It happens in a rush. Heath is struggling to survive in the battle royal one moment, the next he's realizing the opportunity is there- no one's close enough to stop him, he lunges forward and the next thing he knows, he's throwing Cesaro over the top rope. He'd done it, he'd found a moment, went for it, and had done the one thing Wade had been practically begging him to do for weeks, since his surgery. So many thoughts are running through his mind as he looks down into Cesaro's plumbstruck eyes, strumming his air guitar viciously at the man, before remembering that there's a match going on behind him, that he could still win this thing... but when he turns around, it's to be met by Sheamus.
He tries to fight, tries to hold on, even sends Sheamus against the ropes back into the ring, but before he could recover enough to re-enter the ring himself, he's flattened by a Brogue Kick, landing hard on the mat outside. He lays there, staring up at the lights for a moment, before the ref starts lecturing him. He gets up and trudges unhappily backstage, aware that Wade is somewhere, waiting to hand off his title to the winner. Which isn't him. He grimaces as Miz's music hits and goes outside in his gear, not even caring to wait around and change. He doesn't want to see Wade's face as he hands over the belt, he doesn't want to be around for any of this.
Heath hadn't held out much hope of winning, of course not, but to be so close... to be the one to throw Cesaro over, to feel that rush of Maybe... Maybe... just to have it all stolen away a moment later, well... He closes his eyes and buries his face in his arms, breathing heavily as he sinks down to the ground outside. It's a warm July but the ground is cool so he stays there, not even caring about how scraped up his back is becoming against the brick wall. Hugging his knees to his chest, he barely hears the door open behind him, but does feel the familiar presence.
Wade's hand rests against the top of his head, stroking through his sweaty hair. "I'm proud of you," he finally offers, voice low and gentle. More so than Heath's usually ever heard it.
"Why?" he mumbles. "I didn't do anythin'."
"You did plenty," Wade tells him. "You knew how badly I wanted Cesaro kicked out, and you saw it through. I'm sorry if you're disappointed that you didn't win, but I'm not disappointed in you at all. I mean it: I'm proud of you, ginger."
Heath exhales painfully before getting to his feet and meeting Wade's eyes, desperation bleeding out of his own. "Say that again."
Wade cups his face with his good hand, leans in so they're almost close enough to kiss but not quite. "I'm proud of you, ginger. Always have been, always will be."
Heath swallows, sniffs. Then nods. There's a sincerity in Wade's eyes that floors him, leaves him struggling even as he wants nothing more than to embrace it, accept it at face value. He's just not sure he deserves it. "Thanks," he chokes out finally, Wade leaning in and kissing him slowly, softly. "Love ya, Brit," he whispers, fingers tangling into the collar of Wade's shirt.
"Love you too," Wade says, lips twitching up into a smile as he hugs him.