So what? I'm still a rock star
I got my rock moves and I don't need you
~ So what by Pink ~

July, 2002

The arena was packed, a mass of humanity lay at his feet as Chris Jericho stared out into a mess of people; their figures blending into one under the shadowed lighting of the AT & T center, a terse smile graced his features as he surveyed them.

It seemed fitting that Fozzy's first major concert took place in the city the band had originated from, Chris was more than happy to give back to the Lonestar state. There was no law that decreed he had to like San Antonio though; no matter how indebted he was to the state. In fact he was perfectly within his rights to despise the place. As Bobby Brown would tell him, it was his prerogative.

He'd swiftly discovered that it didn't matter how many fans had crammed before him to lay worship at the altar of rock metal; the one person Chris loathed to see was the only person he could focus on. It was as if the crowd before him had parted; allowing the sea of turmoil to expose the puppeteer behind the heartbreak.

Heart pulsating to the beat of panic and resentment, he suppressed himself deeper in his alter ego, relishing the confidence of Mongoose McQueen, his voice torn and harsh as he screamed his frustrations against a rapid fire drum beat, bleeding animosity to the arena.
For as long as he kept his concentration on the song list, as long as his fingers remained wrapped around the microphone, knuckles flashing white from the urgency to maintain his grip on 2002,he would be alright.

As long as he fought to stay seeped in the persona of Fozzy's fictitious lead singer there was no way he could find himself back on the hot, august night of 1999.

There was no way he would wind up back in Shawn Michaels' arms.

August, 1999

Shawn sat at the gorilla position, his hands knotted behind his head, feet stretched outwards. It was a trick he'd perfected over the years as a cure to his own boredom. As much as he liked promo work it was wrestling that enticed him. He yearned to enthral and excel in his craft but a degenerative disc brought a hasty finish to those desires.

He was reduced to nothing more than a mouthpiece, a pretty poster boy for the Federation, paraded around like some corporate doll whenever Vince needed someone to strike a deal on his behalf. If in doubt, rope Shawn in. He was a master of manipulation after all.
He sighed, stretching his limbs until the joints cracked. A sick sense of pleasure ran through him at the pop, he pulled his cowboy hat further down his brow, his features covered by black velvet, shrouding the arena corridor from view as tedium claimed him with a numbing stealth.

Where the hell was Hunter? The one man who actually had a genuine affinity for him was MIA yet again.

The thought barraged him as he succumbed to the loneliness of mass hatred. Unpopularity was his badge of honour amongst the boys; he still hadn't shaken the well earned heat for being the most selfish man on the roster, even after grudgingly acquiescing in forced retirement over a year ago.

He emitted a growl of annoyance as he was jolted mercilessly from his musing. Shawn rived the cowboy hat from his face, glowered down at the man splayed unflatteringly against the tiles.

Red faced and raging, the twisted features of Chris Jericho glared back at him.

Chris swallowed his indignation at the sight of his childhood hero. He rose to his feet, brushed his pants off in an attempt to prevent himself from staring into fiery storms of displeasure. His hands shaking slightly, he mentally berated himself for acting so school girlish in front of the elder man.

"If you wanted my attention you could have tapped me on the shoulder, there was no need to throw yourself at my feet".

Chris faltered at the frosty drawl, his heart slowed slightly as he sensed the amusement wrapped in the southern lilt.

"I wasn't throwing myself at your feet" he replied, "you were sprawled all over the place like an assclown and I tripped-"

"Assclown?"Shawn interrupted; the hearty laugh broke free, his eyes crinkling at the corners in delight.

Chris drank every little detail in, cherishing each chuckle of appreciation, revelling in the fact that Shawn Michaels was not only speaking to him, but conversing with him as if he were an equal. Horror stories flocked HBK, in fact a serial killer would probably garner a better reception backstage than the cocky Texan did and that was saying something.

"Yeah an assclown" Chris repeated, his voice steeled with a fresh wave of confidence.

"I've been called a lot of things but assclown?" Shawn sniggered, "Is that meant to hit hard, cut deep?"

