Neerie was always better at the piledriver.
She had one mean fishermans driver, back in the heyday it could knock him out flat in seconds.
It helped, though, that she made it so easy to powerbomb her.
Summer days would be like this, taking bump after bump, slamming into the mat and bouncing off the ropes with such speed it was a miracle neither of them seriously injured one another.
One day, after practice, Zephyr would lay next to her. The sky is magenta and cream, the warm glow of the setting suns illuminating the clouds pink.
Neerie turns to him.
“So what’s the plan, when you get outta school?” She’s smiling at him, graduation is coming up soon and the anticipation in both of their bones has shown both in and out of the homemade ring.
“Wrestle.” Zephyr’s answer is firm, his parents weren’t exactly happy at first, but he broke them down enough. Wrestling school was cheaper than University, and he was willing to put in the work.
“You sure you don’t wanna work with me?” Neerie’s laugh is breathless, she’s intent on trade school, running her own business where she can shame people night and day for whatever fucked up coffee orders come through the till.
“I’ll order an awful expresso if I see you on the road.”
With the clouds above them, Neerie reaches her hand out to the sky, rays of golden light bounce through her skin.
Zephyr joins her.
The darkness is suffocating, the nothingness makes his muscles ache. He can’t feel the sky, he can’t feel the ground. The bruise on his chest from Niq’s wild pitch is the only thing tying himself to his body.
He didn’t sign up for this. He didn’t ask for this.
He had to get out. He needed out. He couldn’t be like–
Neerie.
He hasn’t seen her. Not for a long time now. Not since Dallas and the flood and–
The light breaches his eyes, the neon sickness of the city and the supernova feels welcoming.
He. Will. Not Die. Here.
He’s running faster than he ever has before, faster than his time on the field, faster than the match against Kane in Tijuana he took during siesta, faster than in that dingy backyard ring with his sister.
He will not fade into obscurity.
In his head, Zephyr hears the ring of the bell, he hears the screams of the crowd.
His boots hit the dust.
He dreams of seeing the sky. The real sky.
From the depths of redaction, a wrestler roars.
The World Wide stadium greets him with open arms.