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Will didn’t usually mind the sting of a good match. It came with the job—bruises faded, aches dulled, blood washed away in the shower. But tonight? Tonight was a different story.
His nose still throbbed, even after being cleaned up and checked out by the trainers backstage. It wasn’t broken, thank God, but it had taken two different hits: first, an accidental elbow from Swerve early in the match—a stiff one, right to the bridge. Will didn’t even flinch at the time, too busy trying to keep pace.
But then came the real kicker.
Literally.
The Young Bucks. Thumbtack shoes. A goddamn superkick to the face.
He took it for Swerve.
And sure, he’d been medically cleared—"You're fine, just sore. Go home, get some rest, keep ice on it"—but that didn’t change the way his body felt now. Like one big, raw nerve.
His limbs ached, his ears were still ringing faintly, and the skin around his bandaged nose felt hot and tight.
He’d showered the adrenaline off at the arena, toweled dry and dressed slowly, quietly. By the time he got home, everything hit at once: the come-down, the soreness, the ghost of the crowd still echoing in his skull.
Now he was curled on his side in bed, shirtless and worn out, hair still a little damp, in nothing but boxers and a pair of fuzzy socks he’d stolen from God-knows-where.
One hand clutched the lukewarm gel ice pack against his face, the other lazily scrolling his phone—not reading anything, just pretending to have something to do while he waited for the ibuprofen to finally kick in.
And man, was it taking its sweet ass time.
The TV was on for background noise. He’d set it to some old sitcom rerun, the kind where no one shouted, and no one got kicked in the face for trying to protect someone they cared about.
He was sore. He was overstimulated. He was exhausted. And honestly?
He felt a little stupid.
Taking that hit for Swerve had been instinctual. He didn’t regret it.
But he didn’t exactly expect this—the throbbing pain, the quiet of his apartment, and how oddly lonely it all felt now that the adrenaline had worn off.
He sniffled, winced immediately, and muttered, “Fuck me,” under his breath.
And then…
A knock at the door.
Soft. Hesitant. Four taps.
Will blinked, turning his head slowly toward the sound. His brow furrowed.
Who the hell—?
He peeled himself off the mattress, muttering curses the whole way to the front door, ice pack in hand.
Will knew he looked like hell.
The second he caught his reflection in the mirror on the way to the door, he winced harder than he had from the actual thumbtack shoe.
His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles from where he’d been tossing in bed. His eyes were puffy—red, like he’d been crying. (Because, yeah. He had. Just a little. From the pain. And the adrenaline crash. And maybe because being alone tonight sucked more than he wanted to admit.)
And his nose—fuck. The big bandage slapped across the bridge made him look like a battered anime protagonist. Real tough guy shit. Peak heartthrob energy.
Still, he opened the door. Slowly.
And it was Swerve standing there, hoodie on, hood down, a small frown tugging at his lips. He looked unsure for a beat, like he didn’t expect Will to answer at all.
In his hands: a plastic bag with a couple of gel packs, a bar of dark chocolate, and what looked like a fresh, folded sweatshirt—the exact shade of navy Will always stole from Swerve’s locker when he was cold.
Will squinted. “…Bruv, what the hell are you doing here? It’s almost midnight.”
Swerve shifted on his feet, glancing past Will into the apartment, then back to his face. “Just…wanted to check on you.”
Will blinked. “You could’ve texted.”
“I did. You didn’t answer.”
Touché.
Will stepped aside with a sigh, motioning him in. “Come in before you wake the neighbors.”
Swerve stepped through the threshold slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was welcome yet. Will shut the door behind them, clutching his ice pack as he made his way back to the couch.
The moment Will dropped into the cushions, groaning at how every single part of him ached, Swerve followed, kneeling in front of him to hand over the bag.
“Ice packs. Chocolate. And, uh…” He held up the sweatshirt, eyes flicking briefly to Will’s bare shoulders. “You looked cold last I saw you.”
Will took the sweatshirt, something warm settling in his chest. He sniffed (carefully, so his nose didn’t twinge again), pulled it over his head, and finally muttered, “You didn’t have to do this.”
Swerve sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees. “Yeah. I did.”
Silence.
Will stared down at the chocolate bar, fingers idly tracing the edge of the wrapper.
“I’m fine, y’know,” he said finally, without looking up. “Just got banged up a bit. I’ve had worse.”
“You cried.”
Will’s eyes snapped up. “Excuse me?”
Swerve’s tone wasn’t mocking—just…stated like fact. “Your eyes are red. Puffy. You cried.”
Will’s mouth opened, then closed. No witty comeback. No tough guy denial. Just a long, tired sigh.
