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John knew that it wasn't okay, that he had no right to want it, but... god knew he'd give anything if he could have Randy… or to forget his damn feelings for his friend.

A movement caught his attention. A falling star. Make your wish. That's what you should do if you see one, right?

I wished Randy could love me back.

It was a silly and selfish wish, he knew that, but his heart wished that Randy would leave Sam to be with him. There was no way this would ever happen. Being fuck-buddies is one thing… being in love is something completely different. And Randy loved his girls. Really, really loved those two.

The decision to make a stop to this hadn't been easy and he remembered the moment like it had happened only few minutes ago, though it had already been three days since then.

The air was filled with happy chattiness, laughing and the sounds of cars leaving the parking lot. They were back from the last House-Show for the year and everyone was getting their stuff to go home for the holidays.

John stood by the seat he'd been sitting during the bus-ride, searching for his cell, when a low, oh so well-known voice beside his ear made him jump.

"I wish you nice holidays, Johnny."

The older man didn't turn around, murmured instead: "Uh, thanks. Same for you."

He kept searching the seats and storage rooms, finally finding his cell under some magazine.

"How about I come over for a visit on New Year?" Randy whispered, wrapping his arms around his waist, but John backed out of his touch, bringing some space between them.

Randy narrowed his eyes and took a step in his direction, but John held out a hand, stopping him. He shook his head slightly, not really knowing how to start.

"Listen, uhm…" he began reluctantly. "This has to stop."

Arching an eyebrow, the younger man asked: "What?"

"Us," John replied, glad that they were alone on the bus. "No, not us. I mean, not us being friends…but the sex. Hell, Randy. You're married, you have a daughter. I can't do this anymore."

"We've talked about this already, John. Why…?"

Again John shook his head.

"No, that's not what I meant. It's my fault, I..." he interrupted himself, sighing defeated. "I want more, Randy. But I don't want to lose you as a friend. You know, I just need a few days to get things straight. But if we keep this up, I won't be able to… stop myself from wanting more."

"John, what the hell are you talking about?" Randy whispered, obviously not able to understand what exactly was happening.

"Just friends, Randy, that's what we are, like we used to be. Nothing more, nothing less," he explained through gritted teeth, willing the tears that stung in his eyes to not fall.

He saw his friend reach out to him and flinched, again backing away from the touch. Eyes, big and full of confusion, watched his slow and sad retreat and he couldn't bear it any longer. Turning away he left the bus. His name was called, the low voice sounding questioningly and hollow. It hadn't been the way John thought of telling his friend his decision, but now it was done. It was over and all John wanted and hoped for was to go back to what they had been before all this shit – being best friends. Making his way to his car he tried to ignore the pain and sadness that surged up.

He didn't turn around that night, didn't want to see his friends questioning, hurt eyes again. He wouldn't have been able to leave. They both knew it wasn't a final end to their friendship, only to this part of their relationship that had gone a step too far. It had been the only right thing to do. Randy would realize it sooner or later.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the shining golden dots he tried to blank his mind, to stop thinking for just one moment but like so often in the past days he failed. Happy voices all around him started to count down, cheered as the new year arrived and the firework started, lighting up the dark sky and drowning the bright stars in the colourful, sparkling lights it gave.

While John stared up in the brightly lit sky, he pressed his lips together tightly to stop the pained sobs that threatened to come over his lips, accompanying the hot tears that spilled from his eyes. The more he tried to forget what he felt for his friend, the stronger his feelings became. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted this madness to stop somehow, somehow, wanted the pain to go away. But it was too late, the moment were his crush had grown to serious feelings and were he maybe could have done something about it was long gone, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

This can't be… he thought desperately. Oh god, this can't be…

And time seemed to stop, keeping him prisoner in his miserable situation…

"John?"

Startled John looked up, eyes wide. His heart sped up, stumbled, skipped a beat and settled to pound almost painfully in his chest. His mind tried to convince him that this couldn't be.

"Randy?" he whispered, not believing his eyes.

He reached out with his good hand, letting his fingertips touch the well-known face. This was real. Randy was here. Why the hell would he be here? John drew his hand back quickly, but Randy caught it, holding it gently.

"I'm late. Sorry," the younger man apologized, a small smile gracing his lips. "I wanted to be here in time, but I had to drive slow. There were too many people on the streets. I really wanted to start the new year here with you…"

Johns eyes flicked from Randys eyes to their hands and back to those beloved eyes. There were so many questions that wanted to be asked in that very moment, but John settled for the one question that seemed the most important right now.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

Randys smile wavered but he managed to hold it up. It was enough for John to know that something was wrong and whatever it was, it was the reason why Randy was here. The stormy-blue eyes roamed Johns face and Randy was obviously not happy with what he saw. Especially when his eyes roamed deeper and caught the sight of his hurt hand. The younger man released Johns good hand and took hold of the wrapped up instead, holding it carefully. The smile morphed into a deep frown.

