Blaise Cameron vs. Nathan Weed - For Amy's Sake

Blaise was expecting only to towel off, change out, and hit his dorm room to simmer down with his thoughts. He'd be scared of checking on his social media - no doubt full of fluffy congratulations, and none of which would feel right to him. But what he didn't expect to find was Amy, the center of the maelstrom, sitting in his locker room beside a pile of towels. Unfortunately, the most he can tell about her attire is that she's wearing a big ol' hoodie.

It makes no difference. Blaise is still frozen at the door's entrance. She could be mad at him. It's not like he asked her feelings on this setup. He knows she's strong enough to fight her own battles. Seeing her here and now, fresh on the heels of what's transpired, is actually intimidating.

The teen eases into the room and lets the door shut behind him. Hands link together modestly behind his back and his shoulders hunch forward, making himself appear a little smaller. "H-hey, Amy. How're you feelin'?"

Amy turned at the sound of the door. She was confused by Blaise's apprehension; he hadn't seemed particularly delighted about his very first in-ring victory, but, right now, he looked downright scared, like a boy who'd been caught doing something wrong by his mother.

Oh, wait. Now I get it.

Amy put on a disarming smile and sat up straight. "Hey champ." The smile was a little more muted than she’d have liked for Blaise’s first win, but, considering its circumstances, that was to be expected. She tossed him a towel. "Good work out there, today."

Oh. She's not upset with him. Good. Blaise exhales a quiet sigh, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. It's promptly interrupted as a towel hits his chest. Hands unlink from behind his back to grab ahold of it, and he begins scrubbing it against his head and hair. A soft smile forms on his face at last, and with his arms still up and tending to the sweat, he continues forward.

"Thanks." It doesn't carry the exuberance his first ever win should, no. But then, that's not what he's really taking it for. He beat someone up for her - not himself. "But you didn't answer my question."

His right arm drops from the towel to lightly fistbump at her shoulder. "How are you?" She got twisted up hard. She took a lot of kicks. More importantly, she was betrayed in a stadium full of onlookers. The physical stuff, he could see her bouncing back from. She's had enough time for that. The other, though...

Amy was still mentally tired. Amy was still reeling from Nathan's betrayal last week. Amy was still worried that this vindictive reluctance to forgive him would never go away.

But physically, Amy was as good as ever. "I'm fine, thanks for asking." Amy knew what Blaise had meant, and she knew too from experience that Blaise had an uncanny knack for reading in between the lines. But it wasn't something that she was prepared to talk about yet, and hoped that Blaise would just let it go.

Blaise had only dried his head so far, but Amy stood up anyway. "Hey, can you turn around for a sec?"

She's right, that isn't what he was really asking. But she's also right that he has a way of reading between the lines - at least with her. She's still hurting; of course she is. His smile softens a little and he gives a nod, causing the flaps of the towel to bob back and forth. He lowers the towel from his head and takes a moment to whisk a hand through his hair in an effort to fix the scuffed-up look the towel had caused.

"Huh? Okay..." He isn't sure why she'd be asking him to turn around, but Blaise obliges without so much as a fully-formed question. Back now facing her, he turns his head to peer back at her over his shoulder curiously, the bundled-up towel now between his palms.

Amy didn’t hesitate. Once his back was squared with her, she stepped in close and pushed against him in a backhug, wrapping her arms around his torso and locking her fingers together on the other side. He was sweaty, and his bare skin felt clammy against her cheek, but she didn’t care.

“Thanks, Blaise.” She turned her head so that she could press her forehead against him. “That was a really cool thing you did.” She squeezed her arms tight. “And not just because it was for me.” She stayed in that position for a long moment, grateful that she still had friends she could rely on.

Amy wraps her arms around him, and Blaise cracks a grin. "Why'd you have me turn around for a hug? Aren't those better if I can, y'know, return them?" He squirms a little, attempting to face her. He's sweaty, it's true. But it's harder for that to register for him, skin already glinting in the light, than it is for her - what with her being fresh as a daisy.

