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Axiom wonders, not for the first time, if his life would be better if he was a worse person. It sounds dramatic, and okay, it kind of is, but the thought comes to the forefront of his mind as he sits backstage on a rickety folding chair, eyes glued to the monitor behind the void-like front of his mask. If he was a worse person, it would surely benefit him some. If not personally, then professionally. He doesn’t know many people, he reasons, who would be okay with their tag team partner doing something this-
The word ‘selfish’ comes to mind, and he tries to dismiss it as fast as he can. Not selfish. Nathan isn’t selfish, and it would be cruel to call him such, even within the privacy of his own head. Reckless, however, his partner is in droves, and so he pins that word to him while he waits for Nathan’s number to be called.
Yes, Nathan is doing something very reckless in fighting a twenty-five minute Iron Survivor match, right before they have to defend their tag titles. Maybe if Axiom was a worse person, he would have stopped this situation from coming about. He would have forced Nathan to give up his opportunity, focus on what was most important here- protecting their belts, securing their tag team champions legacy.
But that wouldn’t be fair, would it? He’d given qualifying for the Iron Survivor his own shot, so how could he critique Nathan for grabbing for the opportunity? And he never really could stay mad at Nathan, even when he got caught up in his own grand visions and forgot what he was risking in the process.
So yes, he’ll be the bigger person here, he’ll swallow down his complaints and ready himself to bring the belts back home for another night. He just hopes Nathan makes it through the Iron Survivor in one piece, or he may be dragging a corpse to their match with NQCC later tonight.
The music hits, and Axiom sits up straighter in his chair to track Nathan on the screen. He’s a blur of blond hair and blue-and-black gear as he darts into the ring, and Axiom swallows around the strange tension in his throat. The man is full on, as always- he takes to the ring with a fever that Axiom is proud to get to run alongside. Still, it worries him. Nathan is uncompromising in his intensity, he gives his all to everything he does. That’s something Axiom loves about his tag partner, something he’s always admired, but it also means that pacing himself is a concept that’s completely foreign to him. And on a night like tonight, when he’s working double duty, trying to vie for a main title shot and then defending his tag team belts not an hour later? That’s risky.
Axiom tracks his moves with his eyes, picking him out of the cluster of men with a practised ease. It’s a tag team thing, he reasons to himself. It’s vital to know where your tag partner is at all times, to be able to find him amongst the chaos just in case you need to save him. Though, if he’s being entirely honest, he could pick Nathan out of a crowd far before they ever started tagging together. Maybe it goes back to their singles series, or maybe further, back to another continent and a different identity. It was perfectly understandable, really. Nathan just had this… Something special about him. He was electric in the ring, his passion and drive unparalleled. He shone brighter than anyone else, whether he was between the ropes or backstage, whether on camera or not. Nathan couldn’t help but draw his attention, and if the reasons for that were more than strictly professional, Axiom wasn’t going to admit to it.
He would keep turning towards Nathan’s glow though, every chance he gets, like a plant growing towards the sun. If it’s in Nathan’s nature to shine, Axiom’s is to follow that light, because he truly is the best version of himself when he and Nathan are in that ring together.
The match grabs his attention again with a shock of red, Nathan with blood spilling down his face from a nosebleed. Between that and the way he clutches his ribs, Axiom is already worried, but then his tag partner is absolutely floored by Oba Femi and he realises, oh, they’re fucked.
It was already a tall order for Nathan to be able to pull his weight in the tag match after tiring himself out, but in this condition? Maybe a corpse would be more help here!
He takes a deep breath, in and out, thankful that the mask means no one would be able to see the tension of his brow, the frown pulling at his face besides his best attempts to school it. He isn’t really mad at Nathan, he tries to convince himself. Just afraid, because if they lose their belts, then they’ll start fighting again, just like last time. He doesn’t know if he can handle it being anything like last time. The weeks of tension, whispers and comments and theories from everyone about when the two of them would fracture for good, insidious things that worm into his head and play on repeat in the quieter moments.
The thing is, he and Nathan would do fine if they separated. If the fighting was too much, if Fraxiom fell apart, they would both be able to hold their own in the singles division. They could maybe even do well. But it wouldn’t be– Well, it wouldn’t be this. Axiom has never felt more alive than when he stands next to Nathan in the ring, than when they can lift their title belts up together and breathe in the electric approval of the crowd, than when they hit their combo moves and one of them grabs the pin and they crash together like magnets, clinging to each other in celebration.
