There are three red roses on his bag. Tyler can't help but stare at them. Right there, on top of his tattered old gym bag – and he'll have to take care of that, because that just won't do – are three blood red roses tied together with a ribbon. As if he's Christine in Phantom of the Opera and the Phantom has left him some of his questionable, stalkerish gifts.

It wasn't the Phantom who did this, though. When he picks them up, he knows exactly who to blame. In the other dressing room, filled to the brim with people, Fandango is busy lathering his stupid, perfect body in oil. Because of course he is. Tyler grits his teeth and stops in front of him.

"Red is not my colour and roses are ridiculously cliché," he says, dropping them on the floor in front of him. "You can do better."

Snickers and mutters ring around them, because their co-workers are children and find great joy in their continued high-school drama. Tyler wishes he didn't have to give them the pleasure, but he simply can't accept the assumption that after all the gifts he'd gotten he'd be swayed by red roses, of all things. He's better than that.

He turns resolutely, not caring that Fandango's not been able to speak yet. He pushes past some people that have crowded around them and returns to the other room, where Xavier and Kofi are still involved in a bitter, game controller based feud. Neither seems to have noticed a thing.

It almost makes Tyler want to pout.

The next day, it's a set of fresh towels. They look moderately expensive and, sure, he could use some because he's behind on his washing at home - the remaining ones smell like the average hick town arena, if he's honest - but he still stomps to where Fandango is talking with Summer and drops them in his lap.

"Really? Towels? My fucking two star hotel could give me those."

It's unfair how handsome Fandango is, really, because otherwise Tyler would have had some other smart remark to add to his tirade. Instead he's distracted by the minute twitch of the man's lips as he fights a smile. By the way he leans back and shrugs, as if it can't be helped that Tyler doesn't deem it worthy. His hair curls all nicely, too, and it's getting longer, threatening to reach that perfect jawline and, damnit, Summer is looking at him all knowingly again. He thought she hated the both of them, so what is she doing here right now?!

"I'm not putting out for a bunch of towels, so you can forget about it," he snaps, suddenly annoyed. He's better than this. He's better than some cheap gifts and flattery. He's better than this.

"Oh, babe, you never put out." Summer's comment just reaches his ear as he leaves. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and continues walking, because, hey, she's probably right.

"Here."

Tyler looks up. Bundled in a thick jacket, hair askew and slightly damp, Fandango is standing over him, holding Tigger's leash. The dog in question is soaked, but wagging its tail relentlessly against Tyler's knee.

"What?"

"Xavier got all distracted with that new game of his," Fandango says, twisting the leash around Tyler's hand and giving the dog an affectionate pat on the head. "So I took Tigger outside when he got restless. He was good. Barely pulled on the lead."

Speechless, Tyler watches the older man walk off to join some of his friends at one of the gaming consoles. (And if he zeroes in on the sway of his hips, there's no one there to call him on it.) When he looks away, his eyes catch a nearby window. Outside it's pouring with rain.

"Hey."

This time Tyler's not even surprised it's Fandango. Next to him, Xavier is making crazy eyes at them both and it's disgusting. At times like these he's not sure why they're even friends.

"You forgot lunch."

A plastic bag with what looks like a bunch of sandwiches – without the cheese, if he'd had to guess, because Tyler doesn't like it and he's fully expecting Fandango to know that about him – and a smoothie. A strawberry smoothie. It's like a love declaration in a bag.

"Thanks," he says, feeling muffled laughter coming from the body next to him.

Fandango smiles, all warm and expressive, and Tyler can't help but feel a blush rushing up his neck, heating up his cheeks. Fucking Fandango and his fucking dimples and his fucking gifts. He brought him lunch?! How is he not supposed to fall head over heels for that?

"No problem."

When he's gone, Xavier pokes him in the side repeatedly and annoyingly, until Tyler's had enough and elbows him on the nose. The resulting squeak brings him some joy, but it doesn't distract from the fact that a small, rectangle card peeks out at him from between the sandwiches. (No cheese, he was right.) He plucks it out quickly.

