I got these ideas from CelticPrincessx3's 100 Prompt OTP Challenge! They were pretty fun to write, and I will continue this probably maybe later in the future. There is no exact timeline to these happenings. I also don't own any of these delightful wrasslin' boys, which is highly unfortunate.

Enjoy! (:

28. Cup/Mug

Seth's tongue poked out in concentration as he watched his hand guide the permanent marker over the smooth, cool white of the porcelain. He was never good at drawing anything and his handwriting was rather rubbish, so this task was proving quite an ordeal for him. He didn't know why he chose to do this, but it was about 40 minutes away from December 7th and he'd completely forgotten to buy a present for Dean's get-together that night until he caught sight of the shining, plain white mug sitting in his sink.

"A mug." Roman stared at Seth incredulously when they compared presents later. "A fucking mug, Seth?

Seth clutched at his gift protectively. He'd put a lot of effort into customizing it and he couldn't even remember the last time he'd sat down that long to laboriously draw something, so he was decidedly a little offended at his friend's skepticism. "Yes, a mug, Rome. Why, what'd you get him?"

Roman didn't answer, just eyed him suspiciously, getting too close into Seth's personal space for his liking. "You forgot to get him a present, didn't you? Up until I called you about an hour ago to remind you of our plans?"

Seth gulped. The big guy could be pretty scary when he wanted to be. "N-no," he stammered.

"Really? Because I swear I saw that damn mug in your sink this morning. Only now you've scribbled something on it with a sharpie."

"They're not scribbles! Look!"

Roman squinted apprehensively at the black squiggles and unwashed coffee stains on the offending white mug that was currently being shoved in his face. "Best Friends Forever," he read out loud, and then his eyes widened in disbelief when he saw the Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins stickman figures decorating the end of the annoyingly sickening phrase. "Oh, my God."

"What?" Seth protested. "He is my best friend."

Without a word, the Samoan turned and stalked down the hallway to Room 458 – Dean's room – with a big gift bag of something hanging limply off his fingers. Seth ran to catch up to the defeated figure that was Roman Reigns, who was currently knocking on Dean's door with fatigued, tired knocks.

The door opened in record time and Dean's beaming, slightly red face appeared from behind it. "Come in, boys! I got started on the whiskey already, but I know you won't hold that against me."

"Nah, it's cool." Roman slouched in and Seth followed, hiding the mug behind his back because he was hit with the sudden realization that he didn't even wrap it up.

"I've only got two glasses, so you two use those and I'll drink straight from the bottle, okay?" Dean admonished as he grabbed the aforementioned glasses from the TV stand. At the mention of 'two glasses', Roman whipped his head round and looked at Seth with an expression he couldn't and didn't dare to fathom.

Dean plopped down on the bed, poured them both drinks and started chattering on in slightly drunken glee about the furry mukluks he'd gotten from Renee earlier, about how goddamned warm they were and how he'd wear them anywhere he damn well pleased, so screw everyone else. It was only after he'd put them on and shut up that he noticed that his two friends hadn't said a word the entire time and seemed to be in an uncomfortable staring contest with each other.

"Okay, what's going on?" he asked cautiously, momentarily forgetting about the warm, fuzzy delights on his feet.

Roman's grin was probably the most forced, fake phenomenon in the history of nature. Dean frowned. Seth twiddled his thumbs anxiously.

"Happy birthday, brother!" Roman announced a little too loudly as he handed him the gift bag he'd brought with him. Dean tore into it and unboxed the Xbox One and a plethora of games with absolute relish. He clapped his hands in joy, bounded up and bearhugged Roman. "Thanks a bunch, Uce! Been wanting this for a time! You sly motherfucker, how'd you know?!"

"You told me outright last week, you drunken sonuvabitch." Roman sat back down to continue glaring daggers at Seth, who was now slumped further into his seat. "Do you wanna show Dean what you got him, Seth?" Seth wanted to kill him. It was so like Roman to do everything right and then rub it in your face.

He hesitated a short while before fishing his gift out from the chasms of the armchair underneath his butt and shakily held it out to the birthday boy. The silence that followed after Dean took the mug and studied it was literally deafening. Seth didn't want to kill Roman anymore. Now, he wanted to dig a hole right into the concrete with his bare hands and bury himself in the rubble. Forever.

"…you clearly need art lessons, my friend." Dean observed in a low voice, his tipsiness suddenly and not very mysteriously gone.

Seth jumped up, his face pulled into a sorry mask of guilt. Maybe Dean could be goaded over by grovelling and the promise of shiny, expensive gifts. "I'm so sorry, Dean! It was a last minute thing! I'll get you something much better tomorrow, I swear, anything you want! Does a yacht sound good?"

Dean looked up from the mug, regarding Seth with a huge, watery smile on his face. "Oh, shut up and sit back down, you raging idiot. We are best friends and why would I want a goddamn yacht when I've got this?"

And with that, he poured a generous amount of whiskey into the mug and drank from it, hideous stickmen, shaky handwriting, coffee stains and all.