Chapter Text
The night outside the venue was thick with heat and the ghost of pyrotechnics smell. That kind of city air clung to skin, heavy with humidity, laced with the grease-and-smoke scent of the nearby food trucks packing up for the night. Will Ospreay walked with his hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hood half-on, body still humming with match afterglow. His boots scuffed lazily over the uneven sidewalk as he cut down a quieter block, one hand loosely gripping a half-empty water bottle, the other hanging at his side, fingers twitching like they hadn’t quite come down yet.
Pittsburgh buzzed like a distant hive in the background; sirens, laughter, the occasional deep bass rumble of a car stereo spilling out into the street all tuned up the city. Here, nearer to the hotel, it was quieter. The kind of quiet where the night had space to breathe. And Will, who’d been moving nonstop for days with flights, training, press, and show day, finally let himself feel it. His brain, still restless, tried to latch on to something. Anything. Instead, it found a sound.
A soft snuffle of familiar sound followed by the delicate clink of metal against pavement directed his eyes. Will paused near a cracked lamppost, narrowing his eyes toward the alley just off the sidewalk. In the half-shadow near a trash can, something shifted.
A dog, some sort of American bulldog or Staffordshire terrier mix. Medium-sized, short-haired, brindled brown and black with a few splotches of white here and there across her coat... She looked like she'd been put together out of pieces other dogs had left behind with wide shoulders, boxy head, legs a little too long, ears folding in opposite directions. She stood on three legs and held the fourth just barely off the ground. Not broken, Will figured, but probably sore. Her ribs showed in places under her mottled coat, but her warm brown, too-big eyes followed him with cautious focus.
She was chewing something from the torn remains of a drive-thru bag, pausing between bites to keep one eye on him. Not afraid. Just wary. Like she’d been disappointed by people too often to assume this would go well.
Will crouched slowly, boots creaking slightly as he lowered himself down. “Easy, girl,” he said softly, his voice just above a whisper, low and even like he was calling a spot mid-match. “Not gonna hurt you.”
He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the only thing he had: a mangled vanilla almond protein bar. Not exactly gourmet, but better than trash.
The dog didn’t move at first. Then, with a deliberate kind of resignation, she stepped forward carefully and took the bar from his fingers with the gentlest scrape of teeth. Up close, she smelled like wet pavement and old leaves and something sour underneath, but her tail gave a faint, hopeful wag.
Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“You got no collar, huh?” he murmured, reaching out again. This time she didn’t flinch. His fingers brushed the side of her jaw, rough fur giving way to softer patches behind her ear. “Damn, you’re a right mess.”
She sat with a grunt, plopped really, like she’d decided whatever this was, it was better than outside. She blinked up at him with the heavy-lidded expression of someone who’d seen a lot of shit and wasn’t sure if she should start caring again. Her mouth opened in a pant, tongue lolling slightly to one side.
Will grinned.
He pulled out his phone and opened the group chat.
Will: hey can dogs legally be hotel guests if they’re emotionally supportive
Will: *he attaches an image of the dog sitting next to him, squat like a little gargoyle*
There was no reply for a full ten seconds. Then, Will's phone began buzzing and lighting up in a quick succession of texts.
Adam: …you didn’t
Swerve: don’t
Will: too late. she’s already emotionally supporting me
Will: her name is Trouble now btw
Adam: Will
Swerve: i swear to god if she bites me we’re fighting again
Swerve: she better not have fleas
Adam: she’s not even yours
Will: too late. she chose me. destiny innit
Will: legally she is if i feed her more than once
Will: that’s like common law dog adoption
The dog sneezed and laid her chin on his boot. Her eyes started to droop. She looked so tired it made Will's chest ache.
He stood slowly, easing her up with a coaxing tug of his spare hoodie string, which he’d looped gently around her neck. She followed, limping but willing, pressing into his leg like they’d known each other for years.
Ahead, across the empty avenue, the hotel glowed warm and sterile against the dark. Through the glass doors, Will could see Adam leaning against a potted plant in full cowboy fatigue with arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed. Swerve stood nearby in designer sweats, filming something on his phone with the slow, anticipatory patience of a man ready to bully someone within an inch of their life.
Will started across the street, Trouble loping along beside him.
“Right then,” he muttered, adjusting the makeshift leash. “No barking, no pissing in the elevator, and if you chew anything, make it Hanger’s boots.”
She looked up at him, wagged once.
“God, I’m gonna regret this,” he said, and opened the door to let the night in with him.
The automatic doors of the hotel whooshed open with a suspiciously loud hiss, like they already knew something illegal was about to walk in. Will stepped through, hoodie string leash looped around one wrist, and Trouble trotting beside him like she’d been doing this her whole life.
