A/N: I have no idea where this story came from or where it's going to go, but damn if I'm not going to explore it a bit. ;) Enjoy~

The yelling started around the time it always did, just after ten o'clock when one of them got off work. Roman Reigns would have been thankful for the late-night spring storm if it did an ounce of good drowning out the noise. He considered plugging his headphones in and letting music carry him to sleep tonight, but it was uncomfortable with the buds pushing into his ear as he turned onto his side. A pillow over the head did absolutely nothing to help.

This was getting ridiculous. Had they no respect for the neighbors? Nearly every night of the week, a fight would break out between the folks living directly above Roman. He had no idea how many were involved, if any women were present or if it was just guys. Whatever the circumstances, it was getting out of hand.

Call the cops, Roman told himself. Maybe they'll get hauled off to jail and you won't have to deal with this anymore. He hadn't been the first one to consider this. Three weeks ago or so, the shouting had cut off completely as the dark parking lot ignited with flashing blue and red lights. They'd kept up decent behavior for a good two nights before they were at it again.

Roman rolled out of bed, the motion not disturbing the German shepherd pup at the foot of the bed. He was a forward man. He'd deal with this himself. If any fists flew, well, all the more reason to call the police. Get these assholes locked away. Finally achieve a full night's sleep before a long day of work.

Roman tied a dark robe around his waist and stepped into slippers. No sense dressing up for the people he was probably about to kick in the teeth. No, no violence—can't be getting a police record for my own. He whispered to Roy, "Be right back" before slinking out of the bedroom and shifting in the dark towards the front door.

A draft lifted his black locks, and Roman yanked his door shut behind him. Nasty storm. Better than a drought, he supposed. Perhaps he should set up camp out here for the night. At least he couldn't hear the commotion upstairs. Step by step he ascended the concrete flight. He noticed another neighbor, Dolph Ziggler, stomping out of his own apartment.

"I've got it," Roman said, putting a hand up. The fewer people he could protect, the better. If these people truly were violent—and Roman guessed they very much were—then it was better for Roman alone to be at risk.

Dolph sighed. "This is so annoying," he mumbled before returning inside.

Lightning sparked in the night sky. Thunder roared behind it as Roman hammered his fist against the door five times. He would be heard, no matter what chaos resounded past this door.

The hollering had either slowed or stopped completely. Roman wouldn't be fooled. He knocked again, even louder.

The door yanked open. Roman recognized the guy—he'd seen him strolling the complex plenty of times, walking a little Yorkshire terrier that somehow intimidated his German shepherd—but they didn't know each other. Dark eyes regarded Roman, a storm of their own housed within them. He wore nothing but boxer shorts, exposing two muscular, tatted arms and a built torso. His face and neck were slightly swollen. He looked strong but Roman figured he could take him, if necessary.

"What?" the neighbor barked.

"I think you know what," Roman said, firm, low. "Could you keep it down? We got people sleeping."

He huffed, baring his teeth. "Mind your business, guy."

"You're making it my business, guy."

"There's nothing wrong. Things are fine. Good night." He tried to press the door closed, but Roman held up his hand, holding it open.

"Man, what the hell? Get the hell outta my house."

The alcohol on his breath was stinging, nauseating. He took a step back, then Roman caught sight of another suspect present.

Suspect…wait…no, he was a victim.

Poking his head out of a bedroom door was a shorter man, dressed in pajamas, with long hair that was partially blond, partially brown. Roman had seen him before, too, walking the same Yorkie. The unique hair wasn't what Roman noted and reacted to—it was the cloud of purple encircling his right eye, the open gash across his cheekbone.

And behind him on the floor? A broken beer bottle.

Son of a bitch.

"Hey, you alright?" Roman asked. Silly question, of course, but Roman needed an answer from him. He wouldn't take any crap, either. This had seriously escalated.

"Yeah, sorry," he voiced, timid. "Randy, let's just go back to bed—"

"Get back in the bedroom," Randy woofed. "I'm taking care of something."