'That shirt looks nice on you,' the note says and Tyler glances down at what he's wearing. Well, the idiot's got a point. Then again, everything looks nice on him, so is he implying he doesn't look good otherwise? In fact, he'd look nice without the shirt on too. Did Fandango just insult his beauty?

The card is snatched from his fingers before he's even had time to contemplate if that statement counted as defamation. Xavier laughs when Tyler tries to grab it back, then laughs again when he reads what it says.

"Wow, impressive. I haven't seen someone be so aggressively wooed since your dog decided he loved me and kept bringing me dead animals."

The guy throws a sneaky glance over his shoulder at Fandango's retreating back, grinning all the while. He's too amused for Tyler's liking.

"Though you have him doing things like picking up your dry-cleaning and paying for dinner, so I guess it's more like aggressive dating than wooing."

"We are not dating."

Tyler glares, because what else is he supposed to do. Fandango has been on his mind and in his space for the last three months and it's gone from convenient to outright ridiculous.

At first he thought it was nice, getting some well-deserved attention. His new partner had been complimentary and charming, even when Tyler put him to the test with temper tantrums – justified tantrums, of course – and some condescension. Now, though, he just confuses Tyler. He thought he'd made it more than clear that they're not going to end up together, because Tyler doesn't do that shit, so why is he still met with handsome smiles and Fandango's undivided attention?

It's flattering and all – okay, he kind of gets butterflies and that shit just isn't on – but what's the end-game? Why does Fandango insist on pursuing something that isn't going to happen? Is he deluded? Does he like the chase? Is he waiting for the inevitable car crash? Because Tyler is willing to cut the brakes if that's what he's going for.

It would just be easier, really, if the man stopped it with these ridiculous attempts at flirting. It's terrible flirting. Just terrible. So terrible it's making Tyler frown and he can't do that because he'll get wrinkles. Wrinkles!

"Ugh." He pushes Xavier away from him, because the cackling is getting to be too much. "I don't know why you're laughing, the guy's awful."

Xavier just looks at him affectionately and Tyler feels like that game console bag the guy's always towing around with him. "Yes, he's the worst. You totally hate him."

"Shut up."

His friend is still laughing by the time Tyler's left the room, food in hand.

The floor beneath his feet wobbles. He tries to move and get away from the strobing lights, but he can't. His limbs feel like lead, yet he's somehow floating as he makes his way backstage. Something heavy has taken a hold of him and he struggles, but whatever it is won't let him go.

"Tyler, it's okay. I've got you."

The words are fuzzy and sound faraway. Like he's at the bottom of the ocean, trying to reach for the sun. He feels hot, so hot, and he knows something is wrong. He wants to panic, almost, but he doesn't know how to. Doesn't know how to do anything. And then he doesn't know anything altogether.

When he finally opens his eyes and can properly see again, he feels much colder. His head leans again wet tiles and as he tilts it up slightly he can see shower heads. Draped over his shoulders, several towels are completely soaked as they cover his naked chest. His head pounds.

"You got a little too hot there. We had to cool you down."

"'m always hot," Tyler mumbles, relaxing into the arms holding him up. A hand is carding through his hair gently and he doesn't even care. He wants to close his eyes, but there's a doctor talking to him and behind the man Xavier is hovering nervously. He has no idea why they're all in the shower with him, or why he's still wearing his pants, but then he has no idea what anyone is saying. Except for Fandango, who is murmuring reassurances in his ear and is propping him up somehow. Tyler glances down and sees he too is completely soaked.

"Why..." he starts to ask, but the words won't come out right. He blinks a few times, unsure, and then he's unceremoniously hoisted to his feet. He allows Fandango to lead him out and hears something about a hospital.

Only the next day does he find out he'd had a fever and that night's match had pushed it past dangerous.

There's a fucking fruit basket next to his hospital bed and the loopy, frivolous handwriting reveals who it is from immediately. If Tyler wasn't so tired, he'd text Fandango something witty. Not even a thank you, though he knows he probably should, just something witty.

It's the bigger fruit basket that arrives the next day and the texts every single day until Tyler returns that finally make him confront the man. He finds Fandango working out, toned body sweating and absolutely ridiculous. Tyler is quite proud of himself for ignoring both it and Fandango's blinding smile.