“…Yeah,” he finally admitted. “I cried. I’m not made of fuckin’ iron.”
Swerve leaned in slightly, his voice soft. “It was that bad?”
“It was that much,” Will said. “The pain. The day. The fuckin’ match, bruv. Trainers cleared me, yeah, but they didn’t patch up the adrenaline crash. Or the part where I took two shoes full of thumbtacks to the face for you.”
Swerve flinched, just a little. “I know.”
Will looked at him then, at the way Swerve’s fingers curled into his palms, the guilt radiating off of him like steam.
“I was handcuffed,” Swerve said quietly. “I couldn’t do anything.”
“I know,” Will replied, voice sharper than intended. “You think I was just gonna lie there and let those cunts use you as a pincushion? Hell no, bruv. I saw it coming from a mile away..”
The words settled. Heavy, real.
Swerve looked at him like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.
Will slumped back on the couch, tugging the hoodie sleeves down over his hands. “…It sucked,” he said finally. “But I’d do it again. Just so we’re clear.”
Swerve’s eyes softened. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
“No. But I wanted to.”
Another long pause.
Swerve’s voice was quiet. “You looked like you were hurting backstage. But you disappeared so fast…”
“I needed to get out of there,” Will mumbled. “Too many lights. Too many people. Was starting to feel like my skin didn’t fit.”
Swerve gave a quiet, understanding nod.
“…You want some tea or something?” Will asked, trying to shift the focus.
But instead of answering, Swerve reached over and gently touched the side of Will’s face. His thumb ghosted just under Will’s cheekbone, avoiding the bandage, but close enough that Will leaned into it anyway.
“You should’ve told me.”
Will swallowed. “What, that I’m a soft little bitch who cries when shit hurts?”
“No,” Swerve said. “That you needed someone tonight.”
Will didn’t even hesitate once they were both settled on the couch.
The moment Swerve sat down, Will shifted over and curled into his side like it was second nature. His bare legs folded up under him, his fuzzy socks brushing against Swerve’s joggers, and he let out a small, tired sigh as he leaned his head on Swerve’s shoulder.
The sweatshirt—Swerve’s sweatshirt, still faintly smelling like his cologne—was a little too big on Will, draping down to his thighs and swallowing up his hands.
Paired with nothing but his boxers and those ridiculous socks that had little sheep on them (Swerve noticed; he’d never forget), Will looked about as unthreatening as possible for someone who had spent the afternoon bleeding all over an arena.
Swerve slid his arm around Will without a word. Warm. Steady. Will relaxed into it like it was muscle memory.
They sat like that for a few minutes, the only sound in the room the quiet hum of the AC and the distant traffic outside due to a nearby concert just getting out.
Swerve finally broke the silence.
“…Hey,” he murmured. “That elbow I gave you. Early in the match.”
Will tilted his head slightly, resting his cheek just under Swerve’s jaw. “What about it?”
“I think that’s what started your nosebleed. Before the thumbtacks made it, you know… spectacular.”
Will let out a quiet snort. “You apologizing for elbowing me in a wrestling match?”
Swerve hesitated. “Yeah, well… I didn’t mean to catch you that clean.”
Will shifted slightly to look up at him, though the angle made it hard with the way his nose was bandaged. “Swerve. Mate. I’ve taken worse. That elbow was light work compared to the low-ponytailed bugs rearranging my face with their spike shoes.”
That made Swerve huff a laugh. “Low-ponytailed bugs. Damn.”
Will grinned. “Accurate, though.”
Swerve was smiling now too, his hand still resting on Will’s shoulder, fingers occasionally curling against the thick fabric of the hoodie like he needed the reassurance that Will was really okay.
Will leaned in a little closer, eyes half-lidded, voice dry. “Bet I look dreamy right now, huh?”
Swerve glanced down at him and let out a genuine laugh. “Oh, absolutely. You’re a real vision. With your sheep socks, busted nose, and bedhead that looks like you fought a tornado.”
Will cracked a grin, eyes lighting up. “It’s a look, thank you.”
Swerve reached over and gently ruffled Will’s already-messy hair, thumb brushing through the strands to tame them just slightly. Will didn’t even pretend to hate it.
But after a moment, Will’s smile faded just a little.
He noticed the way Swerve’s touch stayed soft. Careful. Like he might break if Swerve leaned too hard.
“You’re being weirdly gentle,” Will said, nudging his elbow lightly against Swerve’s ribs. “You do know I’m not made of glass, right?”
Swerve looked down at him, eyes a little too serious. “Yeah, I know.”
“Then why’re you treating me like a porcelain doll someone dropped down a flight of stairs?” He chuckled.
