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Roman opened the door to find Cody standing on his doorstep—back turned, one hand resting on the handle of a scuffed rolling suitcase, the other twitching by his side.
He was fidgeting. Rocking on the balls of his feet like a schoolchild outside the principal’s office. Anxious and probably unsure of his welcome in Roman's house. Roman could tell he was definitely regretting the decision mid-execution.
The platinum idiot.
Roman’s lips curled into a smile so soft and disgustingly fond, it would've gotten him thrown out of his own public relations committee. Should this story be recounted in the future, he’d deny it, of course. Deny ever looking like that over anyone, let alone Cody freaking Rhodes. But the treacherous thing about emotions was their refusal to be managed. Especially when it came to him.
Cody hadn’t even realized the door had opened. Lost in thought and still facing away, caught in some silent mental tug-of-war, completely unaware Roman was just... watching him. Drinking him in like he hadn’t seen water in weeks.
“Nightmare,” Roman finally rumbled, his voice low and knowing.
Cody yelped.
A full-body, cartoon-character jolt, whipping around with his hand clutching his chest like he'd been shot with a tranquilizer dart.
"Roman," he scowled, as if the man had committed a social faux pas by answering the door he'd knocked on.
Roman chuckled, the sound a rich baritone that wrapped around Cody’s ribs and tugged. “What are you doing—?"
He didn't get the chance to finish before Cody's lips were on his, and he wouldn't have preferred it any other way.
No preamble, or pleasantries. Just lips on lips. Raw, searing, and long overdue.
Roman melted into it. Or maybe combusted, he didn't care at the moment. The kiss was deep, bruising, and hot enough to melt steel. It carried all the frustration, all the want, all the damn I missed you they hadn’t said since that last chaotic Raw. Roman didn’t even realize how touch-starved he’d been until this moment.
Cody finally broke the kiss with a sound so sinful it made Roman growl, low, primal, and possessive.
Without ceremony, Cody shoved the suitcase into Roman's chest and muscled past him into the house like he owned the damn place.
Now that wasn't very Boy scout of him.
“First things first,” Cody muttered, once Roman had tugged the suitcase in and locked the door behind them. “God, I missed that.”
Roman made a sound somewhere between a hum and a satisfied rumble, as his eyes drank in Cody’s rumpled and travel-weary form. Navy track pants, rumpled grey tee, and the well-worn baseball cap now tossed atop the suitcase like an afterthought, that must’ve come off at the door.
So the man was capable of camouflage when he wasn't actively trying to be a little shit.
Roman blinked, dragging himself back to the present to find Cody staring, transfixed, at the massive photo wall. From ceiling to floor, generations of Samoan wrestling royalty stared back. If you squinted, you might spot a baby Roman somewhere beside a pint-sized Dwayne Johnson.
"Not that I'm complaining," Roman said, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed and amused. "But to what do I owe this visit?"
Cody answered without tearing his eyes from the bloodline monument. “I was bored.“
Roman raised a brow. “Naturally, when that happens, you hop a flight to Florida.”
Cody finally turned to face him, head tilted, eyes distant, like he was chewing on something he didn’t quite know how to say.
“SmackDown’s tomorrow night,” he said softly.
Roman nodded, silently encouraging him.
“I haven’t been on TV since I lost. I don’t even know if Aldis wants me there, but...”
The words trailed off, like they were scared of how real they might sound out loud. His brows drew together, the weight of uncertainty making him look younger somehow.
Roman didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and folded Cody into his arms like something precious. Because he was.
Because no PR team, no belt, no storyline could tell Roman who mattered. And because he could do things like hold onto Cody without reason now. Nothing grounded him more than this infuriating, beautiful man in his arms.
Cody melted into the hug with a content sigh, and slipped his hands under Roman’s shirt like a man reclaiming home. Skin met skin, and Roman gave a full body shiver.
“I gotta say,” Roman rumbled, his mouth brushing Cody’s temple, “I’m a little insulted you’re using me as a layover.”
"Please," Cody scoffed, his hands lazy and warm. “Like this isn’t the best day of your life.”
“Mm,” Roman smirked. "The best day of my life was WrestleMania 39, actually. Main event of Night 2."
Cody made a noise so pained Roman felt the eye-roll radiate through his bones from where his head rested on Roman’s shoulder.
Cody pulled back, glaring with all the ferocity of an annoyed housecat, and shoved Roman lightly.
Then, because Cody Rhodes was constitutionally incapable of picking one emotion and sticking with it, he immediately laced their fingers together with a soft pout so devastating it was almost a war crime.
Roman laughed, pulling their joined hands up to press a kiss to Cody’s knuckles.
“You’re lucky this is your house,” Cody muttered. “Otherwise, I’d be ignoring you so hard right now.”
Roman just chuckled low in his chest.
"Come on," he said, tugging Cody toward the house. "Grand tour."
