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“You know, cowboy, I thought you’d get back up.”
Adam frowned, opening his eyes and attempting to blink away the pain ringing through his head. “What are you doing here? The shows over.” He glanced at the clock hanging above the door, squinting, “’Ended almost two hours ago.”
Jon chuckled, rough and scratchy, “Figured you could use some company. ‘Emo cowboy ain’t got no friends’, and all.” He leaned against the door frame, twirling a bottle of beer around, “Plus, The BCC ditched me. Somethin’ bout needing to sleep, I don’t know.”
Adam glared towards Jon, regarding the slightly glossy look to the other man’s eyes, “You and The BCC regularly violating company policy,” he nods toward the bottle in Jon’s hands, “or is that just a ‘I gave Hangman a concussion’ celebration?”
Jon smiled, sharp and rugged, pushing away from the door and sitting next to Adam on the medical bench. “It was a celebration, but looking at you now?” He whistles through his teeth and Adam can’t quite conceal the wince he lets out as the noise rings through his head, “I’d almost say you’ve been put on the shelf, Hangman.”
Adam scowls, shuffling as far as he can from Jon before a wave of nausea rolls over him, “Yeah, well, that’s what the medics said, too.”
Jon inhales, louder than necessary, “Shit, cowboy,” he picks at the paper label of the bottle, “that’s no good. No good at all.” He takes a swig from the bottle, before holding it out to Adam.
“Alcohol makes concussions worse. I shouldn’t.” He takes the bottle anyway, letting the taste wash over his tongue. Jon gives him a funny look, pulling another bottle out of his gym bag.
Adam frowns, the movement causing another jolt of pain to run through him. He doesn’t realise he’s doubled over until Jon puts a hand between his shoulder blades, running his thumb over his spine and whispering, “You okay, cowboy?”
The touch is the most relief Adam’s felt since before his world went blurry, since before a lariat sent him spinning. He sits up, too fast, it makes bile rise to his throat, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Jon’s hand drops from him and his skin burns. It feels worse and better at once.
Jon nods, taking the bottle from Adam and taking a sip. “No more of this,” He tips the bottle nonchalantly, “for you, Page.”
Adam half-smiles, leaning back against the wall. “So, Mox,” he ignores the way that the taste of beer and Jon’s name in his mouth makes him feel light-headed, “how was picking up the win tonight?” The words come out bitter. He revels in the death stare Jon shoots his way.
“It didn’t count.” Jon straightens out his shoulders, “No pin fall, no submission. Just a lariat. That’s no win.” Adam watches Jon’s face shift, watches as he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at the floor. It almost looks like regret, disappointment.
“We’ll get another go. I’m not done with you, yet.” Adam rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He can almost feel the way Jon shifts to look at him. “Besides,” he says, “I still need to get even.”
Jon lets out a soft laugh, and it blankets Adam in it’s warmth, “Easy there, cowboy. You gotta’ heal up before you go lookin’ for a fight.” The bench shifts slightly as Jon leans back with him. Adam thinks that if he opens his eyes it’ll feel worse than being hit with any lariat.
“Can’t blame me for thinking ahead.” He keeps his eyes closed. “I don’t tend to stay down.” Jon hums in agreement.
There’s silence for a long moment, before Adam’s opening his eyes, “We’ve stayed backstage for over two hours,” he laughs slightly, “we need to leave. We’re gonna’ get locked in.”
Jon frowns, “Page, it’s like, a good few minutes walk to the nearest exit. You’re struggling just to move.” Adam scoffs, pushing off the bench. He immediately regrets it. His world spins again and he braces to hit the floor as soon as he stumbles, but there’s an arm around his waist and he’s being ushered to sit again.
Adam sits, because he has no other choice. He tilts his head back against the wall once more. Jon kneels in front of him, rubbing circles over his wrists. It’s sickening.
“This sucks.”
Jon laughs, “Yeah. I know.”
“Is it so much to want to get back to a hotel and not have to move or,” Adam makes a meaningless gesture with his hands, “anything?”
“Just sit, for now.” Jon pulls a bottle of water out of his gym bag, unscrewing it and bringing it to Adam’s face, “Drink.” Jon cups the side of Adam’s head, pressing the lip of the bottle to his mouth. The taste of the day washes away as he swallows it down in small sips.
Adam tips his head and Jon moves the bottle away. They both stay quiet.
Jon clears his throat after a long minute, “Any better?”
Adam opens his eyes and nods, “Yeah. Yeah, better.”
Jon smiles, something genuine and soft, “Good. Come on,” he stands, helping Adam to his feet, “I’ll drive you back to the hotel.” He doesn’t take his hand off Adam’s arm.
They stand there for a moment, just breathing with each other.
Jon inhales, patting Adam on the arm and dropping his hand, “Come on.” He slings his bag over his shoulder, picking up the discarded bottles.
“Should you even be driving?” Adam grabs his own bag, and follows Jon out of medical, through the twisting halls of the arena. Jon scoffs, “Oh, what? You telling me you’re in a state to drive, Hangman?”
Adam sighs, defeated, “Just as long as you don’t crash.” He takes a hoodie out from his duffel bag, handing the bag to Jon as he pulls it on. Jon slings it over his shoulder like it’s second-nature to carry Adam’s things. It makes Adam’s stomach twist.
“I won’t crash us, cowboy. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. We’ll get back to the hotel all safe and sound and you can get your beauty sleep.” Jon shoots him a smile, more teeth than anything else. It makes Adam’s stomach twist even more so.
They get to the car faster than Adam had anticipated, Jon throws their bags in the back seat and empties the bottles out onto the pavement with a frown.
He rolls his shoulders and climbs into the drivers seat as Adam buckles himself into the passengers side. He rests his head against the window and lets the pain wash over him and put him to sleep for the drive back to the hotel.
He’s woken up when they’re parked outside the hotel, a hand brushing through his hair and his name on Jon’s lips, and it feels too normal. Adam finds he likes Jon like this. He smiles as he opens his eyes, “We’re here?”
Jon hums, “Yeah, we’re here.” He’s got that slightly disappointed look to him again, “Uh, me and The BCC, we’re staying at some shitty motel, further out, so I’m gonna’ have to drop you here.”
Adam feels his face drop before he realises he’s unhappy with Jon having to leave. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” He clears his throat and unbuckles his seatbelt, “Thanks for, uh, all this.”
Jon smiles at him once more, soft in a way he didn’t know Jon Moxley could be. “Don’t think too hard about it, cowboy. Your concussion will get worse.” Adam rolls his eyes. “You need walking to your room?” Jon asks.
Adam feels his heart jump to his throat.
“No, no. I’ll make it.” He reaches into the back seat and grabs his bag. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you once I’m healed, though, Mox.”
Jon’s smile goes sharp, more familiar, “I’d like to see you try, Page.” He touches Adam’s arm, too gentle to match his words, “Uh, I’ve got some experience with concussions, so, if you need anything,” he trails off.
Adam nods, “I need a long sleep.” Jon smiles, “Go get some rest, Adam.”
“’Night, Mox.”
“Goodnight, cowboy.”