Axiom can’t lose that. So he can’t lose the belts. So he can’t be angry at Nathan, because he needs to be clear headed, because he needs to know what he’s doing even when Nathan doesn’t. So he breathes in, then out, repeats it a few times, and then heads down the corridors to find his tag partner. He’s got a match to win.
===
Axiom remembers matches in flashes. Adrenaline tends to take over, when he’s in the thick of it. Sure, he’s always thinking, always analysing. But things move so fast that it’s hard to truly sort it all in his mind, to take it all in as a sequence of events. Later he’ll rewatch the match and catalogue his movements, his reactions and hesitations, and the picture clarifies. It goes from watching a stranger in his costume performing for the crowd, to the snatches of memory he managed to process amidst the energy and frenzy widening their viewpoint, turning tactile sensations of the slam of his body against the mat, the arc of his spine in the air, into something that almost makes sense.
But, in the moment, and immediately after the match? All he can gather is a highlight reel, the kind that would be cut up and posted on the NXT Youtube channel.
It goes, roughly, like this:
Their entrance is cued, and they run through the curtains to the boom of their music, the rippling noise of the audience, and Axiom realises that Nathan is a step behind. This is strange, see, because Axiom is used to chasing after his partner, and instead he leads their descent down the walkway to the ring. He feels, heavy in his chest, that this is some sort of omen for what’s to come. And then he brushes it off because he’s not one for superstition. Besides, he knows that the thing Nathan is best at, above all else, is surprising him.
The next memory is tinged with the warmth of Nathan’s hand cupping the back of his neck, the heavy push of his forehead against Axiom’s masked one. It’s some strange little habit they picked up, rubbing their faces against each other like cats, and Axiom feels something settle inside of him at the action. He feels ready, like he can do anything. Like he can carry the both of them through this tag match and out the other side with their titles, if only Nathan will keep reaching for him like this. Axiom pulls himself out to the edge of the ring, anticipation leaving him bouncing on his toes and tensing his fingers.
Then Nathan’s slapping his hand, bowing out after the first hit, and he grits his teeth under the mask, bites down a sigh as he leaps the ropes and throws himself into the fray. At some point he reaches back for Nathan, hand out for the tag, and Nathan shakes his head. The blond looks tired, something tense in his face. He looks, uncharacteristically, like he wants to say ‘please’, to ask Axiom to keep the strain of the fight off of him for a moment longer. He took a real beating at the hands of Oba. Axiom should be mad that he has to pull double the weight, to make up for Nathan despite tag matches being a two person deal, but all he feels is worried as he stares down his tag partner, and– Then he’s flying through the air, and all thoughts of Nathan are wiped from his mind and replaced with a desperate need to get back on his feet, to return the breath to his winded lungs.
At some point, after tags have been tossed back and forth and Axiom’s pretty sure his shoulder aches from landing on the concrete outside the ring, he grips the ropes and watches Nathan strain against a pin attempt. The blond manages to kick out, because of course he does, and the spark returning to his eyes as he looks back at Axiom eases the throb in his muscles just a little. He does this sometimes, turning back to where his partner waits on the ropes like an excited puppy wanting approval. Despite the brightness returning to his eyes, the adrenaline allowing him to tune out his pain for a moment, Nathan looks like he’s been beaten to hell– hair tousled, face bruised and bandaged, gear a little scuffed. It’s a sickeningly good look on him. Nathan took pride in his appearance, a little more than anyone would have to when presentation was such a big part of their job, but Axiom had a special fondness for how he looked during a match. The most sincere Nathan was the one who was roughed up but gritting his teeth in determination, rising to the challenge of an opponent with all of his blazing fury. Nathan kicks out of another near-fall, and Axiom suddenly remembers there’s a match to be paying attention to beyond his partner, stretched out on the mat and dishevelled. Fuck.
At some point Axiom ends up back in the ring. His body aches, and there’s something like nausea brewing in his stomach as his muscles burn with exertion. He thinks he just took on both members of NQCC, but his main focus is trying to find Nathan. Is that- Is his tag partner lying on the ground outside of the ring? His back aches from the slam of his spine into the ring floor, the scrape and burn of canvas along his shoulder blades. He can’t quite catch his breath. He needs– a moment, just one, but he reaches out a hand to an empty corner and remembers that whatever he’s feeling, Nathan has it ten times worse. No one is here to save him, because it’s his job to do the saving this time. He thinks, for a moment, that letting himself be pinned would be the best option. Certainly the easiest, and no one could truly critique him for not being able to handle a tag match as the sole participant in fighting shape. His body screams for him to take the chance, to go limp and be thrown around until the three-count is called. But then he imagines the look on Nathan’s face as their belts are put around the shoulders of another team. And he gets up, and he keeps going, because seeing that look levelled at him would break him worse than anything his opponents can do to him now.