Chris shrugged, taking Shawn's mockery in his stride. Compared to some of the tales the vets weaved, this was Michaels being downright pleasant.

"Besides how else am I supposed to sit?" enquired Shawn, stretching his arms above his head. He openly smirked as his shirt rose exposing his sun kissed torso, tanned flesh rippled beneath the flickering lights of the hallway.

"Like what you see?"

The smirk only deepened as Chris blushed crimson, embarrassment flooded the young Canadian as he stood, trapped like a deer in headlights.

"Sorry" he croaked, mortification stifling his ability to speak.

"Don't be, lesser men than you have fawned over my sexy chest"

Leisurely Shawn smoothed the wrinkled fabric back into place.

Chris raised an eyebrow at Shawn's boastfulness, the brash swagger nothing more than bravado to his keen eye.

In a world where height and muscle equated glory status, the vertically challenged and the lean had to compensate with huge egos and an insatiable hunger for the business.

Chris himself had adopted the lightening rod persona of Y2J, debuting the quick-quipping character to a sold out crowd, but even he could not hold a candle to the arrogance of the Heartbreak kid. The one difference between them being that Chris could disentangle his WWF character from the man beneath, Shawn's character seemed to blur the lines between wrestling and reality. With Shawn no one was ever sure if his smugness came from HBK or himself.

"I leave a lot of people speechless" Shawn snapped obnoxiously at his gum, the bubble popping sharply in the silence dragging Chris back into the conversation. His pointed remark did not go amiss.

"Yeah? Me too" Chris fired back.

Shawn flashed a grin of delight at finding one as seemingly cocksure as he. He'd heard the rumblings, passed through the grapevine from Vince. He knew the man stood before him draped in more spangles than his country's banner was Chris Jericho. He also knew that Vince liked him, the kid whom WCW, the despised enemy, had supposedly thought to bill as the next Shawn Michaels.

Were it not for the blatant admiration and adulation shining in the eyes of the young guy before him Shawn would dismiss him as a wannabe and send him on his way. There was something about him that prevented Shawn from disregarding him though, a certain je ne sais quoi if he were to be clichéd.

A major lust if he were to be realistic.

For he had to admit that Chris was more than average, God had dealt him a strong hand in the looks department. Bestowing him with sultry russet spheres, pouting lips and a golden mane to frame his fresh features, Chris was as appealing as Shawn to some.

"Does your hairstyle leave folks speechless?" Shawn cracked as he boldly reached forward, tucking a stray strand behind Chris' ear. He felt the young man stiffen beneath his touch, the crackle of chemistry scorched between them as they exchanged teasing banter.

Chris wasn't as promiscuous as his hero, he may have imitated his idol with his style and character to begin with, but the underlying morals of Chris Jericho the man far surpassed the immorality of the personality in the ring. Shawn however radiated wanton, his reputation far exceeded him.

"Nothing wrong with my hairstyle" replied Chris softly

Shawn cast his gaze across the rampant locks; a flippant smile languidly crept over him, his cheeks dimpled at Chris' reluctance to take his ridicule lying down. He enjoyed a challenge, even if it was blatantly a pre-determined game of cat and mouse.

"No? You think if I stick my finger in an electric socket it'll go the same way?"

Chris stared into burning blue orbs of curiosity. They danced and flitted with shadows of wonder, the thrill of answering the unknown imprinted amongst the greyish navy. Any fool could figure that Shawn had no interest in swapping fashion tips with Jericho.

Plunging into the inevitable, Chris mustered the courage to subtly request Shawn's companionship.

"No idea. You can always try; I have a socket back at my hotel room"

Shawn mulled the invitation over silently, ran his tongue over cracked and frayed lips as he contemplated. He was tempted, no doubt about it.

The whole game depended on Shawn's response, to see if the Texan was actually willing to hedge for checkmate in their bout of flirtation.
Why not? It wasn't like he'd see the kid very often. He was on a contract of "wait and see" and was only drafted into the show when his boredom gave him cabin fever anyway.

