#- lh

“¿Enserio crees que me importa el dinero?“ (You really think I care about the money?) Laredo Kid whispered with a grin, venom dripping with every syllable, his minty breath fanning in Fénix’s face. The challenger winced at Laredo as the mint stung his eyes, the closeness of their faces heightening his senses. Fénix could only watch and listen, stuck in a state of immobilization, frozen by fear, confined by force. Laredo shook his head with a deep, irritated laugh, standing upright with arms crossed over his chest before Fénix, looking down at his rival with an overly pleased expression, something dark and impossible to name flickering behind his eyes beneath that black and gold mask. Fénix knew well how his rival could be, how Laredo was determined to do everything and anything to keep what was his. This was something new to him. This wasn’t LK, the man who had caught his eye long before the Cruiserweight belt. No, this was a version of Laredo that was never shown on camera, a version Fénix never recognized before, and now he had the misfortune of witnessing this version of the rudo.

“Quieres parar ahí enfrente de una cámara y tratar de enseñar el mundo que tanto te crees intenso. Pero aquí eres débil, roto, y inútil.” (You wanna stand there in front of a camera and try to show the world just how intense you think you are. Yet here you’re weak, broken, and useless), Laredo took the mint gum he had been chewing on, now hardened and gross, and flicked it at Fénix’s face, the wad of gum bouncing off the fabric of his mask. Keeping a careful eye on his rival, Laredo took three easy steps to pick up his Cruiserweight Championship belt from where he threw it on the floor earlier in his efforts to trap Fénix, and held it in front of Fénix in such a manner it seemed like an owner hanging a treat in the air for its pup. Fénix, with as much effort and strength as he could muster against the tape around the lower half of his face, tried to spit back any kind of insult to Laredo, but it proved ineffective. Laredo only grinned in return, squatting down enough to lean close into his rival’s chest, laying the heavy belt over Fénix’s lap like one would place a treat over a dog’s snout, only allowing it to move and take the treat at the owner’s command. The green leather hurt Fénix’s eyes in the darkened room like sun rays bouncing from a street sign on a hot day, Laredo watching every twitch in Fénix’s face as if he were waiting for the man to break any second as his hands kept the belt pinned to Fénix’s legs, not enough to hurt, but enough to feel the weight of the metal and his body against the muscles. “Atrapado a un silla con tu propia cinta deportiva. Imagínate que diría tu hermano si te viera así…” (Taped to a chair with your own tape. Imagine what your brother would say if he saw you like this…)

That hurt Fénix more than a chop hitting too close to the center of his chest, his body and skin already on fire from the match he and Laredo just had moments ago. He knew Laredo was still recovering from the match as well, sweat glistening off his bare shoulders as highlighted by the little overhead light of the kitchenette. His breathing quickened at the thought of his brother finding out that he let his guard down around his rival, afraid of the harsh criticism he’d receive after all that he’d already been doing: stirring up more drama on social media, confronting his rival outside the ring when he shouldn’t. Laredo knew this, and he knew it well. He knew Penta was not the type to treat people too kindly, especially when it came to lucha libre. He also knew well that when it came to his brother, Penta didn’t hold anything back. Watching Fénix look everywhere inside his trailer, as if he was in search of something to comfort him. He tried not to show how much that hurt him, but his eyes could only hold back tears for so long until it hurt.

“Didn’t know you were big inta Skynyrd,” Phil mumbled under his liquor-ridden breath, lazily turning his heavy head to glance at Pepper, who responded with a light chuckle as he glanced back at Phil, finding his flushed face quite the sight to see.

“Really? You’ve known me for forever now, and you’re just now realizing that Skynyrd’s my favorite band?” Pepper was driving in his truck after their show, his hair tied back in a tight bun as his bare arms still slightly glistened with remnants of sweat, beer and water, his shirt a bit damp with sweat and water and the light denim of his jeans drying with the cool air conditioning. Since Phil had drank significantly more than Pepper, even way before the show had started, Pepper took over the wheel responsibly to get the both of them home safely. At Pepper’s light chuckle, Phil’s lips curled into a lazy, drowsy grin as he chuckled back breathlessly, raising an arm to cover his eyes from the passing lights alongside the road, the unbuttoned sleeve of his loose, open plaid shirt helping block out more of the light.

“Am not just realizin’, all ‘m sayin’ is I didn’t know ya were a big fan, man.” Phil exaggerated his words by making a large gesture with his hands before sinking back into the reclined passenger seat, groaning lightly at the dull ache at the base of his spine and how the world felt as if it were moving beneath his feet. Pepper could only shake his head in amusement, finding his friend’s drunken behavior as entertaining and endearing as usual. He gripped the top of the steering wheel in a loose fist as his free hand reached over to lightly pat Phil’s thigh over the fabric of his cargo shorts in a light display of support, his voice lowering just a bit in an effort to try and soothe his friend as he kept his eyes on the road, thankful that their house wasn’t too far now.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost home now. Once we’re there, you can finally get some rest, yeah?”

Phil remained still in his seat, only nodding his head with a low hum in response to Pepper’s words. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol coursing through his veins, but the cool temperature and rough texture of Pepper’s hand on his thigh had his skin rapidly warming underneath it. Pepper was accustomed enough to Phil’s drunken behavior, usually being the one to drink less of the two to keep a watchful eye on Phil and ensure he wouldn’t get himself into trouble or danger. Damn, why he looked after his friend so much, why he worried so much and was so protective of Phil, he thought he may never know.

-

“You’re sure all you drank was that bigass bottle of Jäeger?” Pepper questioned carefully as he sat on the edge of Phil’s bed, keeping an eye on his friend as Phil laid on his stomach over his sheets, his face buried into his pillow that he clung to almost possessively, like it was the only thing keeping him afloat amidst his liquor-ridden body. Phil grumbled into his pillow, his eyes not even trying to remain open anymore than they barely were as his slurred voice came through the fabric of the pillowcase, his deep southern drawl more prominent, which only warmed Pepper’s heart further.

“Yes, Pep, thas all I had ta drink t’night. I didn’t even get ta finish the rest of it, damnit…”

Pepper chuckled quietly at Phil’s complaint about not finishing the last bit of alcohol that was apparently left in the bottle, finding his situation both pitiful yet slightly adorable. He gently patted Phil’s back as he noticed his breathing starting to slow and even out, lowering his voice to a near whisper with a small grin on his face.

“Alright, I believe ya. Now just get some sleep, you fool.”