Inside, the lobby glowed with soft yellow lighting and the faint smell of lemon-scented floor polish. A gentle classical piano tune trickled out from invisible speakers, as if to say: “This is a calm, respectable place. Please do not bring in your muddy, suspiciously scrappy dog.”
Will didn’t even break stride.
“Be cool,” he whispered downward. Trouble sneezed on the floor mat. Then, with great dignity, licked her nose and marched forward.
By the elevators, Adam was waiting with his arms folded tight, the collar of his denim jacket turned up. His expression was somewhere between “tired dad at a school pickup” and “man questioning every choice that brought him to this moment.” Swerve leaned casually against a marble column, scrolling through his phone, but the little smirk at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
“You weren’t kidding,” Adam said as Trouble ambled up and flopped directly onto the hotel rug like she secretly owned the entire hotel chain and could do exactly as she pleased with it thank-you-very-much-how-dare-anyone-think-otherwise. "I'd really hoped you were kidding, and were going to find an all-night shelter or emergency vet or something."
“She picked me,” Will said with a shrug, like that explained everything. “We’ve got an understanding.”
Swerve looked down at the dog, who had now begun a slow, lazy tail wag. “She looks like if a baked potato had opinions.”
“She’s perfect,” Will beamed. “Her name’s Trouble.”
“She’s going to get us evicted,” Adam replied flatly.
“I didn’t say she was safe,” Will said. “I said she was perfect.”
They all turned in sync toward the front desk. The night clerk was half-asleep, chin propped on one hand, scrolling something on her phone. A suitcase rolled somewhere off to the left, accompanied by muffled tourist laughter. No one had noticed them yet.
“We’re fine,” Will said, nudging Trouble gently with his ankle. “She’s low to the ground. Practically invisible.”
“She’s a bread loaf with legs,” Swerve muttered only half-fondly, but he opened the elevator door when it dinged.
Trouble padded in like a little knight on a noble quest, tail high. Will followed, then Adam and Swerve. The moment the doors slid shut, the three of them let out a breath in unison.
“She farted,” Adam said, clearly trying to hold back a reluctant laugh.
“It’s her victory gas,” Will replied, very serious.
Swerve stepped to the farthest corner of the elevator. “I already regret this, and she hasn’t even done anything.”
“She’s doing her best,” Will said. “She’s had a hard day.”
Trouble sat beside him and rested her chin on his sneaker, eyes closing like she was ready for a fourteen-hour nap. Her ribs still showed a little under her short fur, but her whole body had relaxed. She looked safe and comfortable, like this was her pack now.
Adam glanced down at her, then up at Will. He had the look of a man who wanted to be irritated, but who's defenses were crumbling in the actual face of a dog in need.
“You’ve named her and everything," he grumbled.
“Once she eats two meals and rides an elevator, it’s legally binding.”
“Is that an English thing?” Swerve asked.
“It’s an emotional truth,” Will replied.
The elevator dinged again. The hallway was empty, soft hotel carpet muffling their footsteps as they walked fast toward the room. Adam kept checking over his shoulder like a security guard would appear any second. Swerve pulled the keycard from Will’s hand.
“I’m opening the door,” he said. “Because if shit goes sideways, I want you holding the leash.”
The lock clicked; they filed inside, quickly and carefully. Trouble trotted in with purpose, did one circle around the foot of one of the king beds, and then hopped up like she’d booked the place herself. She sat square in the center of the comforter, wagged her tail once, and sneezed.
“She’s an innovator,” Will said proudly, smile beaming. “Blending in already.”
“She’s gonna blend right into the hotel fine,” Adam muttered. “Until she eats a pillow and we get overcharged three hundred bucks for it.”
Trouble yawned wide, let out a sigh so deep it sounded like she’d dropped the weight of the world, and curled up without ceremony.
Swerve raised an eyebrow. “Okay. She’s kinda cute.”
“Knew you’d cave,” Will grinned, flopping onto the opposite bed.
Adam just stood there for a moment, watching the ridiculous dog-shape fall asleep like she belonged here. Then he gave in and sat beside her, cautiously petting the top of her head. Her tail thumped sleepily.
Will smiled. “See? We’re a team. No one’s getting caught. We're her dads now.”
A knock sounded at the door. All three men froze. Trouble stayed completely still, chin on her front paws, tail giving one lazy thump against the comforter like she didn’t understand the concept of “illegal occupancy.” Which, to be fair, she didn't, mainly on account of being a dog.
Adam stood up like someone had hit an alarm in his brain. “Tell me that wasn’t the front desk.”
“It was probably housekeeping,” Swerve said, though his voice had jumped half an octave. “They knock by mistake sometimes. Right?”
“It’s ten-thirty at night!” Will whisper-shouted.
