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It had been a week since that shower in Seattle—a week since the walls echoed with whimpers, since the steam carried their moans, since Swerve had whispered, “We’ll talk later.”
But “later” never came.
Life moved stupidly fast after that night. Swerve stayed behind in Washington for a couple of days, riding the high of Dynamite’s chaos, while Will flew straight back across the Atlantic.
Between a quick breather at home in Essex, seeing his family, maybe pretending his ass wasn’t still sore as he helped his mum with the shopping, and hopping on a plane back to California, Will barely had time to sleep, let alone unpack…let alone process.
And “that” conversation? Yeah, that conversation—about what the hell the two of them were now after Will had literally gotten railed by his best friend in the locker room shower—wasn’t exactly the kind of talk you wanted to cram into a phone call across eight time zones.
So here they were, a week later, finally face to face again. Backstage at AEW Dynamite 300, in yet another shared locker room.
They had a match tonight, a big one—Beast Mortos and Dralístico weren’t exactly a cakewalk. But that was the least of Will’s worries, because the second he walked into the locker room, bag rolling behind him, he felt it: the thick, unspoken tension between them.
Déjà vu didn’t even cover it; it was like their last few weeks had been stuck on loop.
Swerve was already there, lacing up his boots, looking calm as ever, like he hadn’t rearranged Will’s insides seven days ago.
Will, meanwhile, felt his face heat up just seeing him. His stomach flipped when Swerve looked up at him with that same calm, piercing gaze.
Neither of them said it out loud, but both knew the question hanging between them:
What the fuck are we?
And of course, timing was never on their side—because as Will set his bag down, a production assistant stuck their head in (like divine intervention), letting them know they were needed on deck soon.
No time for déjà vu to hit thrice.
No hour to initiate another quickly escalating makeout session that may lead to something more.
There wasn’t even a spare minute to awkwardly trip into the conversation they’d both been avoiding.
So, they went into Dynamite 300 like it was any other Wednesday night—but it was anything but ordinary.
Will and Swerve were standing in the ring side by side after infiltrating in on the Young Bucks after their Heroes vs Villains match, matching scowls plastered on their faces, the crowd eating up every ounce of the simmering electricity between them.
Tonight wasn’t just about another tag match. No, tonight was about forcing the Young Bucks’ hands.
Standing under the bright lights, Will and Swerve made it clear: they wanted the Bucks at All In: Texas. They wanted the EVP titles on the line—because if those smug-faced bastards were going to walk around thinking they owned the division, it was time someone checked them.
But the Bucks, annoyingly pompous as ever, kept refusing. Every time Will or Swerve upped the ante, they just smirked, shook their heads, said Will and Swerve had no say over anything that happens here, and started backing up the ramp.
It was infuriating.
And that’s when Will, adrenaline surging, heart hammering, grabbed the mic with white-knuckled intensity. His voice cracked the arena like a thunderclap as he offered the unthinkable:
“If you guys accept this match and you beat us at All In…then me and Swerve can’t challenge for the world title for one year.”
Was it a well-thought out plan? Ehh…maybe not the most sound proposal, but it was extreme enough that those fame-hungry cunts wouldn’t be able to dare resist.
The gasps from the crowd were immediate. Even the Bucks paused mid-smirk.
Swerve, though—Swerve turned to him with the sharpest glare Will had ever seen.
“What the hell are you thinking?”
It was hissed low, too quiet for the cameras, but loud enough to cut through the noise in Will’s ears.
Will couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Bucks. He just muttered back, breathless, desperate:
“Trust me, please.”
Swerve went on, visibly frustrated and confused, telling Will this was a stupid idea, that this risks their careers, that Will of all people knew how much he wanted the world title again more than anything.
Will gripped Swerve’s shoulder, trying to explain his reasoning, trying not to look too long in the hurt and bewilderment in his brown eyes that were usually so sweet and soft towards him.
Matt Jackson, or Nick (does it really matter?) continued to taunt from the ramp, how Swerve needed to be on the same page as Will in order for this deal to go through.
Was it putting Swerve on the spot? Kinda.
Finally, Swerve stared at him for a heartbeat that felt like forever, then gave a tight nod—reluctant but resolute.
“You’ve got a deal,” Swerve said exasperatedly before tossing down the microphone.
And the Bucks? They finally accepted.
The tension crackled as the Bucks slinked off, satisfied they’d baited Will into something reckless.
Then, like a switch flipped, they shifted focus to their match.
Beast Mortos and Dralístico hit the ring, but the two were unstoppable. Every tag was crisp, every move brutal, and by the end, Will and Swerve stood tall, victorious, the roar of the crowd pulsing around them.
After the ref raised their arms, Swerve pulled Will in for a firm handshake that turned into an embarrassingly tight hug.
The adrenaline, the fear, the unspoken everything between them boiled over into that moment—two men, tangled up in something way bigger than themselves.
They left the ring together, smiling wide, Will slapping fans’ hands up the ramp, the crowd chanting his name.
The door to the locker room shut behind them with a hollow click, cutting off the last echoes of the crowd’s cheers.
