CM Punk gazed around the room, capturing all of what it had to offer; the glistening chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the beautiful china laid onto the table, the cabinets shining gracefully against the light from the chandelier, and the love of his life at his side.

"Do you like it?" Chris asked a giddy smirk set onto his disheveled, unshaven face.

CM Punk turned to his lover and smiled. "Of course I love it, Jeri." He turned his attention to the table for a moment, and captured the scene in his brain again, hoping to never lose the memory. Finally grasping Jericho's hands in his, he placed his lips to Chris' sweet lips, reveling in the moment.

Chris broke the kiss, and glanced into his boyfriend's glittering eyes. "Sit down, please, I spent forever on this."

Punk laughed carefully and pulled out Jericho's seat, smiling warmly at the blush Jericho's cheeks made when he pushed him in. Galloping over to the other side of the table, and listening to Chris' hushed giggle, Punk accidentally tripped on one of the extra mingling chairs surrounding the table. "Shit!" Punk murmured, watching a delicate china plate tinkle on the edge of the table, and then fall and smash to pieces on the mahogany floor. Groaning quietly, he picked up the larger chunks into his hand and tossed them into the trash bin, and swept the smaller pieces under the table with the back of his hand, as to not disappoint Chris for breaking his expensive plate.

"Are you okay down there?" Jericho asked, his voice a mix of sarcasm and held-back laughter. Punk popped his head up and nodded, a small smirk forming on his face as Jericho smiled at him. "I'm always okay 'down there'," Punk said, a laughter rumbling deep in his throat as Jericho smile-blushed.

"Would you care to join me for a lovely dinner, designed, created, and cooked by my professional chef, Alfonso, Mr. Brooks?" Jericho asked, formal, staring into the brown eyes of CM Punk.

CM Punk, taken aback, stared back at Chris. "Yes, yes I would care to join you, Mr. Jericho." Jericho smiled, and called his chef in. "Bring it in, please." Alfonso nodded, winking carefully at Punk as he turned around, signaling that he'd enjoy what he was going to bring out.

"Well, Chris, thank you much for the meal," CM Punk said, his voice applying to the formal character he was portraying. Jericho nodded at him. "Much appreciated, Mr. Brooks. Much appreciated." Blotting his scruffy beard, Chris called Alfonso in to clear the table. As they waited for Alfonso to clear off the table and leave them be, they texted under the soft cotton tablecloth of the table.

"There you go, Mr. Irvine," Alfonso murmured, walking away to give them privacy. "So, what do you have planned for me now, Chris?" Chris looked into CM Punk's eyes knowingly, and he automatically knew. "Ooh, seductive tonight, are we?" Punk purred softly, the purr escaping his throat lovingly. Stretching across the small, circular table, Punk's lips met Chris' in a sweet rush. Chris kissed back.

Slowly pushing his tongue into Jericho's mouth, Punk took one hand and balanced himself on the table, and used the other one to hold onto the back of Chris' neck, and pulled him closer. Chris got out of his seat and kneeled onto the table, allowing Punk the use of both of his hands. "This is slightly uncomfortable…" Chris moaned in a drawn out tone in Punk's mouth. Punk, sensing Jericho's situation, starting to unzip his pants. "Better," Jericho whispered as Punk pulled them all the way down. Before they got too carried away, they noticed a loud coughing sound, a more subtle way of saying that someone was in the room. They looked up and saw Alfonso, somewhat horrified, holding a bottle of Windex and a cloth to wipe down the table with. "I-uh, I'll be in the other-" Alfonso said, using his thumbs to point to the doors before he ran through them. Punk leaned down into Chris' face and they both laughed before enveloping into a series of small kisses.

The next morning, CM Punk leaned over to his left, like he normally did, and punched Jericho lightly in the bicep. Instead of opening his eyes, somewhat terrified, before realizing what happened, Jericho laid there, limp. He didn't seem to move either. CM Punk curiously lifted the sheet off of him, and noticed that he in fact wasn't moving. "Jericho? Jer-i-choo? Chris? Chris! Chris…! CHRIS!" Punk shook him nervously, and then decided to feel his pulse, to find he didn't have one.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Punk repeated, bounding out of his bed and running to his charging cell phone on the table. He quickly picked it up and dialed 911 with minimal effort.

Hello, you have reached emergency services, what is your emergency?

"Hi, I just woke up to realize my friend has no pulse, and he's not breathing. Can you like, come and take him to a hospital?"

