the quaint little place, moss green with mahogany tables and chairs. She walks up the counter and orders two coffees, black, and some breakfast muffins.

"Bayley!"

A shrill but very familiar voice startles her from behind, and she twists so hard she almost gets a whiplash trying to see the culprit. Long, blonde and messy curls greet her – in the arms of ink-covered skin.

"Mella."

Bayley smiles at her friend, offering a small salute over to Carmella's male companion, Corey Graves. This earns her a wolfish grin before the two newly-formed lovebirds stare into each other's eyes for a quick second, engaging in a messy make-out session that lasts only a few seconds. Bayley stands awkwardly to the side, just beside the counter, not really knowing what to do. Thankfully, they breakaway soon enough and Corey moves to one of the tables at the back of the café.

"That was—something."

Bayley comments noncommittally as Carmella shrugs, fixing her hair up just a little bit, make-up a little all over the place. Bayley can't say she blames her. The barista comes back with two takeaway cups in hand and a paper bag filled with muffins, which Bayley takes with a small but thankful nod. Carmella struts her way to the counter, blurts out her order in quick words and outrageous hand gestures – as she always does – before turning to face Bayley with a scrutinizing glance.

"We missed you last night," Carmella hums, eyes rolling around, as if taking in every little detail in every little crevice of the small café. She's feigning innocence, Bayley knows. "Where'd you two go?"

"Us two?"

"You and Finn."

"Me and Finn?"

Carmella gives her a scandalized look, and Bayley can't help but look away, chugging down her coffee. It burns, but she doesn't care—she needs the distraction. Of course, she thanks god it's bitter enough to wash away the taste—that minty, strawberry taste of one Finn Bálor's tongue down her throat. She almost shakes, remembering the ecstasy of the night before, but grounds herself with gritted teeth, trying her best to pay attention to her best friend's words.

"You two were the only ones we couldn't account for on our way back to the hotel," the blonde explains, picking at her nails. She continues to interrogate her friend with a familiar knowing smile – the kind only Carmella can give when she knows something is up. But Bayley doesn't give in because she knows – well, as far as she's concerned – that there's really nothing to hide, is there? "So, we figured you two were together?"

"Ah, yeah," Bayley mutters, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. She supposes she would have to explain it to somebody sooner or later—later being her preferred time. But it's Carmella, and she loves her – she's one of Bayley's best friends – so she doesn't mind letting her in on the escapades of the night before. Well, at least only some of the escapades of the night before. "We tried to leave early."

"Yeah, but your car's still parked out at the nightclub."

"Well, since we were both so drunk, we settled on waiting in my car to sober up," Bayley explains, hesitant in her delivery. Carmella's giving her a look that says she doesn't quite believe a word coming out of Bayley's mouth. But Bayley pushes forward with the narrative she has created in her head anyway. "We fell asleep instead."

"Did you guys—"

"No."

Bayley answers on instinct, and it's quite sickeningly fast. Carmella doesn't buy it. The barista comes back with the latter's drinks and the blonde nods a quiet thank you, shooing him off before picking up her mug and taking a small sip from it. Her eyes never leave Bayley's, as if assessing every inch of the brunette's being. It gets uncomfortably quiet real fast, and Bayley doesn't quite know what to do. So, she just shuffles her feet aimlessly, holding Carmella's stare.

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

Just like that, Bayley knows a lecture is coming for her. She sets the two cups and her bag of muffins down on the nearest table as Carmella harrumphs, walking briskly past her to where Corey is sitting at. The blonde sets her own set of mugs down in front of him, and before he can even utter a breath, she's already making her way back to the brunette, grabbing and pulling the both of them to the backdoor of the café. Corey just watches their retreating backs, not really bewildered—somewhat just used to it. Bayley does send him one last pleading look as they're walking out the door. But he just shakes his head and mouths a quick "sorry" before going back to scrolling through his phone and drinking coffee.

"Okay, spill sister," Carmella exclaims once they're fully outside. Bayley tries to rub her bruised wrist, making a face at how tight the former's hold on her is. With another roll of her eyes, Carmella lets go, but keeps the conversation up. "What the fuck happened to both of you?"

