#i had tk call when i got there and the tap function on my card didn’t work 🙃 and it’s tap only so i had to come all the way back home

[lunatens]

hi i love joshua hong

[darlinrogue]

Having played hockey for years, Kenny is certainly agile. Having wrestled for years, Kenny, again, is certainly agile—quick and light on his feet. Dancing, however, is something else entirely. Similar to ice skating, but much more precise. Similar to wrestling, but you’re probably not supposed to hurt your partner. But Page had asked him for a dance, and how could Kenny say ‘no?’ “Real romantic, cowboy.” One of his hands intertwining with Page’s, the other at his shoulder. “You lead, then.”

Slow Dancing

|| Adam and Kenny // @ofgrief

The phone screen blurred. A flick of his finger sent text bubbles flying. The group chat brimmed with messages and notifications he wasn’t ever going to read. Adam opened the settings. His thumb hovered over the ‘leave group’ button, scrawled in red text. Instead, he closed the app and opened Spotify. He chose a playlist labelled ‘relaxing.’ Softer country music, more folksy shit, some slower Led Zeppelin. A lot of Bruce Springsteen sounding sad. The work of slower tempos that wouldn’t grate on his nerves. Made an unfamiliar space more his own.

Adam hooked his leg up on the bar stool spindle. He rubbed his hand over his jaw and dragged his fingernails through the beard stubble. The nice lady who did hair and make-up trimmed it for him today. The ice shifted in his drink, two fingers of whiskey. Week-to-week the bars changed. The scenery shifted with the ever traveling road shows of AEW. Some constants remained like the cheap chairs, the bland decor, the warm lights. Every bar had a different style of glass, some taller, some thinner, some clear, and some clouded. After hours, the bar was always the quietest spot as wrestlers escaped the halls for hotels and the production crew packed-up shop. Most important, no one Adam was avoiding ever came to the bar. It was a guaranteed retreat. At least in Jacksonville he could drive home tomorrow morning. Cuddle his dogs and be a homebody for a week. Silence the group chat, put his head phones in, and run until he didn’t know where he was anymore.

The holidays were a brief respite and a greater blessing. Adam returned to his childhood home as a jaded man seeking shelter from the shit storm just off his family property. He drank eggnog with his mom and helped her set up the Christmas tree. Caught-up with his sister and went riding with in the nipping cold of late-December. Shared the traditional whiskey shot with his father by the kitchen sink. Distant relatives filtered by for dinner. Cousins that patted Adam on the back and told him they saw him on TV. Grandparents that just didn’t get why Adam stopped being a teacher, even years later. Grandma made pies for Christmas morning and Adam’s mom got him cool cowboy themed pajamas. For a second Adam forgot about what waited outside the front gate. Then he arrived in Jacksonville, New Year’s Day, and it all came around.

The door opened and Adam glanced over his shoulder. Kenny peaked around the corner, his hair fallen over his shoulders. When he spotted Adam, he smiled, teeth flashing. Kenny walked into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, hey, there you are Pizz!” Kenny greeted, he snapped his fingers rhythmically as he jaunted over to Adam. Kenny slid onto the bar stool and his eyes darted over the room. Kenny wiggled his hips, the leather creaking, as he situated himself in his seat. There was an easy grace to his movements but a tight tension in his shoulders. “Been looking all over for you.”

Sweat stains darkened the fabric across Kenny’s chest and arms. His hair was damp but drying, curls fluffed and unruly. The match earlier left his cheeks flushed from exertion. Kenny sighed as he leaned back against the chair, face tilting to the ceiling and eyes fluttering closed. Adam bet that was the first time he’d sat down all day. Trapped in a ring with Rey Fenix, Pentagon, and PAC, Adam counted it lucky Kenny stumbled-out with all his attached pieces.

“You good?” Adam asked, he tapped the volume down on his phone so the melodramatic singing dropped to a low purr. ‘Drive me—crazy’ “You guys had a good match out there tonight.”

“Yeah, we did, a great start to the year if you ask me,” Kenny said. He looked at Adam and he grinned again. Something flipped in Adam’s stomach. “Can’t ever complain about a mark in the win column, especially against PAC. I feel good, like I’m getting my feet under me.”

To emphasize his improving condition, Kenny shook-out his arms and shoulders. A jitter that extended all the way to his fingers. He interlaced his hands and stretched-out his shoulders with an arch of his back. He settled his grip on the counter edge.  Kenny chewed on his lip and there wasn't anything playful in his eyes.

