Work Text:
The hallway thudded under Roman Reigns’ sneakers, each step deliberate and steady. The gait of a king surveying his crumbling, fearful little kingdom.
He wasn’t even supposed to be here today—just popped in to sign a few collectibles and a stack of blood-red 'OTC' merch. Yet here he was, storming the halls like a hurricane dressed in head-to-toe black, leaving Cody Rhodes asleep in his bed a hundred miles away.
Ahead, wrestlers and crew alike parted like the Red Sea. Some pretending to look deeply fascinated by the cracks on the wall, others flat-out sprinting like their paychecks depended on it.
Carmelo Hayes, spotting Roman from a distance, immediately executed a hard left turn into a janitor’s closet, closing the door so gently it was almost tender.
Kevin Owens, halfway through unwrapping a protein bar, made brief eye contact with Roman, muttered, “Nope,” and promptly jammed the whole thing into his mouth before power-walking away with a sudden, urgent appointment elsewhere.
By the time Roman reached the elevator, the hallway was practically a ghost town.
Except for Sami Zayn.
Sami stood there, fidgeting with his hoodie strings, oblivious as always, staring at the glowing elevator numbers like they held the answers to life's unsolved problems.
Roman came to a stop beside him, looming and radiating enough silent dominance to peel the paint off the walls.
Sami caught a whiff of something familiar. That sharp, warm spice that made him think of main event suits and blinding smiles.
His whole face lit up.
"Cody!" Sami crowed, without even looking, reaching out and giving Roman a solid, friendly pat on the back.
Only... it wasn't Cody.
Roman turned his head in slow motion, the kind of slow-motion turn you usually only saw in horror movies right before something terrible happened.
Sami froze mid-pat, hand still awkwardly resting on Roman’s shoulder like it had broken up with the rest of his body and now wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
There was a long, tortured moment where the two just stared at each other.
Then Sami made a small, strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a whimper. "Hey, Tribal Chief.”
Roman raised an eyebrow, dripping with bored disdain, like Sami was a particularly stupid fly buzzing too close to his face.
"I thought—you smelled like—" Sami stammered, pointing wildly at Roman’s chest, like it would somehow explain everything. "Cody wears that...that thing, the expensive one! You know! With the, the leather and the...notes of citrus and spice or whatever!"
Roman didn't blink.
Mercifully the elevator finally dinged.
Sami practically dove inside, while Roman followed at a measured pace, like a lion stepping into a very small, very breakable cage with a very nervous rabbit.
They stood there in brittle silence as the doors slid closed.
Sami cleared his throat, voice thin. “New cologne? Smells nice.”
Roman didn’t answer right away. He simply stared ahead, blank-faced, and for a second Sami actually wondered if he'd broken the man’s brain somehow.
Finally, Roman rumbled, "I wasn’t aware Cody had exclusive rights to this brand.”
Sami backpedaled instantly, hands up. “No, no, no, I’m not saying that! I’m not saying you can't wear it—it’s just, that sandalwood musk was so fitting and suited you perfectly well… It had this… dangerous gravitas! And—trust me a lot of people are going to be sad to see it go. If it does go, which I'm hoping this isn’t a one time thing—Not that you can’t change back! Growth is good! It's just you probably don't have any constant reason to be borrowing Cody’s cologne. Or you might own your own exact same… bottle.”
Roman just stared at him.
Sami cleared his throat. “I’ll shut up now.”
The elevator dinged, and slid open again. Dominik Mysterio appeared, Intercontinental title slung casually over his shoulder. He took one look at Roman’s glaring form and audibly swallowed.
“I'll take the stairs," he said, already turning to flee before he finished the sentence.
The elevator doors closed again, a little faster this time, like the building itself was terrified of Roman.
Sami tapped his foot nervously. Roman didn’t so much as twitch.
Somewhere above, the heavy thud-thud-thud of running footsteps echoed down the stairwell. Dominik, sprinting like his life depended on it.
Sami heard it. Roman heard it. Neither said anything.
Finally, Sami couldn’t take the silence anymore.
"You know," he blurted, "you have this aura about you."
Roman turned his head slightly, giving him the patented worm beneath my notice look.
Sami backpedaled verbally, fast. "Not a bad aura! Like if Batman and a lion had a baby. And the baby grew up really mad at the world but, like... in a sexy way.”
Roman considered that.
"...Yeah," he said eventually.
Sami brightened slightly, encouraged by the fact he hadn't been disemboweled yet.
"But the cologne," Sami ventured, "makes you smell less like ‘I’m gonna suplex you through a wall’ and more like ‘I’ll read you poetry before I suplex you through a wall.’ So, good balance?”
Roman tilted his head, considering him like a predator might consider whether its prey was worth the trouble.
"Why is this cologne so important to you?" Roman asked, voice low and suspicious.
Sami leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "It’s not important," he said quickly. "It’s just… a welcome change. It makes you seem... softer."
Roman’s eyebrow twitched, dangerously.
“I mean, not soft soft.” Sami rushed to clarify. “Just… happier. Like you still hate the world and the people in it, but you're not actively wishing or contributing to their downfall. You simply have better things to think of now.”
Roman exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite.
His mind wandered briefly, unbidden, back to Cody still curled up in his sheets at home, blissfully unaware Roman had left only because of a couple stupid last-minute merch signings. He could still smell the other man's shampoo on his hoodie.
“I do have better things to think about,” he said, almost to himself.
Sami caught the tone and smiled, a little more knowing than Roman was aware of.
"Yeah," he said softly. "It looks good on you."
Roman made a sound deep in his chest. It could have been a growl. It could have been a laugh. Sami decided he was not interested in dying today, so he chose ‘laugh’ and pressed no further.
The elevator dinged again, and Roman stepped out first, surveying the hallway like a general stepping onto enemy territory.
Sami lingered behind, giving Roman a small, hopeful thumbs-up.
"Good smell, though!" he called as the doors closed again.
Roman didn’t turn around.
But as the doors slid shut, Sami swore—swore—he caught the faintest flicker of amusement gleaming in the Tribal Chief’s eyes.