"Hell kid, let's go" he announced, rising. Once upright he yanked the cowboy hat forward so that it slouched across his eyes, he adorned Chris possessively, leaving the arena with his protégé.

July, 2002

Shawn loitered against the exit of the arena, one foot resting firmly against the brick wall as he impatiently waited for Chris to leave the building. The concert had passed him in a blur, ever since Chris had spotted him from the stage he'd awaited security's arrival to drive him from the masses, to cast him aside as penance for his crimes.

No penance had yet to be paid however, lightening hadn't struck his wretched figure, so here he stood, awaiting the wronged so that he could plead forgiveness.

The door burst open as the band spilled from the stadium, Shawn startled, and azure globes of nervousness rose to meet dark slits of antipathy.

Hostility exuded from every pore, his form a fortress of defensiveness as Chris stood frozen in his tracks entranced and enraged by Shawn's audacity.

"What the f*** do you want?"

The hiss was blunt and torn with contempt.

Wounded by such animosity Shawn retreated into his shell of stubbornness, choosing to be egotistical rather than apologetic as he had planned.

"Forget it" he snarled, "you're not worth my time"

The jibe stung, even if Chris could note the disingenuousness behind it. Shawn was too suave a liar to have his comments taken at face value. Nevertheless when he started lashing insults with his acid tongue he had the potential to cut deep, drawing the blood of insecurity from his victims. Shawn was wracked with self-doubt himself so knew exactly how to crumble the self esteem of others with well timed words of scorn.

Disinclined to be abandoned without explanation for the second time Chris stood his ground, taking a step forward, eyes ablaze with abhorrence.

"Tell me why you're wasting my time or do what you're good at and leave me the hell alone" he spat watching Shawn visibly flinch at the venom dripping from his words.

He watched as Shawn Michaels battled with his conscience in the parking lot, the image tainted by the fact that there was even an ounce of conflict to begin with.

August, 1999

They were barely in the room when the kissing began, frantically seeking mouths they entwined themselves in hungry kisses.

For Chris it was the accumulation of a ten year crush that spurred him on, the taste of spearmint against his tongue was tantalising, Shawn tasted of the gum he so loved to chew, of tobacco and of victory.

Chris had longed for him since watching the grainy AWA footage of the Rockers, he had always loved Shawn in excess, and he'd reverenced him and craved his acknowledgement.

Now a decade had passed and his hankerings were coming to fruition as Shawn entangled his fingers in his hair, threading the golden tresses through his hands as his kisses became more urgent.

Pinned against the wall, lost in the dizzy heights of lust and love Chris did not pause to question Shawn's motives, assuming that the elder man's desire for him meant that he too harboured unspoken declarations.

But here, with Shawn Michaels so close, logic abandoned him as he preferred to wallow in his gullibility as Shawn tried to devour him with passion.

Somewhere between the doorway and the bed they shed their layers, clothes peeled recklessly from smouldering bodies until they fell to the bed, tangled and bare against the linen sheets.

Blackness had faded to grey when Shawn next opened his eyes, the night melting into the dawn as he softly unravelled himself from Chris' endearing hold.

He yanked discarded jeans on quickly, found his shirt and pulled it over his head silently. He crept from the room, stiffening in the doorway as his forsaken lover stirred beneath the sheets before drifting back into his slumber.

A pang of regret shot through him as watched the young man sleep awash in a silver hue from the weaning moonlight.

The regret quickly fortified to resentment, he hadn't promised a damn thing. He was justified in leaving, had only felt smothered by Chris' affection anyway. Nobody was meant to grow attached to him like that, especially in such a short space of time. He was the Heartbreak kid for goodness sakes; this was part of the script.

So why was guilt gnawing at him relentlessly as he shut the door with a click?

Chris had awakened wrapped in ice cold sheets of desertion, sinking in the gulf of rejection he fixed his gaze on the ceiling above him wishing feverishly he could blame the hurt rippling through him on a hangover as opposed to the bitter sting of neglect.

