[LJKasey]

The clock on the wall blinked 1:47 a.m.

The apartment was quiet, not peaceful, not restful, just quiet in that way a space becomes when the person inside it refuses to stop moving long enough to let the silence settle. The living room lights were dim, the soft glow from the lamp pooling over a fortress of casebooks, outlines, flashcards, and half-drunk cups of coffee that had long since gone cold.

At the center of it all, LJ Kasey sat hunched over the dining table, hair slicked back from the shower he took to keep himself awake, hoodie loose on his shoulders, highlighter between his teeth as he flipped through yet another chapter of Criminal Procedure.

His eyes were bloodshot, his leg bounced restlessly, mostly from being extremely over-caffeinated. On top of everything else, his brain was somewhere between Latin terms, footnotes, and remembering which ligament Logan Hunter nearly tore the last time they fought.

He muttered to himself as he wrote, his handwriting rigid from exhaustion, “Mens rea... intent... specific intent... why do they have to be like this...”

A stack of practice essays sat beside him, some graded by classmates, some by Miles who had no business touching law school material but insisted anyway. Miles’ comments were mostly motivational trash: ‘This looks smart. Fix the thing circled. Don’t die. – M’

LJ smirked at that. Briefly. Because the truth was, he was drowning. Every day had become a three-part war, Law school, Training and if he had time, Life.

His schedule for the last couple of weeks was pretty much this everyday:

Wake up, read cases, make sure Ash and Ally were good for the day before heading off to his classes for the day.
Sometime in the afternoon: drills at the gym.
Evening: ring time with Miles until his ribs ached and his lungs burned.
Night: research, flashcards, dinner with Ally and Ash...while pouring himself over even more cases that he needed to study, pound back enough caffeine to kill a horse, panic, repeat.

He’d told himself he could do it all. He’d promised himself he could do it all but the bags under his eyes said otherwise. A soft creak from the hallway made him lift his head. For a moment his brain panicked, was it Ally? Did he wake her? Did he forget something? Did he....

But it was just Ashlynn wandering out in a too-big t-shirt, rubbing her eyes, her hair wild from sleep.

“LJ... you’re still up?” she whispered, voice scratchy.

He dropped the highlighter onto the table and leaned back with a groan that sounded like it belonged to a seventy-year-old man, "Yeah. I’ve got Civ Pro outlines to finish and I still have contracts to review... And con law. And...”

She held up a hand, "Okay, nerd. I get it.”

Ashlynn plopped into the seat across from him, tugging her knees to her chest.

“You’ve been going like this for days,” she said quietly, "Even Miles said you look like a ghost. And considering he’s married to Carter, the shade of it all is impressive.”

LJ laughed, a tired, hoarse sound, "I can’t fall behind, Ash. Finals are in what... twelve days? Thirteen? Fuck if I know, I lost count and unless I look at a calendar I don’t even know what day it is. And if I don’t train, I’ll fall apart in the ring too. And Ally needs me, because I swear your mom as much as she is trying can’t seem to catch a break even though you can tell just how close she is. And you’re here, you’re still seemingly adjusting to all of us doing this. And I am just...”

“LJ, you are human,” she finished for him, “Besides, I’m adjusting just fine and mom will be okay. But you are legit stretching yourself so thin, you’re almost transparent.”

He stared down at the open casebook, the words blurring, "Feels like I’m trying to be four different people at once,” he admitted, "Law student. Wrestler. Partner. Younger brother. ...And I don’t wanna fail at any of it.”

Ashlynn watched him for a long moment before reaching out and flicking him on the forehead.

“Ow! Ash!”

“That’s for being stupid,” she said simply, "No one expects you to be perfect at everything. Not my mom and most certainly not me. Not even Miles, and he literally runs on coffee, protein shakes, and pure delusion.”

He huffed a laugh despite himself, "And candy that you sneak him...by the way Carter knows about that.”