And suddenly, it was like someone sucked all the oxygen out of the room.
The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, but it felt deafening in the new silence between them.
Will risked a glance at Swerve, who was standing at the far end of the benches, head bowed, hands braced on his knees. His chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths, but his shoulders were stiff—tight with something worse than exhaustion.
Why isn’t he saying anything?
The question twisted Will’s gut so hard he nearly doubled over. He’d rather have Swerve yelling, mocking, something—anything but this dead, heavy silence.
After even the toughest of matches, Swerve would ruffle his curls, press a chuckled kiss to his head, and say "Good job out there, Billy."
This silent treatment was a little too strange and intense from the man who was smiling wide alongside Will less than five minutes ago.
“Did I… did I do something?” Will finally croaked out, his voice embarrassingly small.
It was the stupidest question he could’ve asked, and he knew it the second the words left his mouth. But he needed to break the silence before it broke him.
Because did he?
Swerve's jaw never tightened like that unless something bothered him, but coming off of the positive energy of their victory tonight, it didn't make any sense as to why he would be rattled in at all.
Swerve’s head snapped up. His eyes locked on Will’s, frustration crackling like lightning. “What the fuck was that out there, Will?”
No Billy. No baby. Just Will. The sound of his name, stripped bare and cold.
And God, it felt like taking a chair shot straight to the ribs.
Swerve took a step forward, boots thudding heavily. “What were you thinking?” His voice was low, dangerous, like the quiet before a tornado. “You don’t just go throwing around stipulations like that without talking to me. You don’t get to gamble with my career like it’s your personal storyline.”
Oh. That's what he is upset about. The stipulation, the slightly impulsive deal Will proposed to the Young Bucks.
No world title shots for a year. Will didn't exactly think through how Swerve would feel about such a deal.
Will’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He felt his brain short-circuiting, heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything else. “I-I thought you were fine! I mean, after the match you were—”
“Oh, don’t even start,” Swerve’s laugh was humorless, harsh, slicing through Will’s babbling. “You thought a hug meant I was fine?” His tone dripped disbelief. “We were on live TV, Will. Yeah, I hugged you. Yeah, I smiled. Because what the hell else was I supposed to do, huh? You dropped that bomb, and then we had a match to wrestle. You didn’t give me a second to think. And it’s not like I could go out there pissed off and unfocused—that would’ve cost us everything right then and there.”
Will shifted uncomfortably, fingers tugging harder at his wrist tape. His eyes darted anywhere but Swerve’s burning gaze: the floor, his shoes, the wall.
Fuck. He wanted to sink into the floor.
The adrenaline that had carried him through the match and confrontation drained out of him all at once, leaving a gnawing pit in his stomach.
“I just… I wanted them to agree,” he mumbled, voice so small he barely heard it himself.
Swerve threw his hands up. “Yeah? And you thought risking a year of both our careers was the best way to do that?” He paced back and forth, boots scuffing the ground. His frustration radiated off him like heat. “You can fuck around with your own opportunities all you want, but you don’t get to decide for me.”
Every word hit Will like a stiff chop to the chest. He tried to meet Swerve’s eyes but kept flinching away. He didn’t know if it was the guilt or the fear of seeing what might be in those dark eyes—disappointment, anger, maybe even something worse.
Swerve stopped pacing and pinned him with a look so fierce Will felt like his legs would give out. “Did you even think for a second what this would mean for me? For everything I’ve been working for?”
Will opened his mouth, closed it. The silence swelled again, heavy and suffocating, until all he could do was stare at the half-undone laces in his trembling hands.
“Sorry.” Will’s voice came out smaller than he intended, so quiet he wondered if Swerve even heard it.
He fumbled for words, desperate to explain himself. “I—I was just focused on All In. On us getting that match. They weren’t gonna agree to anything, Swerve. I was trying to give them a reason. Something that would make them say yes.”
Swerve’s eyes narrowed, sharp and unyielding. “And did you even think about what happens if we lose?” His voice boomed like thunder in the enclosed locker room.
Will swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic in his chest. He straightened a little, trying to find confidence he didn’t feel. “We’re not going to lose.”
There's no way they could, would. Will would've never proposed this in the first place if he wasn't 1000% confident that they would emerge victorious.
Plus...even if they did lose, that didn't rule out challenge opportunities for the new Unified Championship, or the Tag Team belts, or even the TNT title.
But clearly Swerve didn't share that same sentiment.
Swerve’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “You don’t know that!” He stepped closer, close enough Will could feel his breath on his cheek. His words tumbled out, low and intense: “You think the Bucks won’t pull every dirty trick they’ve got? You think a company EVP with an ego the size of Texas is gonna let us embarrass them on the biggest stage without a fight?” He shook his head, the frustration crackling like static in the air. “You put both of us on the line without a plan B.”
Will’s heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to fight back, to defend himself, but all he felt was a pit opening in his stomach, swallowing his bravado whole.
Swerve’s words, his anger, it all cut deeper because it was true.
