Wade Barrett suspects that he would not mind the late, after midnight phone calls from his best friend had they not been… after midnight…. Or… the same exact subject each time.

Tired from the flight home, and exhausted after a well spent night with his own lover, and with just a few minutes into a solid paradoxical slumber where he had been enjoying the beach - or something about a mountain, he doesn't remember when his eyes open to his cell phone vibrating on the night table.

He can barely heave his own battered body upward, falling partially onto the smaller man beside him while he grabs his phone and is shoved back down to his side of the mattress with a huff.

Suppressing a yawn buried into his hand, his eyes drop shut again to the ever-present sobbing voice on the phone that earns him a nudge - it was too early to remember that this was his friend he was dealing with, and so he carries on with the routine of "Drew, what's wrong?" "Drew, everything will work out," 'I'm sure Vince still loves you," "You just had a kid," "Your body is very perfect," and lastly "Don't worry," with that, he hangs up and tosses the phone somewhere within the mess of white and blue sheets that his lover picked out, and he himself would not admit to being so god awful.

He settles himself back into the ugly, yet comfortable blankets, and allows himself to almost forget about it when arms are around his torso and Justin Gabriel's head is resting on his chest - okay, it was a new absurd thing to complain about, although he keeps his mouth shut about having a fluffy mohawk in his face all night. Maybe tomorrow night he would call McIntyre back and complain about coconut shampoo.