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"Randy?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's go catch a movie today."

"No. It's bothersome."

I said that on purpose. I wanted to see that look of hurt and dejection slide across your face like a blood-stained hand, injecting itself deep into your eyes. And you didn't disappoint. You even go as far as to turn your face away thinking that some invisible curtain will fall and hide what I'll always know.

That you're in love with me.

"Unless—" I watch as your face changes to the winds of hope. The 'maybe's' show up and you can't help but show me your painful desires. Your 'please God let him change his mind' "—you're paying, then I really don't mind at all."

You turn to me – hesitating at first because you had yet to figure out how best to hide your overwhelming joy – and show me that well-practiced smile of yours. I watch as your lips try their hardest to smooth over the rough patches of the words yet to come.

"Sure. That's cool." You say that so easily that I almost miss the tinge of pain that nearly mummifies your body. It's not cool. It's not okay. You know – you must by now know – I'm only using you. Twisting your every move, your every reaction. And the best part is you think I don't know about it. You think you're doing a great job at hiding it from me.

But I know John. I know you love me.

However, as I smile back at you and purposefully let my patting hand linger a few seconds longer on your back – taking in the lustful look you're trying to hide away deep in your eyes – you and I share a moment of commonality.

A moment where we both know the same thing and then think it at the same time.

You know. And I know.

I don't love you John.

To me this is just a game. And very soon, just like always, I'll get bored of playing and leave you in a pile of your own ruined heart. The only question is: Will I take something before I leave?

It's been two weeks since the movies. During that time, I made a strong effort to avoid you. And you've made an even stronger effort to find me. But don't worry John. Today makes the last day of my absence. I'll just merely watch you from the safety of this empty classroom window for now – watch you try desperately to once again tell all your friends that you can't hang out with them because you have something else to do. However, this time it doesn't go as planned. This time your friends want to know what that "something" is. And you're scared. Your eyes go subconsciously to the ground beneath your feet. You wish you could tell someone – anyone – that you're worried about your roommate. That you're worried about Randy Orton. You wish you could ask someone where I might have gone all this time. You wish…but you can't.

You can't ask anyone because you're afraid of letting your true feelings slip. Imagine the horror. Team Captain of the wrestling club. Assistant coach of the football team. A+ student. Mr. Nice Guy. The perfect son.

Gay.

It saddens me John. It really saddens me to know that I'll never get to see that expression. The one you'd be wearing if your 'perfect' world were to crumble beneath the weight of your secrets, and your skeletons. You don't know how many times I've dreamt about that broken look in your eyes. How much I've craved to see your tear-stained face when the world you know stops revolving around the lies you've built. I laugh a bit to the idea of being the one responsible for that. I could easily tell someone. Easily start a cruel rumor. I could even stage something elaborate like a near-sex scene that has a planted passer-by wonder in and see the scene. I had thought about guys who I could ask to be the one who tops you in that scene.

But then again John…let me tell you something. Every time the idea crosses my mind – the idea of another man holding you and touching you and kissing you – something unexpected happens. I feel cold. Cold like death. And then suddenly, I feel hate. And loathe. And ire. All of which narrows my vision and makes me want to take you. Rape you even. But that's as far as my mind goes. After that, I don't know what I would do with you. I could throw you away, but then I wouldn't see your expressions anymore because you'd learn how to hide them all and soon you'd find someone else who you'd show them all to. And who'd probably appreciate them more.

"R-R-Ran…" I turn to look at the person sitting on top of me. She freezes for a moment, but then suddenly jerks about like a headless chicken. In less than thirty seconds, it's all over and she collapses on top of me, overcome with exhaustion. Once her strength recovers, she looks at me with a face I've seen all too many times. A look of relief and hazy pleasure. I can see that she wants more, but I've already decided that I'd be back today.

And you've been a good boy all this time. Good boys deserve treats.

"Get off."

