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“I'm so sorry, man,” said Rocky Romero, for the eleventh time since the bell had rung and they’d lost their titles.
“It's not your fault,” Trent said, for the third time, glancing around the New Japan doctor’s lounge. “Have they been by to check you yet?” He had just gotten back from talking to the reporters.
“Yeah, they dropped off some pain stuff and some more ice packs. Gave me the usual run down. Said they’d be back to do something with my back? I’m not sure…”
Trent frowned, really looking at Rocky for the first time. Rocky blinked at him. “Dude, what kind of pain stuff?” Rocky tried to shrug without actually moving his back. “Don’t they know that you have a weird reaction to the stuff they give you?”
Rocky did the not-shrug again. Well. Nothing to be done about it now.
Trent glanced at the young lion holding the ice pack to Rocky’s back. “You know what? I can do that, man. Rocky, tell him he can go, I can do that for you.”
Rocky blinked just slightly too slowly and then turn to the lion and said something in Japanese. The kid said something back and got up, handing Trent the ice pack politely, with both hands. Trent gave him his politest wordless nod and sat down, positioning the ice pack on Rocky’s back.
Trent was pretty sure the doctor was off somewhere watching Okada vs Omega 2 and he was kinda pissed about it. They had been sitting in the lounge for 30 minutes without anyone coming to check on Rocky. Trent’s hand was getting cold from the ice pack and Rocky had decided he was dying.
“Listen. Listen.”
“I'm listening, man.”
“Listen.”
Trent pressed his lips together and waited.
“If the doctor tells me I can't wrestle anymore-”
“Rocky, you're gonna be fine -”
“If the doctor says that I can't wrestle anymore,” Rocky barreled on, giving Trent a hard, slightly unfocused look. “I want you to know. You. Are the best tag partner a man could have.”
Trent opened his mouth, and Rocky put a hand up to shush him. Rocky’s aim was off and his hand ended up partly in Trent’s mouth. He tasted like sweat and wrestling mat. It wasn't awesome. Trent gingerly removed the hand.
“I've had a lot of tag partners. I know what I'm talking about. And they were all good people. But you are the best of them. You're my favorite partner.” Rocky tried to pat him on the shoulder and ended up kind of pawing at his chest instead. Trent bore it manfully. “And it's okay that I'm not yours.”
“Roc…”
“It's okay. I get it.”
Trent didn't know what to say. “I love you, man.”
“I love you too, Craig.”
The miserable tension that had been building since the Bucks first started targeting Rocky, burst, burning away as Trent laughed.
“You dramatic motherfucker.”
Rocky grinned at him, and then said, with a hint of the earlier earnestness: “You'll be a great heavyweight, Trent.”
“We're not there yet, buddy.”