"Oh, god."

Tyler rolled off of Jon to sit on the side of the bed, head in his hands and back heaving with his breath. "I... didn't..."

Jon hadn't moved an inch since it was said. His arms lay limp at his sides as he stared holes into the ceiling. He felt as if his chest was going to implode on itself, like his legs were made of electrified gelatin. Like he would stop breathing if he even twitched.

The man next to him heaved a deep sigh and then cautiously turned to look back at Jon. There was much churning in his wide, brown eyes – some mixture of fear and anticipation. His bottom lip quivered, tried to speak, but nothing came out. Just the faintest, choked hint of a whimper. He turned back, gazing into the floor.

"Tyler," Jon breathed, only able to speak his name and nothing more. And it felt sticky in his mouth, like it had glued his throat shut.

And so he reached out, still too far to touch him. He was helpless for the moment before he remembered he could even move. Jon rolled onto his side, curled himself around Tyler's lower back, clung there as if for dear life.

"I didn't mean..." Tyler sucked in a breath, perhaps a little too quickly. He held onto Jon's hands. "Okay, well... I meant it. I did mean it. I just... didn't mean to say it just then."

He'd meant it.

He...

They.

They loved each other.

Jon clawed at himself to say something back. For weeks he'd been bottling those words, burying them deep, fearing that they'd escape.

And yet now, when he was sure it would have been safe to say it, that he'd survive saying them, that Tyler would want to hear it...

Nothing. Not a single sound could get through. His throat had snapped shut on them, and even swallowing was painful enough to burn a tear down his cheek.

Tyler whimpered out a breath and started talking, as if he needed to fill the void of silence.

"And look, I... I get it if you don't say it back, I mean... geez, we haven't known each other that long at all, I'm kind of a moron for saying it so early. It was a really intimate moment, and I guess I was just really into it, and..."

The next sentence seemed to catch in his throat and die there. He blinked for several moments, his mouth hanging open. A hand drifted up to run through his damp, frizzed hair.

"All right, no, no, that's bullshit, I'm sorry I even said that. To be honest, I've felt it for a while. I knew that there was something between us as soon as we had that first match, and the way you touched me was... I-I dunno, it just felt so comfortable. Like I was exactly where I should be. And that might sound really stupid, but I just don't care. I had to say it."

"Tyler." His name rasped forth again.

"Too soon, huh? Must be. Especially with you, man, I know everything's been difficult for you, especially when it comes to l... well. You know."

"Tyler..."

"Jon, I'm sorry, I just hope I didn't fuck everything up, I just needed to say it for so long-"

"Tyler, shut up for a second."

Jon hauled himself to an upright position to find Tyler wide-eyed, his lip chapped near to the point of bleeding from how much he'd worried it with his teeth. Looking him in the eyes, Jon still couldn't bring forth the words to properly express himself. His gut seemed to twist around his lungs, constricting his voice to the point of uselessness.

His hands trembled up to embrace Tyler's jaw, and Jon leaned forward. Their foreheads connected to stick whatever locks of hair were caught between them with sweat. Jon attempted, through sheer force of will, to express those words in the way he gazed Tyler. And the only other thing he could do was softly kiss him, not for a moment breaking their eye contact.

His throat snarled itself clear.

"Tyler, I... feel the same way, all right?" It was all he could manage. The way his heart pumped fear through the rest of his body, he may as well have been at gunpoint. "But... I can't... fucking say it."

He let his hands drop, his head still pressed to Tyler's. "I want to. I've wanted to, for fucking weeks. I tried to, but I couldn't."

Tyler took Jon's hands and just held them, his eyes clamped shut. It was barely visible in the dark, but Jon's heart sunk into his stomach as he watched Tyler's eyelids begin to sparkle with tears. He shut his own eyes, squeezed Tyler's fingers.

"I just... my body won't let me. It's like everything I was ever afraid of will tear me apart if I say it. But I want to, I wanna say it more than anything, I want you to know how much I... how much I feel that."

"I get it, Jon, I know, I understand completely," Tyler's voice was quivering at the back of his throat. For a moment he drew closer to Jon, their lips barely grazing, before he drew away suddenly.

And he was standing up. He was turned away from Jon. He had his head in his hands and he was taking steps away from him...

Jon snatched Tyler's wrist in his hand and tried to pull him back. His mind was racing – why would...? He said he...

What?

They froze there, Jon kneeling on the bed and holding Tyler's wrist in both hands, Tyler midway through a step and his shoulders hunched over.

Words spilled out of him, almost in the place of the tears he was long past able to shed. "Tyler, I'm fucking sorry, all right? I wish I could say it, I want to, but I don't want you to fucking leave, I want you to stay, all right? Stay here, please, please just stay with me tonight. I'll say it eventually, I promise, I can... I can get the fuck over myself, okay?"