The mood changes when he lets her words sink in, whether he gets to face her or not. "It was just... something I had to do. Sorry I didn't wait to talk to you about it first." Should he not be able to face her, he'll set a hand over one of hers. If he does get to turn around, his arms settle around her shoulders for a gentle squeeze in return.

Amy felt Blaise twist in her arms, so she loosened up. Then she leaned in again, eyes shut, cheek to his chest, and a new comforting presence about her shoulders.  

Then she pulled away, wiping her face (presumably of sweat) with her sleeve before looking up and grinning. She'd seen his reaction to the match results, and understood his lack of enthusiasm; she'd have felt the same way, after all. But despite all that, it was still a huge milestone in Blaise’s career, and she wanted to commemorate it. "So. Whether you like it or not, you’ve just earned your first W in the ring. And that makes this a big night for you, champ.”

She turned around and started to dig through her backpack. “They don’t have any Blaise Cameron tees in the store yet, but I'm, like, your biggest fan, and I just had to get the first signature you handed out tonight. So I improvised.” She pulled out a permanent fabric marker, followed by a plain white-tee, and held them out in her hands to Blaise. The t-shirt was well-worn and utterly unremarkable except for the fact that it may have been recognizable to Blaise as the one she wore to her matches.

Amy smiled and tapped the corner of the shirt, where the signature would wrap around the wearer's left external obliques. "Here's good. Please."

With Amy's cheek to his chest, Blaise tilts his head to rest his cheek atop her head for the duration of the hug. She really isn't upset with him. She's grateful. He had wondered, if even for a moment, if he had overstepped his bounds by issuing the challenge. They hadn't known each other long, and they hadn't hung out too much together, but this tells him everything he needed to know. On top of that, she said it was cool. That just makes him extra happy. When she pulls away, he lets his arms hang at his sides again, the towel dangling towards the floor.

He wants to explain that Nathan wasn't in the fight; that it wasn't a solid win. He didn't feel good celebrating it. But Amy seems so into it, he can't bring himself to interrupt her. Besides that, it's hard to shake off the adulation when it's coming from her in this particular moment. He's pretty sure she's trying to perk him up, and it's totally working. What she presents him, and the way she presents it, nearly floors him.

"Wh-... what?," he asks, voice shrinking. He'd never been on t-shirts or merchandise. That kind of thing was for winners, for the wrestlers people came to see. He'd given high-fives, some hugs, and been in impromptu photos with some fans, but no one had ever asked for his autograph. This is so much more meaningful than the technical win tonight. Now he feels like a winner.

"Amy..."

Cloudy blue eyes avert quickly to the side, and he lifts the towel quickly to dab at his face. He's still sweaty. Yep. Totally. When it lowers again, his gaze is kept low and his head bowed a little, carefully dodging eye-contact with her. "S-sure.. whatever you want.." He quickly takes the marker and leans way in, body hunched down to write his name as legibly, but stylishly as humanly possible with exaggerated swoops. It carries the certain distinction of a signature that has been done many times or, more likely, thoroughly practiced.

After writing it out, he caps the marker, but lingers low for a few extra seconds. Composed, he straightens his back again to steal a look at her face. "All done."

Blaise was doing his best to hide how choked up he was, but Amy saw it, just the same, and she was pleased. She bit back a happy laugh, and she put an affectionate hand on his back as he signed her shirt.

"Thanks," she cooed. She held the shirt up by its shoulders to admire Blaise's handiwork. There was an instant of shock when she realized how much cooler Blaise's signature was than her own. She hadn't been approached by fans for her endorsement yet, either, but it was clear that she was going to have to up her autograph game if she wanted to be on Blaise's level. The scrawl she put on her checks and receipts could only charitably be called a scribble.

But other than that, Amy was thoroughly tickled, both with Blaise's reaction and the new flair on her attire. She folded her new treasure carefully over her arms and started to put it away. "You don’t mind that I wear this in the ring, right? I don't want to give people the wrong impression. I mean, you were pretty hot tonight. I know I'm not the only one that thought so, and I don't want to scare off any potential groupies out there." Amy tossed her ponytail theatrically. "I'd make a pretty intimidating rival, after all."