John is sitting in the sand when Mike finds him, eyes closed, lips parted softly, fingers pressed together. Meditating in a way he hasn't seen him in a long time. He hovers for a moment before sitting down next to him as quietly as possible and staring out at the soft blue sky, the rippling waves licking at the sand only a few feet away. He breathes quietly, enjoying the serenity of the moment, when John slowly stirs next to him, stretching out of his pose with a soft sigh. Their eyes meet and John smiles at him. "What's up, Mike?"
He doesn't seem greatly surprised to see Mike by his side, probably because it's happened so many times over the years. The thought makes Mike a little emotional as he reaches out and brushes a stick out of John's hair. "I dunno, just thinking, I guess. Wanted to talk to you about our tag title plans."
John hums. "What about them? They seem pretty cut and dry to me. We're already number one contenders, after all."
"Yeah," Mike sighs. "I know. But for most of the time that we haven't partnered together, that's how long the New Day have been." He casts uncertain blue eyes John's way and lifts a shoulder. "Think we can really do this?"
He never knows if John's laidback attitude is from all the meditation he does or just is an innate part of Morrison's DNA, but it's not as much a surprise as it probably should be when John laughs quietly. "Yeah, I think we really can do this." He licks his lips and lays back in the sand, not minding how it must cling to his long, thick hair. "They may have been a team the last few years, but you and I have been best friends for, like, twelve years running. Who cares how many times they've held the tag titles. We're gonna stop 'em."
It sounds so simple when he says it, Mike finds himself lulled into believing it as he forgets his own hair and lays down next to him, staring up at the clouds drifting lazily overhead. "Twelve years, huh? Amazing you haven't gotten sick and tired of me yet."
"Oh, I never said I haven't," he cracks, and Mike reaches over to swat at him. John laughs, warm and happy in the sun. "But you're a good guy, usually. I prefer to keep you around."
Mike lays there, quietly digesting John's words. "Good," he murmurs. "I prefer that too."
-x
Smackdown, there's a hitch in their plans. They're thrown into a tag match with Daniel Bryan and Roman Reigns and, well, it doesn't go so well. They lose, badly. While regrouping in their locker room, John leans over while sitting on the couch, trying to shake off the affects of the offense he'd taken, and Mike stands over him, briskly rubbing his shoulder. "Sorry," he rasps out.
"No, it's fine," Mike says, teeth gritted. "You know what? I agree with you. We are going to win at Saudi Arabia. Screw everything and everyone else, we deserve this. You and I are gonna fly home to our beautiful wives with gold around our waists again."
John breathes in and out deeply a few times before sitting up straight, still holding onto his midsection. Their eyes meet and he smirks slightly, eyes lighting up. "Took you long enough to see things my way."
"You always knew I was a slow learner," Mike jokes and John softens into a smile as he sits down next to him and pulls him closer. "We have a few days, let's work out a more significant game plan for Saudi. Just to make sure."
"Alright," John agrees, shaking off the tension and pain lingering. "I'm down. Let's do this."
"Hell yeah." Mike grins.
Tag championships, here we come.