The door to the apartment creaked open, and LJ stepped inside with his backpack slung over one shoulder, exhaustion written all over his face after a full day of classes. He barely had time to kick off his shoes before....
WHUMP.
His shin smacked into a cardboard box stacked directly in the entryway.
“Bloody hell!” LJ yelped, stumbling forward as a tower of empty boxes teetered like a drunk giant. He pinwheeled his arms to try and catch himself, but gravity won out, and he toppled backward into the heap. The crash echoed through the apartment, followed by the rustle of flattened cardboard flopping over him like a bad stage curtain.
From deeper inside the apartment came Ally’s voice, muffled and frantic.
“Don’t...! Careful with those, I haven’t sorted...!”
Too late.
LJ poked his head out of the box pile, hair sticking up, one flattened box draped over his shoulders like a cape. He blinked, wide-eyed, then muttered, “I see the move-in went well...”
Ally emerged from the hallway, arms full of clothes hangers and looking completely frazzled. Strands of her dark hair had fallen loose from the bun she’d started the day with, and she had the look of someone who had been in mortal combat with clutter for hours.
She stopped dead when she saw him half-buried in cardboard. Slowly, she pressed her lips together, "Oh my GOD! Are you okay?”
LJ raised a finger, noble and serious, "I’ll live. But the boxes...the boxes didn’t make it, in fact I think one of these boxes is attempting to have relations with me.”
That cracked her, a laugh slipped out despite herself. She set the hangers on a chair and moved over to help dig him out, though she wasn’t quick about it.
“Honestly, LJ, I told you I was bringing a lot of stuff.”
He stood, brushing off dust dramatically, "You didn’t say you were bringing a bloody department store.”
“Ashlynn needs her things. I need my things. We have lives you know, and not everything could just....vanish.”
“No, instead it’s multiplied.” LJ shot her a playful grin, "I’m beginning to think the boxes breed when I’m not looking. Like gremlins.”
Ally smacked him lightly on the arm, though she was still laughing, "Don’t tempt me to throw you in with them.”
LJ leaned against the counter, still catching his breath from the ambush, "I’m starting to think law school is easier than this. At least there I know what I’m up against. Here?” He gestured at the chaos, "This is a war zone.”
Ally sighed, then nudged him with her hip, "Well, soldier, grab a box and help. You live here too, remember?”
He gave her a look, then grabbed the nearest empty one and plopped it over his head like a helmet, "Fine. Lead the way, Commander.”
Ally rolled her eyes, but her grin lingered as she leaned in and kissed him through his cardboard "armor."
“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured.
“Ridiculous and helpful,” he corrected, muffled under the box, "Don’t forget helpful.”
They wrestled with boxes for another hour, shoving empties into corners, taping some shut, flattening others. At one point, LJ discovered a stack labeled “Ashlynn’s Shoes” and nearly fainted at the sheer number.
“How many pairs of feet does your daughter have?” he asked incredulously.
Ally only shot him a look that told him to keep moving.
Eventually, though, the floor cleared enough that they could see more carpet than cardboard, and the place began to look less like a storage unit and more like a home.
LJ dropped onto the couch, chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath, "If we ever move again, I’m hiring professionals. Or burning everything. One of the two.”
Ally sat beside him, curling her legs under her, her body leaning naturally into his side. She looked tired, but in that content, satisfied way of someone who had fought through a long day and made progress.
For a moment, silence fell between them, the kind that felt comfortable rather than empty. LJ turned his head slightly, studying her profile as she brushed a stray hair from her cheek.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She glanced at him, brow arched, "What?”
He smiled faintly, a little crooked, but honest, "This feels right. You being here. Ashlynn’s things here. All of it. I thought I’d hate losing my space, but...I don’t. Not even a little.”
Ally let out a slow breath, her eyes softening. She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand, her thumb brushing lightly along his jaw, "That’s because you’re stubborn, but you’ve got a good heart.”
“A good heart?” he teased, leaning into her touch, "So not just a dumb British idiot, then?”
Her lips curved, "Not at all. You’re my dumb British idiot.”
LJ chuckled, then caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. The exhaustion of the day faded for a moment as he leaned closer, their foreheads brushing together.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.
“Me too,” she murmured back, before closing the space and kissing him softly, tenderly, the world of boxes and chaos forgotten for now.
When they pulled back, LJ smirked, "Though next time, remind me to set ground rules: fewer shoes, fewer boxes, and absolutely no surprise shin attacks.”
Ally laughed against his shoulder, then kissed him again just to shut him up. The kiss deepened just a little, LJ’s hand sliding instinctively around Ally’s waist, when the front door creaked open.
“Ugh, finally,” came Ashlynn’s voice, tired but dramatic in that way only a teenager could master, "Do you two have any idea how many trips I had to make with those grocery bags...”
She stopped dead, halfway through the threshold, eyes flicking between her mom and LJ tangled together on the couch.
“...Seriously?” she deadpanned, one brow shooting up, "I’m gone for thirty minutes and you guys turn this place into a rom-com?”
Ally broke the kiss instantly, face flushing, while LJ tried, and failed, not to grin, "Hey, you didn’t knock,” he said with a shrug, tone teasing, "That’s on you.”
Ashlynn rolled her eyes, marching past them with a grocery bag slung over her arm, "It’s my house now too, remember? You invited me. No knock required.”
