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Fingers laced, elbows propped on his restless legs, Jay White stared out the window of his second floor hotel room. Facing west, he peered into the last brushstrokes of the fading sunset as if it held all the answers. Cole wasn’t (usually) a problem on his best day, Page was just another tree to chop down, and Okada - well, if he could just keep his focus on the Adams and Gedo, Jay should be golden. It was the risk of Cole and Page teaming up that made Jay bow his head, fingers tangling in his still wet hair, leg bouncing so hard the shoddy hotel chair creaked and groaned.
The pair bested him once before, technically, and that- that right there was moral building for them, that was encouraging. That was a problem.
He hated rooming on the lower storeys.
-
“-and whose smart idea was that Texas Death match, again? Funny, because I distinctly recall you shrugging death off like a-”*
Snapped out of watching the coffee drip, Hangman glared through the doorway into the hall. He was sick of hearing Jay White talk, downright fed up with his apparent inability to shut the hell up. Looking forward to grinding his face into the mat in a few days. Looking forward to getting back on the horse, knocking the breath right out of him.
And pissed the hell off by Jay following Adam Cole around for days, talking incessantly. They were so far down the hall, he couldn’t even hear Adam’s responses. Screw him too, for even enabling Jay this long, actually.
Hangman took his acidic venue coffee black, found the nearest exit sign, and plunged into the sticky summer heat to get some air.
-
Whoever decided to room Jay White between two of his three upcoming opponents had a deathwish. Gedo and Okada were spread out elsewhere, both a curse and a boon, but at least the ice maker was on his floor.
The third floor, of all places. This hotel had ten.
His window faced north. The door to the room east of him was pulled shut, heavy bags dropped to the tacky carpet with muffled thuds. What was Hanger packing, bowling balls? To the west, Cole cycled his television’s volume up then down then up like clockwork. Maybe he should get his hearing checked.
Maybe Jay should run some interference.
-
Out of habit more than politeness, Adam Cole clicked the TV off when he heard the first knock, hauling himself out of bed and throwing his hair towel behind him. He almost didn’t check the peephole and, seeing the reigning IWPG champ pacing outside his door, seemingly having a silent conversation with… Himself, Cole was relieved he did. Jay had been chewing his ear off for a week, pulling up old BTE clips on his phone just to interrogate or, worse, critique him, cornering him in catering even when White had every reason to hit the gym or rest or do literally, sincerely, absolutely anything else.
It was like he was trying to annoy Adam into backing out of the fatal 4-way and, to his credit, if he wasn’t long-term friends with some of the most obnoxious people alive, it might’ve worked. He tried a smile, then a frown, then scowled and, steeling himself, opened the door. Jay stopped pacing, turning on his heel so suddenly he had to throw an arm out to stabilise himself, expression somewhere between delighted beaming and a shitty smirk. Instantly, he was in Adam’s personal space, jabbing a finger into the loose fabric of his shirt.
“You probably think this-” he flapped a hand in his room’s direction and repositioned the IWGP belt slung over his shoulder, “-gives you some kind of advantage, huh? You think you can enact psychological warfare against the Switchblade?”
Adam opened his mouth to respond, but Jay just kept going, raising his voice to an alarming volume. “Well! Let me tell you something, Adam Bay-Bay Cole, there is nothing you can do to me to shake my resolve; you can make me bleed all you want, I’ll never scream for the likes of y-”
“What the hell are you yelling about now?” Neither of them noticed Hangman’s door open on the other side of Jay’s, not until the man was stalking towards them. Panic twisted Cole’s gut, drawing out a nervous half laugh.
“Let- let’s, ah, take this inside-” Adam seized Jay by the collar and dragged him into his room, hip checking him into the wall as he scrambled to shut, lock, and latch the door. He could hear the other Adam’s footsteps pause, the bases of his chaps’ zippers no longer jangling against the jump rings on his boots. Jay allowed Cole to usher him further into the hotel room, snatching a Twizzler off the entertainment unit and biting a length off as Adam pushed his hair out of his face. “You- you can’t make scenes like that with guys like Hangman next door-”
“*Actually,*” Jay said, still chewing the candy as he held up his belt and slapped the gold plate. “I can do whatever I damn well please, no matter who-”
“Open the door, Cole.”
They both froze. Adam Page’s voice was deep, cold, dangerous. They locked eyes, Jay slowly lowering his belt, the drawn curtains darkening the room.
“I’m serious, Adam. Let me solve this problem.”
Silently, Jay took one creeping step backwards towards the door, only pausing when Cole furiously shook his head. He mouthed ‘no,’ motioning 'cut’ at neck level with one hand. Bad idea.
After another minute, Page banged his fist against the door once before stalking off, Jay jumping as if the sound were a gunshot. Cole kept his hands raised, placating now, voice low.
“I don’t know what your game is, Jay, but this is your grave to lay in,” he pushed his hair out of his face again, wet strands sticking to his cheek, frustrated. “I just hope there’s something left to bury after we beat the crap out of you.”