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Fraxiom had finally been bested. As the referee’s hand hit the mat for a third time, and the sound of the bell reverberated throughout the performance center, Axiom sat slumped against the apron on the outside, head in his hands.
There was just no way. Axiom thought for sure that they had MSK beat. They had studied tape, they had been training every day for the last week, and Axiom thought–scratch that-knew his head was in the game. 100%.
It didn’t matter that he had slacked on watching MSK matches, or that he missed a few days of training. What mattered is that, when the time came, he was, as Nathan would say, locked in.
Clearly, Nathan wasn’t locked in. He had just eaten the pin. Nathan Frazer had just lost their tag titles–not Axiom.
Deep down, though he would never admit it, he knew their loss wasn’t on Nathan in the slightest. It was on him. He tried to follow Nathan’s formula of going after other titles, of not being focused until the last possible second, and it cost them. What worked for Nathan didn’t work for Axiom, it seemed, and perhaps that was what made Axiom so angry.
Nathan could goof off. Nathan could go after every title under the sun. Nathan could show up late. He could skip tape sessions, training sessions, and everything in between, and somehow, some way, he would still pull through. They still retained at Heatwave despite everything Nathan had been doing.
Yet when Axiom did the same thing, they came up short. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that somehow Nathan could do everything wrong, and still come out on top.
Axiom forced himself to roll into the ring, taking in the dejected Nathan in front of him, his head in his hands.
It wasn’t fair.
The words bounced around in Axiom’s brain as he pulled his friend up from the mat. He wiped a stray tear from Nathan’s face with his thumb, placing his other hand on Nathan’s shoulder.
It really wasn’t fair–it wasn’t fair that Nathan, sweet, hotheaded Nathan still pulled Axiom in for a hug, with not a clue of the awful things Axiom was thinking. It wasn’t at all fair that Nathan buried his face into the crook of Axiom’s neck, cold droplets falling from Nathan’s cheeks to Axiom’s skin.
Sweet, sweet Nathan, who despite every argument, every outburst, every rash decision, loved his partner.
Axiom’s gut twisted, and for once, he was glad that his face was concealed.
It was unbecoming for the villain to cry. Better that no one saw the tears streaming down his cheeks as he pushed his partner–his best friend in the world–away from him.
Nathan’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing.
“Amigo–” His voice was quiet, as though he were a child being reprimanded. Axiom didn’t miss the way his hand shook as he raised it, trying to grab Axiom’s arm.
Reaching for his rock. His love. His best friend.
No need to drag it out.
Axiom took a deep breath, turning away from Nathan.
He didn’t want to do this, not really.
But perhaps it was necessary.
Axiom was tired of being tied down. He was tired of undermining himself. He was tired of playing second fiddle to Nathan.
So when his foot collided with the side of Nathan’s head, he stamped down every bit of guilt. Every ounce of regret. A little part of him felt good, even.
Free.
Axiom caught Nathan before he hit the mat, cupping his face with his hands.
“I hope you understand, mi amor.” Axiom whispered, looking into Nathan’s half-closed eyes. “I truly hope you understand.”
He pressed his lips–albeit through the mask–to Nathan’s forehead, before wiping some stray tears off of his cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Nathan.” Axiom whispered. “I promise it is not… too personal. It is just time for us to move on.”
He gently pushed Nathan’s hair out of his face, smiling behind his mask before stepping away, letting the younger fall to the mat with a dull thud.
He stepped out of the ring, slowly. Methodically, as though a wrong step might cause him to explode. He wasn’t so sure he wasn’t about to explode, actually. The pit in his stomach had grown, the regret and guilt and resentment at himself forcing themselves back up.
But once again, he tried to forget about those feelings. Tried to make himself think he was making the right choice.
He simply tried to make himself believe that he wasn’t the villain in this story–but as he passed through the curtains to stunned silence, he took a glance behind him at the sobbing heap that was, just mere moments ago, his partner. His best friend.
No amount of lying to himself would ever make him feel like the hero.