#lockslade

Gabe finds himself huffing out a half-laugh of frustration. “You gotta give me more to work with than that, man.”

“Do I?”

The Lock’s tone is flat, but there’s a hint of a smile in his eyes. Gabe’s gotten good at reading his mood through the micro-expressions that show up above his mask— he doesn’t need to see the Lock’s mouth to know that he’s smirking.

Gabe can only shake his head. “You’re a smug little fucker, y’know?”

Shrugging, the Lock set back to scanning the room. “I’m mostly fine, Gabe, don’t worry about me.”

“You’re bouncing your leg like you’re trying to jackhammer through the floor.”

“…Sorry.”

“You don’t gotta apologize to me, man. Just… I’m here to talk if you wanna. And I know it’s not really your thing, talking, but like, I’m officially your tag partner now, and I think we’re close enough that we can talk about stuff, y’know? I just—“

The Lock cuts him off with a quick mutter. “You’re blowin’ smoke again, bud.”

“… Sorry.”

Chuckling a little, the Lock shakes his head. “It’s okay. The rambling helps, the subject doesn’t. Tell me about something you like instead.”

In that instance, almost everything Gabe has ever been interested in has elected to make a swift exit from his mind via stage left. He opens his mouth, says nothing, and then closes it again. The only thing that returns to him in a decent amount of time is sort of embarrassing, but the Lock cocks an eyebrow at him and he ends up blurting it out.

“I mean, I’ve been really into NASCAR recently?” Gabe offers weakly.

He expects the laugh that breaks out from behind the Lock’s mask, but something about how choked it sounds gives him pause.

“Shit, really? You got a favorite driver?” The Lock asks, without a hint of irony in his tone.

Gabe blinks at that. “Uh, Kyle Busch, I guess? Favorite current guy, at least. If you’re asking for my all-time favorite, I’d say it’s Dale Earnhardt.”

“Raise hell, praise Dale,” the Lock replies approvingly. “You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn’t mark Dale as one of the greatest. There’s never gonna be another driver like him.”

Laughing softly, Gabe rolls his shoulders back and feels some of his embarrassment start to melt away. “Shit man, if I knew you were into racing as well, I would’ve brought it up sooner. Who’s your favorite?”

“I mean, Dale, obviously. But I’d say Danica Patrick, Lando Matthews, and Jimmie Johnson are all tied for second place,” the Lock answers.

Gabe can practically hear his grin. Getting factual information out of the Lock is typically akin to pulling teeth, but this? This feels like the Lock is being genuine for once.

“Ooh, good picks. Y’know, I hear Lando Matthews comes to shows sometimes. You might get to meet him at some point,” Gabe muses.

“Might,” the Lock echoes, amusement sparkling through his tone.

“I never met him, but—“

But before Gabe can finish that thought, HBK is calling for their entrance music. He and the Lock stand up in perfect sync, making their way to the ramp for their segment. Just before they step out under the stage lights, the Lock reaches out and quickly squeezes Gabe’s hand in his.

“Needed the distraction. Thanks,” He murmurs.