Will was never good at arguing, at standing up for himself.
He's tried. He tried with Kyle, which not only led to their tumultuous friendship break-up worsening, but got Will jumped on several different occasions.
“I—” Will stammered, his eyes darting around the room, anywhere but at Swerve’s intense gaze. His thoughts tumbled over each other, frantic.
He felt selfish, so fucking selfish.
The same man who made him feel safe, made him feel seen in that steamy locker room shower last week, was now standing here looking at him like he’d ripped the floor out from under them both.
Swerve exhaled sharply, like he was forcing himself to reel it back in. He ran a hand down his face, rubbing at his temples before looking at Will with a tired, guarded stare.
His voice was steadier, but low and cold. “When did you come up with this, Will? Was it one of your spur-of-the-moment ‘fuck it’ ideas? Or was this planned?”
Will’s lips parted, hesitating, because he knew this answer would either make things better or so much worse.
He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists. “I… started thinking of it last week,” he admitted hoarsely. “It’s been on my mind for days.”
He didn't have the heart to tell Swerve that he started thinking of how to dethrone the Young Bucks practically right after their match last week—after they defeated Blake Christian and Lee Johnson with ease despite the EVP's fuckery in changing the run sheet last minute. After Will shared the most intimate moment of his entire life in that Seattle locker room shower with the very man that was scolding him right now.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the fluorescent lights felt deafening. Swerve’s eyes flashed with something between disbelief and hurt.
That hurt landed harder than any chop across the chest.
“So you planned this,” Swerve said flatly. His voice wasn’t loud anymore, but the quiet disappointment weighed twice as much. “You had days, Will. Days to think about what this meant for me, for us—and you never said a word?”
Will’s breath hitched, cheeks hot with shame. He could see it all over Swerve’s face: the betrayal, the frustration, the deep ache of someone who thought he mattered more.
And Will felt like the world’s biggest idiot for letting it come to this.
Swerve’s hands were clenched at his sides now, knuckles gripping tight, shoulders rigid with frustration. His jaw worked like he was grinding the words out through sheer will, repeating himself, “You planned this for days, and you never thought to talk to me about it?”
Will swallowed hard. His voice cracked when he tried to speak. “I—”
“No, Will. Don’t.” Swerve stepped back, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His eyes were sharp, but behind the frustration, there was something raw. Something that stung deeper. “We could’ve come up with something together. We could’ve strategized, thought of a way to get what we wanted without putting everything on the line. But instead—” He let out a humorless, shaky laugh. “Instead you just… decided for both of us. Put me on the spot in front of the Bucks, the crowd. You made me look stupid out there.”
Stupid? No, no that was never his intention.
Sure, he knew he caught Swerve off-guard in the moment, but he didn't think the sudden stipulation would embarrass him.
Will’s mouth opened, but no words came. The guilt that had been clawing at his ribs was now crushing his chest.
Explains why Will would be a terrible EVP: he could not be trusted for the life of him to make such career-altering decisions.
He despised the Bucks, sure, but at least they knew (for the most part) what to do with their privileges.
Swerve’s gaze met his, fierce and wounded. “After everything, Will. After what we did last week—” Swerve’s voice broke on the edges, his eyes stormy. “We… we trusted each other with things nobody else would ever see, ever know. And yet you didn’t trust me enough to just talk to me? To tell me what you were planning?”
Will’s throat felt like sandpaper. He wanted to reach out, to touch Swerve’s arm, to ground him the way Swerve always did for him, but his hands hung useless at his sides.
The distance between them felt kilometers wide despite being just a step apart. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Will whispered, voice cracking. “You’re everything to me, man. This was about us—”
“No.” Swerve’s voice cut him off, low and still evidently mad. He stepped forward again, close enough Will could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “You say it’s about us, but you acted like it was just you out there. Like you were the only one who mattered, the only one whose plan counted. You can’t keep saying you trust me and then treat me like an afterthought when it’s time to make the hard choices.”
Will felt like he’d been punched straight through his heart.
Swerve was never an afterthought. If anything, he was the one thing that clouded Will's mind all the time.
Will's breath caught, his voice small. He couldn't up the volume if he tried. “Swerve… I do trust you. I trust you with my life, I swear to God. That’s why I… that’s why I even made the plan. Because I know we can win together. I know we can. I thought—”
“You thought,” Swerve bit out, eyes flashing. “You thought without me. You decided without me. And now you’ve put both our careers on the line with one sentence. And I just… I can’t believe you didn’t think I deserved a say.”
The words hit harder than any kick Will had ever taken. Swerve could House Call him right now and it would hurt less.
“I was trying to help us. I thought it was the only way.”
Swerve’s expression twisted, his eyes bright but hard. “And what if we lose, Will?” His voice dropped to a low, broken whisper, almost like he was afraid to say it out loud. “What happens to us then? What happens if we don’t walk out of All In with everything we’ve fought for? Have you even let yourself think about that?”
Will’s silence was answer enough.
Because, no, he hadn't.
Swerve’s face fell, his breath shaky as he looked away, blinking hard. “Of course you didn’t.”
