Disclaimer: Shannon, Jeff, and Shane belong to the WWE. I own no one. *sob*
Chapter One
The air of the bar is thick, visibly gray, causing my breath to come in sharp ragged intakes, shards of glass and nicotine and other foreign objects scraping my insides. It hurts but I can deal – I douse the burning, fiery pain with alcohol. Hmm… bad choice of words, there. I suppose if I weren't feeling so numb, I would actually realize the intensity of the burning… gee, what a sacrifice.
I'm on my fifth – or was it seventh – drink, and well on my way to descending into Shannon's Pathetic Self-Deprecating Pit of Pity and Despair and Angst, oh my. All aboard the haunted one-way train to the Nowhere that is Everywhere, population… you, today the weather is murky, remember to set your watches back about a hundred years, thank you and enjoy. Yep, it's time to go home, all right. But suddenly I'm clapped on the shoulder from behind, so forcefully I almost bend over double and hit the bar with my forehead. S'okay – I was in the process of killing those brain cells anyway. I turn around to face my assailant, feigning the ability to stand steadily.
"Shannon, you dork! Whaddya doing sitting here all by your lonesome?" You're squinting at me, and I wonder if it's because you're seeing double, or if you find it as difficult to see through the layers of smoke as I do.
I shrug, and you reach out to swat my shoulder again – missing terribly and clipping me on the ear instead. "We've all got a table in the far corner there. Come on," you say, wrapping your arm around me either in an act of basic drunken camaraderie or simply for support. I allow myself to be led away from the bar, leaning into you as we squeeze through a crowd, tempted to just close my eyes and breathe in your scent. Actually, I do. Underneath the layers of smoke and sweat and cheap perfume and even cheaper cologne, is a scent that is so undeniably you. So familiar yet so very good. Almost masked by a few beers too many, but I can tell it's there. I know how to find it. And I know that I want it. I would trade real air if it meant that I could just breathe you.
Something hard strikes my shins, causing me to stop in my path. I blink a few times, attempting to focus (wasn't the floor slanting toward the wall just a moment ago? I'd been tilting my head to retain my equilibrium) and realize we've crossed the room and I'm standing before a cramped booth littered with pitchers and mugs, broken pretzels and something grainy that I assume is salt. Waving off the half-hearted, slurred greetings, I pull up the chair I'd walked into and sit down. My drink left back at the bar, I find a glass plunked down in front of me, immediately filled to the brim with frothy golden liquid.
"Drink up," the drink-filler says to me, and who am I to disobey? I lift the glass to my lips, but something in the corner of my eye catches my attention. Jeff, chin propped up on both fists, elbows on the table, eyeing me through locks of bright blue hair that fall over his face. He may be glaring at me, making no attempt to mask his sullen expression, but yet… something about him… he almost glows. How else would I have been drawn to him, when I was not in the mood to look at or pay attention to anyone? The tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips and I watch, transfixed. His expression remained the same the entire time. After blinking a couple times and staring back (oh, how subtle am I?), I come to believe I imagined that (thank you, alcohol. Thank you, hormones).
"Shane," slurs a girl I don't recognize, from the seat next to Jeff's, "D'you ever realize… you have really green hair?" She points across the table and my gaze follows her finger to you. It barely registers that Jeff's does the same.
"Izzat so?" smiling goofily you raise a hand to run your fingers through the vivid green locks. My vision blurs then, the stinging of the smoky air finally becoming too much and causing my eyes to water like crazy. I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor, and you look to me, eyebrows raised.
"I'm going out for some air," I mutter, turning away from the table as I rub my eyes furiously with my fists. Walking away, I hear a similar scraping of a chair, and footsteps coming after me. A firm hand is placed on my shoulder, and with a push, I'm all but led out of the bar.
Outside, the night air is so pure I almost weep – actually, I probably would have, had I not already been crying rivers. The hand on my shoulder is removed, only to push me back to the side of the building. Jeff slumps forcefully against the wall beside me, hands in his pockets, collar of his jacket upturned. He seems to almost be pulling into himself.
"Y'know, he's oblivious," he says, half-squinting, half-scowling at some spot across the street.
I draw my sleeve across my eyes and blink a few times. "What?"
"He might be blind, but I'm not."
I scoff. "I don't know what you're on about." Closing my eyes, I rub my temples.
Jeff turns slightly to look at me, a sardonic smirk on his face. For a moment he just stares, and it becomes so unnerving I have to stare right back.
"What?"
"Shannon…" he shakes his head and chuckles, looking at something either on my forehead or above it. I'm tempted to turn around and see what's so damn interesting.
"What?" I demand again.
"Never mind. I'll wait until you're sober. Look, I'm calling a cab and going home. You need a ride?" He pushes himself off the wall and is walking back into the bar before I can answer.