“Room service?” Adam offered, grasping at straws.
“No one ordered room service.”
There was another knock, this time slightly more assertive. Will tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole.
“It’s a guy in a suit. Name tag. Clipboard. That’s a clipboard knock.” Nerves were clearly seeping more into Will's voice with every word.
“What’s a clipboard knock?” Swerve asked.
“Confident. Like they already have a reason to evict you and they’re just here to confirm,” Adam said with the knowledge of a man who'd probably been kicked out of a hotel before during his pre-their-relationship crash-out phase and wasn't ready to have that discussion given the emergency at hand.
Trouble let out the world’s smallest chuff of noise, that wasn't quite a bark, but was enough to say, “I could bark if I wanted.”
“No no no, baby girl,” Adam said quickly, kneeling next to her. “Don’t say anything. Be cool.”
Swerve darted into the bathroom. “We'll hide her in here!”
“She’s wet dog meets blue cheese smell,” Will hissed. “They’ll sniff her out!”
“I’ll uh...spray deodorant?"
“Then it'll smell like wet dog *and* like we're trying to hide a weed smoke smell. It’s not strong enough!” Adam responded, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Another knock.
Will turned back. “Okay. New plan. One of us answers the door. Normal-like. Casual. The other two hide the dog. We act like we’re just regular, non-rule-breaking guys. Nothing suspicious.”
Adam blinked. “You think anyone’s gonna believe that you're not up to something?”
Will opened his mouth to argue, paused, then pointed to himself.
“I’ll answer the door anyway.”
“Of course you will,” Swerve muttered, picking up Trouble as gently as one could pick up a compact sack of warm bricks. She blinked at him, unimpressed but obliging.
“Backpack?” Adam asked, grabbing a duffle off the table.
“We’re not stuffing her in a duffle,” Swerve hissed. “She’s a lady.”
“She’s also currently illegal.”
“She’s got feelings, bruv!” Will hissed.
Trouble yawned, entirely unimpressed with the urgency of the situation. Will took a deep breath, gave his hoodie a heroic tug into place, and opened the door halfway.
The man on the other side wore a neat little suit, thin tie, and a name tag that said “MARCUS – Assistant Night Manager.” He looked like a man who hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in two years and had developed a deep emotional attachment to autocratic policy enforcement.
“Good evening, sir,” Marcus said. “We’ve had a couple of noise complaints on this floor, and we just want to make sure everything’s okay in your room.”
Will smiled. “Oh, yeah, no problem at all. Just, uh, finishing up some… uh… yoga.”
Marcus squinted slightly, as if the concept of three grown men who'd be suspiciously and overly touchy with each other at check in was a bit less believable than other possibilities.
“Inspirational yoga, uh, DDP, y'know?” Will added. “The kind where you yell things.”
A loud thud echoed from the bathroom.
Marcus tilted his head. “Was that--?”
“A yoga ball,” Will said. “We’re very committed.”
Behind him, Swerve was whispering aggressively in the bathroom. Adam was cramming Trouble’s makeshift leash into his backpack and muttering “I knew this would happen” over and over again. Trouble, still in Swerve’s arms, appeared completely unfazed, like she had long ago made peace with being a fugitive.
Marcus took a step forward. Will stood straighter, blocking the doorway like a human wall of pleasant chaos.
“Is there a pet in the room, sir?” Marcus asked, scanning the room behind him.
“No,” Will said. “There is definitely not a dog in here.”
A single tail thump sounded from the bathroom.
Marcus raised one eyebrow. “That sounded like a--”
“Yoga mat,” Will cut in. “Flopped right over. Happens all the time.”
Behind the bathroom door, Trouble let out a tiny, sleepy groan.
Will coughed over it. Loudly. “Sorry. Allergies.”
Marcus didn’t look convinced, but after a long pause, he finally nodded. “Just keep the volume down, please. No...'yoga' after midnight.”
“Of course,” Will said brightly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He closed the door gently, waited two seconds, then let out a sigh that was half victory, half regret.
“I think we just committed minor fraud,” Adam said from the bathroom doorway.
"Coming from the arsonist, that's funny," Swerve said with a huff of a laugh before he gently lowered Trouble to the carpet. “She didn’t even blink. Ice in her veins.”
“She’s built for this fugitive life,” Will whispered, kneeling to give her a treat from the half-eaten protein bar in his pocket. “You’re doing amazing, sweet girl.” Trouble accepted the gift and licked his chin in return.
Adam leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. “We are going to get banned from every Hilton property in North America.”
“We’ll just start using aliases,” Swerve said, snarkily. “Like wrestlers do.”
Will grinned. “Tonight, we’re not just wrestlers. We’re the Dog Smuggling Crew. ”
Trouble wagged her tail once in solemn agreement.