"I told you, nothing happened between us!"

"And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"And how about you and Corey over there?!"

"Well, we had sex if that's what you want to hear."

"Well, good for you then!"

Bayley huffs, turning away with folded arms. Carmella takes a deep breath in, unsure of where to go from here. But she needs to know what happened—because knowing is the only way she can help her best friend sort her own feelings out. She knows there's been something brewing, for a long time now. Finn and Bayley have always been a question mark to each other. Not really just friends—or even best friends—but not quite boyfriend and girlfriend. Used to dancing around each other—when one's single, the other is with somebody else—they always do couple things like watch horror films together late at night wrapped up in one blanket, falling asleep on each other's shoulders. They hold hands, pick each other up from show to show, and take the same flights back. When they hug—it's always either that long lingering tiptoe where he holds her tight by the small of her back as she's whispering soft breaths against his neck, or that excited leap into his arms where she just can't help but wrap her legs around his waist. They book two rooms in one hotel knowing full well they'll end up sleeping together in one bed anyway, and at group functions they are never further than at arm's length from each other. Their relationship isn't exactly normal—nor is it easily defined. And with the secrecy of Bayley's break-up from her long-term boyfriend—things are about to get a hell lot more logistically complicated.

"You know he has a girlfriend."

"Nothing happened between us," Bayley continues to insist. "We were just both so drunk we needed to get away from everyone else."

"How are you sure nothing happened?"

Bayley's not sure. But like hell she's going to admit that.

"I just know. I remember."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

After a long interrogation, Bayley begrudgingly walks back to the parking lot. She loves Carmella—she really does. The girl's been with her right from the very beginning – through thick and thin, through sunshine and storm. But she's also one scary woman when it comes down to the wire. Especially when it involves the wellbeing of her friends. It's sweet, really. But that just makes it harder to hide things from her – because she's just that good at pressuring Bayley into telling the truth. Except this time, there really is no truth to tell—because Bayley doesn't even know what the truth is. So maybe, this is all for the better.

She's finally a few paces away from her car, two cups and a paper bag in hand. Peeking through the slight opening of the window, Bayley can see that Finn is now up—still shirtless, because of course he is. He's looking through his phone, presumably checking the time and his socials. She doesn't dare to move—not for a while. She wants to give herself five minutes—to do what, she doesn't really know. The only thing she's definitely sure of is that, she's not ready to face him—not yet anyway. He doesn't seem to notice her presence, busy gazing into his phone with a dopey smile on. Only one person can ever bring a look like that onto his face—and she knows exactly what he's looking at. Probably a picture or two of Mera, or maybe a text from her saying how proud she is of him. The cold wash of reality feels nauseating, and the weight of heavy guilt pools hot in the pit of her stomach—almost as hot as the jealousy that thrums deep in her heart.

Time check: five minutes pass by. She takes a deep breath and walks slowly towards the waiting car. When she gets there, he's still preoccupied, so she knocks on the black-tinted window. He startles, looking up and sees her eyes through the gap. With a quiet skip of her heart, he smiles brightly at her—even brighter than when he was looking through his phone. It prompts her to smile back, something pretty—something genuine. Rolling the window down, he takes in all that she is – lifting the coffee and bag of muffins up to her face and gesturing towards him, as if it's some kind of peace offering. In a way, it might as well be.

"I bought us breakfast."

"Perfect—I'm starving," he says whilst pulling himself back to the other side of the car, and opening the door to let her in. Bayley swiftly slides into the seat, comfortably settling herself in and closing the door behind her. He takes his cup and the bag, placing it down on the middle seat. "You have no idea how hungry waking up with a hangover and not knowing for a good few minutes where I am and how'd I get here can make a person be."

"I can guess," Bayley toasts to that, taking a small sip from her own cup. It's lukewarm now, and she's about almost halfway done with it. Carmella did take her time lecturing her after all. "Although, you seem pretty smiley for someone who happens to not remember the night before."