Tyler snatched his hand away, suddenly much louder than Jon expected. "It isn't that, Jon, okay?! I said I understood, didn't I?"

A breath stomped out of Tyler's lungs, he shoved his hand through his hair and grasped it, hard. "I have something to tell you. And if I say it, I just... have a feeling you're going to hate me."

Jon's hands fell into his lap. He felt like all of his limbs were about to rend themselves away. "Tyler, why the fuck would I hate you? Did we not just have a conversation about -?"

"I got a contract offer."

Well, there was one shoe, unceremoniously dropped. But where was the other?

"That's... good. That's fuckin' great. Right?" Jon could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. "Where is it?"

"Florida."

Oh. There it was.

Tyler let go of his fistful of hair and let his hand bounce against his hip. "Look, it's... it's big, all right? It's a really big deal. I mean. You know who runs developmental in Florida, right?"

"Yeah. I know." His head might as well have been at the bottom of the ocean. Every breath felt like it could be his last. At least, his chest hurt like it was. "When did you find out?"

"Yesterday." He was pacing now. A few steps one way and then the same amount in the other. Almost stomping. His head was shaking back and forth, as if he didn't want to believe it himself. "So... I guess maybe I just wanted you to know how I felt, before I started making plans to leave. That's all."

"All right. I see." It came out flatter than he'd intended. He didn't want to sound angry. Or maybe he did. He wasn't sure.

Tyler huffed, frustrated. "I'm sorry, Jon. I didn't want to have to make this decision, but..."

"No. I get it. You'd be a fucking idiot to pass up something like this. But you're not. I am."

"Jon-"

"I don't know what I expected." Jon wasn't sure if he'd said that aloud. "I knew that... it was too good. I mean. To happen to me."

"Jon, what are you-?"

He was laughing. It honestly just made so much sense to him. He wasn't sure how he could have thought anything else.

The stubble on his chin jabbed underneath his fingernails. "I knew it. It couldn't work. You're a talented guy, you got all the potential in the world, actual parents. Hell, you even had a childhood. And I'm... I'm just a scumbag. Always have been, always will be. It wouldn't work out. We're too different."

Tyler scowled, not out of umbrage, not even out of hurt, but in Jon's defense. "You know I don't care about that shit. It has nothing to do with your upbringing or any of that-"

"Exactly!" Jon was shouting now, couldn't really speak without doing that. "It has nothing to do with it! Why do you think I'm so fucking upset? It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter how I was raised or how fucked up I am. Because I still lose you no matter what. That's how it works, remember? I explained this shit to you. Anything I'm even remotely attached to just leaves sooner or later. And it's usually sooner."

Tyler's voice was raised as well, but in a way that made it seem like he didn't want it to. "I said I was sorry!"

"And you said you wouldn't hurt me!" It was a growling, snarling, injured sort of roar. It was painful to say, to feel. "You promised." He was cracking at the same time his voice was. His eyes were burning hot and spilling down his cheeks.

He'd turned away, his shoulders shaking and his back heaving. "If it was you... If you got this offer, you wouldn't even hesitate. I actually considered turning it down for a little while, but I know you wouldn't want me to."

"Well clearly I have nothing to do with this." Jon tried to take a deep breath and gagged on it.

"That isn't fair, Jon."

"I agree."

Tyler opened his mouth, raised his hand for emphasis, but dropped both of those actions. Without another word he pulled on his boxers and jeans, carrying his shirt and cap in his hands as he turned around and went for the door. Jon was soon to follow, the both of them stomping out of his bedroom and towards the front door of his apartment. Tyler was slipping his sneakers back on, not even looking back.

"Good!" Jon exclaimed after him. "Great idea, just get it over with and leave now. Fuck, might as well just hop on the plane and go down to Florida tonight, since they're so eager to have you."

He turned on his heel and shouted just inches from Jon's face. "I thought you'd at least be proud of me!"

"Well congrat-u-fucking-lations, Tyler. Or whatever your name is gonna be." Jon whirled away from him, his fingernails digging into his palms.

He heard Tyler sigh and whimper, "I guess I understand if you hate me now."

Jon chuckled. "Believe me. I wish I could hate you."

Tyler sounded like he was making an attempt to respond. But all he managed was a choked-off sob before his footsteps carried him out of the apartment to slam the door behind him.

And after the sound of his footfalls echoed away down the hall, it became so horrendously silent that Jon's ears started to pound.

"I love you, too."

It echoed between what little slivers of light came in from the hallway through his front door frame. He felt as if nails were being driven into his legs as he trudged over to the couch, and kicked over his coffee table before collapsing in a burning heap on the cushions.

