Chapter 14 #4
The negative voices are thunderous. It’s easy to get swept up in them. But there are kind ones too. People who stay in their lane, who keep speculation within the confines of a group chat. Those who love wholeheartedly.
But as the current landscape remains, heteronormativity runs rampant in GEW.
Caleb and Asher are not the first queer wrestlers, but Caleb doesn’t want to be just another stub in a Wikipedia article.
GEW has never had an openly queer couple or a queer storyline.
Caleb’s back might break under the weight of being the first.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “The thought of it is . . . a lot. Would you?”
Asher mulls over it. “Probably. Maybe not immediately, but when the time comes, yeah. Times are changing, right? It can’t be that hard.”
When Asher’s phone buzzes, reality comes crashing in.
“Shit,” Asher sighs, reaching over to read the text before he flops onto his back and blinks up at the ceiling. “Thea and Alexei are checking out in an hour.” He gives Caleb a sad, apologetic smile, then closes the space between them to press a soft kiss to Caleb’s mouth. “I have to go.”
“Asher,” Caleb says quietly. He reaches out and loosely wraps his fingers around Asher’s wrist as Asher starts to roll out of bed. “What are we?”
Asher chews on his bottom lip. His eyes, a little distant and tired, don’t leave Caleb’s. He ponders for a moment before he settles on “We’re us.”
Us. Asher makes it sound so simple, as if everything that surrounds them isn’t complicated. As if there isn’t a great, big messy world outside of this hotel room waiting to chew them up and spit them out.
There is another reason Caleb has to remind himself not to give his heart away when Asher runs a finger along his jaw, the touch sweet and gentle.
If they keep this up, they will almost certainly get caught.
It’s a matter of when, not if. While GEW is open to relationships within the roster, Prichard does have a strict rule about maintaining kayfabe.
Fucking a rival wouldn’t just break kayfabe, it’d shatter it to the highest degree.
What would Prichard do to them if he found out?
With a list of titles and accolades to his name, Caleb is well established, enough to make it in the indies if push comes to shove. He will survive.
As high as his personal stakes are, Asher’s are even higher.
Caleb isn’t going to pretend that he can wholly relate to what Asher is going through. That wouldn’t be fair to Asher. They come from such different backgrounds. But he listens, not just to Asher but the rest of the roster. He tries to understand, to check his biases and privilege.
Asher has a purpose, a larger goal. If the world finds out about them so early on in his career, that is all he will be remembered as: the bisexual wrestler who fucked his rival. It will throw a wrench in his plans, his desire to make a name for himself and leave a mark on the industry.
Being on the receiving end of the screwjob only goes to show how Prichard views Asher: expendable. On top of that, being a queer person of color puts Asher at a greater disadvantage. It wouldn’t be fair for Caleb’s happiness to come at the expense of Asher’s.
This will have to suffice, he tells himself.
They can do it in the dark, concealed in secret spaces.
It’s what will be best and safest for both of them.
Still, as Caleb watches Asher go about the mundane task of fishing his jeans out from the heap of clothes at the foot of the bed, hopping around as he yanks them back on, he knows—he knows—he’s never going to stop thinking about what could have been for the rest of his life.
There is so much that he wants. He wants to reach for Asher, wants to pull him back to bed, wants to take Asher to the café in the lobby and split a stack of waffles without the threat of their careers going up in flames. But wanting something often doesn’t equate to getting it.
When Asher is fully dressed, he gives Caleb one of his playful smiles with his dimples showing. Caleb hasn’t done anything to earn it this time, but that’s just who Asher is—giving and selfless.
Caleb looks at Asher, all wide-eyed and golden beneath the early morning glow, and thinks that he probably needs to invent a brand new language to explain the enormity of everything he feels.
Carefully, he reaches out and cups Asher’s cheek. Swaying into the touch, Asher’s eyes flutter shut. His grin fades and his mouth parts on an inhale, like the touch feels as reverent to him as Caleb intends for it to be.
“Guess I’ll see you when I see you,” Caleb says a little awkwardly.
“You will see me,” Asher corrects him, gentle yet stern.
He presses a kiss to Caleb’s knuckles, who tries not to hiss.
The skin there is still raw, cracked open from last night’s punches against steel chains.
They’re still there, straddling that delicate space between peace and panic. They’re still them.
Caleb wants to kiss him once more, because he’s not sure when he’ll get to do it again. But Asher is already opening the door.
“Goodbye, Caleb.”
“Please don’t go,” Caleb says, but the door has closed and Asher is gone.