"Did you do that to him?" Roman demanded, pointing to his other injured neighbor.

"Mind your fucking business!" Randy pushed his face into Roman's.

Roman's fist was ready. "You're a stupid, drunk son of a bitch, and if you don't back up right now, I'm not afraid to knock you out before calling the cops on your ass. You got that?"

Randy must have understood the circumstances a bit better now. He bumbled back another few steps. Scraping a hand over his sweating face, he grumbled, "Clean that shit up. He's your problem now." He reached for a set of keys hanging on a hook, but Roman swiped them first. As great as it would be to watch this asshole drive away drunk—maybe wreck his car or get pulled over and arrested—he didn't want to put any other drivers in harm's way.

"HEY!" Randy screamed. "GIMMIE MY CAR!"

"No. You're fucking hammered."

"Listen, asshole, you have no right to come into my house—"

Came the voice lingering behind him: "Randy, just listen to him, for God's sakes—"

Randy violently swung his arms, not hitting anything—yet. "YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP, SETH, OR I'LL BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR—"

Roman's fist smashed into the side of Randy's head. He winced as he drew his hand back. His knuckles had torn in two places. Blood oozed from the little wounds. Randy was out before his body smacked the carpet.

"Shit," Roman said, shaking his stinging hand. He hadn't wanted to, really, but it seemed to be the best way to stop him from causing any more damage tonight.

Seth stared at Randy with wide eyes, face blanched, lips parted.

"Come on," Roman beckoned. "I'm getting you out of here."

Seth remained where he was for a long while. Roman didn't want to force him to do anything, but Seth was definitely better off away from here for the night. Even if it meant taking him home for a little while.

At last he scampered across the living room floor, stepping carefully over Randy's body. Consequences were inevitable but Seth's safety was the highest priority.

"That was crazy," Seth gasped. Roman guided him with an arm over the shoulder out of the apartment, bringing the door closed behind him. "Holy shit, I can't believe this is happening…"

"Just stay with me," Roman said. He half-towed, half-walked Seth down the flight of stairs. The guy was shaking like mad. It was an effort to keep him from falling down the steps. "We'll call the police once we get to my place."

"No," Seth said, shaking his head. "No cops."

"Why not?"

"They'll take us all in. You too, since you hit him."

"Defending you," Roman claimed, but he knew Seth was right.

"Doesn't matter. We've been through it before. I hit him back tonight. We'd both go to jail. And he'd come after me again…he'd…"

Seth's safety. High priority. He needed to comfort his neighbor, protect him. The legalities would come around later. He didn't want Seth to take off running if Roman insisted on doing something Seth didn't want him to do. Maybe in the morning. But before Seth went back to Randy's home, that was for sure.

Roman unlocked the door to his place. "Alright. Let's just get you taken care of, okay?"

"Yeah…sure…"

Roman flicked a light on in the living room, then turned on the gas fireplace. This woke his puppy, even alone in his dark bedroom, and Roy came running across the carpet on furry legs. He hopped on his back legs, little claws scratching Seth's jeans.

"Hey, Roy, down," Roman said. He pulled the closet open and freed a bundled comforter from the top shelf.

"Aw, I don't mind," Seth said. He squatted to rub Roy's back. "I love dogs."

"You have a Yorkie, right?"

"I do. Oh, shit, Kevin," Seth gasped. "He's still upstairs with Randy. I need to—"

"Go sit on the couch for me, please?" Roman requested. He was in no place to tell Seth what to do. He figured Seth got told what to do enough by that bastard unconscious upstairs. "I'll go get him."

"Thanks. He's in the back bedroom…in a kennel…"

Roman settled Seth on the couch under the comforter. "Be right back," he promised. He was back upstairs in a flash. Roman stepped over Randy's unmoving body, fumbled in the dark bedroom for a switch, then found the puppy trembling in the corner of his cage. He barked at Roman when Roman tugged the cage door open. His tiny teeth didn't stop Roman from swooping him into his hands.

"I gotcha, bud," he whispered.

