Post-match, post-scrum, post everything is just... awkward. Quiet. They're covered in bruises, Max is bloody, both are as tired emotionally as they are physically. They need to talk, badly, about everything from the tag titles to themselves, but now definitely doesn't feel like the time. So, after the scrum, after getting looked at by medical and released, they make their way back to the hotel and Max silently waits to see what Adam does.
When Adam follows him quietly into the elevator and then down the hall to his room, he's not all that surprised. Neither of them want to be apart right now, even though everything feels so raw and tentative. Max unlocks his door and holds it open until Adam brushes past him and stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, bag still in hand as if he doesn't know what to do with it, with himself.
Max glances over at him before walking right over to a bottle and some glasses, pouring generously. "Here. It's the only halfway decent thing I could find around here," he says, pressing one of the glasses into Adam's lax hand and waiting until he grips it to move away. "Put your stuff down. Make yourself comfortable," he says, nodding towards the bed. Hoping that telling Adam what to do would snap him out of his thoughts, at least a little.
After a tense, awkward moment, Adam obliges, settling in carefully at the foot of the bed, Max against the pillows. They sit quietly for a few moments before Adam takes a sip of the drink, immediately flinching. "Oh god," he mumbles, eyes nearly watering from the strength of the alcohol.
"Sorry," Max says quietly. "Shoulda warned you, I guess." He takes a slow sip of his own drink, barely reacting to it, before exhaling. "Are you ok?" He means more than because of just the alcohol. They both know it.
"Yeah," Adam says. "I... I will be." He frowns into his glass and Max nods.
"Ok," he says softly. They ruminate for awhile longer, staring into their drinks, before Max lights up, nudging him lightly with socked feet. "Hey. Adam."
Adam blinks and looks up, a quiet exhaustion in his eyes that makes Max ache even worse. "Yeah?"
"You should come with me, brochacho," he says with a grin. "France for the next week? We could own that place, it'd be ridiculous. Just what we both need after the last couple of weeks, right?" His grin feels more forced the longer he talks, but he struggles to hold on to it- both the expression on his face, and the brief rush of hope and joy he'd felt when he thought of it. "What do you say? You in?"
Adam breathes in and runs a finger over the rim of his glass, glancing up at Max after a moment. "Thanks for the invite, man. I appreciate it, but I think I just wanna go home, get my head on straight. Figure some things out."
Max is disappointed, but not surprised. Forces himself to nod, to not get angry, although he feels it building up deep in his chest, kneejerk reaction to the rejection. After everything, Adam wants some space, and Max... Max can understand that, he guesses. It's a hell of a disappointment for the man, and Max doesn't want to risk putting that look that had been on his face while he slumped in the corner after losing back there. So he squares his shoulders, nods again, and takes another, more generous sip of his drink. "I understand," he says, even though the words feel foreign, strange on his tongue. He's always so eager for a fight, be it verbal or physical. Giving in and accepting another person's boundaries are, well, something he's still adjusting to.
The relieved, surprised look on Adam's face makes it worth it. Even more so when Adam smiles a little and shrugs, "Maybe next time, man."
"I'll hold you to that," Max says, pointing at him.
Adam chuckles. "I'd expect nothing less." Adam swirls his drink around, wrinkling his nose at it, before Max sits up and reaches out for it. Relieved, Adam hands it over and Max smoothly pours what's left into his glass, setting Adam's aside. "Max-"
"Adam-"
They stop and stare at each other, Adam breathing out a laugh before motioning him to continue.
"I just... I know, back in the ring, things got really heavy and I just... want to make sure. We're ok, right?" Max searches Adam's face. "I know I pissed you off, and you kinda pissed me off too, but..."
Adam nods. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, Max. We're ok." He smiles weakly.
"Good," Max says. "I'm glad." And he is. As much as retaining the Triple B had mattered to him, the thoughts of losing Adam as a friend had haunted him more the longer the match had gone on, so really, this is the best case scenario, he thinks. And it's probably just as well he's going to France. Distance makes the heart grow fonder? Psh. What a weird ass saying, but maybe if there's any truth to it, Adam will look less devastated the next time he's around Max. He can only hope so, anyway.
A few minutes later, Adam stretches out and stands up. "I'm gonna go let you get some sleep," he says. "I'm pretty wiped out myself."
"Right, yeah," Max says, getting to his feet. He is feeling pretty exhausted, beat down, wiped out, but he's reluctant to let Adam out of his sight too, like something might change and Roddy's words will seep back into Adam's brain, and- He shakes his head forcefully, trying to rid himself of these paranoid thoughts, when Adam steps up to him, arms outstretched. Max's lips twitch up and he meets him halfway, the two of them hugging tightly for a few moments.
"Have a great time in France, yeah? I'll see you next week." Adam smiles weakly at him before moving to collect his bag from where he'd dropped it earlier.
"Yeah, see you then," Max says. "Hey Adam?" When Adam looks up, Max shrugs. "You know how to reach me, alright? If you need anything. To talk, or... whatever." He's not good at this whole friendship thing, what to offer, and when, but damn if he's not trying his hardest to figure it out.
Adam's face softens into a more sincere smile than Max has seen on him since they'd left the stadium. "Thanks, Max. I'll keep that in mind."
Walking Adam to the door, Max leans against it and watches him slowly make his way down the hall back to the elevator to go to his own floor before exhaling and closing the door behind him. Returning to bed, he drains his drink in one long sip before collapsing backwards against his pillows and closing his eyes.
Dreams of exploring France with Adam, tag titles still in their grasp, the Triple B in its usual prime spot, attracting the awe of all around it. Some day, he reminds himself as sleep tugs at him, draws him in, takes him under. He said it himself and Adam Cole never lies.