Swerve shook his head again. His voice was hoarse; Will could feel the heat of his frustration radiating off him. “You don’t get it. Standing out there tonight, hearing you drop that bomb like that, I felt…scared. Like you’d already decided everything and I was just along for the ride. Like you were using me to get ahead.”
That last word fell like a hammer on Will’s chest. He felt so small, so stupid. His mouth opened but nothing came out. His throat burned with words he didn’t know how to say.
Because Swerve was right—he had decided for both of them.
He’d been so focused on forcing the Bucks’ hand that he never stopped to think about how this would make Swerve feel.
About what it would cost him if they failed.
But he was wrong about the part where he accused Will of using him.
That was the furthest from the truth. If anything, Will wanted Swerve beside him so they could share that eventual momentous victory together. Side by side with the man he adored.
Knowing that despite his good intentions, he still hurt Swerve—it made Will so mad at himself.
A beat of silence fell between them, heavy, suffocating. The faint hum of the hallway beyond the locker room door felt painfully loud. Will felt like he was drowning in it.
“You know what sucks the most?” His voice was quieter now, frayed around the edges. “That you could trust me with...everything last week. With your body, with your fears, with things you’ve never let anyone else see. But you couldn’t trust me enough to talk about this.”
It did seem like all of this could've been avoided with a simple conversation in advance, but it didn't even cross Will's mind to begin with. He just automatically assumed Swerve and him would be on the same page. And yeah, maybe that was wrong of him.
Will flinched, chest tightening so hard it hurt to breathe. He felt naked, raw, like every last layer of his bravado had been stripped away. Every possible apology felt too small.
Swerve finally looked back at him, eyes dark and wet with a storm of emotions. “That’s what fucking hurts, Will.”
Will’s pulse thudded painfully in his ears, drowning out the muted sounds of the rest of the arena.
He stared at the floor, eyes unfocused, seeing nothing but the whirlwind of self-recrimination spiraling in his head.
God, he felt stupid. So stupid.
He had been so sure. So goddamn sure that his idea was perfect. That Swerve would see the brilliance, the guts of it, the way it would force the Bucks’ hands.
They’d get their match at All In, steal the show, stand tall in front of the world—and do it together.
Wasn’t that the dream? Wasn’t that what Swerve always talked about? About proving themselves on the grandest stages, about being undeniable?
But now, with Swerve’s words echoing in his head, Will saw it all so differently.
He wasn’t a genius strategist; he was reckless.
He hadn’t looked at the full picture—he’d seen only his own determination. He hadn’t considered that Swerve’s dreams were on the line, too. That Swerve’s journey to the World Championship wasn’t just a hypothetical; it was something he’d been clawing for his whole career.
Will could almost hear Swerve’s voice in interviews, promising the world he’d be AEW World Champion again one day after losing the title last year. And Will had nearly taken that away from him in one stupid, impulsive mic drop.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the memories from last week crashing through him like a tidal wave.
The feeling of Swerve’s strong arms around him, holding him like he was something precious. The warmth of Swerve’s breath on his neck as he whispered those sweet, sinful praises. The safety, the soft kisses on his forehead. The quiet “love you, Billy” murmured like it was the most obvious truth in the world.
Will remembered the way he’d melted into Swerve’s embrace, how every bit of tension he’d carried had slipped away in that shower, how he’d felt more seen and cared for than he ever had in his entire life.
And now… what had he done with that trust?
He’d gone out on live TV and put their futures on the line without even asking Swerve how he felt. Like Swerve’s opinion didn’t matter. Like his dream didn’t matter.
Will’s stomach twisted painfully. He wanted to tear his hair out. He wanted to take it all back, to rewind time to before he opened his stupid mouth.
Because how could he ever look Swerve in the eyes again knowing he’d upset him like this?
How could he have been so desperate for glory, so eager to win, that he’d forgotten what Swerve had given him? That impossible, tender vulnerability, the thing Will had never let himself have before. That night in the shower hadn’t just been sex—it had been the most profound moment of trust and connection Will had ever felt.
And he’d repaid it by blindsiding Swerve, like he didn’t matter.
“Fuck,” Will whispered to himself, voice so thin it barely reached his own ears.
He lifted his eyes, heart pounding, terrified to meet Swerve’s gaze.
Because deep down, what scared him the most wasn’t that they’d lose the match or even their careers—it was that he might’ve just lost the one person who made him feel like he wasn’t alone in the world.
Will’s hands were balled into trembling fists at his sides, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might break his ribs.
He wanted to say something—anything—to make Swerve understand how sorry he was, how stupid he felt, how he’d give anything to take it back.
But every time he opened his mouth, his voice died in his throat.
God, he felt like crying. He felt like the world was tilting under his feet.
Because Swerve wasn’t just his tag partner. He wasn’t just a friend.
He was one of the only people Will had left.
He’d already lost Kyle—lost the man he loved like a brother, the kid he would’ve thrown himself in front of a train for. That grief still sat like a rock in his chest every single day.