He casually leans on the weights next to Fandango's head and dangles the 'get well' card that had been in the first basket right over his face.

"You're just going to keep going with this nonsense, aren't you?"

Fandango sits up, then shrugs. "You never actually told me to stop. Just mocked me for trying. How are you, by the way."

"Fine, fine."

Tyler waves the man's concerns away and hones in on his words. He was right. He's never actually come out and said it. Just rolled his eyes and mocking Fandango's choices. (Which, come to think of it, weren't all that bad.) Now that they're talking about it, he wonders why.

"I don't know why you'd bother."

"Because I want to date you, even with your uncanny ability to find fault in everything I do." For someone admitting to being found wanting, Fandango looks awfully relaxed as he smiles at Tyler. "And maybe because you looked like you needed the attention."

"Sounds like an awful lot of effort for something that isn't going to happen."

"The best things in life require effort."

Tyler snorts. "That is corny as fuck. Also not true. Case in point, I was born with this face. No effort needed."

"I can see that," Fandango replies, unabashedly checking out said face. Tyler feels it heat up as the gaze lands on his eyes. The guy's being ridiculous again.

Fandango smirks as if he knows he's rattled Tyler, before stretching. Muscles shift, skin glistens, and goddamnit Tyler doesn't need this right now. Why is he being tempted? And why is Fandango getting up?

"Where are you going?"

What he means to ask is 'since when do you leave me'.

"Wait..."

Fandango's out the door already.

"I wasn't done yet!" he calls after the man.

"You never are!"

Fandango still doesn't stop. Tyler crosses his arms, willing away the pout he knew had threatened.

Well, that confrontation had been less than stellar. He glares at Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose from where they're watching him, probably judging, and gets up.

"Oh, go wash your hair, or something," he snaps, then storms out. He'll worry about offending the company's current top star later.

It's not that he's jealous. Honestly, what does Tyler Breeze have to be jealous of? People are jealous of him, not the other way around. It bears establishing, therefore, that he isn't jealous. He is just...somewhat confused. Just that.

Earlier that morning he'd seen Fandango entering the building carrying chocolates – fancy ones, too, if the box was anything to go by – and he'd already started thinking of reasons why they were an awful choice. Tyler needed to watch both his weight and complexion, after all, and didn't Fandango know chocolate gave you pimples? Tyler Breeze would not suffer pimples, even if they came from delicious chocolatey goodness. Not even then.

So he's waited and anticipated, occasionally checking his bag. No chocolates. It gets to the point where he is about ready to go find Fandango and tear them from his very hands, but instead he has found himself facing Summer. Summer Rae, holding his chocolates. Sharing them with the other women as if they are hers to give away.

It sinks in eventually that maybe they hadn't been his chocolates. He's gone several days now without a present and so he'd assumed, but maybe...

He really, honestly isn't jealous. If Fandango has moved on – well, he and Summer had been a thing before, so...moved back? - then that just means Tyler has his life back. No more surprise visits. No more Fandango picking up the pieces when something went wrong. No more terrible flower arrangements. No, those he certainly won't miss.

Relieved, that's what he is. He doesn't need Fandango anyway. For someone so good-looking, he has shoddy taste. Except for wanting Tyler. That choice has been the most sensible one yet. And he is not jealous.

"I am totally jealous," he mutters to himself, when he realizes it. He's standing in the hallway staring at a bunch of women fawning over candy. It's embarrassing and yet all he can think about is asking Fandango what the hell he's thinking, getting back with the woman who ruined him not long ago.

He wants to confront him about stupid decisions – more stupid than red roses, 'cause those are a godawful cliché Tyler didn't deserve – but he knows he can't. He has a dark match and Fandango is forced to tag with R-Truth and he'll have to look pissed while he watches from the back. That part won't be an issue.

Patience has never been his virtue, but he'll have to find some. Tyler mutters to himself as he stalks back to the locker room and gets changed. He's better than this crap.

It's late by the time Fandango arrives back at their shared hotel room. Not later than usual, but Tyler has been on edge all day and makes it back extra early. So he can stew and think of a sensible, respectful way of explaining to the other man that getting back with Summer Rae is not a decision to be made lightly. And he really liked the woman at some point.

