Chapter Text
Roman opened the front door, and for one long, godforsaken moment, he actually contemplated smacking his forehead against the frame, hard. Anything to reset his brain after the visual assault that greeted him.
“What are you wearing?” he and Seth demanded in unison, though Seth’s came out as a sharp, irritated hiss through clenched teeth.
The double delivery would’ve been funny if it weren’t so tragic.
Not that Roman didn’t have as much irritation to spare, Seth was merely the surface-level problem on top of a much more frustrating pile. Underneath that, his mind was preoccupied with something far more pressing. Specifically, with the fact that Cody hadn’t called, or texted, or even breathed in his direction in oh, a fucking week! So Seth and his bizarre two-piece beach… ensemble could take a long walk off a short pier.
Roman groaned and rolled his eyes, his entire head really, then turned back into the house without another word. Seth trailed behind like a dutiful shadow, duffel slung over one shoulder, already launching into a lecture about fashion crimes and the tragic downfall of Roman’s wardrobe. At the moment, Roman couldn’t care less; he was mostly laser-focused on wedging his spare sneakers into an already-bulging duffel.
This was precisely why Cody handled packing.
“Look, I realize sweatpants have basically become your entire identity slash gimmick,” Seth said, tone dripping with an overexaggerated amount of disdain, “but wearing them to the beach has to be a new brand of insanity.”
Roman abandoned the shoe battle, sneakers tumbling out at the loss of contact, and whirled on Seth. Apparently, in accordance with the mad outfit, the man was also intent on playing the part.
“What beach?” Roman asked, mentally fishing for sturdy ropes he might need to restrain his frien–coworker, should push come to shove.
“Well, we are in Florida after all, there can’t be many places to go to that don’t involve beaches,” Seth waved a hand about.
Roman found himself tracking the flailing hand, just in case there was some hidden cipher in the motion to decode the pure, unfiltered nonsense Seth was spewing. No such luck.
“We are not going to the beach.” He said with finality, hoping to put an end to the foolishness.
Seth blinked, genuinely baffled. “Then… where are we going?”
“Utah,” Roman replied flatly. “That’s where SmackDown is taping.”
Seth groaned, letting his bag thud to the floor. A heavy, dramatic groan that had him almost sinking to the floor like a winded damsel. “Ro, when you said you wanted a boys’ night out—”
At this point, Seth was just pulling shit out of his ass. “I never said that.”
Seth scoffed, rummaging in the ridiculous flap pocket of his tropical abomination and pulling out his phone. He scrolled until he found the text message Roman had fired off in a fit of panic when his brain had gone full Code Red. Seth’s brow furrowed as he read and reread it over and over, lips moving silently, muttering the words as if they might rearrange themselves into something that would make him right.
After about ten seconds of this slow-motion trainwreck, Roman sighed, waiting for the inevitable.
Seth finally huffed, looked up, and pressed his lips together to keep from owning up to his stupid mistake.
“In my defense,” he began, Roman’s spine already steeling for the non-apology, “I thought you meant ‘going out’ as in, like, a social call.”
Roman simply leveled him with his ‘you’re an idiot’ brow, and then he turned back to his duffle, crouching to retrieve the stray left shoe to resume his formerly abandoned battle.
“Just get glasses,” Roman said, not bothering to look at him. “I’ve got it on good authority that people find it sexy.”
Seth let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You mean Cody finds it sexy.”
He sidled up to Roman, plucked the shoe right out of his hand, and attempted to jam it into the duffel himself. It didn’t fit, naturally. Seth frowned, peered inside the bag, and with a disappointed sigh, upturned the whole bag and began some sort of schematic, space-maximizing folding process. Roman was too busy being worried to feel insulted by the fact.
Seth started folding, rolling Roman’s sweatpants into a tube no thicker than a burrito. “Why are we going to Utah again?”
“Because that’s where Cody will be,” Roman said. The words tasted like certainty and desperation in equal measure.