“You know, it would’ve been nice, if you came and joined us, after?” Kenny admitted. “Matt, Nick, Cody, myself, we all would’ve loved to celebrate with you. You know, like a family. None of us thought AEW would last to the New Year, this was a big deal, a big night. Something we couldn’t have done without you.”

Adam breathed a laugh, shaking his head. He sought the last bit of comfort he could wring from his glass. “You know, I’m just, trying to get some space. Get my shit sorted-out before I hand it all to you guys. I just don’t think— I just didn’t think it’d be a good idea to go down to the ring.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Kenny said, and Adam doubted it. Because the next thing he said was, “Matt and Nick miss you. I miss you.”

“Yeah, I— I know,” Adam said. He investigated his glass, the intricate pattern of cut crystal and how the light played between the facets. The pale press of his white, scarred knuckles. He attempted to make new friends, to branch-out, hadn’t worked-out too hot. Adam’s glorious single’s run, hadn’t worked-out too hot either. Hell, next week he even had a match with Kenny. So, evidently his bold proclamation that he was leaving the Elite, was not heard. Maybe he hadn’t been loud enough. “Like, I said, I just, need some time.”

“That’s fine, but, Adam? We’re here for you. We’ll always be here for you,” Kenny said.

Adam’s eyes snapped-up to meet Kenny’s gaze. The sound of his name so foreign in Kenny’s mouth. The Bucks called him ‘Hangman’ and the comms ‘Adam Page.’ Kenny favored ‘Page’ or ‘Pizz,’for some reason. The only time Adam heard just his name was when he talked to his mom. Those two syllables, in Kenny’s mouth, set a fire in Adam’s chest. It was a spell. Kenny could ask for literally anything and Adam would say ‘yes.’ A totally unfair advantage. Kenny left Adam helpless and weak; But Adam let Kenny hold all the cards. 

Kenny, unaware of his power, patted Adam’s thigh. His palm rested against Adam’s jean and his nails worked against the fabric. Adam heard his pulse in his throat. “So, whenever you’re ready to come back? We’ll be here, waiting. Don’t think we’re just going to forget about you, or that you’re not welcome. The Elite, us, we’re something special, and it’s always going to mean something. Yeah, we can fight and have our disagreements, but that’s okay. We will always come back together.”

Adam grinned, the corner of his mouth curling. “You have been feeling better, lately, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I have,” Kenny breathed with a laugh. He patted Adam’s thigh and knee once more before retracting his hand. “I took those first few losses really hard, I’ll admit that, but I’m back! I got my feet underneath me and I’m ready for the new year. I felt it tonight, Kenny Omega, is back, and I think the crowd felt it too. They were a live wire tonight, oh, I could feel it in my toes. Did you see it?”

“You uh, definitely seemed, happier?” Adam managed.

Kenny nodded and smiled approvingly. This Kenny, with his easy grins and ‘Power of Friendship’ speeches was a helluva a lot better than whatever the hell was going on in October. A few months ago he was barely functional. His voice muted and dulled over the phone. Adam wasn’t going to pretend that their way-too-late at night phone calls had anything to do with Kenny’s improvement. Kenny just needed someone to vent to that wasn’t Michael Nakazawa or a Young Buck. So, that left Adam. Adam also wasn’t going to pretend that his willingness to stay-up way past his bedtime wasn’t an act of pure devotion. Any excuse to talk to Kenny. Any excuse to have something special with Kenny.

Even when Adam knew he shouldn’t be talking to the Elite —for their collective good— Adam made an exception for Kenny. What puzzled Adam the most though was Kenny’s willingness to listen back. To hear-out Adam’s side of the story and all his twisted anxieties and fears. About the more wretched parts of Adam he couldn’t even tell his mom about.

For Kenny to hear about the worst aspects of his past and personality, and decide to keep talking to him— that part confused Adam.

“So, uh, about next week, I saw on the graphic we have a match?” Adam interjected. “Against Private Party? When did that happen?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Kenny asked, his brow furrowed and creased but it melted off in a heartbeat. He shrugged, “Yeah, TK booked it for us. We got two wins, and in a young company like ours? That’s pretty notable.”

“They’re shitty wins, Kenny,” Adam pointed-out.