“Yeah, well,” LJ muttered as she disappeared into the kitchen, “Remind me to set rules about walking in on private moments.”
From the kitchen came the rustle of bags, followed by Ashlynn’s voice: “Rule number one: stop making out in the living room like you’re sixteen. God, it’s embarrassing.”
Ally covered her face with her hand, but she was laughing, her shoulders shaking as LJ sat back, utterly unbothered.
“I like her,” he said smugly, "She keeps you honest.”
Ally shot him a look but couldn’t suppress her smile, "She’s going to eat you alive, you know.”
“Good thing I can handle myself,” LJ replied with a wink, just as Ashlynn reappeared holding up a box of cereal.
“Also, we’re out of milk,” she announced matter-of-factly, "And you’re the one driving, LJ.”
He groaned, flopping back into the cushions, while Ally laughed until her sides hurt.
------
The Miami night was humid, the glow of neon lights outside his hotel window casting strange shapes against the wall. LJ Kasey sat forward on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped. The hum of traffic far below filled the silence, but in his head, it was already replaced by the clanging of steel, the shrieks of a crowd, the dull thud of fists meeting flesh.
“Violent Conduct. The Fun House. A cage twisted into something out of a fever dream. Steel bars wrapped in the grotesque trappings of a carnival gone wrong, chains dangling like decorations, chairs suspended like prizes at a midway booth, kendo sticks swaying like piñatas waiting to burst. The smell of sweat and blood would mix with the stench of anticipation, and there would be no exits, no running, no slipping through the cracks. Just four souls trapped in chaos, fighting until only one team was left standing.”
And this time, it wasn’t just him.
“I’m just paraphrasing of course...and at least I don’t have to go at this one alone.”
LJ exhaled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he thought of Ally. His partner. His anchor. His equal. The two of them had already proven their chemistry outside the ring, now they’d prove it inside one of the most sadistic structures SCW could conjure.
But first, Anthrax.
LJ’s brow furrowed, his voice low, steady, when he finally spoke to the camera set up across from him.
“Anthrax,” he said, the name dripping with disdain, "Funny how you vanish, disappear into the shadows, like a ghost that SCW forgot about. And now, just when the Fun House opens its doors, you crawl back into the spotlight like some bad memory nobody wanted to relive. You’ve made a career out of chaos, out of being unpredictable, out of making people fear what you’ll do next. But let me make one thing perfectly clear...”
He leaned forward, intensity sharpening his tone.
“You don’t scare me. You don’t intimidate me. Because I welcome the chaos. I thrive in it. This cage, this carnival of carnage, it isn’t your playground. It’s our proving ground. Mine and Ally’s. You’ve made a career out of being the freak in the shadows. The one people whisper about, the nightmare they hope doesn’t get booked across from them. For years, you thrived on it all, the intimidation, unpredictability, the smell of fear before the bell even rang. And for a long time, I admit... It worked. People cracked under it. People folded.”
His lips curled into something sharper, the faintest edge of a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
“But here’s the problem with ghosts, Anthrax, they fade. You’ve been gone. Disappeared. And when you finally show your face again, you think you can just walk into a Fun House match and make it yours? You think you’re still the monster under the bed?”
LJ leaned forward, voice dropping, intensity climbing.
“You’re not the monster anymore. You’re a relic. A shadow of what you used to be. And I’m the one dragging you out into the light. You call yourself unpredictable, dangerous, unhinged? Good. I want that. Because every punch, every chair, every chain you swing at me in that cage, I’ll eat it, and I’ll keep coming. And when you finally realize you can’t break me, when you see I don’t fear you — that’s when the real nightmare starts.”
He stood, pacing slowly, running a hand through his hair as the words poured out, conviction in every syllable.
“You see, people still look at me and think ‘rookie,’ think ‘Miles’ little brother,’ think I’m just some Brit lucky to get a few breaks. But at Violent Conduct, in the middle of that nightmare carnival, there won’t be any luck. Just survival. And I plan to do more than survive, I plan to dominate. To take every twisted weapon, every ounce of pain, and use it to send a message loud enough that the entire SCW universe won’t be able to ignore it.”
He stopped pacing, gaze locked on the camera, his voice softening but sharpening like a blade.
“And Ally? She’s not some accessory in this fight. She’s not just my other half, she’s a weapon all her own. Twisted Sister doesn’t know what she’s walking into. Because together, me and Ally aren’t two individuals. We’re a storm. A force. And when the Fun House doors slam shut, it’s going to be Anthrax and Sister learning firsthand what happens when you underestimate us.”
LJ let a grin spread across his face, equal parts menace and anticipation.
“The carnival may belong to you on paper, Anthrax. But when that bell rings? The Fun House belongs to us.”
He stopped pacing, eyes narrowing, his tone dropping like a hammer.
“You think you’re chaos, Anthrax? You haven’t seen anything yet. I’m sick of waiting for opportunity. Sick of being told to wait my turn. This is my turn. This is our turn. And at Violent Conduct, you’re not going to be the monster they remember, you’re going to be the example.”
The hotel room door clicked open, and Ally stepped in quietly. She didn’t speak, just leaned against the frame, watching him with that steady gaze that always cut through the noise. LJ glanced her way, a brief grin breaking through his intensity before he looked back to the camera.
“And with her by my side? That carnival doesn’t stand a chance.”
He reached over, flicked the camera off. The screen went black.