"You'd be surprised," Finn snorts, opening the bag and taking a banana nut muffin out of it, scarfing it down immediately, as if trying to swallow away the hangover. "But I do have a lot on my mind."

"Oh really," she hums, taking her own blueberry and white chocolate muffin out of the bag, picking at it curiously. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, I am kind of glad I woke up in your car, instead of a ditch, first of all."

"Yeah, that wouldn't have been comfortable, I can imagine—not like sleeping in the back of my car is any better, to be honest."

"It's better than a ditch—I can tell you that. And I don't remember much—although I'm pretty sure I only had a small glass or two of Jack," he eyes her, carefully—and she can't tell if he's trying to elicit the truth out of her, but she doesn't give. Instead, she takes a small bite from her muffin, gesturing for him to continue talking. "Anything interesting happen last night?

"Well, Carmella and Corey are a thing now."

She dodges the intended question, and it surprisingly works. His eyes bug out, just a little bit, and he almost spits his coffee onto her lap. He controls himself though, instead snickering slightly into his muffin and she chuckles alongside him and his silly antics.

"That's—wow."

"I know."

She waits for him to ask her again. He doesn't. Instead, a comfortable silence falls over them. It takes another few seconds before she decides it's now or never. She has to tell him, that lie—no, it can't be a lie if she doesn't even know what the whole actual truth is, so it might be the truth, who really knows at this point—that she's rehearsed so well in those five minutes she let pass her by. She hopes he doesn't remember her skin against his, the burning sensations—that new addiction. She hopes he doesn't remember how deeply he kissed her, as if she was his—and how he held her like he'd never let her go. She hopes she can keep all of that a secret, under the lock and key of alcohol.

"We didn't do anything."

"We didn't?"

"No," Bayley breathes out, and he looks at her, genuinely confused. "We both got crazy drunk and decided to go home. But we couldn't drive so I thought it'd be a good idea to wait and sober up before driving back to the hotel. And well, we fell asleep instead."

She explains, calm with a content smile on her face. He doesn't doubt her; she can tell because there's a glimmer in his eyes – one she's very familiar with – that reflects his relief, as if a heavy weight has been lifted off of his shoulder. There's a sharp pang in her heart when he looks at her like she has just given him the world—but she ignores it. After all, she's already decided that this is it—this is all it's going to be, even when vague memories of his body on her come pouring in more vivid colors with every breath she takes. She never thinks of herself to be a good liar, but for this one—she just hopes he never ever has the burden of remembering how good they felt against each other.

"That's—wow."

"Yeah, so don't worry about it."

"I mean, it's not that you're not an attractive woman and that doing it with you wouldn't be great and all—"

"Finn, it's alright."

"It's just, I have Mera and you have Adam, and it would've probably ruined our friendship—"

"You really don't need to explain yourself."

"Not that our friendship is so flimsy it'll break with just the two of us having sex—"

"Finn."

"I mean, I know lots of friends who fuck each other and end up still going strong and staying platonic and that maybe could be us but I just never saw you as a one-night fuck—"

"Finn, seriously."

"If anything, you're a keeper and if we were both sing—"

She stops him right then and there—she can't give herself that kind of hope. Instead, she pushes his face back with the palm of her hand, playfully of course. Partly to stop him from talking, partly to rid themselves of the awkward tension—but mostly so he doesn't see the look on her face.

"Bálor, shut up," Bayley chokes out a laugh, pushing back that dull ache, that tightening grip on her heart. She puts on the most genuine smile she can ever hope to muster, ridding herself of ridiculous thoughts of what could have been—what they could have been. "No point dwelling on something that didn't happen."

She lets his face go, and he grins at her. They laugh, letting all the tension fade away. Their conversation turns to something more mundane, and more—them. He asks about Carmella and Corey, and she gives him the details Carmella has provided; she tells him she's going to be visit the main roster soon, and he tells her he can't wait. There's talks of upcoming matches, his latest Lego set, and her dog Flex. This is the way they're meant to be—two friends just goofing around, not crossing boundaries; not stepping over forbidden lines. They continue to eat in the quiet of small talk, content with the knowledge that nothing did happen between them. Stray thoughts threaten to break their peace, but Bayley has made her decision—she drowns it out with Finn's happy laughter and ridiculous faces.

