Max recalled the events somehow just a little over two hours ago, of finally winning back his title from Wardlow, who had turned on the Undisputed Kingdom when Adam's ankle had finally healed enough for him to return and he had confidently asked for 'his' title. Max scoffed to himself at the thought, wondering how Adam could have been stupid enough to truly believe that Wardlow would actually just hand over the glorious Triple B like it was a football. It was dumb, uncharacteristically dumb for him, as Max had learned. And he had indeed learned it the hard way.
The betrayal at World's End was only a few months ago and yet the wounds were, as much as it pained him to admit it, still raw. Max hadn't trusted anyone since then, no. He had come back from his injury, his shoulder healing seemingly fuelled by the pure sting of betrayal, and he reclaimed his name. Slowly, slowly, but surely. His hair was shorter again, the sides buzzed; he was a man of dress shirts once more, having taken fabric scissors to those Better Than You Bay Bay and Double Clothesline t-shirts a long time ago. He donned his trusty scarf, having burned his favourite clone because no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get Adam's scent off it. He was, once again, in all purposes but physically, the Devil. Who needs a mask to show it? In all truth he was technically a babyface, but would he still hold those intrinsic values Adam had edged into him? Hell no. In this company you couldn't trust anyone, and Max hated himself every day for many months for not maintaining that strong view despite Adam. Adam's manipulation, his fucking game. No. Max worked best on his own. He was a true champ, and no one would ever take that away from him again.
a little snippet of a fic im working on because worlds end stuck a knife in my heart that i haven’t been able to pull out yet.
TheVoidVoyager on ao3