Mox and Pac did not qualify as a tag-team. They worked like two Rottweilers shoved in a sack together and then told to get along. All Kenny and Adam had to do was stand back and watch the duo implode. Kip Sabian and Shawn Spears were a mess, in the worst ways. Of course those two flimsy wins, was before Adam factored in their two losses. Both against legitimate tag-teams that knocked Kenny and Adam down a peg. Kenny and Adam may’ve been in the same stable for close to four years, but it’d been that long since Adam shared a corner with him. It absolutely showed too. Adam had watched the tapes back and he bet Kenny didn’t appreciate the bruises from his so called partner.

“But wins, nonetheless,” Kenny retorted. He bunted his knuckles against Adam’s shoulder. “Shitty wins count. We take those.”

“Private Party is a real tag-team,” Adam said, but he shrugged, nonchalant. Smacked the back of his hand against his palm on each word for emphasis. “But I guess I can whoop their asses.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kenny said.“Yeah, Private Party beat the Bucks. They’re good, but not that good, I think we can do it.”

“Mhmm, you have a lot of faith in me,” Adam grunted. He placed his glass down and leaned against the counter. Regarding Kenny with a quick sweep of his eyes.

“Of course, I do, I told you, we got something special, I can feel it.” Kenny smoothed the word feel as long as it would go.

The music changed on Adam’s phone and his mind drifted from Kenny. Kenny launched, undeterred, into theorizing strategy. An Orville Peck song, with gentle string, a soft melody, singing about nostalgia and dreams. Adam grinned to himself, medicated just enough to consider something dangerous. For a guy lovesick with Kenny Omega these thoughts were perilous. It’d been a year now and Adam had sat on his hands like an idiot, pinning away. Hell with it, it was a bad idea but following bad ideas through was his modus operandi these days. Adam hummed low in his throat, cutting Kenny off as he waxed about Mark Quinn’s right leg.

“Dance with me,” Adam murmured, voice soft, barely a whisper. Like his throat was trying to strangle the words before he uttered them. Not at all the gruff confidence he had hoped to seduce Kenny with.

Adam pushed-off the bar stool and offered his hand. He grinned, bashful, feeling as awkward as he had when he was at Junior prom. This wasn’t weird, right? They’d done weirder, this was fine. More than fine when Kenny took Adam’s hand and Adam felt the press of Kenny’s callouses against his.

“Real romantic, cowboy.” Kenny breathed and the last of Adam’s confidence melted. Cowboy, that was new, and Adam liked it. He really liked how Kenny said it. “You lead, then.”

Adam laughed and ducked his chin to his chest. With his free hand he turned the music up on his phone. There was lightning at his finger tips as he ran his palm over Kenny’s hip. Kenny put his hand on Adam’s shoulder and grinned obnoxiously as he obviously felt-up Adam’s bicep. A couple inches between their chests and warmth flushed Adam’s throat. Adam whispered ‘okay,’ and his heart thudded. Kenny had to hear it. Feel Adam’s pulse in their joined hands. Terrible, stupid, perfect idea— when Kenny rejected him for being a lovesick fool it wasn’t going to be so great.

“It’s just some team building.” Adam preempted and placated Kenny. With his hand on Kenny’s hip he nudged the other man to sway with him. Nothing but a little stutter step. “You know, so we’re ready for next week.”

“Ah, yeah, team building,” Kenny chuckled. Adam met his eyes, and swallowed hard. Their noses a hair’s breadth apart. Adam wished he had brushed his teeth so his breath didn’t smell like alcohol. “You slow dance with all your partners?”

“Yeah, actually, Jason and I learned to waltz when we first started tagging,” Adam admitted. Kenny gapped at him. Clearly his question had been rhetorical and now Adam regretted bringing it up. “I mean, for the foot work and all that, it was just a good way to get in sync, you know?”

“Right,” Kenny said, and Adam wondered if his lack of enthusiasm meant something.

Two high fliers like Jason Blade and Adam Page needed immaculate tandem offense. It was a process, to get used to each other’s rhythms. To know when the other had taken too much damage and needed that blind tag. When to slow down, or speed-up, as the match dragged on. It worked, they got used to each other’s rhythms. Eventually they didn’t need the waltz at all, it was just a crutch. Adam had only suggested it as a joke but it did wonders for their footwork. Less so for their teamwork as they quibbled over who would lead.

(Adam eventually got the role because he was better at it than Jason).

Adam lifted his arm and after a second to process, Kenny twirled underneath. Adam pulled Kenny back as Kenny stepped in. A little too much momentum and Kenny stumbled into Adam’s chest. The heel of Kenny’s loafer drove between the two delicate bones on Adam’s big and second toe. If this was skee-ball then Kenny just scored the 100 points. Adam cussed and hissed, jerking away from Kenny. He rubbed the top of his boot over his calf to diminish the pain.