He gets his chance eventually, to breathe and to think for just a second. Nathan is flipping through the air and slamming his weight around like his ribs weren’t bandaged and nose freshly re-set. This isn’t sustainable, though. Nathan has these wild bursts of energy where he pulls out feats that shouldn’t be possible, but that alone won’t be enough. They’re reaching their limits, and while the match doesn’t have a time cap, Fraxiom certainly does. He darts in, saving Nathan from a pin attempt, and all he can think to do is roll the blond to the edge of the ring. It’s a bit of an illogical action, really, but he wants Nathan out of harm's way, even just for a second. Axiom can handle this alone, again. He’s got to.
Now THIS, this is the part that makes him feel alive, even as his body begs him to stop. Axiom and Nathan line up their moves perfectly, his Spanish Fly followed gracefully by Nathan’s Phoenix Splash and flooring one member of the opposition. Axiom kicks out at the other, flooring him, and locks eyes with Nathan- this is it. He has one of them, Borne, lined up perfectly for Axiom to pounce on the ropes, leaping from them in a kick that should knock him clean out and finish this trial. And then Nathan moves, staggers a little to the left, and Axiom is already in the air, he can’t rearrange his course, and both of his heels connect with Nathan’s shoulder and suddenly the blond is flying clean across the ring.
Fuck– Shit– Fuck!
In his panic, NQCC get the advantage on them again, and Axiom is slammed clean into the ground by the both of them. His head swims, and he can’t figure out who’s the legal man. Would a ref even be able to anymore? He can’t find Nathan, the man may not even still be conscious. The two count feels like a guillotine blade hanging cleanly over his neck, and it takes the last little bit of his strength, something he thought he had used about ten minutes ago, to kick out. He coasts on that burst of fire, of fear and determination and a want to make his and Nathan’s hard work worth it, to pull out one more move. Then another, a reversal, a pin attempt and-
He did it. He did it! Somehow, despite all odds, he actually did it.
All he can focus on over the raucous noise of the crowd, a rippling cheer he can feel thrumming in his blood, is the sight of Nathan lurching under the ring ropes. He moves forward towards Axiom, arms out, fingers spread like he’s reaching for something far away. The blond stumbles to his knees, and of course Axiom is there to lift him up with a grip on his forearms. There’s nowhere else he would rather be. Nathan cups Axiom’s face with both sweaty palms, shaking him, a look of pure joyous disbelief on his face. He pulls back and Axiom lurches, following slightly before he can catch himself, but Nathan simply grabs his hand and pulls him into a crushing hug. Their limbs tangle, using more force than their beaten bodies should even still be able to produce. He thinks the ref has to steady them, for how hard they stumble. And it doesn’t matter that Axiom is more tired than he ever has been, that his body aches in a billion new ways that will only be worse tomorrow morning. It doesn’t matter that they nearly lost the belts, or that Nathan put Axiom in this position in the first place. All that matters here is Nathan’s warmth against his, his pitchy laugh by his ear. They’re okay. Despite everything, they are.
This is his reward, he thinks. More than the belts, pressed into their hands where they rightfully belong as they stagger out of the ring. More than the crowd chanting their names, a few hundred people sharing in the buzz of their victory. It’s nothing compared to Nathan weaving their fingers together as they move up the ramp, clinging to him tightly, elation clear on his face. Axiom would give up everything else to get to see this.
===
They stumble away from their post match interview, laughing incredulously to each other. Axiom feels like a teenager again, suddenly, fifteen and stumbling out of one of his first house shows. The energy surge is the same, that fluttery feeling in his stomach. A little to the left of butterflies, a little more lurching– as if he’s pushed the muscles there just a bit too hard, and he might throw up, but the joy of the moment is just enough to distract him from it.
Nathan’s arm is slung tight around his shoulders, pale skin pressing against Axiom’s neck right where the mask stops. They’re both still covered in a thin sheen of sweat that leaves them glowing under the harsh glow of the arena lights, as they stumble through corridors and out to the parking lot. He can feel the way Nathan’s skin clings to his. The damp slide of it should be gross, should make him shudder, but it’s all Axiom can focus on. The thin hairs ticking his skin, the warmth like a furnace drifting off his tag partner even as they step into the chilled air of the evening— Axiom kind of never wants this moment to end, hopes the joy of their victory can stretch on until this feeling envelops everything, sticky and soft like wading through molasses.