He should have known better than to assume Shawn wanted the same as he, should have paid heed to the stories surrounding the elder man. The golden boy was tarnished in the cold light of reality; stars had fallen from grace, reducing the smoke and mirrors of Shawn Michaels to nothing more than the despicable human being hidden beneath, the man who had no qualms about sleeping his way around the roster and abandoning his targets, leaving them to search for their dignity amongst the rubbles of shame and bewilderment.

With a broken sigh he burrowed his head beneath the pillow, yearning for sleep and the bliss of ignorance, not wanting to accept that the man he had idolised for years was nothing at all like he had imagined and instead everything he'd heard.

July, 2002

Silence seemed to stretch for an eternity between them, all the bitterness and regret seethed in the gorge of discomfort.

"I came to tell you that, I'm sorry"

Chris stared at him; rage bubbled and boiled within at Shawn's gall, did he honestly think that he could sleep with him, leave in the middle of the night and then re-appear three years later to anything less than a lukewarm reception?

"You're sorry?" barked Chris, "Sorry? What, you think you can show up here and charm your way out with an apology? Oh that's right I forgot, you're Shawn Michaels, you can do whatever you damn well please"

"I-"

"You just showed up expecting me to accept your apology on bended knees because the mighty Heartbreak Kid graced me with his presence? I should greet you with open arms because you're sorry?"

"No I-"

"Did you think you could add a second notch to your bedpost before hightailing it out of here like last time?" Chris growled, acrimony threading his words.

"I never said you were a notch on my bedpost!" cried Shawn defensively, "I came to say sorry, that's it!"

"Oh ok so what exactly are you sorry for?" snapped Chris

Shawn sought the ground, words lodged in his throat. He couldn't fathom out how to explain the wall of remorse he had managed to construe in the last three years. He'd known Chris idolised him, it had been blatant from the offset and still he'd used and abused him, drained him of his value and then thrown him aside when he was no longer convenient.

But the conceit had mellowed slightly in the wake of solitude. His character had been blemished by his own misconduct, his attitude had been his downfall, no matter how hard he tried to pin it on misconception Chris had always liked him until he'd met the man behind the name.

" I'm sorry I never lived up to your expectations" he whispered, evading the blame he could feel himself choking beneath, " I'm sorry you thought I was something I wasn't"

"Oh I knew precisely what you were" said Chris bitingly, "Everyone's heard the stories Shawn. You don't exactly keep your exploits discreet. I just thought I'd give you the benefit of the doubt and ignore the rumours. More fool me"

He laughed bitterly; there was no mirth to be found in his fraudlent humour.

"If you were so sure that I was such an awful person why'd you invite me back to your room?" queried Shawn angrily, unwilling to accept all fault singlehandedly.

" Because I thought you actually liked me" replied Chris breathlessly, " I thought you were hiding behind your overconfidence when really you were just a cold hearted bastard all along, working your way through the roster one sap at a time."

Shawn felt his ire deflate as Chris' words sank in, the rage quickly faltered to disgrace; the Canadian's tirade hurt.

"I did like you" he muttered finally

"Bullshit" roared Chris, "You didn't like me, you barely even knew me"

"You were trying to commit me" countered Shawn his voice fracturing with frustration, "You kept looking at me with those star struck eyes like I was your own personal superman"

"You were lapping it up"

"Then you picked the wrong person to adore" Shawn shrugged, "I never claimed to be anybody's hero"

"You were still mine."

" I never asked to be" snapped Shawn

"Yeah well now you're not" sniped Chris shoving passed him to load the rest of the guitars on the bus that had been waiting during their heated conversation.

Shawn watched him board the bus without so much as a backwards glance, knew that the days of adoration were indeed long gone. The engine revved and he took a startled step backwards as the doors slammed with a hostile hiss. He was unwelcome and unneeded.

He watched as the vehicle pulled away from arena, the proverbial medicine sour against his soul.

"I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye"

His broken whisper billowed around him, shrouding him in isolation as he gazed into the wealth of darkness he had shaped to sheath his essence.