Kenny hissed between his teeth, “Yep, that was my bad. Sorry. You good?”

Adam kicked and shook his leg to return feelings to his toes. “So, was that payback?”

“Maybe,” Kenny teased. “Can we try again though?”

Kenny’s grin was rueful as Adam returned to him. He placed his hand back in Adam’s offered palm. Despite his sore foot, Adam was eager to have Kenny back in his arms. To feel the firm strength of his hip and lat underneath his hand. Back to their awkward little shuffle step and this time, Kenny pulled Adam closer. Chest-to-chest, Kenny rested his chin in the crook of Adam’s shoulder. His nose brushed against the wisps of Adam hair. A soft whisper of Kenny’s breath against Adam’s throat. Adam tried not to stiffen, as if his tension would scare Kenny away. Tried to find Kenny’s heartbeat, his rhythm, but when he did he couldn’t bring himself to fall in lock step. Wondered why he had to follow at all.

Except, Kenny had asked Adam to lead.

Adam experimented and lifted his arm again. This time Kenny unfurled and laughed each step of the way as he twirled underneath. Adam guided Kenny back to him, chuckling as their grip changed and Kenny’s hand flattened against his chest. The song ended without flourish. Gunmetal blue, the details of Kenny’s iris, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Shirts rucked, hands joined, and the slight huff of their breath in tandem. The playlist rolled to the next song. Adam and Kenny broke, then stepped away together. Hands lifting to rub at the back of their necks in mirrored gestures. Adam had an apology at the tip of his tongue.

“That was nice, Page,” Kenny said, his voice soft “We should definitely do it again sometime but—”

“You have to go?” Adam guessed.

“Yeah, Cody, the Bucks, and I are going out for a late-dinner,” Kenny admitted. His fingers twisted with the front of his shirt. “I won’t— I won’t ask you to come. I know how you feel, but I wanted you to know we were going out, and that if you wanted to join us? We’ll always save you a seat.”

Adam nodded, his thumb hooking in his belt loop. He licked his lips and studied the floor. “Thanks, Kenny, I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later,” Kenny said. He walked backwards to the door, chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Do you think— Can we meet early, like a couple days before the match, it’s in Mississippi, right? Maybe we can fly down early, get in the gym, and just, you know, work on stuff? Private Party is a real tag-team, we gotta be ready.”

Adam hesitated, thinking of the phone calls he’d have to make to get his flight changed. Packing early, a couple days less home. Finding someone to take care of his dogs while he was gone. The logistics crowded the forefront of his brain and yet all the back latched-onto was Kenny. His hopeful, shy blue eyes, and his little half smile. It was such a terrible idea, this was going to be beyond inconvenient but, two days with just Kenny, working-out, figuring out this tag-team they were evidently doing, and—

Shit.

“Yeah,” Adam managed, “We can do that.”

“Alright! I’ll see you in Mississippi, then, cowboy,” Kenny cackled. He backed-up and rested his hand on the door handle. He pointed at Adam. “Text you details later. Just you wait until we break-out some tandem offense on Private Party, it’ll all be worth it. Catch ya’ later, Pizz.”

The door closed behind Kenny and in his absence, Adam sighed. He worked his hand over his jaw and wondered if he was going grey early. Somehow, someway, Kenny had slipped the rug out from underneath him and made them a tag-team. Adam had agreed to tag with Kenny versus Mox and PAC because they both needed it, but this had become something more. Something Adam was not prepared for. It was a commitment but also an opportunity.

If they were doing this, Adam realized, he had to commit. He couldn’t half-ass a tag-team with Kenny Fucking Omega. Even if he felt like this was a terrible idea that was going to screw them both sideways. Not now, not even soon, but in a few months, maybe a year, when all of this unraveled and Adam slipped in a pool of his own blood.

“The point BJ, is that when the moment presented itself to him, he did grab it with an iron grip.”

Years of practice, months in the gym, days spent at Jimmy Valiant’s training camp, drilling counters, perfecting the snap of his hips as Adam flipped into a high bridge. Pressing onto his tip-toes, all his weight leveraged down on a bigger opponent. Adam Pearce had two inches and forty pounds on Adam. One opening was all Adam needed, though. The shock in the room on the three count had been palpable. The audience’s collectively gasped and it was a pure adrenaline shot to Adam’s veins. Shock erupted into open cheers. Adam on his knees, grinning with pride and surprise, like he wasn’t even sure he had won. BJ ruffled his hair fondly. He was not supposed to win this match but he did. Jimmy Jacobs, the entire crowd, the commentators, they didn’t believe in Adam Page, but Adam did. Back then that was enough to pull out a miracle.