And so it went.

Jon Moxley had to survive somehow.

~ Epilogue ~

As always, it never got better. It only got less bad over time.

He survived like he always did. He'd go out with Sami and drink just a bit too much, take on one too many matches, bust himself open the hard way.

But now, a year out from that night, he didn't have to.

It was clean, his new apartment. He hadn't quite had the chance to get it dirty just yet. He had his TV, a bed, and the ridiculous amount of free merchandise they were sending him. He found that John Cena wristbands made decent beer cozies.

A paycheck every single week. No need to make towns. And bleeding was no longer expected of him.

And, it was Florida. So at least it didn't get cold.

It was good. And he hadn't even gotten in the ring yet.

He'd spent many hours on the phone with one Sir William Regal, who had seen his work on the indie circuit and had some rather glowing things to say about it. Half the time was spent not discussing his future, but simply their own passions and favorites in the business. Without having even shaken hands, they were becoming very familiar very quickly. In fact, William insisted on having lunch with him as soon as Jon arrived and got himself settled.

They sat in a small Cuban restaurant near the beach, and Jon thought to himself how oddly normal it felt, sitting across the table from someone he used to see only through the television screen. William was dressed not in his trademark suit, but a corporate t-shirt and jeans. And he was actually perusing the menu, muttering to himself about what he might order. Whereas Jon had decided within moments of sitting down, since there were about three things he actually recognized on the menu.

The older gentleman tapped a finger against the laminate.

"Hm..."

"Hm," Jon agreed.

William snapped the menu shut suddenly and switched on a gentle, pleasant smile. "So! It's rather exciting, isn't it? Biggest stage of them all, and all that."

He began nodding but thought differently of it a moment later. "Well. Not yet. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm fuckin' ecstatic, but it's just gonna be local TV for now, right?"

For how formal and eloquent he was, Regal was surprisingly not perturbed by his gruff demeanor. "True, for now. But I doubt you'll be down here for very long. I've seen what you can do, and I firmly believe that you'll be called up to the main stage in no time at all."

Well that was nice to hear, especially from someone who knew what he was talking about. "Thanks, man. Uh. Sir." It wouldn't do him much good not to pay respect to those with seniority, he realized.

A warm chuckle floated from William. "No need for that, I assure you. You wouldn't call your friends 'sir', would you?"

"Ahh, I dunno, I kinda got some real kinky friends."

They laughed, together. It felt easy. Making friends wasn't always that way for Jon. And as new as it all was to him down here, it helped to have someone willing to be familiar.

"So, uh." It had been bugging him a little bit since they sat down, and it seemed a good time to bring it up. "There a reason we got a table for three?"

"Yes. I apologize for not clearing it with you beforehand, but we're being joined by someone from FCW. I think you might have heard of him, but he's done so much great work already. I think you two should consider working together right from the outset."

Jon felt a smirk come up on his lips. "Well whoever he is, he's fuckin' late. Hope he's a little more diligent in the ring."

William grinned back, almost as if he'd been challenged. "No need to worry about that, I promise." His eye line ticked up and past Jon's shoulder, and he stood. "Ah, speak of the devil."

"Mr. Regal!"

The voice was cocky, kinda high pitched, a little nasally, with the tiniest hint of a lisp.

Jon knew it well. His heart jumped up into his throat as he slowly got to his feet and turned. It was automatic, instinctual. In truth, he was afraid. Truly afraid of how he might look at him, at the expression that might already be on his face in realizing who it was William had brought him to meet.

It was too late, though. Their eyes were locked together.

"Oh."

Jon could have sworn he didn't say anything. But he heard himself say it, and the other had said it at the same time.

William was smiling, so unaware of the gravity of this moment. "Jon, this is Seth Rollins, and Seth, this is Jon Moxley... at least for the moment."

And as the seconds ticked by with no further words spoken, Jon found his chest pounding and quivering, and yet warming at the same time. He watched Seth's expression morph from surprise, to fear, to... relief?

"Hey, man." Jon couldn't think of anything else to say. There was so much to apologize for, so much time to make up, so many things he wanted to tell him that he didn't get a chance to during the past year. But, he had to start somewhere. And that's where it was.

Seth's expression was soft, unsure. It didn't suit him, but Jon understood it.

And then he smiled. He smiled with that gap in his front teeth and that light in his eyes.

"Nice to see ya, Jon."

William looked at one, then the other, and piped up, "Have you two met before?"

Seth gave a small shrug and extended a hand to shake, in spite of the both of them. "It was at a pretty small promotion, I don't think you'd've heard of it. But we've run into each other before."

Jon took his hand, anyway, squeezing just slightly and chuckling, "Yeah... S'good running into you again."

The End.