Seth paused mid-roll. “Ah. Of course. Utah. The Mecca of Cody,” he said sarcastically.
Roman ignored him, focusing on anything except the nervous flutter tightening his chest.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know Cody’s schedule. He always knew Cody’s schedule. Cody made sure of it, usually with far too many emojis and an unhinged amount of exclamation marks. But a week of silence had a way of shaking even the most steadfast men.
Cody definitely wanted to marry him. Absolutely. Unequivocally. Without question, Roman knew this to his marrow. Cody had said so. The man had looked him in the eye, all teary and grinning like a lunatic, and said yes. He’d taken the ring, kissed him, and that was supposed to be that. Done deal with a side of happily ever after. So he was at least certain the sudden week-long radio silence had nothing to do with cold feet, and it wasn’t like he was injured either, Roman would’ve known. He was Cody’s medical proxy, for crying out loud. If something catastrophic had happened, the phone call would’ve gone straight to him.
So perhaps Cody had simply gotten distracted, letting Drew monopolize his time, obsessing over his stupid Main Event match, and time had gotten away from him, so he had forgotten to call Roman.
For six days. 152 hours to be precise. Roman’s stomach churned at the feeble excuse even his own mind didn’t buy.
“Have you tried calling him? You know, like a normal person?” Seth’s voice cut through his thoughts, dry and needling, but the fact that he was still meticulously folding Roman’s clothes was weirdly grounding.
“He’s not taking my calls,” Roman bit out.
Seth stilled, one of Roman’s black tees half-folded. The room went still except for the low hum of the AC.
“Roman—” he began, in his we need to talk about your coping mechanisms voice.
Roman snapped upright. “No. No, no, no. Don’t start with me, Rollins.”
Roman flared instantly, backing away from Seth, eyes narrowed in warning. He would not be talked out of this. That was the entire reason he’d called Seth in the first place: to have someone reckless enough to validate his bad ideas, not lecture him out of them. But apparently, the one man famous for his act now, ‘regret it later’ philosophy had suddenly decided to grow a conscience, on Roman’s time.
“You’re not talking me out of this!” he snapped
Seth held up his hands in mock surrender, “I get it—newly engaged, a little more attached than usual…” He took a cautious step closer. “But I don’t think smothering him is the right call here.”
Roman took a step back, matching him. “He hasn’t taken my calls in six days!” he said, voice cracking on the last word. The desperation in it made him wince.
Seth’s eyes flicked to the duffel, then back. “Okay. What about the group chat? Jimmy? Sami? Priest?”
“Nothing. Zip. Nada,” Roman said, voice clipped. The words landed with the heaviness of finality. The only reason he hadn’t already shown up to wherever they were was because he had no idea where that was. Every contact, every mutual friend, every group chat had suddenly gone dead silent. But the SmackDown venue, that he knew. And if that was where Cody was going to be, then that was where Roman was going. End of discussion.
“Maybe he’s just… locked in,” Seth tried carefully, going for reasonable. “Who’s he facing at Main Event?”
“Drew,” Roman said, nowhere near as neutral as he’d hoped.
Seth’s reaction was immediate and visceral. He grimaced like he’d just bitten into something sour, then turned on his heel and stalked back to the duffel bag.
“Alright,” he said, in a tone that suggested he’d experienced enough of Drew to calculate the less-than-ideal options as to which this situation could end, “we’re going to Utah.”
Roman blinked. “What?” That was surprisingly easy.
Seth didn’t look up, already reorganizing the bag with sudden, militant efficiency. “You’re clearly not going to rest until you confront your emotionally unavailable fiancé in person, and with Drew in the mix, it’s starting to sound like a splendid idea. So fine—field trip.”
Roman felt something in his chest loosen.
“However, “Seth continued, “I’m going to need to borrow clothes.” he gave Roman a long, slow once-over, lips curling in distaste. “Preferably Cody’s clothes.”