There's been a silence around ever since I stepped foot back into our dorm room. You didn't expect to see me. I could see it all over your face the second you saw me come in. You wanted to run over to me, hug me close and cry those tears of worry and joy that you've been saving up just for that purpose.

But then you remembered the most important thing. That I could never know about your feelings. And so you stop yourself as quickly as you started. You give me a strained smile and wave as you pass by as though you were merely on your way to the bathroom. Then you get the bathroom and lock the door. I can hear you crying in there. I can hear the water running shortly afterwards. And by the time you come out, I'm already settled down on the small couch. You're all composed now.

You won't slip up now.

"We had a history test."

I figured you'd say something like that. I want to see your face. I want to see what your eyes are trying to tuck away as you say something to visibly ward off your real desires. You missed me. And you want to know what happened. "Oh." I guess I have to wait for the right moment to turn to you. "When?" Now.

I turn and I see you standing – back turned to me – at the kitchen counter. Damn it. I'll have to get over there now.

"I guess Old Man Calloway must have thrown a tantrum when I didn't show up." That's it. Nice and slow. I stand to my feet and walk over to you. "Then again," I take care to settle in the spot on your immediate right because it has you cornered to the wall.

You have no choice but to look at me. And you do. And I can see the marks of those tears. I can see the sadness and pain welling up on your face as you try to block out the things that come to your mind. The wishful things. The hopeful things. You have so much you want to ask me – like why I disappear on you like this, or who I go to during those times – but you won't say a damn thing off topic because it'd give you away. I can't help but crack a small smile.

"That old coot is wrapped around Phil's little finger. But given the cute face on that kid, I'd be too." Your expression flinches for a second. It makes you angry doesn't it? Me talking so casually about another guy. You wish you could be Phil don't you? You wish you could be a 'cute kid' instead of a muscular guy. You wish you could become what I've shown interest in so badly that you'd sell your soul for it. I let you keep wishing for a good minute. And then I crush you like an empty beer can. "Then again, I'm not a fan of people covered in tattoos. Something about pure, untainted skin just sets me off you know?"

"Y-Yeah." Of course you know. You've avoided getting a tattoo because you know.

"Ah well" I put my hand firmly on your shoulder. Your subtle reaction to my long-gone touch is well appreciated John. It makes this game all the more fun. "I'm tired. I'll see you in the morning."

I smile at you. You try to conjure something up that makes you look even remotely less uncomfortable. I've given you another promise to hold onto. Another reason to live. I've given you a tomorrow. Satisfied I walk away without taking in your expression.

Maybe if I had, then we wouldn't be here.

Things had changed since that night. As soon as I woke up (late because you always served as my alarm system) to an empty dorm room, I knew for certain that things had changed. Nevertheless, I put aside my own speculations – like maybe you finally returned to normal and found a girlfriend – and head out two hours late for school.

For a while there you had me fooled John. I enter our classroom to see people leaving. You're in the corner by the window packing up your things. Time passed by slowly and all I did was watch you. To be honest, there are a lot of things I've come to like more on you John than on anyone else. For example, the sink in your lower back. Beneath our tacky dress shirts, I know the anatomy of what lays there. We wrestle together remember? So I know that as soon as your large back (so much smaller back when we were kids) starts to dip into the belted waist of your pants, the spine curves inwardly to dip away before emerging as a full arch at your tailbone.

Yeah. There might have been times I thought about touching you right there in that spot - I've even imagined how you would react – but there's only so far one can take a joke before it starts becoming serious.

But back to how you fooled me.

Having stared at you to the point of hurting my eyes, I knock laxly on the wood of the door frame before sauntering in with a cool presence. You turn to me with eyes wild and stunned – much like a deer caught in headlights – and the sight of your face encased in such horror dislodges me momentarily, but it doesn't stop me from completely sealing you off with the help of the large window. My hands feel like touching you again to get some form of cruel reaction, but I let the closeness sink into you (watching as your face tries hard to hide a growing embarrassment) before finally resting a calm hand on the wall behind.