Swerve shrugged. “Because you got beat to hell out there today. Because I saw you bleeding and laid out. Because I watched you take a superkick full of thumbtacks for me while I was handcuffed like a useless idiot.”
Will’s smile softened. “You’re not useless. You were stuck.”
“I still feel bad.”
“Well, don’t.”
Swerve looked at him, clearly not convinced.
“I’m serious,” Will said, voice quieter now. “That match? Yeah, it hurt. Yeah, it sucked to not win. I mean, neither of us did technically. And yeah, I’ll probably sneeze blood for a week. But I’d do it again. For you.”
That stopped Swerve cold. His eyes flickered just briefly, like something unspoken settled behind them.
“…You’re a stubborn little shit, you know that?” he said softly.
Will grinned again, smug. “Takes one to know one.”
Swerve chuckled, hand sliding gently down to squeeze Will’s knee. “You’re lucky I brought you chocolate, otherwise I’d be out the door already.”
Will rested his head back on Swerve’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “You’d never leave me lookin’ this pathetic. I’m irresistible.”
“Sure you are,” Swerve said, fond.
They stayed like that for a little while, the quiet wrapping around them like a blanket.
Will was warm in the hoodie, warm from Swerve’s arm around him, warm from the way Swerve occasionally squeezed his knee like a grounding pulse.
His eyes fluttered shut for a second.
Then a sharp throb pulsed through his face—the damn nose—and before he could stop himself, a soft whimper of pain slipped out of his mouth.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just a tiny, involuntary sound. Barely audible.
But Swerve heard it.
He shifted immediately, gaze dropping down to Will’s face with such gentle concern that Will wanted to disappear into the couch.
“I’m fine,” Will said way too fast, waving a hand. “Just—y’know. New appreciation for my sinuses, apparently.”
Swerve didn’t buy it.
Will tried to smile, but it came out all crooked. “I’m just being a baby. This ain’t gonna help my ugly mug, huh?”
“Hey,” Swerve said softly, shaking his head. “Don’t start with that.”
Will blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. Swerve’s teasing was gone. He was all softness now, all sincerity.
“I mean it,” Swerve continued. “You’re not ugly, and even if you were—which you’re not—what you did out there tonight? It was brave as hell. You think anyone gives a shit about a busted nose after watching you do that?”
Will swallowed, eyes darting away. He felt his throat tighten a little.
He didn’t have a comeback for that.
Because the truth was… he was tired. So fucking tired.
His face ached, his head was foggy, and the adrenaline had long since burned out, leaving nothing but sore limbs and an overwhelming desire to shut his brain off.
Maybe it was the hoodie. Maybe it was the warmth of Swerve’s body beside him. Maybe it was the chocolate Swerve brought that still sat untouched on the coffee table, just the thought of it making Will feel taken care of.
But whatever it was, Will stopped trying to fight how soft he was feeling. He exhaled slowly, letting himself slump even further into Swerve’s chest.
Swerve pulled him in tighter, arm wrapping around his shoulders, fingers rubbing slow, lazy circles on the side of Will’s arm. Will let his eyes close again.
“You’re allowed to let someone take care of you, you know,” Swerve murmured, his voice low near Will’s ear. “You don’t have to be the tough guy all the time.”
“Mm. Not a tough guy right now,” Will mumbled. “I’m a guy in fuzzy socks with a face full of medical tape.”
Swerve let out a small laugh. “A very heroic guy in fuzzy socks.”
“Hell yeah, bruv.”
They sat like that for a while, everything slowing down. The pain in Will’s face dulled under the weight of the ibuprofen and Swerve’s hand rubbing slow and steady down his back.
His whole body melted into the couch, muscles going soft, like he didn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore.
He didn’t need to. Not here. Not with Swerve.
A few minutes passed.
Will opened his eyes just slightly and turned his head up toward Swerve, and even though it was clumsy with the bandages, something in him tugged forward.
He tilted his face toward Swerve’s like he was going in for a kiss.
Their noses bumped awkwardly, the gauze colliding. Will flinched.
Swerve laughed, warm and close and fond. “You trying to kiss me right now?”
“I forgot I looked like I lost a fight with a stapler,” Will muttered, cheeks coloring. “Was just… feelin’ it.”
“Yeah?” Swerve tilted his head, smiling gently. “Still feelin’ it?”
“…Maybe.”
So Swerve leaned in this time—careful, angled—and pressed a feather-light peck to the plushness of Will’s mouth. It wasn’t perfect, more of a graze than anything, but it was enough to send a warm flutter down Will’s spine.
Will giggled. Like, actually giggled. Like a mischievous little kid who got away with stealing some candy.
He clapped a hand over his mouth immediately after. “That was so not manly.”