But Swerve had been there through it all. Swerve had made him laugh when he thought he’d never smile again. Swerve had kissed his pain away, had held him so tenderly in that shower, whispered things that made Will feel like he wasn’t just some loud, broken mess.
Swerve was… everything.
And now Will was terrified he’d ruined it.
But… at the same time, frustration bubbled hot in his chest.
Because Swerve had agreed to the deal. He’d smiled with Will on camera, shook his hand, hugged him so tight the crowd roared. He’d played along, sold the moment perfectly.
But now, now that they were alone, he was ripping Will apart like Will had stabbed him in the back. It was whiplash, and it hurt, and it confused him even more.
If Swerve didn’t want this, if he was so angry, why the hell had he agreed in the first place?
This was so fucking confusing.
So, voice cracking, eyes wet with unshed tears, Will finally snapped out, “Then why did you agree? If you hated it so much—if you didn’t want this—why didn’t you just say no? Why did you hug me, why did you act like we were on the same page? Why did you give me hope?”
“Because I’m in love with you, dammit!”
HUH?
What the fuck?
Swerve’s voice exploded out of him, raw and ragged, echoing off the locker room walls. The words hung in the air like a bomb, like something too big, too impossible to take back. His chest heaved, eyes burning as they locked with Will’s, dark and unguarded.
It was the first time Will had ever seen him look so exposed, so desperate.
Will’s heart stuttered, a lightning bolt of shock and something impossibly bright shooting through his veins. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process that Swerve—Swerve—had just said the one thing he never imagined hearing.
Will’s brain was reeling, a rush of white noise flooding his ears. He just stood there, mouth parted, blinking like he hadn’t heard Swerve correctly.
But he had. Oh God, he had.
Because I’m in love with you. Those words repeated in his head like the lyrics of a song he couldn’t turn off, rattling his bones.
He felt like he couldn’t move, like his feet were stuck in wet cement, solidifying by the second.
This wasn’t like the playful “love you, Billy” they tossed around after goofy wins or post-match celebrations. This wasn’t the cheeky “love you” Swerve had whispered between kisses in the shower last week.
This was… real. Serious. Heavy. And the weight of it pressed down on Will’s chest until he thought he might collapse.
For a second, Swerve looked just as stunned by his own outburst, eyes wide, lips parted like he’d surprised himself. The silence hung thick, a dangerous, crackling thing.
Then Swerve let out a shaky exhale, dragging a hand over his face, through his hair, messing it up in frustration.
“Shit, I didn’t…” Swerve started, voice low, almost hoarse. His eyes dropped from Will’s, like he couldn’t bear to look at him. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
Another breath. Swerve looked like he was wrestling every word out of himself, hands flexing restlessly at his sides. “Last week…I promised you we’d talk. After Seattle. After the…shower. I said we’d figure out what…this… was. What we were. And I didn’t. I didn’t keep my promise.”
His jaw clenched, brows pinching in an expression Will had never seen on him—one of raw, honest vulnerability. “I knew you’d forget, with how busy you are, with your schedule, with… with your head always racing a mile a minute. I knew it was on me to bring it up. And I didn’t. I kept dodging it, letting it slip, because I was… fuck, I was nervous.”
Will’s heart skipped.
Nervous? Swerve?
The same man who stared down any opponent with an easy smirk, who exuded calm, confident control whether he was in a main event or a messy brawl backstage?
Seeing Swerve like this—his strong, unshakable best friend looking like he was scared—felt like seeing the sun flicker.
Swerve took another breath, his gaze finally rising to meet Will’s. There was a vulnerability there that cut straight through Will.
“I didn’t know how to say it. How to admit what I felt. How to ask you what you wanted. Because I… I didn’t want to risk ruining this. Us. And then tonight, when you made that deal, all I could think was—fuck—what if you don’t feel the same? What if you’re just looking out for the match, the story, the glory… and not…” His voice trailed off.
Will’s chest was a mess of knots. He felt Swerve’s words sinking into him, twisting into the cracks of his heart.
Because… yeah, he knew that last week in the shower had changed everything. He knew how safe he felt when Swerve’s hands were on him, how the praise in Swerve’s voice had felt so much deeper than casual lust.
But he hadn’t let himself hope—because what if it was just heat of the moment? What if it meant nothing?
But Swerve was here. Nervous. Hurting. In love.
And Will couldn’t look away.
Will’s breath hitched in his chest. His voice cracked when he finally found it: “So… even during the shower stuff… you, like… had feelings for me?”
Swerve’s eyes softened, but he didn’t hesitate. He nodded once, slow and sure. The confirmation made Will’s head spin.
Swerve let out a slow exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes darted away, like he couldn’t stand to see Will’s face as he admitted it. “Even then. Especially then,” he said quietly. “That whole time, I was… fuck, Will, I was terrified.”
“Terrified?” Will echoed, eyebrows knitting in disbelief. “You? You were… nervous?”