“Eh, he’ll cope. But in all honesty?” Ashlynn added, softer now, "You don’t have to prove everything at once. You’re allowed to rest, LJ.”

He swallowed, the weight in his chest tight and familiar, the pressure he put on himself, the fear of slipping, of failing, of letting something fall through the cracks the way he once let certain people slip away when he was younger, "I’m trying,” he said quietly.

“I know.” She slid the nearest notebook away from him and closed it, "Start with breathing and sleeping. Finals can’t kill you if I hide all your textbooks.”

“Please don’t,” he said with mild terror.

“No promises...now go to bed.” she teased as she stood up, quickly grabbing a bottle of water and wandered to the back, lightly closing the door behind her. And for the first time all week, LJ leaned back in his chair and didn’t immediately reach for another book. For someone who had only been in his life for a short slice of it, Ash had a terrifying ability to read him better than most people who’d known him for years.

His eyes were heavy. His heart was racing. His brain was full and if he kept going he would end up asleep here.

Glancing back somewhere behind the master bedroom closed door, his angel Ally slept, blissfully unaware that more than likely, she’d soon be dragging him to bed herself if she woke and found him still awake and overworked.

LJ exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. Yeah, He was stretched thin but he wasn’t breaking. Not yet at least. He stared at the dark hallway for a long moment, the quiet settling around him like a blanket he wasn’t sure he deserved, and finally let himself breathe.

----------

The Next Day
Gym, Las Vegas

The slam of weights, the thud of bodies hitting canvas, and the metallic tang of sweat in the air, it was how things were with Miles little corner of the world that he helped develop lately. It was alive in a way that demanded energy LJ simply didn’t have today.

LJ stood in the middle of the ring with Miles, hands on his knees, chest heaving harder than it should’ve after only a warm-up drill. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, hoodie long abandoned on the ropes, hair clinging to his forehead.

“Again,” Miles said, bouncing lightly on his feet.

LJ didn’t move. He didn’t defy. He didn’t complain. He just... didn’t move.

Miles’ face softened, "Bro, you hearing me?”

LJ straightened slowly, jaw tight, "Yeah. Sorry. Just... long night.” His voice was gravel, rough from lack of sleep and too much caffeine.

Miles had seen him exhausted. He’d seen him beat up. He’d seen him emotionally wrecked but he’d never seen him look empty.

“Alright,” Miles said quietly, stepping forward placing his hands on his hips, "Level with me. How bad is it?”

LJ rolled his shoulders, attempted a shrug, "I’ll manage.”

“That’s not an answer, LJ.”

“It’s the only one I got right now.”

His balance wavered. It was almost imperceptible. Almost. Miles saw it and that was all it took.

He grabbed LJ by the wrist and gently guided him to sit on the ring apron, "You’re burning yourself down to fumes,” Miles said, pulling out his phone, quickly typing out a text, "And I’m not letting this shit fly anymore.”

“What are you? Miles, don’t call them,” LJ muttered, rubbing his face, "Miles....seriously....don’t....”

“Too late.” The ringtone chirped, echoing in the cavernous gym.

LJ groaned and dropped his head into his hands, "You’re a bastard.”

“Yep. A responsible one.”

The screen lit up, Rebecca & Joan – Video Call and Miles hit accept.

Rebecca appeared first, reading glasses on, her office behind her stacked with neatly organized binders. Joan leaned in beside her from her own desk, hair up, blazer immaculate despite the chaos of her firm.

LJ lifted his head halfway, "Hi.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Rebecca exhaled, hand pressing to her heart, "You look awful.”

“Mum,” LJ muttered softly, trying to add a touch of warning but he was just too far gone at the moment.

“No, no,” Joan cut in, voice firm but loving, "She’s not wrong, baby. Are you sleeping at all?”

“Enough,” LJ lied.

Miles barked a humorless laugh, "He’s lying.”

