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Seth halted in front of Roman’s hospital room, his stomach tight and his fingers twitching in indecision on whether to fight or flee. He couldn’t dare put a name to the kind of emotions he was feeling. Since Sunday, he’d been carrying around a hollow, rotting sort of guilt that kept eating at him from the inside out. A tiny, traitorous part of him almost believed he deserved every ounce of Cody’s fists.
His gaze dropped to the bouquet in his grip. Orchids. Purple, delicate, expensive ones. He had bought them on instinct, not because he thought Roman particularly needed flowers, but because showing up to a hospital room full of angry Samoans and Cody Rhodes with empty hands felt suicidal.
Cody.
Just the thought made Seth’s stomach clench. His bruised nose pulsed in memory, phantom ache layered over fresh scabs, memory ghosting back to the sharp crack of bone under fist. He swallowed hard, shifting his grip on the bouquet. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of just knocking once, dropping the flowers, and bolting away. Cowardly, yes, but safe. The version of himself that wouldn’t get mauled by angry family members would thank him for it.
But Seth Rollins was a world champion. He reminded himself of that fact like it was armor, straightening his spine and inhaling sharply. World champions did not run from hospital doors. They stood their ground.
He raised his fist and knocked hesitantly, his heart climbed into his throat, hammering against his ribs at the thought of Cody opening the door.
But when the door cracked open, Seth immediately wished to God it had been Cody.
A fist smashed straight into his nose.
The fist landed before he could react. White-hot pain detonated across his nose, the scab splitting open like tissue paper. He collapsed to the floor with a grunt, one hand shooting up to cradle his gushing nose, the other scrabbling backward against linoleum to get him away from whoever the hell—
“Jon! Jon, please—” Seth choked, blood slick down his lips.
Moxley stalked him down the hallway, slow and steady, every step promising immense suffering to come. His fists were still clenched tight, knuckles white and ready for another round. His voice dripped pure venom.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve showing your face here.” Mox snarled. “Sunday wasn’t enough for you?”
“For God’s sake, Mox!” Seth threw one bloody hand up in surrender, back colliding with the sterile white wall. “I came to see if he was alright!”
That, at least, made Mox stop. He hovered there, pale eyes narrowing before dragging over Seth’s frame. No outlandish coats, no dripping arrogance, no smug walk. Just jeans and a t-shirt. Hair down and messy, shoulders hunched, bleeding and exhausted. No Seth Rollins here. Just Seth. Raw, unmasked, and bleeding.
Mox’s gaze dropped to the floor, where the bouquet had landed in a crumpled heap during the scuffle. Orchids. Pretty, fragile things against cold linoleum.
“And you brought flowers?” Mox asked, brow quirking in disbelief.
Seth let his head thunk back against the wall, exhaling in pure misery. His voice came out flat, worn down. “They’re his favorite.”
Mox tilted his head, surprise flickering. “Didn’t know Roman liked flowers.”
Seth shot him a weary, bloodstained smirk. “Well, you didn’t sleep with him, did you?”
For a split second, silence. Then Mox’s mouth tugged into a crooked grin, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little.. He extended a hand without warning. Seth immediately flinched, eyes darting as he braced for another hit.
“Relax, princess,” Mox muttered, hand still waiting. “I’m just helping you up.”
Seth eyed the hand like it might bite him, then finally grabbed it. Mox hauled him up with ease, leaving Seth to prod gingerly at his bloody nose. His hiss of pain echoed down the sterile corridor.
“Fuck, I think you rebroke it.”
“Oh, cry me a river,” Mox shot back with a scoff, rolling his eyes. “Lucky for you, you’re in a goddamn hospital. Maybe they’ll give you a sticker for being brave.”
He turned, already heading back toward Roman’s room like Seth wasn’t worth the time it would take to argue. At the door, Mox tossed a look over his shoulder. “Don’t forget the flowers, lover boy.”
Then he vanished inside, door swinging shut behind him.
Seth glanced down at the orchids, now bent and bruised, petals clinging stubbornly to their stems. With a weary sigh, he crouched to scoop them up, adjusting the torn ribbon as best he could. His hands shook, but still, he forced himself forward.