"By the way, before I leave you to it, there's something I've got to tell you," he says, just as she's packing their litter into the paper bag and dusting the crumbs off of the backseats. "I was going to wait until we made it official but, you're my best friend so, I thought it'd be better if you heard it from me first.

"Of course, what is it?"

She sends him a delicate smile, continuing to clean-up. Finn reaches around his pants, shuffling and feeling each and every available pocket, as if looking for something. Bayley eyes him questioningly, but she doesn't utter a word. There's something there—a brush of her fingertips—that says this isn't going to be good news for her. Instead, she basks in how good he looks in those tight jeans. Suddenly, her lips feel quite dry, so she licks the Sahara off of them. It takes a long minute but he finally finds what he's looking for, reaching deep into his back right pocket, and procuring a small, black velvet box. Her heart shatters the instant he opens it to showcase a silver ring with the smokey black diamond.

"What do you think?"

"Finn, I—"

"Do you think she'll like it?"

She stares at him, that shit-eating grin on his face as he looks admirably at the ring—as if it is Mera herself. A red thread starts to come loose, and she feels him slowly slip through her fingers. He goes on to happily talk about his possible plans for the proposal, but she's not hearing a word of it. She wants to scream no, don't—choose me, but she catches the words in her throat, and swallows them back. The bile rises up, but it tastes better—feels better—than the resentment and regret. She takes a deep breath, and cups his cheek. He slowly lifts his chin up to look at her.

"You're getting married."

"Yeah," he answers with a soft smile, completely unaware of her shaking hands and trembling lips. Bayley lunges forward and gives him one tight hug—as if it'll be the last time she ever gets to hold him like so. He buries his face into her neck, taking in the fresh scent of her messy brown locks—coffee and liquor rolled up into one. They pull away after a lingering second, and he steadies his hold on her eyes, as if asking for permission. "So, you're happy for me?"

"Of course, I'm happy for you," she punches him playfully on the arm, and he laughs. "I'm really happy for you."

"Bayley, you're up next," Peyton calls from the locker room, the raging shower and the messy chatter drowning her voice. Bayley can't think straight—all she feels is the churning of her stomach and the wasted food from catering coming up her throat. The lack of answer confuses the purple-haired Aussie, so she tries to navigate her way through the mess of bodies and hair to get to the adjoining powder room. "Bayley, your match is up."

Her knocks fall to deaf ears as the brunette continues to empty the contents of her stomach into the sleek white toilet. Bayley tries to recall what could have caused this. It's not food poisoning because she ate the same thing as everyone else at catering, and she seems to be the only one having stomach problems. She doesn't have a concussion—she just had her check-up last night. And she hasn't had any of her typical migraine symptoms so it can't be that. A louder knock disrupts her train of thought before she can venture into deeper waters, and she turns to the closed door behind her.

"Is everything okay in there, Bayley?"

"Peyton?"

"Yeah, it's me—mind opening the door," the Aussie inquires, and Bayley does. "What's wrong, hun?"

"I don't know, I've got this weird stomach bug going on."

"Since when did it start?"

"Just after catering."

"Well, no one else seems to be having stomach problems, so it can't be the food there."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking as well."

"Maybe it's a hormone thing—are you on your period?"

"No, I haven't had that since—"

The penny drops, and her eyes go wide. Peyton tilts her head and gestures for Bayley to continue on. She doesn't. Instead, she starts hyperventilating, because—this can't be happening. Her mind supplies her with ample of memories from that night—approximately a month ago—of Finn's hands all over her, pulling her hair, and kissing her senseless in all the places in between her eyes and toes. Peyton is now beside her, pulling her up as she stumbles to the ground, telling her to breathe, but she can't hear anything but the quickening pace of her beating heart. All she can think about is—what if? And it's scary.