"Hey John." I speak in a low tone. My eyes never leaving yours. You look hilarious right now, because you look like a kid who's about to piss his pants. "I'm kinda mad at you, you know." I scoff a bit – taking care to wash my breath over your exposed neck. "Because of you I missed an entire class."

"Y-Yeah." You bring up a shaky smile. "Well, you wouldn't wake up. Plus you've already missed two weeks of school. What's one more day?"

Ah. So you really haven't been able to let that go have you John? You even take it so far as to think that this right now is the best opportunity to indirectly ask me why I went MIA for two whole weeks. Your attempt at subtlety is almost as hilarious as that marring look of hurt sliding over your face.

"The room was really lonely without you." I lie and watch life return to your face. Your lips part ever so slightly to let out something close to a reveal, but instead you cage the words back down your throat. Your eyes widened a bit as you hold your breath to swallow all the feelings that had been clawing their way up. I generously let you calm down, because had I continued then I knew for certain that you'd say something to ruin this little game. "So let me know next time when you're leaving early so I can invite some girls to a sleep over, okay?"

I smile. You don't. I chuckle. You fail at following.

Rather than doing what I've come to expect, you go the opposite way and hardened yourself to something stoic and distant. It takes me a while, but I soon realize what this is. You look you're about to give up. I can't let you do that John. How else would I pass the time?

"Anyways, how about we go take a ride on my bike?" You don't react to that at all. I up the ante. "I heard there's this awesome spot in the park down the road that's got a cool view of the city. After next period we could-"

"Stop." Your voice finally pipes in only to cut me off. I smile triumphantly with the feeling that your next words would reset our situation and make it the way it used to be. "I can't."

I blinked for a second. Then the words hit me. I blink again. "You can't?" My smile shakes, but doesn't leave. I think of everything that would possibly come between the time I could spend manipulating your reactions, and find the list to be mediocre. "You're too nice John." I speak while placing my hand on your shoulder. "Missing one day of practice won't kill you."

"It's not that." You start; still without a smile or even a crack in that hard shell that's replaced your face.

"Then what?" Comes off as desperate. It makes me realize that for some reason my body's heating up to the rapid pumps of my heart. I'm on edge, and it's getting to my head. "You've got a girl you've gotta meet?" Successfully calms me down.

You don't respond to that, and I immediately find myself back in the previous fast lane. Did I hit a mark? Was I wrong? I couldn't tell because your face – so expressive and easy to read – was as blank as the wall behind you.

We stay like this for a few seconds, before you shove my hand off your shoulder – like swatting a fly – and pick up your belongings. I had hit a mark then, is what I thought to myself as you passed stiffly by me. What was it though?

"Hey John!" You stop, and half turn to see me grinning behind you. "See you later."

At last a smile returns to your face – it looks weak, but it'll do. "Sure."

You leave right after speaking, having fooled into believing that you would follow through.

Most people get a second chance at something. I once had mine.

For some reason, after our conversation, I had found myself thinking about John Cena. It's only natural really seeing as though he had applied for a room transfer since our last conversation. Ideally, he and I would always be able to hang out regardless seeing that we both attended the same school and took the same classes. However, this was reality. For three days, John Cena had avoided me like the plague.

There were inevitable moments where we would be forced into each other's company, yet for every one of those moments, John managed to slip by without so much as looking in my direction. As always when my nerves frayed, I turned to ravenous sex for comfort. I gave up after the first girl. She was blonde and I hate blondes. Or rather, I hate blondes who aren't you.

Nevertheless, three days of not seeing or hearing you drove me into a maddening frenzy. Outside of my cruel intentions, and outside of your sickening love of me, we were friends before anything else. Best friends since the cradle. So what the hell was with you?