Nathan’s saying something, some soft ramblings about how he can’t believe they pulled this off, probably a little delirious with how he’s been bashed around tonight. It sounds a little underwater. They were checked by medical, sure, but Axiom wonders if something’s wrong with his ears, or his brain. Then he realises that no, he’s fine, he’s just so caught up in this heady excitement that pulling himself down to earth enough to pay attention to something feels impossible. Still, he tries, wants to know what Nathan is saying, because all he can pick up on is the buzz ping-ponging between them like electricity, like running the ropes and allowing the tension to beat you back and forth.
“- and you! You were something unreal out there amigo, I’d look up and you were taking on both of them, and I mean sure I could have really done without the whole kick in the face thing considering Oba already did a pretty damn good job on my nose, but what does that matter, considering we WON!”
He pumps his fist, the arm not curled around Axiom in a grip he wouldn’t dare call possessive. It’s dorky and childish and very endearing, and the masked man thinks to himself that oh, this might be bad for him.
Not their partnership, or the match, or the title belts. Not even Nathan, really. Just the hold that he seems to have over him. The way all Axiom can do is laugh again, pushing his weight back against Nathan’s and praying that the blond won’t notice Axiom trying to take more than he was offered, trying to sneak extra moments of contact where he can. The way his eyes find Nathan in every crowd, the way he feels himself lighten when the blond swings into the locker room, already talking about his next move idea at a mile a minute pace. The way that even when he kicks Axiom in the face, or picks a fight on behalf of the both of them, or double-books himself for such an important night, Axiom would still go to war for him without any concern for himself.
And this might be bad for him, but becoming Nathan Frazer’s tag partner is also the best thing that has ever happened to him. Nathan pushes him, whether they’re facing each other or working together, to be his best. Nathan understands wrestling, truly loves it, lives and breathes it the same way Axiom does. Their passions combining feels electric. And when Axiom is backed into a corner in-ring, or curled prone and waiting for a stomp to his ribs or a kick to the head, he always believes that Nathan will save him. There’s no other man he wants to train with, no other man he wants to face in-ring again and again, no other man he trusts to have his back.
So yeah, whatever these feelings are may ruin him, but losing Nathan would do far worse. He’ll take what he can get, even if it’s just these small moments where the world feels like it shrunk down to just the two of them, and he can entertain the thought that Nathan feels something even slightly similar.
Axiom is yanked out of his thoughts by the weight next to him suddenly dropping, one of Nathan’s knees buckling. He moves quicker than thought possible, scooping the man back up and steadying him, baring his weight.
“Nathan! You idiot, you’re exhausted, why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m fiiiine, amigo, come on, let’s just head back to-”
He stumbles again, and Axiom sighs, resolute. “No, no, come on, we can sit down for a second. At least stop trying to walk so damn fast. Come on, lean on me more, I can take it. Over here.”
Nathan’s expression is pulled tight, and Axiom hopes it’s just the exhaustion from the matches catching up to him, not frustration at Axiom trying to pull him aside. He does lean on Axiom more as they walk, and at least he seems willing to let himself be herded back towards some little alcove by one of the back doors, where the two of them can sit for a moment. Or even just where Nathan can lean against a wall, steady his aching muscles. He’s far shakier on his feet than Axiom likes, and the masked man would be the first to admit he isn’t the paragon of strength right now himself. Sure, he’s better off than his partner, definitely enough to walk him over to brace against the bricks and breathe, but he certainly couldn’t carry an unconscious Nathan back to their hotel.
Axiom takes a moment to breathe, let the cold air rush into his lungs and clear some of the mess inside his head. Then he turns to look at his partner next to him. Nathan has this… Weird look on his face. It’s something sort of confused, sort of afraid, and sort of excited, and Axiom hopes yet again that the concussion protocol checks were correct, because he can’t really think of anything that could bring on such a look beyond his partner being hit in the head a little too hard. Or Axiom having done something, something to bother him, to unsettle him in a way he’d never seen before. He dismisses that thought pretty quickly- nothing about tonight has been anything but typical for them, beyond just how hard they’d been worked. Maybe it was a product of exhaustion?
Nathan had never been good at hiding things, never good at keeping an expression off his face, but that didn’t mean he was always easy to read. The blond always seemed to feel so much, so intensely, all at once, and sometimes the swirl of it all was too much for Axiom to unscramble. Nathan didn’t seem to get it himself, half the time.