Yes, what's your address?

"Uh, 237 Burbine Street."

An EMT will arrive shortly. Would you care to stay on the phone with me as medical teams are dispatched?

"Y-yes please," Punk swallowed nervously, fighting back tears that were pinching at the back of his eyes.

Has he taken an unreasonable amount of medication or drug in the past 24 hours?

"No."

Has he eaten anything he's allergic to?

"No."

Okay. Was he acting fine before you went to bed?

"Yes, he was walking around like he normally does, doing everyday things, and being normal."

An EMT has arrived, sir, they'll take it from here.

"T-thank you, ma'am. Good-bye."

Phil hung up his phone, and attempted to swallow, but failed as a huge ball of nervousness engulfed his throat. A few men and women dressed in white and black ran in, and asked him where Jericho was. One stayed with Punk as the reality hit him hard and he began to sob. A medical personnel quietly walked into the dining room and looked up into Punk's eyes. His face told it all. "No…This can't be for real." CM Punk tilted his head up to the ceiling and agreed to a few tears as they slowly trickled down his pale face. "It's not that bad," He started. "Chris is actually in a coma, he's hanging on."

"How did he get into a coma?!"

"We really don't know."

CM Punk walked into the bedroom again and took a look at Chris as they wheeled him out. "Where are you taking him?" The personnel looked at him. "We're taking him to the city hospital to get him on life support. I'd advise you to stay here for a while, and come in a few hours." CM Punk sighed. "Can I at least have a minute to say good-bye, you know, in case…" He didn't bother finishing the sentence. They nodded, and stood outside of the closed room.

"Chris, Te amo tanto. Consiga por favor mejor. No se si puedo vivir sin usted." One last tear dropped down Punk's face as he told Chris how much he loved him, how much he wanted him to get better, and that he could never live without him, in his second language. Hearing the silence in the room, the men came back in. "Are you ready?" CM Punk nodded. "Si, I mean, yes."

CM Punk sat by Chris' unconscious, comatose body, and held his hand. His mind drifted off to the previous night.

Hey Chris, what's the matter?

Nothing, just a bit tired.

Are you sure that's it?

Yes, Punk, Christ. You're more annoying than a freaking bee.

Jeez. Someone is a little pissy.

Shut up, asshole.

I thought you loved me.

I fucking do.

Then why are you being a bitch?

Because you provoked it!

Shut up.

No, you shut up. Ass.

Chris! Shut the fuck up! I'm not being the bitch in this situation. You are!

I fucking hate you, bitch!

Chris, Jesus Christ! Why the fuck are you so fucking pissed off?!

I don't feel good.

Put a sock in it and just friggin' go to bed.

Fine, I will, jackass.

CM Punk sighed again, and allowed a few final tears to fall down his cheeks quickly, before he rubbed them away with his sweatshirt. A nurse stationed near Chris reached out her hand and placed it on Punk's shoulder. "I have a feeling Mr. Chris is a fighter, isn't he? You've seen his matches, doll, and I'm sure he's going to fight through this and pull through."

CM Punk nodded slightly and angled his head down at the floor. He felt numb all over. "Why was I such a bitch to him?" He mumbled quietly to himself. Gripping Chris' hand slightly firmer, Punk looked up at the nurse. "Can we have a moment alone, please?" The nurse nodded, and quietly made her exit out of the room and stood by the closed door.

Punk angled his head, so he was looking at Jericho, as well as looking up and out the window. "I know I was a total asshole, but, please, come back to me, Chris. I love you more than words can describe, and it's been that way for a long time. You know that. You've changed my whole personality for the better; you made me believe in love again. You've made me a changed man. And I can never repay you for that. But the point is, Chris, I would be a dead man without you by my side. I need you to point out the good and bad in every situation, and I feel the need to protect you. And this is mentally killing me right now," Punk turned his gaze to the window, and looked up at the clouds. "God, if you could make Chris stay with me, I'd be the luckiest man on this planet. In this whole world, actually. If you can find it in your heart, please, please let him live." CM Punk hung his head down and sighed slowly, before rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

The nurse walked back in. "Are you through, hun?" Punk rubbed his eyes, exhausted, and nodded. "I think I'm going to take a nap." The nurse nodded, and stepped to the other side of the room and sat down, monitoring Chris' vital signs from a distance. CM Punk slumped into his seat, yawned lazily, and closed his eyes with minimal effort, drowning into a deep sleep.

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