“He did put a vice around it, BJ! And he won the match!”

Adam Pearce popped Adam Page’s confidence like a balloon. Pearce’s right palm smashed across Adam’s cheek so hard he tasted it. Adam won the match, he won the battle; But Jimmy Jacobs point was clear: he did not win the war. And Adam was at war. This was a no-holds barred beatdown and he was on the curb. Blood in his hair, eyes shot, and fingers shaking. The Bucks at his throat. Kenny with his back to a ledge, grinning at him with unrestrained excitement about a match next week. Next week, against Private Party, a real tag-team. Not the shitty ‘teams’ they had been fighting. Not a fight he could check into for the sake of Kenny or the peace.

“It doesn’t matter, because that was the test you failed.”

Pearce’s finger jabbed into Adam’s face. He went cross eyed trying to look at it. Felt and suppressed the tremble in his bottom lip. When Adam was a little kid he watched wrestling on the TV and felt a bone deep need. A wrestling ring was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had to get in that ring. Nothing else mattered, and for a time the trampoline in the backyard would do, but that ring called to him. He wanted to feel the give under his step, the flex of the ropes. Smell the sweat and blood that’d seeped into the mats over decades, decades of history, legacy, and war. A written history Adam longed to inscribe his name into. When Adam was a child he didn’t care about belts or titles, if he just got into a wrestling ring, got to stand in one, he’d be happy.

It was a simple, unambitious dream, but for a kid from rural Virginia is was his dream. Well, he got in one, and it was like a drug, he had to do it again, and again, and again, and he got good at it. So good that he won more matches than he lost. He had to feel the thrum of a crowd in his ears. Test himself on an opponent, stretch the limits of his ability. Once, Adam had thought to himself, while running the the apron to a moonsault, pushing off his leading leg, his back arched, and his heart grazing the ceiling,  ‘I wish I was actually this strong.’

That the confidence of Adam Page, professional wrestler, The Hangman, carried over into his day-to-day. That the power of his chops translated to an unflinching voice when he spoke. That the technique of his flip was as impressive as his social prowess. Adam never second guessed himself before a suplex but he did in everything else. It shocked him he had the spine to ever even get in a ring in the first place, to go to Japan, to enter the G1, to join an upstart company like AEW, or to even go outside.

An opportunity was presenting itself to Adam Page. Kenny Omega, the best bout machine and a great visionary, already saw it. Adam saw it too and he suspected its appearance was not accidental, not a luck of the draw. He wanted to call Kenny and tell him to cancel the match. His stomach twisted with the thought. This was a bad, bad idea, to step down a twisting path that he couldn’t see the end of. Going back to tag-teams, tagging with the leader of the group he was trying to leave, and the man he’d been totally lovesick with for over a year. Adam hesitated, his hand hovering over his phone. 

“At some point, the both of you will have seen everything there is to see. Have been able to do everything there is to do, and when the moment presents itself, you won’t hesitate to reach for it. Because you already know that you grabbed it before it presented itself. Time will do that for you.”

Adam’s hand flattened against the bar counter, pinned like a taxidermy bug to the board. He grabbed it when he rolled Adam Pearce through to the bridge. He grabbed it when Matt offered a spot in the Bullet Club. When he hung Chris Sabine and became the Hangman. He grabbed it when he snatched the title from Jay White and held it above his head like it could be his. He grabbed it when he won the battle royale. When he rode a horse to a ring that belonged to a legend to whom he would serve as a footnote. Most of the time, it slipped his fingers, because his grip was slick with sweat, and he was a young man, lacking time. But Adam had never missed, never hesitated, and if he was going to do this—

If he was going to walk into next week, take that match with Kenny and fight Private Party. He was going to commit.

No more half-assed bullshit. No more ducking away and avoiding a future he dreaded. They were going to do this and it was going to suck, and the effort was probably going to kill him. It’d probably would mean that by the end Kenny hated him. And that would also suck, but Adam wasn’t going to spend his whole life pinning for something he could never have. Not when there was something he could have and it was gold around his waist. An accomplished career that he could die happy with. The Bucks patting his shoulders and arms, telling him he did great, they’re proud.

It was going to suck, it was going to kill him but at least he got to pick his poison.