He stopped at the door, his pulse loud in his ears. One more deep breath and bracing reminder: World Champion.
Then he pushed it open.
---
Roman’s heart stuttered when Seth Rollins stepped into his hospital room, trailing behind Moxley, half-beaten. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as they locked onto him. Seth’s nose was bleeding, a jagged streak of red down his upper lip, and in his hand he clutched a pathetic bouquet of crumpled orchids. For a moment, Roman thought he was imagining him. He looked…small. Smaller than Roman had ever seen him. Like the man hadn’t slept in months, and something was eating him alive from the inside.
“Sorry, Rome,” Mox said with infuriating lightness, a grin stretching wide across his face as he threw himself into the room, “I had to tip the flower guy.”
Roman’s glare cut through him. “You must be itching to die,” he rumbled. His gaze flicked back to Seth, a whipcord of restrained fury tightening in his chest. “Both of you.”
Mox just shrugged and patted Roman’s knee with mock tenderness as he plopped down in the chair beside his bed. “Don’t worry. I softened him up a bit for you outside.” He smirked up at Seth. “Pretty sure if you take him now, you’ll win.”
Roman let his eyes linger on Seth, cataloguing everything. The limp he thought he’d hidden, the way he leaned just slightly on one side, his shoulders hunched like he was trying to fold himself into invisibility. A current mess of a man.
“I—I brought flowers?” Seth said sheepishly, thrusting the sad bouquet forward as though that explained his presence.
Roman arched a brow. “What the hell are you showing me for? Find a vase and put them in.”
Seth blinked, clearly caught off guard by the command, then shuffled toward the side table. He found an empty vase beside the other bouquet already stationed there and tucked the orchids in stiffly, each movement measured, like he was trying not to aggravate something deep inside his ribs.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The three of them hadn’t shared space like this in years, not without explosions, betrayals, and bodies between them. The air itself seemed to remember.
Seth finally slid into the chair opposite Roman’s bed. Mox, almost magnanimous now that he’d already cracked him once, wordlessly passed him a hanky. Seth muttered something unintelligible in thanks and dabbed at his bleeding nose. He caught sight of a stainless utensil on the tray table and tilted it like a mirror, trying to assess the damage.
Roman and Mox both stared at him while he did it. Not because they thought he might pull something, but because neither of them could look away. He was too much history pressed into one man.
When Seth finally lowered the utensil and turned back to them, he found twin sets of eyes pinned to him. He bristled, hackles rising instantly. “What?”
“Why are you here?” Mox asked again, his voice stripped of its earlier playfulness.
“I told you,” Seth ground out, every word clipped with frustration, “I came to see Roman.”
Roman leaned back against the pillows, letting the weight of his stare do most of the work. “And you’ve seen me, alive and soon to be back on my feet.” He wiggled his toes deliberately, a ghost of satisfaction flickering across his features. “Back to kicking your ass.”
It was almost funny, the three of them sitting there, pretending like any of this was normal.
True to the timid doctor’s word, the feeling had returned to Roman’s feet once the swelling in his spine subsided. When his toes twitched, the relief that rolled through the room was almost deafening. Family, medics, even the weary nurses all let out shaky sighs, but none of them compared to the doctor’s own reaction; the man had nearly sagged against the wall, eyes darting warily to Cody like he expected him to pounce if the news wasn’t good enough. And Roman couldn’t blame him. Cody had been rabid in his self-imposed task of circling the halls ever since the accident, quiet in some moments, vicious in others. Even the staff had learned to treat him like a live wire: useful in the right circuit, deadly if you touched him wrong.
Damian had filled him in, drained and exhausted, on what had happened the day of the accident. Cody’s eruption, the fists he’d buried in Seth, the rage he’d carried like a man possessed. To say Roman was proud would’ve been an understatement. His American Nightmare had a violent streak buried under all that polished charisma, and Roman, broken spine and all, was proud as hell of him for unleashing it.
“Where’s Cody?” Seth asked instead, deflecting the former line of conversation.