I took a time out of trying to focus on this math language (something, when offered as a choice, you correctly excluded yourself from) and swivel my attention to the large window. For a short while I don't see anything in particular, but then I see you. My chest tightens to the sight of you. Maybe it's because I was fully expecting you to be different, but you weren't. You are the same.

But then I spot the people around you. A seven man gang known as Nexus. Delinquents of our school – much like myself – but ten times nastier. You've talked about them in the past. In fact, there was a time when you even said how much you couldn't stand them for what they were trying to do to your beloved Academy. Yet there you are surrounded by them and talking to them with a small smile on your face. Blood rushes to my brain and boils once it reaches the fire of overwhelming anger.

I manage to keep a cool head despite seeing you chum up to the group. It's nothing rare. You're nice like that. Likeable and sociable. However, their leader comes along. Wade Barrett. And he wraps an arm around you. And you react. You fucking react by lowering your head. My mind rapidly conjures up the expression you're probably wearing right now. And the instant it does, I kick back violently, stand to my feet and leave the classroom.

I need air.

We continue this trend of playing opposite mimes with one another. I go left, you go right. We play this game for as long as we could, but the sight of you with Wade in the spot I've always stood in forces me to say uncle and quit.

By some divine intervention, we meet again. This time you're alone. I take the plunge to rebuild on what sandy foundation we had last left off on.

"John"

You look up at me. Your mind slowly returns during our second of silence. I've brought you from someplace far away, and with the return of your thoughts comes an expression I'm not even sure is classifiable. It looks like someone had sucked the very life out of you.

"Yeah?" I hate that plastic smile of yours. It always tends to get in the way of seeing the real you.

"Yeah? What's with that distant response man?" Against my rising anger (really, yeah was all you could say?) I let out a small laugh as I wrap a playful arm around your shoulder. "I haven't seen your face in a while so—"

"I've been busy." Your sharp tongue cuts across the veins of my sentence, killing it instantly. You look at me with an unfamiliar vacuity. "What do you want Randy? I've got wrestling practice in ten."

In my arms, right in front of my eyes, your body has turned to solid stone. I'm so close to you I can feel blood moving through to your heart and back. It's the same blood that's been flowing through you all our lives. You're the same person. But… my eyes – shifted slightly to the shock I'm in – see you, John Cena, as you were for all my life. And then I see you, John Cena, as you are right now. Inexplicably cold. And as I come to terms with what's happening, you've taken my lifeless arm, and returned it to me without a second thought. It feels like a dead weight hanging off my shoulder.

"I have to go." The words escape in a voice that cannot possibly be yours. Without another sound, you bend momentarily to collect your large bag off the floor and begin to move further away. "See you." You throw me a wave from over your shoulder.

This was I needed to realize that you're still John Cena.

"John, wait." Like before, like I'm used to, you obey. But your eyes stay focused on the locker room door. Minutes must have passed by at the speed of a crawl until eventually I come to terms with the fact that I have nothing more to say. True. I could tell you something from the days you missed. I could make a snide remark about your unwavering dedication to being the good guy what with your trotting off to wrestling practice. I could even saunter over to you, cock a cheesy smile, and then invite you to skip your duties and waste away with me.

I could, but for some reason John I just feel like – just like in the classroom – you're not going to agree.

So I stand here and say nothing further, because had I gone and said anything more, then you would look at me the way I've been looking at you. With knowledge of a secret best left behind. With knowledge of something I have yet to discover and fully understand.

That maybe, just maybe, I'm—

"Hey Cena!" The English accent – a becoming staple of the black-haired intruder – barges into the room and is soon followed by its owner. Wade Barrett. "What's the bloody hold-up?" He speaks whilst coming into full view to see John facing the door and me just a few steps behind him. The whole scene brings a sick smile to his dislodged face (thrown wildly off the scale of proportioned due to his broken nose). "Ah." His eyes flick to John. "A friend?"

I watch silently as you hesitate to Wade's remark, before turning halfway to me. Then – as if you've concluded something someplace inside your head – you look away. "Not really."