Swerve huffed a shaky laugh, almost self-deprecating. “Yeah. Not just because I didn’t wanna hurt you. God, I was so scared I’d screw it up somehow. Because I wasn’t just thinking about how to make you feel good… I was thinking about how bad I wanted you. How long I’d wanted you. And how fucking lucky I felt that you were letting me touch you like that.”
He paused, voice catching a bit. “I tried to hide it. Act all confident. But… it was only because you were more nervous than I was. I wanted you to feel safe, like you could trust me.”
Will’s heart stuttered, skipping painfully. He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
The way Swerve had touched him—like he knew Will’s body better than his own, like every praise was woven into the very core of who they were together—had felt effortless, like second nature.
“You were nervous?” Will repeated, almost dumbly. His mind flashed back to that moment in the shower, where he felt like he was coming apart under Swerve’s hands. “You seemed… so confident. Like you’d done it a million times.”
Swerve’s mouth pulled into a pained, almost sheepish smile. He lifted his gaze just enough to meet Will’s. “Why do you think you didn’t see my face?”
Will froze.
The memory came back in vivid detail: his chest pressed to the shower wall, steam billowing around them, Swerve’s body flush against his back, the hot weight of him, the soft, unrelenting praises in his ear.
The realization hit him like a freight train. Swerve hadn’t just wanted him in that position because it was convenient. He’d wanted to hide. Hide how he felt. Hide how flushed his face must’ve been. How overwhelmed he was.
A stunned, quiet sound escaped Will’s throat. His cheeks burned, eyes wide. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs.
Swerve’s eyes shimmered with a raw, earnest vulnerability that made Will want to reach out and pull him in. “It wasn’t just a hook-up for me, Will. I don’t want you to ever think it was just some casual thing. I thought… I thought it was a dream. I kept thinking I’d wake up. Because having you like that, hearing you… feeling you trust me like that,” He swallowed hard, voice going thick. “It felt too fucking good to be real.”
Swerve’s eyes darted away as he cleared his throat, his voice catching slightly. “A-anyways…” he muttered, the abrupt return to the original topic awkward and stilted, like he was embarrassed at how raw he’d just let himself be.
The shift was almost comical if it didn’t sting so much, seeing the usually unshakeable Swerve so exposed, so human.
But Will couldn’t deny it—he liked seeing this side of him.
It made Swerve real. Made him feel even closer, like their souls were brushing against each other for the first time.
Swerve took a deep, unsteady breath, collecting himself. His gaze rose back to Will’s, dark eyes still soft but stormy with worry. “I meant what I said,” he said quietly. “I agreed to the stipulation because… because I trust you. Because I—” His voice almost cracked on the word. “—because I love you. Even if I wish you’d gone about it differently.”
He exhaled again, frustration still shimmering behind his eyes. “And I’m sorry,” Swerve continued, his voice dropping, raw with sincerity. “For yelling at you. For snapping. I didn’t mean to be angry with you, I’m just… I’m so fucking frustrated, Will. Not even at you—just… at myself, at these feelings. I hate worrying that after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me.”
Will felt like his chest had been split open. He shook his head, quickly, desperately.
“No. No, you don’t need to apologize, bruv,” he said, voice trembling. “You were right. I didn’t think about how you’d feel. I didn’t think about what this could mean for you. I just… I just wanted that match so badly, wanted to beat the Bucks so badly. I thought we’d both want the same thing, that we’d be on the same page without even needing to talk. We usually are.”
He took a shuddering breath, shame and regret burning behind his eyes. “I never wanted you to think I don’t trust you. I trust you more than anyone. I trust you with my life. That’s why I didn’t think to bring it up like some…secret plan. I just assumed you’d… you’d be right there with me.”
Swerve’s eyes softened a little more, the anger fading into something deeper—hurt, yes, but also love.
“I’m sorry,” Will whispered, genuine, eyes glistening. “I know how much that world title means to you. How much you’ve wanted it again. I was selfish. I didn’t think about how this would affect you if things went wrong.”
He stepped closer, heart in his throat, and shakily reached for Swerve’s hand with both of his own.
Swerve didn’t pull away. His warm, broad palm settled between Will’s trembling fingers—those same hands that had touched him so gently, so reverently, just a week ago.
Will lifted his gaze, eyes meeting Swerve’s earnest and unwavering. His voice was small but certain. “I promise you, mate. I swear to you, I wouldn’t have made that deal if I didn’t know we were gonna win. I’m certain. I believe in us.”
“You know, you really piss me off sometimes,” Swerve muttered, but his tone had softened, carrying a lightness that hadn’t been there moments before. His lips curled into the smallest, reluctant smirk, like he couldn’t help it.
The tension between them melted just a little, like the ice finally starting to thaw.
Will let out a shaky laugh of relief, his chest loosening for the first time since they stepped off the stage. “I know,” he replied, his voice teasing but still soft, like he was afraid speaking too loudly might break the fragile peace settling between them.
Yeah, he knew he annoyed the shit out of Swerve sometimes. Too many times to count. But Swerve tolerated him, held him, loved him. Even when Will was so imperfect, so flawed.
