Chapter Text
Roman’s head snapped up when his locker room door creaked open, revealing Shawn Michaels, grin stretched wide, cowboy hat tipped just so, and his eyes sparkled with the kind of mischief that meant he’d walked in on purpose just to ruin somebody’s peace.
“Roman,” Shawn drawled, his voice oozing trouble. “What a coincidence finding you here.”
Roman blinked once, slow and unimpressed, then narrowed his eyes. First of all, this was his locker room. His name was literally bolted to the plaque outside in bold, shining letters that Shawn had very obviously glanced at before knocking and entering anyway, delivering that ridiculous line. Second, it wasn’t exactly a mystery he’d be in the building tonight; his face was plastered across half the promotional posters for Clash.
Still, a small smile tugged at the corner of Roman’s mouth as he regarded him. He was seated cross-legged on the floor, shirtless, gear already on, and his mind half-settled into fight mode. The match with Bronson was opening the show, which meant he’d just finished clearing out Cody, Sami, Damian, and his cousins with the excuse of needing silence to get his head right. Miraculously, he had managed about eighteen minutes of actual solitude before Shawn barged in. That was eighteen minutes more than usual.
Roman arched an eyebrow, tilting his head toward the door.
“The name plaque on the door says Roman Reigns,” he said dryly.
Shawn made a big production of peeking back out into the hall, tapping the plate like he’d never seen it before. “Would you look at that,” he said, feigning shock. “So it does.”
Roman exhaled a soft snort, one that told Shawn he wasn’t fooled for a second.
“What can I help you with?” Roman asked, with the distinct tone of a man who knew his moment of peace had just been canceled.
“I need to talk to you. Walk with me,” Shawn said, jerking his chin toward the door.
Roman leaned back on his palms, incredulous. “I’ve got a match in forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll have you back in thirty.” Shawn held one hand up in solemn vow, crossing his heart with the other. “Scout’s honor. Nobody’ll even miss you, I swear.”
Roman closed his eyes, sighed deeply, then dragged himself up to his full height. It was an exaggerated show of reluctance; being with his cousins had made him long since accept that resistance was futile against chaos incarnate. He craned his neck, stretching his shoulders out, and padded over to the couch where his hair band sat waiting and gathered his thick black hair into his usual bun with deliberate care. Two minutes passed, then morphed to three as he tightened, adjusted, and checked his hair repeatedly; He’d never say it out loud, but at least 70% of his aura depended on this bun. By Cody’s measure, it was already far too much time spent on hair maintenance.
When Roman finally turned back, Shawn was staring at him in irritation, a frown tugging at his mouth.
“What?” Roman asked, his voice edged with amusement. “Like you weren’t worse?”
For a beat, Shawn said nothing. Then his frown melted into a crooked smile as memories flickered across his face, his own glory days, when his hair flowed like spun gold and half his luggage allowance was dedicated to glitter.
“…Touche,” Shawn admitted with a chuckle. “Alright, you win that one. Now let’s go.”
Roman moved toward the door, jerking when Shawn’s arm shot out, pressing a hand lightly against his bare chest, stopping him in his tracks.
“Please,” Shawn said, voice almost pleading. “Put a shirt on.”
Roman raised one brow in silent challenge.
“I’m married, Roman,” Shawn said dryly, rolling his eyes. “Not blind.” And with that, he pivoted on his heel and strutted out, boots clicking against the concrete, leaving Roman shaking his head with a quiet laugh.
---
Shawn was reeling. His mind was firing on all cylinders, calculating, recalculating, and panicking just slightly at the disaster of a situation he had unwillingly (well, willingly but without all the details) stumbled into. And boy, the devil was in those details. The promise of Tiffany’s, of a sleek silver ring glinting in the Christmas lights, was slipping further and further out of reach every time Roman opened his mouth.
Fifteen minutes. That’s all it had been since Shawn coaxed Roman out of his locker room sanctuary. Fifteen minutes, and Shawn had already learned that while he and Hunter were a little unhinged in their own right, Cody and Roman were flat-out lunatics.
He’d lost all hope of wrangling anything resembling order when Roman casually dropped the bomb that he had refused Cody’s proposal. Refused. As in, Cody Rhodes, dramatic romantic peacock extraordinaire, had asked Roman to marry him, and Roman had said, “No.”
By the time Roman got to the part where he proposed in turn and Cody said no right back, Shawn was two seconds from throwing in the towel and preserving what scraps of sanity he had left.