“I tossed everyone out,” Mox responded proudly, like he’d done Roman some grand favor. “Told ’em not to show up again without a shower and at least five hours of sleep in their system.”
It had been a scene, walking straight off a red-eye flight into a hospital room that looked like a refugee camp. Jey was still in his Clash gear, half-asleep upright in a chair, Jimmy was pacing with one shoe off. Even Sami had collapsed sideways across the couch, muttering incoherently in his sleep. It had taken less than a minute for Mox to clear the place out. Raising hell came naturally to him, and his reputation for being a lunatic did most of the heavy lifting. One sharp word and a wild-eyed grin, and suddenly everyone remembered errands they had to run.
Now it was just him and Roman, and unfortunately, Seth, who had strolled in with flowers and a face full of guilt. Mox wasn’t much for superstition, but in that moment, he’d almost believed in luck. Because if Cody had been here when Seth came through the door, the next available hospital room would’ve had “Rollins” on the chart.
The quiet that followed was unbearable, thick enough to choke on. Roman pretended not to notice, busying himself with scowls, while Seth looked like he wanted to vanish into the floor tiles. The silence pressed and pressed, until even Mox, who could live in tension like it was oxygen, snapped.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, throwing his head back with a groan. “Is this what the three of us have been reduced to?” He cut his eyes at Seth, then Roman, daring them to answer.
“Don’t glare at me,” Roman snapped, irritation lacing his voice. “I’ve never attempted to paralyze any of you.”
Seth let out a stunted laugh, hand lifting to object. “Okay, I—” he pressed his palm to his chest, “—did not attempt to paralyze anyone.”
“If you’re about to argue semantics right now,” Roman growled, voice dropping low, “I swear on French Jesus, I will launch myself out of this bed and reopen those cuts Cody gave you.”
“Mm.” Moxley nodded approvingly. “Honestly, I never thought America’s Own had it in him. Mazel tov.”
“I’m sorry—are you pissed?” Seth shot back at Roman, choosing to ignore Mox’s running commentary. “Didn’t you nearly snap Heyman’s neck?”
“I’ll take Things People Actually Deserved for 500, Alex,” Mox quipped lazily, slouching deeper into his chair.
“He’s my advisor!” Seth barked at Moxley, hackles raised.
“And he was mine first!” Roman countered instantly, eyes flashing. “I don’t see you lying in a hospital bed for stealing him.”
“If we’re gonna argue about Heyman and loyalties in the same sentence, count me the fuck out.” Mox lifted his hands, washing himself clean of the both of them. “You both should know better than to buddy up with that weasel.”
“He has his usefulness,” Seth muttered, rolling his eyes.
“And boy, did you utilize it to the fullest,” Mox shot back. “At least when Roman was in his megalomania era, his dogs had a leash. Or did Heyman forget to advise you on the part where you’re supposed to—oh, I don’t know— stop?”
Seth’s gaze cut to Mox, then drifted toward Roman, full of something between guilt and defiance. His shoulders sagged with the weight of too many unspoken things.
“I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” Seth said finally, voice clipped. He cut his eyes back to Moxley, bitterness sharp enough to bleed. “Of course you’d take his side.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Mox reared back, offense painting his expression.
“Where the fuck were these little tidbits of wisdom when the roles were reversed and Roman was the one running around, bullying people?” Seth spat, his voice cracking around the edges.
“Bully?” Roman repeated incredulously, like the word itself was an insult.
“You shut the fuck up, Roman!” Seth snapped, not sparing him a glance. His eyes stayed glued on Mox, burning. “Where the hell were you when I was getting whipped within an inch of my life last year? When Roman and his baldheaded cousin were stringing me up like a goddamn piñata? Huh, Mox? Where were you?”
“You damn well know if I had been here, that shit wouldn’t have stood for a second.” Mox bit out, voice dangerous, as his gaze whipped furiously between Seth and Roman.