“Fuckin’ snitch,” LJ grumbled.

Rebecca leaned closer to the camera, eyes soft but sharp, "Lyle Augustus... your brother sent us your schedule. You can’t keep this up.”

“Mum, I’m fine...”

“You are not fine,” Joan interrupted, "And that’s not a judgment, sweetheart, it’s an observation. Law school is demanding enough when it’s the only thing on your plate but you’re also training like a professional athlete and getting thrown around a ring at least four nights a week.”

“And dating and keeping Ally,” Rebecca added.

“And helping Ash,” Joan continued.

“And being stubborn,” Rebecca tacked on.

Miles nodded, "And losing your ability to count to ten without shaking.”

LJ looked at all of them, exhaustion pulling at every line of his face, "I can’t just drop everything, okay? Finals are coming up. I have Aiden at Climax Control. I have...”

“Actually, bruv...it’s Alex.” Miles spoke up.

“Oh, yeah...Alex. Fuck...I can’t even keep them straight...” LJ said, rambling.

“LJ, love, you really need to slow down,” Joan said gently, "You need to allow yourself to breathe.”

He did, because she said it like she did when he was eleven and scared of screwing up a school presentation. Like it wasn’t a suggestion but instead as it was instructions.

Rebecca spoke next, voice softer, "Baby, you’ve prepared your whole life for law school. You were reading case law before you were reading chapter books. You love this.”

“I do,” he admitted, voice cracking at the edges.

“But you won’t make it to your finals,” Joan said plainly, “if you keep running yourself into the ground.”

Rebecca nodded, "And you won’t make it to your match if you’re too exhausted to lift your hands to protect yourself.”

LJ stared at his shoes for a few, then at the ring canvas and then eventually at Miles, who gave him a look that said: They’re right. And you know it.

Rebecca’s voice gentled further, "LJ, listen to me....You don’t have to prove anything to us or to anyone for that matter.”

Joan added, “Pushing yourself to collapse helps absolutely no one....not your career, not your future clients, not Ally, not Ashlynn... and certainly not you.”

LJ’s throat tightened, not in panic, not in anger but instead in relief he didn’t want to admit to, "What do I do then?” he finally whispered.

Miles clapped a hand on his shoulder, "First? You go home after this. And then you sleep and I mean actual sleep, not that 40-minute crash you do at the table.”

Rebecca smiled warmly, "Then you talk to your professors about adjusting your study plan.”

Joan nodded, "And you scale down training until after finals. Miles can help you make a schedule.”

“And LJ?” Rebecca said, leaning close again, “You’re not a failure for needing to slow down.”

“You’re a person,” Joan added softly, "A brilliant one. A capable one. And one who deserves to breathe.”

LJ’s eyes stung, suddenly, welled up with tears that quenched his blood-shot eyes. He blinked hard and willed them to fall for a moment, “Okay,” he said quietly, "Okay. I’ll... try.”

Miles squeezed his shoulder, "That’s all any of us want.”

Rebecca beamed, "We love you, sweetheart.”

“So much,” Joan echoed.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

They hung up, and the gym felt different. Sure, it was still loud, still echoing with grunts and slams but less suffocating.

Miles nudged him, "Alright, come on. Let’s get you home before you faceplant on the treadmill.”

LJ stood, slow but steady, "Thanks.”

Miles smirked, "Don’t thank me. Thank your moms. One thing I can say about them and my mum...and hell, even Carter’s mum and grams...they scared me more than Carter ever could.”

And for the first time that day, LJ genuinely laughed.

----------

The apartment was quiet in a way LJ hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

No buzzing phone. No vibrating gym bag. No frantic guilt about whether he was wasting time by sitting still. Just the soft tick of the kitchen clock and the whisper of late-afternoon light sliding across the table.

His casebook lay open in front of him, the same page he’d tried to read three nights in a row. But this time, the words didn’t seem to blur at the edges. His brain wasn’t fighting him. He wasn’t dragging himself through every sentence like he was trudging through wet cement.