He carefully lays a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, sure that his confusion is evident despite the lack of any facial features to read. “You alright, amigo?”
The man just keeps… Staring, that weird look on his face, his gaze fixed directly on Axiom. He moves, thinking maybe he should take his hand off the blond’s shoulder, give him a second, but stops when Nathan’s hand shoots up, holding his wrist in place. Axiom freezes, looks Nathan in the eyes, and nods slightly, tightening his grip on the material of his gear. That seems to be what that was, right? A prompt to not let go? Nathan nods back once, dropping his hand. He looks like he’s on the precipice of something, and Axiom doesn’t understand what, but if he wants to stand here and stare at him, if he wants Axiom to hold his shoulder as if that will keep him from falling apart, he’ll do it. He’ll do whatever he needs.
Nathan’s staring, so uncharacteristically quiet, with this look in his eyes that reminds Axiom of a nervous greyhound. Or maybe a horse before it bolts, a bird in the seconds before it flies away. But of course, Nathan isn’t the type of person who knows how to run from things, even the things that scare him. Something seems to settle in him; a decision is made, a steely look of determination flickering into his eyes.
He surges forward, and for one stupid moment, Axiom thinks he’s going to collapse. He’s so preoccupied with this worry that it’s all he can think about as Nathan presses his lips to the front of his mask. Right where his are, beneath the layer of fabric that Axiom has never hated so much. A kiss, unmistakably, if not confirmed by that, then by the way Nathan’s eyes have fallen shut, eyelashes long and dark where they brush his warmed cheeks. Or the way his hand comes up, so hesitantly curling around Axiom’s jaw before falling limply between them. It’s over in a second, maybe two, and Nathan’s expression has gone from excited-confused-afraid to pure afraid, eyes fixed on the concrete between their feet.
Axiom realises, distantly, that he did nothing while his tag team partner that he’s more than a little in love with, more than hopelessly devoted to, kissed him. He realises this as the silence stretches between them, as his hand drops from Nathan’s shoulder. He realises he’s still not talking, but he can’t even string words together with how his brain has blue-screened. His partner laughs the most self-deprecating laugh Axiom has ever heard.
“Ha! That was– Well, I think I’m a bit messed up from being knocked around. So! I think we should just go back to the hotel and get some rest and never talk about any of this again, right Axiom?”
He claps his hands together, the sound echoing loudly in the little doorstep they’d claimed. Axiom can’t think, can’t process anything beyond replaying what just happened on loop in his head. There were– Surely there should have been signs, if that’s what Nathan was– Did he even mean it, or was it the post match adrenaline talking? Did he feel something close to what Axiom was feeling? Was his heart in his throat at this very moment? Did he-
“Axiom, mate, I’m… I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done that. Can we just-”
And Nathan has that puppy-dog look in his brown eyes, uncertain and unsteady in a way someone as non-stop and unflinching as Nathan Frazer should never be, and that won’t do.
“No,” Axiom forces out, finding his voice and keeping it steady even though he feels as if he might throw up inside of his mask, some horrible recreation of Las Vegas. “No, you shouldn’t have done that.”
Before Nathan can get a word out, before he can do more than let his face fall, Axiom tugs his mask off and blinks against the light. It’s nothing compared to the sight of Nathan’s face shifting, that spark of hope lighting up his eyes like flickering coals when he sees the smile on Axiom’s face, the blush dusting his cheeks.
“You should have let me take the mask off first.” He’s probably grinning like an idiot, but Nathan is too, looking incredulous as Axiom grabs him by the waist (that incredibly toned waist that he has always wanted to be able to grab, thank you very much) and pushes him back against the wall. Axiom is intent on being far more involved in their second attempt at a kiss. And oh, he’s involved alright.
===
If asked later, Axiom would say they took so long to leave the arena because they were going over match notes. That’s why they stumbled into the hotel lobby a few hours after everyone else, even if they were finished up part-way into the card. Nathan would nod as he leaned over his shoulder, a smug little grin on his face and hands giving an annoying nudge to Axiom’s ribs that he has to force himself not to react to. And Axiom would walk away with his tag partner in tow, tugging at and rearranging the hood of his jacket where it sits round his neck, and wondering if he has any masks long enough to cover up small purpling marks dusting the curve of his jaw and trailing down to his Adam’s apple. Yeah, probably not, he would realise with a sigh. Nathan would be far too pleased by that news.