To be honest, nothing happened for the first thirty seconds after John spoke. However, as soon as our moment of silence fled, my mind finds itself thinking back on our friendship. Sixty seconds later, as I look at Barrett taking hold of you and speaking too close to your face, a cool sense of realization passes over me.

I never really knew how hilarious irony was.

Wade looks to me. "You." He calls with a split tongue. "I don't want you around him from now on, understood." He turns with John. "He doesn't have time to tend to you."

Wade walks away with his arm strapped around you. Something bitter comes up my throat and sits on the taste buds of my tongue. I feel sick. I feel like throwing up. I do neither. Instead, I cock an arrogant smile on my face –holding it there like a tense finger on the trigger of a gun.

A week had passed by since our time in the locker room, and our distance only escalated. It's gotten to the point now where I barely even see you at school. During all this time to myself I've discovered how truly limited I am when it comes to friends. As much as I'll deny it, in truth you were all I had. I'm not antisocial, but I'm not well-liked either. People in general have always tended to avoid me. You were the exception. You've always been the exception.

Like that time when I was seven.

I've always been blessed with size, and so it like a curse I became the target of many older than me who thought I was from the same age group. You were one of them. You were nine when it happened. I had just come out of a fight with some kids at school. Unlike them however, I never took to the stereotype of being rich. I was strong, and I had a talent for fighting. And winning.

Just like that fight. I was victorious, but looking at me it was hard to tell. You caught up with me only to see me walking around sporting the bruises, and out of the goodness of your heart (as a friend) you tried to help. But I was still blinded by another one of my deadly blessings. Rage. By the time your hand touched my face, I snapped back into the darkness of my explosive disorder. And without a single thought, I beat you to a bloody pulp.

When the smoke cleared I was back in my room sulking in guilt. I had locked the door from the inside, determined to simply die off in here. My family let me be, calling it a phase that would pass. People I thought were friends never once came by because they all thought I was some kind of monster. But you didn't think that. Instead, you kept coming by every day and from outside my door you'd say

"I'm sorry." Like it was always your fault.

Truthfully, John, I've never like that about you. Your ability to absorb damage and turn it into a positive thing. For once, back then, I wanted to see you so hurt that you couldn't rebound. Now with you off with Wade and company, my priorities have shifted dramatically. I'd given anything right now to have you come back and take the blame for what I've done, just so I could tell you "I'm sorry".

Damn it.

"Maybe I misunderstood something." I start with my eyes still fixated on the unopened top of my soda can. Why in the hell did I bother buying Diet Pepsi? I don't like Diet Pepsi. I don't even like Pepsi.

"What?" Asks the brunette on my right.

I look to him knowing full well that my mind wasn't here at the moment. It was on John first – wondering about what he was doing now, then running away from the thought because it started to involve Wade – only to shift down to the memory of a neighborhood sandlot. My mind was now looking at the first time I had laid eyes on Cody Rhodes. Back then, with all his clinging and fear, I thought he was really cute, and overall – even though we were never officially friends – I loved being in his company. Looking at him now, I can still say the same.

"I thought he liked me. That's why I teased him so much." I sigh a bit while resting the back of my head on the concrete behind our backs. "I guess I was wrong." A smile crosses my face. "If I knew how much he hated me, then I never would have bothered."

"John doesn't hate you Randy." Despite never speaking the name, Cody sees right through me and as such knows exactly who I'm referring to. Normally, I should be creeped out by this. But I'm actually grateful. It hurts too damn much right now to speak his name.

Damn it. This game isn't fun anymore.

"You guys have been friends for a long, long time. He wouldn't hate you right out of the blue."

I tried to convince myself that there was some truth in that, but then I realized how easy it was for me to hate people. And how easy it was for people to hate me. So what exactly was stopping John from doing the same thing?

Nothing.