Cody dug his heels in just long enough to announce, grandly:
"Also, dibs on the first hot bath. And your bed. You're on the floor."
Roman raised a brow. "You wish."
Cody grinned, all smugness and battered hope, as he followed Roman into the house, suitcase abandoned by the door, ghosts left outside.
Tonight, there was only this.
---
Cody woke to the loud, insistent vibration of his phone rattling across the nightstand. He cracked one eye open, vaguely surprised Roman hadn't woken up to obliterate it with a death glare. Or, you know, something very Roman Reigns-y, like hurling it out the nearest window.
He groaned, carefully untangling himself from the man. It was a delicate operation, peeling himself away from a human-sized octopus. Roman’s head had been pillowed on Cody’s shoulder, arms locked around his torso in a death grip. He doubted he could pry Roman's hands off without risking actual injury—and frankly, he didn’t have the heart to try.
Sharing a bed with Roman had revealed many unexpected truths. Chief among them: the Tribal Chief clung like Velcro in his sleep. Great for winter road trips; absolute hell in the swampy humidity of Miami. Roman’s body heat could start a wildfire.
Stretching, Cody reached for the phone, only managing to brush it with his fingertips thanks to the clingy Samoan molasses hanging off him.
"If you won't answer it, toss it," Roman grumbled against his chest, tightening his hold like an annoyed toddler with a favorite stuffed animal.
There it was. The complaint Cody had been waiting for. Miraculously, it had come without follow up property damage. Progress.
After some strategic wiggling, he finally snagged the phone and winced against the screen's brightness. If that wasn’t the most 'boomer at dawn' move he’d ever pulled. He needed to fix that immediately or risk losing his last shred of street cred.
On screen: Nick Aldis.
Well, there went his good mood.
"Aldis," Cody muttered, thumbing the green button.
Roman cracked one eye open at the name, resting his head lazily on Cody’s bare stomach like it was a memory foam pillow. Observing him. Sharper than he had any right to be half-asleep.
Cody answered, and Roman caught the momentary flicker of disappointment that crossed Cody’s face before he masked it again. It was gone so fast anyone else would've missed it.
“Of course,” Cody said eventually, his voice too flat to be anything but pissed. He ended the call and practically yeeted the phone back onto the nightstand.
Bad news, then.
"He doesn't want you at SmackDown today?" Roman guessed, voice still rough with sleep.
"Said I wasn’t needed right now," Cody spat, pure acid. "Nice to know I get tossed aside for the 48-year-old shiny old-new toy."
Roman rubbed slow, soothing circles into Cody’s shoulder, letting the man fume. "It happens."
Cody turned to him, shooting a look so sharp it could've gutted a less prepared man. There was something deeper there than anger. Something heavier. Something Roman recognized all too well.
"You didn’t get tossed.“ Cody spat. “Matter of fact, you show up once every few months, and everyone else has to move heaven and earth to make room for you."
True enough. But carrying that kind of weight on your shoulders came with its own brand of exhaustion. The kind that didn’t show up on social media highlight reels.
Roman leaned up on an elbow, pinning him with a stare. Not angry. Not mocking. Just... overtly Roman.
Cody braced, like he was preparing for a fight he thought was inevitable.
Poor bastard. Expecting Roman to bark or snap or be the tribal badass he had to be for everyone else at 5AM in the morning.
Roman, however, was feeling far too well-rested—and far too stupidly happy with Cody curled up against him—to be baited. He simply curled himself around Cody again, tangling their legs with a sleepy satisfaction.
Being near Cody flipped some ancient switch inside Roman’s chest. It soothed him and made him forget to snarl, to posture, to lash out at shadows that weren’t there.
"If bashing the Tribal Chief helps you feel better," Roman murmured into Cody’s stomach, voice playful, "go for it. I don’t mind."
Silence stretched between them. Heavy enough that Roman eventually cracked an eye open.
Cody was looking at him like he’d just grown a second head. Tilting his head like a confused puppy.
"What?" Roman asked, half-smirking.
"You are not at all what you pretend to be," Cody said slowly, like he was trying to solve a math equation he deeply distrusted. "I mean, if I wasn’t literally experiencing this," he waved a hand at their situation, "right now, I’d say whoever described you like this was full of shit."
Roman barked a low laugh, rolling onto Cody with a grin. He kissed him, deep and unrelenting, swallowing whatever protests were about to spill out.
Cody moaned into the kiss, fingers finding Roman’s hair like magnets.
When they finally broke apart, Cody let out a small, frustrated whine.
"That's not fair," he complained, breathless. "You can’t just kiss me stupid when I’m trying to have a deep, philosophical realization."
Roman laughed again. God, he was helpless around this man.
"I thought I was doing a damn good job convincing you—" he started to roll away teasingly, but Cody caught him by the wrist.
"How about you lose the shirt and convince me again?" Cody said, smirking.
Roman didn't even hesitate.