It felt... possible.

He exhaled through his nose, almost afraid to move too abruptly and break the spell. He reread the paragraph again. And again. And then, shockingly, it actually made sense. Delivering a structured, linear understanding that law school hadn’t given him in weeks.

‘Holy shit,’ he thought. ‘Sleeping really does work.’

He almost laughed.

Footsteps padded down the hall, slow, soft, familiar. A moment later, Ally leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, hair pulled up into a messy bun she probably didn’t even remember doing. She wore one of his shirts again, something she insisted wasn’t intentional, even though she always gravitated toward them when she wanted comfort.

“You’re alive,” she murmured, lips curving into a teasing smile, "I was starting to wonder if the textbooks finally just... absorbed you.”

LJ sat back in his chair, stretching until his spine cracked, "Barely. But I think I figured out why I’ve been feeling like roadkill.”

“Oh?” she asked, walking toward him, "Do tell.”

He gave her a wry look, "Apparently sleep is a thing humans need. Who knew?”

Ally laughed, that warm, soft kind that always hit him right in the chest. She slid behind him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Her thumbs pressed into a knot of tension near his neck, and God, he didn’t realize how bad that spot had gotten.

“So Miles tattled on me to my mums,” LJ said, eyes closing.

“He didn’t tattle,” Ally corrected gently, "He cared and your moms care and Ashlynn cares. More importantly I care and you basically have an entire fan club dedicated to not letting you crash and burn.”

“I wasn’t crashing,” LJ argued, though the protest was weak, even to him, "Just... juggling...a lot.”

“Baby,” she murmured, squeezing his shoulders with affection and exasperation, “If you were juggling, you were doing it while blindfolded, on a moving motorcycle, during an earthquake...on fire.”

He snorted, "Okay, fair.”

Ally leaned down, kissing the side of his head, "Look at you now, though. Focused. Calm. Actually breathing at a normal human pace.”

He opened his eyes, glancing down at the casebook, "Yeah. I....I didn’t realize how foggy I’ve been. This is the first time I’ve read something without thinking I’m gonna throw the book out a window.”

“Now that is progress,” she said simply.

LJ’s gaze softened, "Thanks. For... y’know, all of it. Not giving up on me. Not calling me an idiot when I was pushing myself too hard.”

“Oh honey, I thought ‘idiot,’” Ally deadpanned, "I just didn’t say it.”

He laughed, head tipping back so he could look up at her, "You’re so mean.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately, yes I do.”

She circled around the table and slid into the chair beside him, letting her knee brush his, “Show me what you’re working on.”

“It’s a Torts brief,” he said, nudging the book toward her, "And... I think I actually get it today.”

“That’s because today your brain isn’t melting.”

He nodded, then let out a breath that had been hiding in his chest all day, "I was so scared I wasn’t cut out for this.”

“I know,” Ally said softly, resting her hand on his, "But you are. And now that you’re not trying to do everything at once, you’re finally giving yourself the chance to prove it.”

For a moment, nothing existed but her hand over his, the sunlight warming the wood beneath their elbows, and the quiet peace of a mind that had room to breathe again. He flipped the page of the casebook, feeling grounded. Centered. Ready.

“Alright,” LJ said, determination settling into his voice, "I should probably dive back into this while my brain is actually cooperating.”

But Ally didn’t respond right away. Instead, she closed the book gently with two fingers, her expression slow and warm and full of something he felt in his spine before he processed the look.

“You know...” she murmured, sliding her hand from the book to his cheek, “There are other ways to recharge your mind.”

LJ blinked, caught off guard, "Oh? And what, exactly, did you have in mind, Ms. Callaway?”

She stood from her chair, stepping between his knees. Her fingers rested under his chin, lifting it just enough for her lips to brush his jaw, "A study break. A real one. One that doesn’t involve torts or negligence or me pretending to understand any of that.”