"Johnny, what the hell happened?"

John noticed the worry in his friends voice and while a part of him was happy that Randy was here and worried about him, the other part reminded him that a) he shouldn't make his friend worry about him and b) Randy shouldn't even be here to worry about him.

"Randy, why are you here?" John repeated, deciding to ignore Randys question.

Randys frown deepened, but he still didn't give an explanation. Instead he began to unwrap the towel and held Johns hand tight but gentle, when the older man tried to pull it back. The towel was pretty much bloodstained and the cuts on his hand somehow seemed to be deeper as John remembered them to be.

"What the hell did you do?"

The older man watched as his friends fingers ghosted over the healthy skin, as they prodded his hand carefully to examine the extend of the damage.

"Look at me," Randy demanded, but John kept his eyes on his own hand. "Damn, John, I want you to look at me!"

Grabbing Johns chin, Randy made him look up and those cold, stormy-blue eyes searched Johns, as if trying to read his mind. Then they softened and Randys hand wandered up to cup his face.

"I broke a glass and obviously cut my hand. Now go home."

"John…"

"I said, go home. You shouldn't be here, Randy," John cut him off.

For a brief moment there was a flicker of pain in his friends eyes, before the worried expression was back. Randy shook his head.

"Let's go in. The cuts need to be cleaned and wrapped up in a bandage."

Randy got up, pulling a reluctant John with him and had to catch him when he threatened to keel over. John tried to fight down the dizziness and to free himself from Randys arms, but his friend didn't let got and pulled him closer instead. Hating himself for being so weak, the older man surrendered and leaned against the body in front of him.

"How much did you have tonight?" Randy asked quietly, his warm breath brushing over Johns neck, making him shudder.

"Not enough."

John pulled away and swayed instantly. A second later he found himself wrapped up in one arm again, while Randys free hand closed around his biceps to hold him up.

"Okay, that's it, Johnny. No more alcohol tonight. You're gonna go to bed after I'm done with your hand."

"I don't need you to treat me like a baby, Orton!"

"Then don't make me treat you like one."

They fell silent, standing there frozen like a still-life and highlighted by the fireworks. John glared daggers at his friend for being annoyingly calm and earned nothing but a amused huff.

"You're swaying, you're slurring and you're cross-eyed. Neither are you impressing nor intimidating, so save it and move your ass, Cena."

Randy steered a still swaying and unwilling John through the front door and stopped dead. Unbelieving he took in the unusual mess, formerly known as living-room, letting his gaze flick over to the kitchen that showed the same picture.

"What the hell…?" he murmured. "You're house is a mess."

"Who cares?" the older man muttered, trying to free himself out of Randys grasp.

"Well, newsflash, John. I do and… what's…"

The grip on Johns wrist vanished when Randy seemed to have found something of interest on the floor. Randy walked over, picking up the picture of them. The frame was broken, pieces were missing. The younger man stood there, his posture somehow tense, staring at the remains.

"It's broken," he whispered, stating the obvious.

John wasn't sure if it was due to his alcohol-dazed perception or if he'd seen right, but he could have sworn he'd seen a brief flicker of sadness cross the handsome features and he realized that it must've seemed to his friend as if the picture had been shattered on purpose. He frowned. The picture had been perfectly fine the last time he'd seen it – in his hand.

Suddenly he felt the overwhelming need to apologize and he settled for the only logical explanation: "I must have dropped it when I cut my hand."

Randy didn't look up. Carefully he freed the picture from the remaining pieces of the frame, letting them drop to the floor to accompany the other shards and slowly, almost tenderly ran a thumb over the picture, before placing it on the small table. Turning around, he held out a hand to John, his face unreadable.

"Let's get you patched up."

Silence filled the bath room while Randy worked on Johns hand. John sat on the rim of the tub with Randy was kneeling in front of him. Randys eyes were narrowed in concentration, lips pressed together tightly, as he removed a few tiny pieces of glass and cleaned the wounds and - thanks to the alcohol – John felt no pain. He watched as Randy began to wrap up his hand and he had a hard time not to squirm. The silence felt suffocating and his friends face revealed nothing.

"You shouldn't be here, Randy. You should be with your family."

"You repeat yourself," Randy muttered, continuing his task.