"Cody" He looks to me as a reflex, "Do you think that love is like riding a motorcycle?"

"What?" Comes out bluntly enough to break the concrete flooring of this rooftop.

"John said something like that once." My eyes remain focused on the can of soda. "He said love is like a motorcycle. You can only ever be in control of it if you let go of yourself. If you don't, you'll lose your focus, get distracted by the little things like the speed, or the things you pass by, you'll crash and be thrown off. So make sure you wear a helmet over your heart so the impact of loneliness doesn't kill you outright." I look to Cody feeling rather pitiful right now. His expression seems to mirror mine with a watermark of understanding. "I called him fag for thinking like that."

To this Cody sells immediate shock. "You called him a what?" He shouts." He's your best friend Randy!"

I sigh heavily. "I know."

"Then why did you say something like that?" His sapphires go desperate.

My focus returns completely back to the soda can, and I find that – just like my choosing Diet Pepsi, "I don't know."

This would make the second night in a row that I've been completely unable to sleep. It's due to the dorm room. Damn it to hell for being so suffocating empty. It didn't help things any that my mind kept looping over that stupid story about John's view of motorcycles and love.

Actually, thinking that did help seeing that it got me out of nightmares and out of the claustrophobic dorm. Due to it being the only thing I could think of – right next to John but far more accessible – I headed to the student garage and took a long look at my motorbike.

Everything about this bike screams beauty. Like a dark horse, my bike is as majestic as they come. From the sheets of black metal coating, to the thin pinstripes of fiery colors hugging each curve, all the way to the very chromed steel frame glistening under the shallow fluorescent lights – the bike was perfect.

However, looking at it didn't bring back feelings of pride (I bought it with money I worked for at a summer job instead of using my family's funds). It just brought back thoughts of John Cena. I guess it should, really, seeing that he had seen it first and had fallen so dramatically in love with it that I couldn't help but buy it. Initially, I had planned on giving it to him, but John had a fear of driving anything with wheels and an engine. So I took him out for rides as often as I could.

Putting aside the time he's been spending avoiding me, I come to the sad conclusion that it's been nearly three months since we last rode together. It's been so damn long that even his helmet is starting to gather minute particles of dust. Or rather it should have. Come to think of it, as I run more sane eyes over the frame, the entire bike looks cleaner than I last left it.

"Randy?" I cock my head over the direction of my name and find John on the other side. His holding a bucket of stuff too distant for me to properly see. "W-Why are you—"

"No reason." I quickly throw down the cigarette I've been smoking and stub it out under my shoe. Here I had gone and dropped all my bad habits, but with an equalizer in John no longer around, I guess it's only right that they'd be returning one by one. "Why are you here?" I ask with eyes not leaving his frame. "Where's your buddy Wade?"

To the name, or maybe to the callousness, John frowns a bit and gathers the courage to walk over to me. He plants the bucket down in front of the bike and only then do I see its contents. Cleaning agents, a cloth and some turtle wax. Shock sits with me for a while – I never knew you came down here and kept my bike in good shape – but then I leave it be in opt for simply taking in this new situation.

Yeah. It's been this long since we last stood together all alone.

"So how've you been?" You ask while spraying the chromed muffler and stand with something unfamiliar.

"Can't complain." I try to keep a handle on things, but just seeing you is implanting a need for something more. Suddenly I'm nervous. I regret now not carrying the whole pack of cigarettes with me. "You?"

You shrug your shoulders first, before replying with "I guess everything's okay."

Your hands continue to shine down the body of the motorbike. I watch them like I'm in a trance, and have to force my mind from inexplicably wanting that bike to be me. However as soon as I start retreating to the voices screaming 'don't you dare' and 'you're not gay remember', a more powerful wave comes along and drowns them out. The impact puts me in a stifling haze where all I can seem to muster up thinking is touching you. Taking you. Making you mine.