Randy was still out cold. Roman "accidentally" kicked his shoulder as he walked by, dog in his arms. "Bastard."

Seth was looking better already, playing with Roy on the couch with Roman returned. "They gonna get along?" Roman asked.

"Oh, they should," Seth said, smiling at his puppy. "Kevin likes to pick fights, but it's all in play."

Roman gently set Kevin on the floor. He charged at Roy, who met him on the carpet at Seth's feet. The puppies sniffed each other, then walked circles around one another. No barking, no fighting. Friends already. A good sign.

Roman crafted an ice pack out of a plastic baggie and a washcloth. He handed it to Seth, who pressed it against his bruised eye. "Thanks."

"You want some tea or coffee?" Not the best drink to have so late at night, but neither were due back asleep for a while, anyway. Caffeine wouldn't hurt.

"Coffee sounds good."

Roman set to work on a pot.

"Your name's Roman, right?" Seth asked.

"Yeah. And I caught yours, Seth?"

"Mhmm. Sorry we couldn't meet under better circumstances."

"Hey, don't worry about it. What's important is that you're safe for now." Roman couldn't bring himself to think about what would happen after tonight. Instead he focused on his task at hand: getting Seth into a place of total peace. He delivered a hot mug of coffee to the living room and offered sugar and creamer.

"No thanks. I like it black," Seth said. He took a sip. "Thanks."

Roman helped himself to a sweet cup of his own mixture, and had a seat on the couch close to Seth. "You may need stitches for your cheek," he observed.

Seth grimaced. "I'll be fine. I've dealt with worse."

"Same…circumstances?" It felt dirty to pry but Roman was involved in the situation now. The more details he could figure out, the better.

"Yeah." Roman loathed that answer. "It wasn't always like this. We've been together for, like, two years. We just started fighting like crazy once we moved in together. Don't know why."

"Has he always drank?"

"Yeah. He was more of a social drinker to start. Parties, out with friends, stuff like that. When he started bringing it home with him every night…that's when things spiraled downward."

"You need to free yourself from that, Seth. It's not good for you."

"I've tried," Seth admitted. "Tonight I told him I was sick of him coming home drunk every night. He lost his shit when I told him he needed to cool off elsewhere. Started accusing me of cheating on him and all this shit. Didn't make sense."

"Nothing does in the mind of a drunken wanker," Roman stated.

Seth smiled grimly.

The dogs had curled up next to each other in front of the fire. Seth finished his coffee up, then pulled the blanket up to his chin. "I know we've pissed a lot of people off with our fighting. And I hate it. I want out of this place, just so we don't keep getting the cops called on us…"

"That's a sign," Roman said. "Isn't it? Shouldn't they be taking care of you? Keeping you safe from him?"

"Like I said. Been there, done that. Last time Randy wasn't drunk, and he hadn't laid a hand on me. Cops gave us a citation for disturbing the peace. It was a $400 fine, and guess whose check it came out of?"

"That's bullshit," Roman said. "Absolute bullshit."

Seth shrugged one shoulder, as if to say he agreed, but what could he do about it?

Roman let out a sigh. God, was he tired. He had work early. The bookstore where he worked felt it necessary to open its doors at seven in the morning because they served coffee. "Cops or no cops, you can do better."

"He was my better," Seth spoke softly. He removed the ice pack from his eye. The swelling had gone down a bit.

Roman slipped his hand into Seth's. "If he really loved you, he wouldn't think to hurt you. And he sure wouldn't make you deal with his drunk ass."

Seth smiled again. It seemed more real this time. He leaned his head on Roman's shoulder. "He scares me," he whispered.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to let him hurt you anymore."

"You promise, Roman?"

"I swear."

Seth snuggled a bit closer to Roman. Roman felt warm, a warmth that the fireplace wasn't getting credit for. He knew nothing about Seth, Seth knew nothing about him, but he felt very shielding. Nobody was going to harm this man so long as Roman Reigns was around.

Together on the couch they nodded off at last, to the glow of a fire in a thunderstorm.