A/n from Jessica: So i got a new story idea! this might take kind of of a couple chapters but hey, at least im trying to write consistantly again! lemme know your feelings on it guys, i miss having reviews! btw, loved venting my mizfit feelings in this chapter...my mizzy boo deserved that win so much! all you hatas and miztakes can suck it! yeah!
warning: just some cussing and slash, stuff happens in later chaps tho...
Disclaimer: Don't own the WWE, don't own anyone
Miz smiled wide as he came from behind the curtain, clutching his new WWE title close to his chest. He'd finally did it. Everything he had been working for his whole life was now his. He was in the league of some of the greatest workers this business had ever seen: Bret Hart, Shawn Michaels, Stone Cold Steve Austin…he was holding the proof of that right in his hands. He actually had tangible evidence. If anyone dare question his success again…if they ever claimed he didn't deserve to be in the WWE—wasn't even fit to wrestle with the divas…he could show them just how much he meant to this company…how much they needed him.
He continued down the hallway, accepting the congratulations he received from a handful of superstars as he passed graciously, practically shining as bright as the belt itself as he walked into the locker room. It almost hadn't even sunk in yet. He was the champion. Mike Mizanin from Parma, Ohio was now World Wrestling Entertainment's poster boy—the real face of the company.
He picked the belt from off of his shoulder, weighing the heavy title in his hands, before putting it on his waist, fastening the clasps in back. This was his. For the foreseeable future, he would be champion. He would be in all the main events, would be the focus of the entire show.
Mike's smile grew wider, facing the mirror opposite him as he trailed his fingers across the front of the belt, toying with the main emblem.
This was his dammit! And he was going to be damned if he let anyone ruin that.
"Ya know Mike, whoever's actually champion is going to want their belt back in a few minutes."
Mike sighed, dropping his hands from the belt as he turned around, facing the man who had intruded on his moment. Their not-so-friendly banter before, during, and after shows had almost become a staple in his career. One he wished he didn't have to be apart of.
"John. So nice of you to drop by," Miz' features twisted up into a smirk, "but if you're lost, the mid-carder's locker room is that way."
John pushed himself off the row of lockers he'd been leaning on, walking closer to where Mike was standing, "Ouch baby, that one stung. But I do love your new belt. They take the butterfly off before they gave it to you?"
Mike laughed at John's pathetic insult; like he hadn't heard that one his entire career. "Sounds to me like some jealousy Johnny. Where's your belt?" Mike said sarcastically, inwardly snickering at John's expression, "Oh yeah—you don't have one."
John smiled mockingly, brushing off that last insult, which honestly hurt his pride a bit, "Well at least I didn't make it to the top using only my mouth…unlike some people…"
Mike chuckled, turning from John to his locker, already bored by John's school yard insults, "You wish John, maybe then I'd get with your sorry ass."
"Everyone wants some of this Michael…the sooner you realize that the better." John said arrogantly, slipping his bedazzled sunglasses over his eyes.
"Well sure," Mike said off-handily, un-wrapping his wrist tape, "that is until the outbreaks start a month later."
Mike smiled sweetly in victory, amused by John's lack of comeback, "Ha. I win, now go on out of here and find Sheamus or something; I'm sure he has to let you know how you're going to lose next week."
John ground his teeth in frustration, obviously wanting to shoot Miz a snarky remark but unable to.
"Byyyeee…" Mike purred, waving to John as he began his routine to leave for the night, taking his belt off and laying it carefully on the bench beside him.
Mike turned his back to John, assuming he'd just tucked tail and ran so he wouldn't look anymore like an idiot. As Mike began to change, a hand shot out in his line of vision, snatching up his new title, leaving Mike admiring thin air.
He whirled around, seeing John in front of him, holding the belt, smirk firmly in place, swinging it back in forth like a small child who had just stolen another's favorite toy.
"Give it back," Mike said, instantly sick of Morrison and his games. "Just…give it back, John."
"Ya know, everyone's been talking Mikey." John said quietly, almost to himself, as he eyed the belt swinging back and forth like a pendulum. "Everyone's been talking about you…about how you finally got what you deserve. How you went from reality star to the face of the company…"
Mike eyed John warily, wondering what his point in all of this was. To be a bully? That wasn't too uncharacteristic.
"Everyone thinks that you've finally earned it; that you were so good that it'd be almost criminal not to give you the title. Wanna know what I think Miz?"
Mike stared at John, waiting for the insult that was sure to come; he knew John all to well at this point.
"I think it's a joke. You are nothing, Mike. That's all you'll ever be." John walked towards Miz, "Nothing."
John loosened his grip, allowing the championship to fall from his fingers and hit the tile with a resounding 'bang'.
Mike broke the gaze between them first, reaching down to pick up his belt, features set firmly into an offended scowl as he dusted invisible dirt off his pristine title.
He quietly appraised John, eyes trailing down the handsome face contorted in a scowl. "What happened to you John? You've just become…this…sad person. You're so pathetic."
He stared at John once more before scoffing, abandoning the locker room altogether, leaving John in the middle of the room, disgusted.
"You're…dumb. What is wrong with you?"
John turned to face Randy, narrowing his eyes at his friend who was reclining back on his couch, picture of total ease.
"You are not helping. How is that helping anyone?"
Randy threw up his hands, "What would you like me to say John? 'No, calling him a chick wasn't stupid at all, you're entirely intelligent for insulting the man you love.'"
John glared at Randy, showing he wasn't in the mood to be teased by the Viper. "Okay fine. Want some advice? I'll give you some. Don't be a dumbass. That's great advice." Randy chuckled at John's expression, "I'm sorry but you are! What in God's name could possible lead you to believe that being an asshole would get Mike to fall in love with you?"
John crossed his arms over his chest, pouting, moving to sit next to Randy, "Well it worked for you…"
Randy laughed, clapping John on the back as an attempt to raise his spirits a bit, "That's different. I'm an asshole to everyone; Cena just doesn't mind all the bullshit. Plus I never called him a whore."
John scrubbed a hand across his face, his words to Mike from earlier bouncing around in his head. So maybe he'd been an idiot. Thinking the old school yard saying that 'he only picks on you because he likes you' was definitely the wrong way to go…but after almost two years of the back and forth between them, John honestly didn't know if he could go about this reasonably. Once he knew he had feelings for Mike, he was already in too deep. "Fine. I'm a dumbass. Now what?"
Randy sighed, bringing his fingers to his lips in thought, "Well you could do one of two things: run to his hotel room right now, apologize, call yourself an idiot, and hope he's not in the middle of fucking Riley…"
John winced at that last part; he never did like how close he would get to Mike. "Or?"
"Or…you could just…continue being an asshole."
John looked up to Randy in shock, "You're not helping anymore. How would that end well?"
Randy shrugged, "Like you said, worked for me…"