Maybe it's the closeness, or maybe just instinct. Either way, you feel my presence looming over you now, and so you turn to me only to find my face that much closer to yours. So close in fact that even air has no room to stay. This isn't going to stop. This isn't part of the game. I hope you know that John. I hope you stop me. If you don't, then I guarantee that this will not end quickly.

"Don't you dare touch him Cena!" Shouts an accent I'm all too familiar with. The command frightens you to the point of tears, and you follow almost immediately by clumsily backing off – nearly knocking the bike down on your way. "He's mine."

I turn to see Wade emerging from the blackness. Before I can even blink, his cronies come out with him and systematically begin to surround us. I look to John to find him frantically trying to comprehend what's happening right now. He looks back at me with something stuck in eyes. Something trying to say 'help me', when if anything, I need it more.

"Back away into that corner over there John." Wade speaks without letting go of my face. His friends tighten the circle – singling me out. When John doesn't move, Wade flicks his anger to him. "Are you deaf? I told you to get into the bloody corner and stay there and watch!"

My chest tightens. I can feel a long forgotten sense of uncontrollable rage come about. It seems that IED is trying to return along with my smoking habit. I'm glad for it though. I'll need it to beat the living shit out of the English-boy for ordering around my friend like a dog. In the moment since Wade's spoken, I turn to look to you – determined to find you standing there in defiance and coated in your never give up, never back down attitude – but find you shockingly obeying. At first you hesitate with each step, but soon you turn and nearly run to the corner. Your back stays there for a while facing us, but then you finalize the last of Barrett's orders by gracing us with sad eyes.

Even from here I can see that you're about to cry. You know exactly what's coming next, don't you John. I glimpse the bucket – overturned by your first clumsy movement – and can't help but think that this was the plan all along. How could I have been so blind? You even said it to my face, we're not really friends, and yet here I thought against the truth. I look at you one last time before the Nexus move in on me, and pass you a chance to prove to me how wrong I am right now. I hand you the opportunity to be the John Cena who's always got my back. But you stand there in that corner, and mouth to me words that I won't ever hear.

"I'm sorry".

In every story there's always going to be that natural ending. I wish I could say that this was it. But even a week of hospital care, and the threat of being expelled don't seem to be enough to conclude anything. Least of all the situation that's fallen into our laps.

Why am I still saying 'our'? You never once came and visited me in that hospital. You didn't even check on me when I return to school. I came back to find the dorm room still empty. I even went back to the garage hoping to see you there religiously cleaning my bike, but not a trace of you was left. You were completely gone John, and by the time I realized it, I had already broken down crying.

I should have worn my helmet from the start.

Nonetheless, I decided to leave it all be. Call our friendship a day, and call this love an unrequited. But then I see Wade in a classroom by himself, and I ignore my rules, I ignore the people around. I ignore my healing body, and lash out at him with vicious intent. You run in almost too conveniently, and pull us apart as best you can. I watch as you throw me into a row of desks and stoically take up residence in front of Wade to protect him.

That's the point at which I lose it. "What the fuck are you doing John?" I shout disregarding my pounding headache (a byproduct of IED).

You don't say anything for a minute or so, but then sigh softly to speak. "Don't hit him Randy." My anger deepens to the coldness of your voice. I want you to stop speaking to me like I'm a bother, an eyesore, a toy.

My gut turns over sickeningly to the sudden realization that I was actually seeing myself in you. The self who took this friendship for granted for so long, and chose to toy with a best friend's emotions to the point of withering them to this.

"Are you actually going to protect him?" You look away from me. "He just showed up out of nowhere John!" What the hell was I trying to say here? "You don't even fucking like him! You hate him remember?"

Wade smirks from over your shoulder. "Sounds like Orton's feeling jealous." He looks to you momentarily. "I bet he'd feel more than that if I told him that we slept together." Even though it's a whisper, I clearly catch what he's said. Blood drains from my face. I feel like a puppet on strings as I charge head on with the intent to kill.