He's seen Will in all his unpretty moments: meltdowns, ugly laughing, sex. And...he never left. That kind of trust—love—was irreplaceable.
Their hands were still clasped together, warm and tight. Will’s thumbs absently traced over the ridges of Swerve’s knuckles, savoring every bit of contact.
His heart pounded with a nervous excitement as he brought up what had been looming in both of their minds. “So uhh… about that talk…” he started, eyes flicking up to meet Swerve’s, the tiniest hint of a playful grin curling at his lips.
Swerve groaned like he wanted the floor to open up beneath him. His free hand dragged over his face in full exasperation. “Oh my God,” he muttered into his palm, voice muffled and mortified. “I can’t believe I seriously admitted all of that. And while I'm supposed to be mad at you.”
Will couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the empty locker room, bright and giddy.
He squeezed Swerve’s hand tighter, eyes dancing. “You’re cute,” he teased softly, leaning in just enough to read the subtle deep red blush creeping up on Swerve’s face.
It was adorable as fuck.
That earned him a half-hearted glare from Swerve, but it was betrayed by the bashful color rising on his cheeks. “Don’t say shit like that,” Swerve grumbled, though his tone was so weak it barely passed as annoyed.
Will’s smile only grew, warmth blooming in his chest. “Why not, bruv? You say it to me all the time,” he said, voice feather-light, words edged with the same nervous affection he’d felt all week. “You were cute as hell last week, too. You always are. I really should say it more often.”
Swerve groaned again, but his lips finally cracked into a smile. A real one. “Oh, fuck off,” he muttered, but his eyes had softened to pure fondness, his thumb brushing slowly over the back of Will’s hand.
They settled side by side on the locker room bench, knees brushing, hands still tangled like it was the only thing tethering them to Earth.
The atmosphere between them had shifted completely (thank God). It was lighter, warmer, like a spark finally fanned into a flame.
Swerve looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin, still a bit in disbelief. His head dropped back against the wall with a dull thud, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned, “God, I really just said all that like a fucking idiot.”
Will, practically glowing, leaned in close. “Oh, I loved it,” he teased, voice soft and bright. He soaked in every nuance of Swerve’s discomfort with the same joy he took in a big crowd pop.
Will got to be the confident teasing one for once. No wonder Swerve got a kick out of kick out of this.
Swerve cracked an eye open, exasperated but amused, cheeks still pink. “I’ve liked you for ages,” he admitted, voice low and rough, like the words were scraping out of him. “Since before you took that superkick for me. Since the Mexico show… probably way before that. Every time you got up in my face, every time you made me laugh so hard I cried—I just… kept liking you more.”
Will’s breath caught. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this.
Who would've thought Swerve was capable of being such a sap?
He felt like his heart was about to explode. “I had no idea,” he admitted, eyes wide, voice a little small.
Swerve let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, no shit. You’re the worst at picking up hints. Like, you didn’t think it was a little weird how much I pampered you after that nose bump? The chocolate, the hoodie, the constant kissing? What best friend does that?”
Yeah, Will was horrendous at catching vibes. Maybe it was plain obliviousness on his part, or the autism.
Will’s face went scarlet, ears burning. “I thought you were just the most affectionate best mate ever,” he defended, flustered but grinning.
Swerve’s laughter boomed through the locker room, deep and unrestrained, his shoulders shaking. “You’re such a dumbass sometimes,” he said fondly, eyes shining with mirth. He brought one of Will’s hands up and kissed his knuckles gently. “But I love it.”
“Yeah, you do~” Will shot back with a cheeky confidence, chest swelling with pride at seeing Swerve so soft, so open.
It was kind of stupid how five minutes ago Will was getting torn a new one, but now found himself in the midst of the most unexpected love confession.
Damn Will's life was weird.
They traded stories, confessions slipping out between playful nudges and lingering glances. Will teased Swerve about how he looked so cool but was secretly a nervous wreck during their shower tryst; Swerve teased Will right back about his doe-eyed whines and how he nearly passed out when Swerve called him pretty.
As the giddiness of their laughter finally settled into a warm, humming silence, Swerve’s eyes darted nervously between Will’s and the floor, his tongue poking at his cheek before he finally blurted out, voice uncharacteristically hesitant, “So umm… you know I like you, so like—” He paused, flustered, shaking his head with a half-laugh. “God, listen to me. I used to get on your ass for not forming a proper sentence, and now I can’t even talk.”
Will couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped him, but the humor faded as he realized Swerve’s eyes were serious, searching.
He knew what Swerve was really asking—needed to hear.
So Will’s mind drifted. Back to Swerve’s kisses that soothed his pain. To the way Swerve swaddled him in his hoodie, how he’d called Will cute even with an ugly black eye. To those hands that made him tremble in the shower, yet feel safer than anywhere else on Earth. To twelve years of friendship, brutal lows and soaring highs, countless moments that now felt different knowing Swerve’s feelings had always been there.
He looked up, earnest, his chest tight. “I like you too,” he said softly, the words feeling terrifying and freeing all at once.