A low sound escaped him before he could stop it, “Ally...”

“You’ve been pushing yourself so hard,” she whispered, her breath ghosting over his skin, "Let me help you unwind for a little bit.”

His hands found her hips on instinct, "You sure?”

Her laugh was soft, warm, and wicked in the gentlest way, "Baby, I’m the one offering.”

She slid backward, fingers hooking around his wrist as she started toward the hallway, toward their bedroom, giving him a look that made his heartbeat stumble.

“Come on,” Ally said, voice velvet, "Books will still be here in an hour.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the relief of finally breathing again, or maybe it was just Ally being Ally, the one person who could cut through his chaos with a touch but LJ didn’t hesitate.

He pushed back from the table and let her guide him away from the textbooks, away from the pressure, away from the need to constantly prove himself.

----------

Just Me, A Camera and a Room we all know

The camera flicked on with a low hum. The locker room lights were dim, one strip buzzing in the corner like it was seconds away from death. LJ stood with his hands braced on the counter beneath the mirror, staring at his own reflection, not defeated, not frantic, but simmering. The kind of simmer that precedes a full boil.

He lifted his head, eyes locking onto the lens.

“Alex Jones.”

The name alone pulled something taut in him.

“You’re riding high right now... and you should be. You walked into High Stakes and did what a lot of people didn’t think you were gonna do, you knocked off Alexander Raven. Congratulations on that by the way. You hit the stage, hit the lights, and proved to the world that after everything you’ve done, after everything you’ve been, you’ve still got it.”

He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the tape, grounding himself.

“And me? I wasn’t even on the card.”

There was no bitterness in his voice, just honesty. Heavy, quiet honesty.

“I got to watch High Stakes from the sidelines. I watched you win your match. I watched as my own brother retained his championship. I watched Carter defend the World Title. I watched Aiden, the guy who beat me, go out there and leave everything in that ring. And I sat there thinking... ‘Did I already peak? Did I already get my shot and blow it?’”

He shook his head.

“Missing High Stakes hurt. Losing the qualifier hurt especially hurt. Watching everyone else get their moment on the biggest show of the year, while mine slipped through my fingers? Yeah. That one cut deep.”

He lifted his gaze, voice steadying.

“But here’s the thing about pressure: it either crushes you... or it turns you into something else. Something sharper. Something more dangerous.”

His lips curved into a slow, tired, determined smile.

“And now? Now I’m standing across from Alex Jones. A multi-time champion. A guy who’s been around this business long enough to see people like me come and go like sparks in the dark.”

He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“But I’m not a spark. I’m not a flash in the pan. And I’m sure as hell not a background extra in someone else’s comeback story.”

He takes a sharp breath and something shifts, in his eyes, his demeanor, even his aura

“Alex... Jones.”

He let the name hang there. Not out of respect...more like out of annoyance.

“You know, I figured going into this match, I’d get the usual hype. ‘Veteran versus rising star.’ ‘Old guard versus new blood.’ ‘Alex Jones leading the charge of the past, LJ trying to claw his way to the future.’”

He huffed a humorless laugh. He pushed off the counter, pacing slowly, tension rolling off him in waves.

“But instead this is what we are more than likely going to hear. Wolfslair. It’s always Wolfslair with you, isn’t it? Like saying the name is supposed to scare me. Like dropping the brand you’ve stapled your entire identity to is enough to make me drop my head and fall in line. Like the second someone mentions Wolfslair, the rest of us are supposed to bow our heads and whisper, ‘Oh crap, here comes Alex Jones, head of the big bad scary faction. The one that LJ’s brother is a part of, even though he hasn’t needed them for a long ass time.”

He stopped pacing and lifted his chin.

“Mate... I don’t give a damn about Wolfslair.”

A beat.

“Let me say it louder, so it gets through all that veteran pride clogging your ears: I don’t give a single good God damn about Wolfslair.”