"Babe, are you okay?"

"No, no—Peyton, you have to help me."

"Bayley, what's going on?"

"I need you to do something for me, real quick."

"But your match is up next."

"I know, I'll need it for after the match but for now, can you just drive to the nearest CVS and get me…"

Bayley mumbles the last part of her sentence. Peyton's eyes go wide. It takes her a second to process what has just been instructed of her, before she snaps back into motion, nodding in understanding. She doesn't even listen to Bayley trying to explain where her bag and purse are to get the cash from. Instead, Peyton just rushes to her own locker, grabs her bag and coat, not even bothering to change out of her gear. A few other women come in, all telling Bayley to get to the gorilla because her entrance is seconds away from playing. The brunette pushes herself up, still feeling nauseous, but she can't afford to take a step back now—even if she knows how high risk it can be. Because she's the NXT Women's champion, and she's going to defend her title damn it.

She gets into position, only three seconds left to spare before her song starts blaring through the speakers. She takes a deep breath in, waiting a moment, before walking out. Bright lights blind her, and all of a sudden—the nausea intensifies. She swallows it like she swallows her pride, smiling through the turmoil of her mind and body. She looks to the crowd for support, scans through every yelling and chanting fan, and then—she sees him. There he is, right in the middle of the audience, behind the barricade at the left side of the ring with that ever-so-familiar grin. He's wearing a simple black suit, smiling proudly at her as he holds up a sign with the words Hugger Section in purple and yellow. That's all it takes to get her head back into the game.

It's a hard battle—fourteen minutes on the clock and she feels herself slipping away from focus. The only thing keeping her sane is hearing him, right there crying out in support of her. Asuka is a tough opponent—a technical mastermind and submission specialist. It takes a whole lot out of Bayley not to just give in, but—it's coming back. The nausea is coming back and she's slowly succumbing to the tight lock her opponent has on her. Asuka rolls them over, and she's facing the left side of the ring now—he's standing up, worry written in his eyes, but still he encourages her to keep fighting, in the most Finn-esque of ways possible. It's that small glimpse that reignites a little bit of spark in her and she tries to get out of the grip, until—Mera shows up, all blonde and beautiful, taking elegant strides toward the seat right next to him. And Bayley loses it. She faints.

"Bayley, are you okay?"

"Give her some air."

"Bayley, can you hear me?"

It takes her a moment, but she stirs. Through all the hysteria, she wakes up to hands cupping her face and patting her head. Her eyes open, seeing the same bright lights, and she can hear the same cheers and jeers. But Finn's oddly quiet. She chances a glance to where she thinks he'll be, only to find two empty seats. She breathes in the disappointment—and thinks, maybe it's better this way, she disappointed him anyway—and hauls herself into a sitting position. The referee and trainers surround her, trying to help her up to her feet, even Asuka is extending a hand to help pull her up. She takes it, and limps out of the ring with everyone in tow. Looking around the jam-packed arena, she sees some of her fans in purple tees and little headbands crying for her—and something inside her breaks. The reality settles in—she lost the match. She doesn't have time to dwell on it too much though, because as soon as she's backstage, someone's pulling her away.

"I've got it," Peyton whispers, wrapping the plastic bag around Bayley's wrist. There's only the two of them behind one of the unused stage curtains. "You need to take it now so we can make sure that nothing happened to you while you were in that match."

"Peyton, what if—"

"No," Peyton doesn't give her a chance to even doubt herself for one second. "Take the test, and then we'll talk."

So, she does. They find a secluded bathroom in the back of the arena, and she takes her time peeing on the stick. Peyton is pacing back and forth outside of the cubicle, just waiting for that one last penny to hit the ground, and seal the truth for what it is. It doesn't take long—but to both of them, it feels like a lifetime—and Bayley is out. Her eyes are swollen red, and she's breathing heavy and ragged. Her hair is a mess of everything – sweat from the match, from throwing up, from multiple panic attacks – and her gear is almost ripped into shreds.

"What does it say?"

"Positive."

[end note]

I told y'all I'll never use real names.