When Fandango opens the door, though, all those plans go out the window, because he's smiling. Smiling and looking ruffled, like he'd just been...

"Nice to see you waiting up for me for a change. Did you miss me?" Fandango asks, all flirtatious smile and pretty eyes. Tyler is seething.

"You idiot!"

Fandango's smile falters. "I... What?"

"Summer Rae, really? You told me she broke your fucking heart!"

"Sorry? I told you my heart was in pieces. I was maybe being a touch over dramatic." Fandango shrugs. "I do that."

"So now you're back together anyway? After all that and all the complaining you've done about what a terrible person she is, you just give in? What kind of idiotic, nonsensical, ridic-"

"Hold on, hold on!" Fandango interrupts. "Back together? Summer and I aren't together. We were terrible! I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. What is this shit about Summer and I being together?!"

"I... It's..." Oh God, he's stuttering. "I saw the chocolates."

There is a look in Fandango's eye now. Like he's seen the end of the world. Or maybe just a clown tripping over his own feet. Tyler isn't sure.

"You saw the chocolates. The chocolates. It is her birthday! Jesus Christ, why are things always so fucking difficult with you."

Tyler feels stupid, and relieved, but above all stupid. The fire is gone and he slumps down on the bed. "I figured... I thought you'd given up on this whole hopeless crush thing. Thought your flirting would finally stop."

"Do you want it to?"

They're sharp, Fandango's eyes. Sharper than Tyler has seen them in a while. Certainly more so than the pleased glimmer that had been shimmering in them when he'd entered mere minutes before. Tyler feels like an asshole.

"What?" he asks dumbly.

"The flirting. Do you want it to stop. I will if you're really not into it."

Yes. Tyler should say yes. He should put an end to the charade and just outright say it. Yes, I want you to stop. Stop it with the gifts. Stop it with the looks. Stop it with the smiles that throw me for a loop and make me so irrationally angry that I don't know what to do with myself. Stop all that, because it is time and it has been time. Say yes.

But he can't. Fandango is looking at him, all understanding gaze and liquid eyes, and he can't do it. And the truth is, he isn't this much of a narcissist. He doesn't need validation this much. He just needs it from him.

It was that time he walked Tigger in the rain, wasn't it. He'd been doomed from that moment on.

"Tyler," Fandango says. There's almost a whine to his voice. "You better answer right now, because if not I'm going to kiss you and I just know you're going to slap me if you're not into it. My face does not deserve such a fate."

He sounds pathetic and it makes Tyler laugh. Makes him place a hand on the man's handsome face and curve his fingers around his jaw. Makes him pull Fandango forward and put hesitant lips to his. There's awkwardness at first and just the slightest touch, before Fandango catches up and the press deepens. Tyler is bowled over by it and lets the other man tilt his head back, take the kiss further.

Teeth tug at his lips as hands run underneath his shirt, and he moans, because damn has it been a while since he's been touched like this. A quick bite at his jaw, then, before the lips are back and he sinks into their wet heat.

Only when both are out of breath do they pause. Tyler's eyes are shuttered, but he feels the hands roaming across his back, can still taste the other man on his tongue.

Fandango is leaning in again, expression hungry, and Tyler feels heat pool in his stomach. This is a lot nicer than he'd expected. So much nicer that it can't compete. Almost worth all the hassle. Right before their lips touch once more, he pulls away, breathless but managing a smirk when Fandango hovers in mid air and frowns at him. Childishly, he pokes at the furrowed skin right between his eyes.

"If you think I'm going to put out before the first date, you're sorely mistaken. I'm a classy girl."

"You're a little shit, is what you are," Fandango mutters, lips searching for him again, but Tyler ignores him.

"By the way, I like pasta, chrysanthemums, and have next Thursday off." He tilts his head. "Play your cards right and I might even spread my legs for you."

The other man groans, hands dropping away from where they'd been trying to get Tyler's pants undone. "You're going to be the most high-maintenance boyfriend I've ever had, aren't you?"

Tyler feels all hot under the collar as he examines the word. Boyfriend. Well, there's a first time for everything. He nods with a sly grin.

"Yep! But, baby, I'm totally worth the effort."