Losing to Logan Paul is something Mike knows will eat at him for awhile. It doesn't help that Maryse is hanging around, a sympathetic look on her face. She kicks her feet idly, watching him, and he huffs. "I'm fine, ok? Pissed off, but I'll live. Please... stop."

"Alright," she says. "I'm going to go find Heath and the kids. He said he wanted to go show them Tootsies."

Ciampa wanders in, drops down next to him, and begins writing whatever it is he finds noteworthy for his fitness schedule. Mike glances over, intimidated by the sharp gaze in his deep blue eyes, and looks away again. "You alright?"

"Yep."

Ciampa nods. "Good," he says. "Well, trust me. it sucks now, but it'll pass. Great thing about wrestling, a million things happens an hour, and people will forget. Then it just matters on how you choose to handle things."

Mike exhales. "Yeah, good advice. Well, I didn't let Bad Bunny hold me down for long, this won't either. I guess."

"That's the spirit," Ciampa says, clapping him briskly on the back before getting to his feet. "Dunno abut you, but I plan on calling my wife to say good night to my daughter, and then I'm heading in myself. Early flight out to Texas tomorrow and all."

Mike wants to say something, a strange, hot kind of yearning blasting through him. "Hey, Ciampa?" he asks, the truth- about AJ, and Sara Louisa, and George- on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah?" Ciampa asks, turning to look at him. "What's up?"

Mike stares up at him, examining the cool blue of his eyes, so so different from the warm brown of Morrison's, and of AJ's, and of Maryse's. "Nothing. Um, good night, man. See you before we head out tomorrow."

Ciampa hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Good night," he says, taking his leave.

-x

They've only been at the arena for Raw for a few minutes when they hear about the #1 contendership matches for the US title. Mike in one, Ciampa in the other. They exchange glances. "So if we end up facing each other, what then?" Ciampa asks.

Neither man have a good track record in remaining friends with partners, especially in situations like this, and even Mike has to pause and think about it. "I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it," he hedges slowly. "Let's promise one thing though."

"Yeah, what?" Ciampa asks, his intense gaze once more on Mike's face.

"If one of us makes it and the other doesn't, we support the other wholeheartedly. I'll have your back if you advance, and you'll have mine if I get through my opponents. Alright?"

Ciampa nods, his lips twitching a little under his monster of a beard. "Sounds like a plan," he agrees. "Good luck, Miz."

"Good luck to you as well," Mike says, and they shake hands before taking their leave to prepare for their individual matches.

Mike unfortunately is at a disadvantage. He's battered and bruised from the match Saturday thanks to that asshole Jake Paul, and he can barely get in a full breath around the thick bandages around his midsection. AJ ultimately advances and Mike immediately wants nothing more than to see Ciampa eat that man alive.

For that reason, he's ringside when it happens, watching with a sneer as Ciampa defeats AJ. Afterwards, they walk backstage, Ciampa trying to work off some of the lingering adrenaline. "If it couldn't be me, I'm really glad it's you," Mike tells him.

Ciampa smirks and inclines his head. "Thanks," he says. They walk on for a few more minutes before Mike's phone goes off, Tommaso tilting his head at the ringtone. "Is that Maryse?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at the soft tones of echoing off the walls around them.

Mike thumbs at his phone, silencing it, and glances over at Tommaso. "Actually," he says slowly, "It's not." He weighs his options again before shrugging. "I feel like I can trust you. Especially after hearing everything you went through with your family the last few years. Come here." He motions him to an empty room off to the side and shuts the door firmly behind them. "So," he says, sitting down across from Ciampa. "I am married with two children."

Ciampa coughs. "Mike, I'm sure everyone who's seen you on TV know this quite well by now."

Mike smirks a little, then looks up with a shrug. "What they don't know is my childrens' names are Sara Louisa and George. And my wife's name is April Jean."

As Ciampa's mouth drops and his eyes widen in surprise, Mike proceeds to tell him the whole story, until the arena is being closed up and they have to leave. "I have a lot of questions," he mumbles. "That's a hell of a story."

"Yeah. You do understand why you can't tell anyone, right?" Mike asks, holding his phone full of pictures of himself playing with Sara and George up so Tommaso can see them.

"Yeah," he says softly. "I get it."

Mike hopes he does. Hopes that he hadn't just made a big misstep by confessing everything to this man.