An intent I thought was buried twelve years ago.

Before I even break the first inch, you've already turned to Wade and knocked him to the floor with a bone crushing punch to the face. Having snapped out of her disbelief, the teacher sends for the Headmaster.

Two weeks suspension. You'll miss your own graduation tomorrow.

Unbelievably, you don't fight it. In fact, you spoke up so fast and so unexpectedly that I couldn't even but in to shoulder some of the blame. The only time you go speechless is when Michaels asks you why you got involved with those guys, and you have nothing to say. In some ways I'm glad. I don't feel like I'd want to ever truly know, because somehow I figure it would be rounded up to what I've come to imagine.

Blackmail is a common thing nowadays after all. And it's not like you're an expert in hiding your feelings after all. Add Wade's perception into the mix and the recipe for disaster appears instantaneously.

On top of it all, Nexus was expelled immediately. The camera in the garage caught the seven on one beat down. Luckily, or maybe something premeditated, the spot where you had been standing was the only blind spot of the camera.

We leave the office after the Headmaster's decree, and each go our separate ways. After the ceremony the following day, I head back to the dorm to find you there still trying to unpack your stuff. Due to your new roommate in Wade Barrett (something I am still irate about) being kicked out, the rules have forced you to live under house arrest in the previous dorm.

My dorm.

"Hey." I call to grab your attention. You look at me just like you used to before we got onto this hellish rollercoaster. Embarrassment coupled with restraint. So even after all this, you still plan to hide from me? "Need some help?"

"No thanks." You reply softly while leaning back on the foot of the couch behind. He look ahead at nothing, and heave a deep breath. "There's something I should probably tell you. Since I'll be here for two weeks and all."

"Only two weeks?" I pipe in, forcing you to look back at me a bit disheveled. However, you regain composure and smile sadly.

"Depends."

"On what?" I know on what.

"If you'll allow me to stay after this."

I let out a long breath and walk over to you. Your face drips away to a silent confusion as your eyes search my expression for a hint of what exactly is coming next. Truthfully, you'll find nothing here because I don't even know the result myself.

"Follow me."

You do, and we walk in a heavy silence. Normally you're right beside me, but not now. Not now when I'm clearly not acting like I would have before. Not now when I haven't touched you once. We exit the dorm and head over to the south gate (the one closest to us). There standing idly by is the motorbike. I head over to it first, noting that you've stopped to probably try and grab a handle on things, and place my helmet atop my head. I lift the glass and look to you.

"Hop on." I speak while throwing you your helmet. "We're going to that park."

You start moving, but stop once more. "Randy, I think I should—"

"Did you sleep with him?" I ask with cold eyes still focused on you.

"Yes." My insides knot up to your shy response. I look away for a moment to swallow back the anger.

"All the more reason to take a ride then." My attention returns to you, to find you staring back in astonishment.

"B-But" You claw away at straws, "I'm under house arrest so—"

"Do I look like I give a damn about the rules?" You think for a second – you actually have to think about that? – and then finally oblige knowing how much I don't.

You put the helmet on before heading over to me. Once there, you gingerly grab hold of the seat and wrap your legs on either side. I let you take the moment to get nestled onto your spot, before finally piping up over the course hum of a well-oiled engine.

"I love you." Instantly, you stop moving. Had this been the old me before Nexus, then I would have turned around with a cocky grin of triumph just to take pleasure in seeing your face. Right after that, I'd probably have found a way to turn my words into a hurtful blade.

But not this time John. This time around, I don't want to see your expression, because I don't want you to see mine. I don't want to take back the words, because unlike all I've ever said, I mean every letter. So instead of going back to the way things were, I look ahead – past the gate – at a future neither of us knows, with the full knowledge that what we are is now going to change.

Satisfied, I shut my visor and pull on the gas. "Hold on tight."

You obey by clutching my waist with shaky hands, as we leave the campus behind.