Wade Barrett has been in the wrestling business long enough to understand. To take things in stride, especially when they have to do with Heath Slater's stubborn determination to cling to his privacy. Injuries, hurt feelings, whatever, brush it off, continue on. But it's been a few months since he'd taken time off from the WWE and no one outside of Wade, 3MB and the higher ups in the WWE knew why. Which is fine, except that apparently the locker room gossip bug is stronger than any of them realize.

Wade, 3MB, none of them know how Mick Foley had known, but one day he idly tweets about Heath having a back injury last December and it's clear when Heath sees it. He goes from being his usual, hyper self to a brooding, uncomfortable mess. "Why did he tweet that?" he demands, shaking his phone at Jinder and Drew. "Which of ya told him?"

"We didn't!" Jinder insists.

"Why would we do that?" Drew wonders, his accent thick as Heath glowers at them. "Ya told us it was private, and we respected that. Maybe someone heard and it spread back to Mick, but it really wasn't our doin' anything on purpose. I promise, Heath."

The fight leaves him as quickly as it'd arrived and he slumps down on the bench, digging his fingers through his hair and tugging unceremoniously at his bright strands. Wade frowns at him before turning to the other two. "Give us a minute," he says, seeing them to the door and shutting it securely behind them before joining Heath. "What was all of that?"

Heath cringes and finally looks up, their eyes locking. His gaze is so overwhelmed by guilt and... shame... that Wade finds it hard to stare into his face. "I didn't mean to lose it on 'em," he confesses weakly. "It's just... I don't like to show weakness, especially here. I get beat down by everyone enough as it is, and I didn't want anyone to have one more thing to target when they see me. But now with one tweet, it's common knowledge, and I just... I can't go through that again. The time off, the rehab, tryin' to get back here... to my band, to you."

Wade releases a breath, nodding grimly. "You know how the business is, Heath. Everyone knows everything, which means there are no secrets. I'm sure Mick didn't mean anything by tweeting about it."

"I know he didn't," Heath admits. "I just wish he hadn't..." He closes his eyes and leans back when Wade slowly begins to stroke his back, slow and methodical, taking care over the spots where he'd hurt the worst back over the holidays. "Ya remember."

"Of course I do," Wade mutters. "This was usually the only way to get you to fall asleep. Only one of us are allowed to be cranky insomniacs."

"It looks good on ya. Sometimes," Heath chuckles, leaning against him as he applies more pressure to the tense muscles along his shoulders.

Wade scoffs. "Everything looks good on me."

"Your humble attitude is truly amazin'," Heath chuckles, shifting to look up at him with a fond smirk on his face.

Wade rolls his eyes and leans over, kissing him. "Shut up. And go find your blood so-called band and prove to them that you're not mad at them."

"Yeah, yeah," he sighs, getting to his feet. Pausing in mid-action of pulling the door open, he turns and looks back at Wade with a soft smile on his face. "Thanks, Brit."