He flicked his wrist, dismissive, irritated.

“They, and I mean almost everyone in the locker room, all seem to want to call me the ‘new blood’? Fine. I am still in a way. I’ve been here for what ... a year and a half, give or take? I’m not supposed to be at your level yet. I’m not supposed to be standing across from the great Alex Jones in a main event. I’m not supposed to be in the same breath as the old guard, the vets, the ‘pillars’ of the company.”

His eyes sharpened.

“And yet... Here I am. And that just pisses you off, doesn’t it?”

He stepped forward, leaning in like he was confiding something important.

“You don’t want to admit a kid, a 23 year old law student, a one-and-a-half-year professional wrestler, someone who didn’t have a Hall-of-Fame resume handed to him, is already breathing down your neck.”

He straightened back up.

“Because that would mean the Wolfslair isn’t an untouchable dynasty. Yeah it’s produced some absolutely amazing talent from both men and women. But it does mean the old guard doesn’t decide who rises and who doesn’t. And you? You’d have to admit that the business is moving on whether you like it or not.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, tired frustration morphing into a heat that finally broke through the exhaustion.

“I keep hearing a lot of things....especially how I’m untested. That I haven’t earned it. That I don’t get to stand at your table until I’ve suffered long enough in the trenches you think you built.”

He scoffed.

“Alex... I’ve been put in far more than anyone is giving me any credit for. I have been all about this and bleeding and sweating for this place since day one. I’ve been fighting champions since the moment I walked into SCW. I’ve been through a lot, beaten within an inch of my limit, and guess what?”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m still here and I am only just beginning.”

He pointed to the floor beneath him.

“Not a single soul gets to tell me that I don’t or haven’t earned this. The match is booked, the main event is set, and the kid everyone keeps underestimating is the one sharing your spotlight.”

His voice dropped, quieter, heavier but the anger underneath was unmistakable.

“And the worst part is... you can’t even talk about me without dragging a part of Wolfslair into it. Yup, I lost to Aiden. Yup, Miles is my half-brother.”

His eyes burned.

“But I’m not just Miles’ kid brother. I’m LJ Kasey and I don’t need this idea of a supposed faction to stand toe-to-toe with you.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking off the irritation building in his shoulders.

“They are saying how this is old guard versus new blood? Fine. Let’s call it what it really is.”

He looked dead into the camera.

“It’s the guy who thinks he’s still running the show... versus the guy who actually gives a shit about the future of this company.”

He smirked. The look on his face was still a bit tired, slightly worn down, but just as defiant as ever.

“You walked into High Stakes and proved you’re still dangerous. Cool. Respect where it’s due but while you were out proving you’re still relevant... I was dealing with the fact that my shot, my path, my chance at High Stakes got ripped away.”

A pause.

“And now I get to take all that frustration... and put it directly on you.”

He stepped closer...close enough that the camera blurred at the edges.

“You wanna talk about legacy? You wanna talk about the old guard? You wanna talk about Wolfslair? Or knowing you, my brother....”

His voice dropped to a growl.

“None of that is gonna mean fuck-all or save you when that bell rings.”

He tapped the lens lightly.

“I’m done being polite, I’m done being patient and...most importantly, I’m done pretending like I’m beneath you. At Climax Control, you’re not fighting Miles’ clone. You’re not fighting Wolfslair’s next reject or whatever insult you’re cooking up. You’re fighting the man who’s walking into his own identity...and walking right through yours.”

A beat.

“And that, Alex? That’s what should scare you.”

The camera hung on his face, a little tired, obviously under pressure, stretched thin, but sharper and more determined than ever. Then he lifted his chin just a little.

“No shadows. No factions. No excuses. Just you and the future you can’t outrun.”

A final, razor-sharp stare.

“See you in the main event Alex. Bring that old guard pride. I’m bringing everything else.”