“You think I care?” Swerve said, snorting. “You’re adorable.”
Will groaned, flopping his face back into Swerve’s chest. “Stop saying shit like that.”
“Can’t help it.” Swerve kissed the top of Will’s head. “You make it easy.”
Will smiled against Swerve’s shirt. He was so tired. And so full. And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel like the ache in his face was the biggest thing in the room.
Wrapped up in a hoodie, curled into a chest that felt like home, and kissed soft enough to forget the pain, Will let out a long sigh.
“Stay tonight?”
Swerve tousled his hair softly. “Try and stop me.”
Will blinked up at him, eyes sleepy but wide. Then he smiled—just a tiny, lopsided grin—and leaned in for another.
This one landed off-center, grazing the corner of Swerve’s mouth because of the tape across his nose, which made them both laugh.
“Well,” Will muttered with a sheepish chuckle, “this is wildly inconvenient.”
“Still cute, though,” Swerve said, voice hushed. His forehead touched Will’s briefly. “You’re like... stupidly cute right now.”
Will groaned, hiding his face in Swerve’s chest. “You’re lucky I’m too sore to fight you again, mate.”
Swerve grinned and tipped Will’s face back up, giving him another soft kiss—slower this time, a little longer, but still featherlight. Like he didn’t want to overwhelm him, just soothe.
They shared a few more like that, all quiet and careful. Sweet kisses between breaths, each one easing a little more of the tension from Will’s body.
And each one made them both laugh. Quiet, hushed snickers. Not because they were being silly—though they were—but because it all just felt so good. So damn easy.
Will didn’t know what any of this meant. He didn’t know if these gestures were romantic, or if this was just Swerve being the world’s most affectionate best friend.
But right now? He didn’t care.
And fuck, it was working.
The throbbing in his nose had dulled down to something manageable. Maybe it was the ibuprofen finally kicking in. Maybe it was Swerve’s hands on his body, steady and warm. Maybe it was those kisses that felt like they were sealing all the cracked pieces of him back together.
“I mean it,” Swerve murmured after a while. “You didn’t have to protect me like that. You really didn’t.”
Will gave a sleepy shrug, letting his weight rest heavier against Swerve. “Yeah I did,” he mumbled. “You were handcuffed. I wasn’t gonna let them take your head off with a shoe. That’s... kinda my thing.”
Swerve let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Still. I owe the Young Bucks an ass-whooping now. Next time I see them, I’m tying them together by their stupid little ponytails and letting ‘em trip over each other like clowns.”
Will actually giggled again. It was painfully unmanly and soft and perfect.
He cringed at himself, trying to hide it behind a groan and pulled the sweatshirt hood over his face. “God, stop being so funny. It hurts to laugh.”
“Nah, nah, don’t hide that,” Swerve said, tucking the hood back with a grin. You earned every one of those giggles, tough guy.”
Will rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth tugged up anyway.
He was losing the fight to pretend he wasn’t the softest thing alive right now.
With every second, every stroke of Swerve’s hand across his back, every drowsy press of a kiss to his forehead or cheek or temple, he just melted more.
He didn’t even care that the bandage on his nose was probably crinkled at the edges, or that his hair was a mess, or that he’d cried like a kicked puppy earlier.
Swerve didn’t care either. Not one bit.
Their lips found each other again, soft and careful, brushing together in a lazy rhythm that felt more like breathing than kissing.
They were awkward about it at first—Will kept half-laughing because of the damn tape on his face getting in the way—but Swerve just kissed around it, dropped a warm one on his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the spot right between Will’s eyebrows.
And then, when the laughter faded and the room stilled again, Swerve whispered it, honest and low:
“But seriously…I love you, brother.”
Will blinked slowly, eyes glassy and heavy.
For a second, it looked like he might pretend to be asleep to avoid saying anything back. But then his lips parted in a sleepy whisper, barely audible through the soft hum of their shared breath:
“…Love you too.”
It was oddly shy. A little unsure. Like Will wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it like that, or if he even knew what kind of love he was referring to.
But Swerve didn’t question it. He just tucked his arm tighter around Will’s waist, held him like something precious, and pressed one last kiss to the top of his head.
“Go to sleep, dumbass,” Swerve whispered, full of endearment and fondness.
Will hummed, already halfway there. He nuzzled into the crook of Swerve’s neck, the sweatshirt he was wearing a little extra warm now, and let his aching body finally surrender.
His nose still throbbed a little, but he couldn’t even care.
Because in Swerve’s arms, with those stupid sweet kisses still lingering on his skin and a soft “love you” still echoing between them, Will felt completely, fully protected. Which was very-much-so well deserved after the bullet Will took for Swerve tonight.
He fell asleep smiling.