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Cody was in the general locker room tonight.
It was a house show. Light crowd, no cameras, all vibes. He had his bus, sure, but Pharaoh wasn't there, and being cooped up in a fancy rolling suite alone sounded less like luxury and more like a sad country song.
Besides, the general locker room had energy. Friends. Camaraderie. Noise. Human suffering in the form of discarded wrist tape and about five too many blasts of Axe body spray.
He'd thought about inviting Jimmy, Jey, and Sami onto the bus post-match but scrapped the idea.
There was no way four full grown men, two of who were genetically engineered chaos hurricanes, were comfortably sharing one confined space. Not without someone ending up duct-taped to a wall or using Cody’s custom boots as a cereal bowl. God help him if they got into another arm-wrestling match over who got the last Snickers bar.
He had just wrapped his match against Damian Priest. Clean win. A nice, sweaty banger that left him breathless but satisfied. Priest had been surprisingly cool about it. Offering a fist bump, shoulder pat, no hard feelings. Cody appreciated that. It made the whole 'grind and glamour' thing a little easier when you didn’t have to dodge a vengeful elbow backstage.
Now, he was damp, sticky, mildly annoyed, and deeply regretting forgetting his post-match tracksuit on the bus. Which meant, naturally, he was stuck in a borrowed hoodie. Jey’s bright pink 'YEET' monstrosity that looked like it had survived three Florida laundromats and a brawl with a glow stick.
Beside him, Sami zipped up his own hoodie while grumbling about Dominik Mysterio being the literal bane of his existence.
Cody only caught every third word.
"My respect for Rey is the only thing stopping me from drop kicking that runt into a dumpster." Sami muttered.
“At this point, I think Rey would gladly appreciate the assist,” Cody replied absently.
The locker room was its usual blend of organized chaos: clanging lockers, towels flying through the air, way too much exposed muscle walking around like they were auditioning for a Magic Mike reboot.
But then the room shifted.
Conversations faltered. Movement slowed, turning heads like a ripple passing through a pond.
Standing at the entrance like he owned the place—as always—was Roman Reigns.
Cody blinked. His stomach did a somersault, part shock, part... whatever it was at the moment that was making his ears burn.
Roman. Here. In the general locker room. Casually strutting in like he hadn’t spent the entire morning putting Pharaoh to shame with his pout-whine combo when Cody told him he was heading out solo tonight.
Then there was the matter of the shirt he had on. God help him.
A black tee, perfectly fitted in all the criminal places, with 'CLAIM YOUR KINGDOM' stamped across the chest in bold, red letters, skull logo emblazoned in the background. Cody's merch.
Cody's face heated instantly. The flush had nothing to do with the sweat still clinging to him. On the bright side, at least he hadn't opted for the one with Cody's face on it.
Roman spotted him immediately, that slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. The kind of smile that said, I know exactly what I'm doing, and I dare you to stop me.
"Nice shirt, huh?" Roman called, his voice echoing just enough to make it theater.
Cody stood, eyebrows raised. “I thought I left you at home.”
Roman shrugged, the perfect picture of calculated innocence. “Got bored. Caught your match. Solid win by the way. I’m proud of you.”
“You’re a menace.”
Roman’s smirk widened. “You love me.”
Behind Cody, Jimmy let out a dramatic groan. “Finally!” he declared, arms flung wide.
Jey grabbed Sami’s hand and slapped it over his chest. “Feel that? That’s the first time in months my heart’s beat right, with all the extra lying and shit.” he narrowed his eyes at his cousin.
Sami, to his credit, was trying not to laugh. “Yeah, you guys did take your sweet time with everything.”
Roman turned to Jimmy and Jey, an exasperated brow askew. “You knew?“
Jimmy scoffed like the answer should be obvious. “Bruhh, we been knew. We been knowin' since the RoCo soft launch.”
“Yeah, y’all ruined waffles for me for a minute there, Uce.” Jey added and then turned to Cody, “Plus, you always lookin' at Roman like he’s the last piece of chocolate cake in caterin'.”
“I do not look at him like cake.” Cody argued.
“You do so look at him like cake.” Sami added helpfully. “Everybody looks at him like cake.”
He caught a stink eye from Cody and quickly amended, “Which is totally not the point.“
Roman, now standing far too close, leaned in with a dangerous glint in his eye. “I approve of that comparison. I am cake.”
Cody raised a very interested brow at Roman. “Are you now?”
Roman’s voice dropped to a private, velvet murmur. “You’re the one who put this shirt in my drawer, Nightmare.”
Cody short-circuited. His brain replaced all language with static and the mental image of Roman wearing nothing else but that shirt and promptly blue-screened.
“Jesus,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I mean,” Jimmy chimed in again, arms crossed and smirking, “we can all leave if y’all need a minute.”
“No one’s leaving,” Cody snapped, a little too quickly.
“I think everyone should leave,” Roman parried smoothly.
Jey cracked his knuckles. “Say the word, Uce, I’ll clear the whole damn locker room.”
“This is the general locker room,” Cody tried to argue, fingers digging into his eyes to stave off improper images that shouldn't be thought in public.
“Then we kick everyone general out! Damn!” Jimmy roared. “What’s an Uce gotta do to get some privacy 'round here?”
“Get a private room?” Sami offered dryly.
“Thank you, Sami.” Cody sighed.
But his eyes drifted, again, to Roman’s chest.
Then lower…
Much lower…
He yanked his gaze back up immediately. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Roman grinned like he knew the utter turmoil Cody was experiencing. He tapped Cody's shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”
Cody blinked. “Now?”
“You wanna change?”
Cody glanced down at himself, still in his ring gear with Jey’s hoodie half-zipped over it, hair damp and clinging to his temples. “I mean, yeah?”
Roman’s smile widened. “Then come change in the bus.”
Cody choked. “You absolute—”
But Roman had already turned, walking back toward the exit, every step practically daring someone to stop him. The shirt hugged him like sin incarnate, and Cody’s feet moved before his brain did, his face heating up at the hollering and whistles from Jimmy behind him.
He heard and saw the other reactions around them as they passed. Both the excited and the displeased murmurs. Clocked the appreciative smiles, and the equal number of rival scowls.
He walked by Damian Priest, who muttered a low, “No fucking way,” like he’d just witnessed a twist ending in a telenovela.
Grayson Waller simply tripped over air at the sight of Roman. Pure betrayal by gravity.
Cody walked faster, catching up to Roman, tugging at the back of the shirt. “You know this changes things.”
Roman looked over his shoulder. “Good. People were starting to forget who the top dog is around here.”
Cody narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. “Which is me, right? I’m the top dog?”
Roman stopped walking. Turned fully, and stared at him with that appraising look. The one that emptied your head and rewrote your priorities in his will.
“Sure you are, Nightmare,” Roman smiled, smooth as sin itself and linked their hands together, tugging Cody softly towards him. “Sure you are.”
Cody glared at him, sort of. It was weak. He was already gone. Already done for.
And Roman knew it.