Yet, one glance at the hand bearing the Norse relic he begrudgingly called a wedding ring brought him sharply back to focus. Hunter could not win this wager. Fifteen years of enduring this metallic monstrosity. If he lost, he’d be staring down another fifteen years with an even worse 'upgraded' version.
Giving up when victory was slightly in reach would be monumentally stupid.
He stopped mid-step, feet scraping lightly against the asphalt, prompting Roman to slow in tandem. They had been aimlessly circling the nearly empty car park, the distant hum of the arena and the muffled cheers from early arrivals providing an oddly peaceful soundtrack. Perfect conditions for a walk, if you ignored the fact that Shawn’s mental stability was dangling by a thread.
“Roman, I wanna show you something,” Shawn announced, dramatic as always. He held up his left hand, flashing the offending ring like it was Exhibit A in a trial.
Roman squinted at the ring. Narrowing his eyes as he tilted his head one way, then the other, trying to decipher the runes. The engravings caught the dim light, all jagged edges and archaic flourishes.
“That…” Roman said slowly, still twisting his head. “That is not…”
“Exactly,” Shawn cut in, too eager for the backup to let him finish.
“You said yes… to that?” Roman asked, baffled.
“I said yes to Hunter,” Shawn corrected firmly, “It was only unfortunate the ring came with him. Packaged deal.”
Roman shook his head with genuine sympathy, and they started walking again, looping back toward the rear entrance, but Shawn could feel his window of opportunity narrowing. He needed to make his pitch before Roman retreated back into brooding pre-match mode.
So he just laid it out.
“I’m gonna be straight with you,” Shawn said, tone dropping into something serious. “I actually came here to convince you to propose to Cody.”
Roman’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing again. “…Why?”
“Because,” Shawn said, drawing the word out with emphasis, “Hunter and I have a wager going. If Cody proposes first, Hunter gets to pick an advanced version of this nightmare ring for our anniversary.” He waggled his fingers, the metal catching the dim light. “If you propose first, I get to pick a normal person ring.”
There was a long pause. Then Roman chuckled, deep and amused, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real life.
“However,” Shawn said, tipping his hat back, tone going reflective, “the last twenty minutes of listening to you have revealed something important.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “You and Cody are… and I mean this in the fondest way possible… certifiable as hell.”
Roman threw his head back and laughed even harder, deep and unguarded, and Shawn felt a flicker of pride at getting that sound out of him.
“Let me get something straight,” Shawn went on, shifting into interrogation mode, hands planted on his hips. “You love him?”
Roman scoffed, as if insulted by the simplicity of the question. “Of course I do.”
“He loves you?”
“Certainly.”
“You plan to marry him?”
“Yes.” The word dropped from Roman’s mouth with ironclad conviction, no hesitation.
Shawn threw his arms up, nearly knocking his cowboy hat clean off. “Then what the hell are y’all doing?!”
Roman’s lips twitched, and he folded his arms across his chest, every inch the picture of calm compared to Shawn’s dramatics. “Cody’s made some sort of rule. Apparently, he’s the one who gets to propose.” He delivered it like an unchangeable fact of nature.
“That’s really cute and all, but we can’t have that,” Shawn said immediately, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.
Roman tilted his head. “We can’t?”
“Absolutely not,” Shawn said. “My marriage is hanging on the precipice of you getting married.”
Roman smirked, amused at Shawn’s theatrics. “Cody could walk up to me right now and I’d ask him to marry me in a heartbeat,” he admitted. “But I’ll bet that hideous thing on your finger, the answer would still be no. He gets to propose.”
Shawn scowled, glaring at the ring like it was the thing's fault. He was at least 95% it was. “So long story short, we just have to make a proposal so good he can’t say no?” he asked, chewing on a nail in thought.
Roman stared at him in bemusement. “That’s what you got from all that?”
But Shawn wasn’t listening. His brain was already running wild, assembling grandiose mental blueprints for fireworks, horses, maybe a marching band if the budget stretched.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, Shawn muttering to himself every so often, Roman shaking his head but not stopping him. When they reached the hallway outside Roman’s locker room, Shawn halted with a satisfied grin plastered on his face. He flicked his wrist to check his watch with a flourish, then angled it toward Roman with pride.
“Thirty minutes. As promised.”
“Bravo,” Roman gave him a slow, sarcastic clap, then turned to push open the door to his room.
“Roman.”
Roman paused, one boot on the mat inside, the hum of pre-match focus settling back into him.
“We’re finishing this after you win tonight, so don’t go anywhere,” Shawn ordered, a stern finger wagging in warning.
Roman laughed, low and warm, glancing back at him. He ducked inside, pulling the door almost shut, then opened it a crack. “Where the hell would I go?”