“Mm-mm,” Roman shook his head furiously, fingers digging into the crisp hospital sheets as he propped himself higher on the bed. “Y’all do not get to turn this shit on me.” His eyes snapped to Seth, blazing with the fire of every past confrontation. “You started it and you ran with it for nearly a decade. And all of a sudden, the moment I level up, I’m a bully?”
“You sure as hell didn’t waste any time with pleasantries after ‘leveling up’.” Seth spat.
“You know what?” Mox let his gaze lazily drift from Seth to Roman, narrowing slightly. “All this talk of who started and who finished is going to get us nowhere.” He sat straighter in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. “We’ve known each other for about fifteen years. Trust me, there’s a lot of blame to go arou—Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?” Mox snapped at Seth, frustration lacing every word.
“It’s unnerving, isn’t it?” Seth fired back, a faint smirk threatening to break through.
“I’m actually more surprised the words falling out of his mouth make actual sense,” Roman quipped, smirking even as his brow furrowed in irritation.
“My point is—” Mox’s tone grew louder as he tried to wrest control of the room. “Perhaps starting afresh would be much easier than trying to repair eleven years of animosity.”
Roman laughed, a hollow sound that echoed against the sterile walls. “If you think I’m about to let this go, you’re even crazier than I thought.”
“Yeah, good try, Mox,” Seth interjected, jaw tight. “Me and Roman have been broken a long while now; that glue just might not cut it.”
Mox’s hands clenched on the arms of his chair, a subtle tremor betraying the tension he usually buried behind bravado. “Then just—just while we’re in this room,” he said, voice almost pleading, “you can go back to killing each other and trading chairshots afterwards. But… just in this moment, I would love to spend time with my two oldest friends, without having to yeet the both of you across the room on either side.”
Seth and Roman both stared at him, measuring the weight of his plea. A thick silence fell, carrying along with it a lifetime of grudges, victories, and unspoken words. Roman’s chest rose and fell in deliberate breaths, Seth’s fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the bed, while Mox leaned back, watching them both with cautious hope. For a brief, fleeting moment, the anger, rivalry, and uncounted injuries felt negotiable, suspended by the thin, fragile thread of their shared history.
“I’m hungry.” Roman declared suddenly, the words cutting through the heavy silence.
Seth stared at him hard, eyebrows raised, and Roman met the gaze without flinching. The air between them thickened with unspoken conversation, a silent exchange that said more than words ever could. Seth found himself almost impressed. After all these years, they still understood each other perfectly when it came to the small, ridiculous things. The message however, was clear: they’d do this… for Mox.
With a resigned sigh, Seth reached into his pocket and whipped out his phone, thumbs moving in a blur across the screen.
“You still eat that greasy bacon-and-cheese nonsense you used to never shut up about?” he asked, throwing in an exaggerated eyeroll for good measure.
“You insult my sandwich order, you best be ready for a fight,” Roman shot back immediately, eyes narrowing in mock threat.
Seth smirked faintly, unfazed, before glancing at Mox, who leaned back in his chair with a satisfied air. “An egg and cheese for me, please,” Mox added casually, mischievous glint in his eyes.
“I’m aware, Mox,” Seth said dryly, not lifting his eyes from the phone. “The entire wrestling industry is probably also aware at this point.” His thumbs stabbed at the screen rapidly.
“That’s four—” Roman began, about to assert his order.
“Four sandwiches and a Coke,” Seth finished smoothly, cutting him off before he could say another word, eyes still glued to the screen.
Roman groaned, rolling his eyes at the thought of Seth remembering his late-night orders from over ten years ago. “It’s fruit juice now,” he muttered, giving Seth a pointed look. “Cody’s been forcing me to go organic, and it pains me to say… a part of me is actually used to it.”
“Make it orange juice, and I’m in,” Mox said immediately, bouncing slightly in anticipation.
Seth let out a long-suffering sigh and began revising the order. “At this point, I should probably just get three,” he muttered to himself as he punched in the changes.
Mox grinned widely at the sight, eyes flicking between Seth and Roman. Seth was perched on the side of the bed, leaning into Roman as he awkwardly shuffled with their orders. And for a fleeting moment, Mox allowed himself to believe that their fragile attempt at a truce might actually work.