"Go home."

The muscles of Randys jaw twitched, but he gave no other reaction.

"Go home," John repeated.

"No."

"Go. Home."

"No," the younger man ground out through gritted teeth, obviously losing his temper.

"Go! Home!" John snapped and tried to pull his hand away.

Randy didn't let go and held on more tightly instead, giving more pressure to the injured hand than necessary and this time John felt the pain, making him cry out. Then suddenly Randy jumped up, pushing, almost slapping Johns hand away and took a few quick steps over to the opposite wall, slamming his fists against it.

"God damn, Cena! WHY do you have to be so ANNOYING? WHY can't you STOP being such a pain in the ass?" Randy growled without turning around.

"Because," John said, although he knew even through his dazed mind he should keep his mouth shut, "You. Shouldn't. Be. Here."

Randy braced his arms against the wall and leaned his forehead against the cool tiles. His shoulders were tense and John noticed that he was drawing deep, heavy breaths, trying to calm down. John had seen this uncountable times before, though it had never been his fault – until now.

"I am right were I want to be," he whispered sharply.

"No, you're not. And I don't want you here," John stated flatly and earned and mirthless laugh from his friend.

"I don't believe that, John. You just say that because you think it's the right thing to say. You don't really want me to go."

Silence fell once more for a few moments, until John muttered: "Go home."

The younger man sighed heavily, exasperated.

"I don't have a home to go to anymore," Randy said, anger gone from his voice, replaced by resignation. "I'm gonna clean up the mess out there," he added quietly and left the bath room, leaving a dumbfounded John behind.

For a couple of minutes all John did was staring at an invisible spot on the wall, suddenly feeling sober. He tried to process the message, but somehow his mind refused to accept it. Randy was here because he couldn't go back home. Why wouldn't he be able to go home to his girls?

I am right were I want to be.

No, definitely not acceptable, all of it, not by any means. No matter how much his heart told him to be happy that Randy was here - with him. Closing his eyes he ran a hand over his face and went down. He needed some answers.

John crossed the living room and noticed that it could be called a room again. The biggest part was already cleaned up – the empty bottles and the glass on the floor were gone, the cushions of the couch and the magazines were back in order and his various carelessly scattered shirts were lying upon each other over the back of the couch. Wow, Randy was fast.

John followed the sounds that were coming from the kitchen and found his friend busy with washing up. Randy paused for a moment when he heard John come in, but then carried on without turning around. The older man sat down on the edge of the kitchen table and let his gaze roam over his friend.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

"I told Sam everything," Randy replied, voice flat.

John hung his head and gripped the edge of the table tightly with his healthy hand. This was exactly what he'd never wanted to happen. It was his fault.

"Randy, I know I'm repeating myself, but you really should go home. I'm sure she'll give you a second chance if you try and talk to her again."

Randy put a plate down and dried his hands, before turning around to face John. His expression was strained and John knew that his friend was only a breath away from snapping. He didn't care right now, there were more important things that needed to be settled.

"There is nothing to talk about and I don't want a second chance," he explained slowly, eyes locked with Johns. "And she didn't kick me out."

Then he left the kitchen, again leaving John behind who opened his mouth to say something to stop him, but no words came out. Instead John stared after him for a short moment before he followed. If Sam hadn't kicked him out…

"Will you stop running away?"

"I'm not running," Randy growled, while picking up the pile of shirts. "I'm just trying to clean up the garbage dump you call a house."

John grabbed his shirt to stop him as the younger man passed him on his way to the utility room.

"This can wait, Randy."

"No, it can't."

"Hell yes, it can!" John yelled, grabbing the shirts only to throw them aside carelessly.

And then it happened. John literally heard the sound as Randy snapped.

Drawing himself up to full his full height Randy roared: "What are you, an asshole?"

John noticed the veins popping up on the younger mans neck and those stormy-blue eyes seemed even colder when Randy shot him a death glare and although his whole appearance was pretty much intimidating – it had no such effect on the older man.

"Uhm… I'm sorry to disappoint you… but I'm not scared, you know? Can we now talk about what happened?"

Randy stared at him, anger morphing to confusion to utter disbelieve, before turning away to walk over to the couch. With a heavy sigh he dropped onto the cushions, resting his head against the back of the couch. He felt suddenly very, very tired.

"Don't get me wrong, John, but you're drunk and it's late. Let's get some sleep and I promise to tell you everything, okay?"

"I feel sober enough and you can sleep later," John said, as he walked over to Randy, sitting down beside him.

"You're unbelievable," Randy muttered, defeated.