Swerve’s breath hitched, and for a second, they both looked like two awkward teenagers stammering their first confession on a school playground—an image hilariously at odds with the memory of them practically devouring each other in the shower last week.
Will’s face grew serious again. He squeezed Swerve’s hand. “I really am sorry, though,” he said quietly, voice thick. “About the deal, about everything. I didn’t mean to make you upset or put you on the spot. I just… you’re one of the only people I have left, and when you were mad at me, it felt like I’d fucked up so bad I could lose you.” His voice wobbled, the weight of his words sinking in. “I can’t— I can’t lose you. Like it hasn’t even been a year since Kyle…”
Oof, a pang to the heart with that name.
Swerve’s eyes softened, and he moved quickly, cupping Will’s face in both hands like he was afraid he’d shatter. “Hey, hey…” he murmured, voice low and warm, trying to intercept the spiraling he knew Will was prone to. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going anywhere. Yeah, you piss me off sometimes. I piss you off. But that’s what makes us stronger. That’s what makes us us. Plus…I’ll get over it.”
Will flinched slightly when he’d mentioned Kyle’s name earlier (still a sore spot)—Swerve noticed instantly.
He slid his hands down to Will’s shoulders, grounding him, voice firm but gentle. “You and me, Billy. We’re in this together. I’m not going to leave. Never.”
Billy, what a relief to finally hear that nickname again.
The words wrapped around Will like a blanket, thawing the cold fear that had clawed at his chest moments before.
His eyes prickled, but this time it wasn’t with panic. It was relief.
He leaned forward until their foreheads met, breathing in Swerve’s comforting warmth. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice cracking just a bit.
Swerve huffed a tiny, shaky laugh, his own eyes slightly glassy. “You’re welcome, you cute little dumbass,” he teased softly.
Their breaths mingled in the quiet there. And here's the part in the chaotic rom-com titled "The Swervespreay Saga" in which they would share a monumental kiss, a seal of approval during the climax of this never-ending movie that was their relationship.
And despite how many times they’d already kissed—how many times they’d stolen each other’s air with bruising, desperate, filthy makeout sessions—now, with everything out in the open, both of them suddenly fidgeted like a pair of schoolboys.
Will’s fingers toyed with Swerve’s fingers, his heart pounding in his ears. Swerve, usually so smooth and self-assured, was gently biting his lip like he was debating whether to leap or stay frozen.
It was ridiculous. Hilarious, even.
They’d literally had world-class shower sex last week, tongues down each other’s throats, bodies pressed together so close you couldn’t slip a sheet of paper between them—and yet here they were, both terrified of a simple, sweet, expectant kiss now that they knew what it truly meant.
Swerve’s hand cupped Will’s jaw with a tenderness that made Will’s breath catch. His thumb traced slow circles on Will’s cheek, gaze dropping to Will’s lips. He swallowed hard, voice hushed and a little shaky as he asked, “So… can I kiss you?”
Funny. Swerve had never asked before.
It was almost absurd, but it made Will’s heart skip like it was caught in a hurricane.
He couldn’t stop the bright, giddy smile spreading across his face.
This whole moment was horrifically adorable.
The words hit Will like a meteor straight to the chest, sending warmth rushing through every vein. His lips curved into the softest, most love-struck grin.
He suddenly forgot about how bad he felt from earlier; all those tense emotions dissolving away with this new, loving atmosphere.
“Of course,” he whispered.
Swerve inched closer, nose brushing against Will’s as their lips hovered. The first kiss was delicate, barely a brush of lips that felt like it carried every unspoken word between them.
The second was a little firmer, mouths moving together like they were testing the waters that they had already explored a few too many times.
By the third, they were both giggling between pecks, foreheads bumping clumsily as they lost themselves in each other.
Swerve’s hand slid into Will’s messy curls, holding him there like he never wanted to let go. Will’s own hands squeezed into the muscle of Swerve’s shoulders, pulling him even closer.
Their kisses deepened—still gentle, but warm and lingering, lips parting just enough for their breaths to mingle, for their hearts to sync up in perfect, fluttering rhythm.
Between kisses, Swerve mumbled softly, “You’re so cute,” which only made Will giggle breathlessly. Will nuzzled his nose against Swerve’s, eyes shining with a mixture of nerves and delight. They kept stealing soft, slow pecks, smiles growing with every gentle press of lips, the world around them blurring into blissful nothing.
They were so smitten it was ridiculous.
Finally, after what felt like forever wrapped up in each other, they broke apart just enough to catch their breath.
Swerve, eyes warm and crinkled at the corners, smirked and said, “You better hope we beat the Bucks at All In after all this. Or I’m blaming you for ruining my life.”
Will burst out laughing, eyes sparkling, and without missing a beat, he shot back, “Oi, you’re the one who fell in love with me, mate. That’s on you.”
Swerve rolled his eyes, grinning, and tugged him in for one more quick kiss on the nose. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me.”
And with that, they both started getting their gear together again, still stealing little glances and grins, like two idiots hopelessly gone for each other—all Will could think was:
Damn, we really need to beat the Bucks now