Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs. Anything else belongs to whoever it belongs to. ^__^

A/N: Insomnia strikes again! Woo, but at least y'all get an update again. Keep up the reviews, y'all should know by now that I LOVE to read them. :) Yep... that's about it. I'm gonna try to get SOME sleep before I have to be up for school... grrr. Anyway, enjoy! :)

Punk laughed lightly. "Your name tag… at the café. I can read you know." He took a deep breath and then said in a really deep and caveman like voice, "Big wrassler can read."

Wrinkling my nose, a bit calmer after hearing that, I said, "That wasn't funny."

Punk shrugged, coming closer to my protective pose. "I'm not so great with humor. Sue me."

"Surely will. You made me fall on the damn floor." I grinned at him without even meaning to. Should I believe him? I asked myself. Did Punk really read my nametag? Or were Matt and Jeff waiting to haul me away? Punk seemed like a pretty trustworthy guy though, so I relaxed, if only a little.

"Sorry, I wasn't the one watching my step," he grumbled. "You looked like you had just saw a damn ghost or something."

"Heard a ghost," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," I chided back.

Punk held up his hands and I had a hard time looking at them without the tape and straightedge signs. "Sorry, sorry." We began to walk towards our respective apartments, a slightly uneasy silence masking the air. "So are you going to come over?"

How the hell had I possibly forgotten that? My eyes widened at the reminder. "C-come over?" I stammered.

Punk stared at me for what seemed like forever. "Yeah, I invited you before your psycho friends pulled you away." I wanted to giggle at the 'psycho friends' comment, but it didn't really seem appropriate.

"Oh… right." Damn, I really need to learn how to talk to people. "I guess."

His face fell. "Well, if you don't want to…"

God, I really need to learn how to talk to people! "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that. God, I'm stupid. I… sure, I mean, I had forgot… between trying to come back here and…" I talked too much. Before I could make myself look anymore stupid, I stated (through gritted teeth), "I'll be over in about fifteen minutes." Just one look at my overly dressed outfit told him why.

He laughed nervously and then walked into his apartment.

When did you ever get so awkward? Penn said with a laugh.

"Can it," I growled, slamming my own door shut. I had fifteen minutes to remember why I even said yes and to make myself look less crazy than I had done in five. "Just great."

As quickly as I could, I threw on some jeans and a decent t-shirt. My hair had to look wild from my even wilder walk home, so I didn't even attempt to fix that. Threw it into a ponytail and went on for make-up. Which happened to look fine, so I left the bathroom feeling a bit better. I must have looked like Ursula from The Little Mermaid before.

"I guess it's time," I muttered, attempting to sound optimistic meanwhile my heart hammered inside of my ribcage, telling me that I was going to pass out as soon as I entered Punk's apartment. How the hell did wrestlers seem to get into my life like that? Why did Punk want me in his life?

I was convinced I was nothing special.

Good luck…

"What, no snarky remark?" I snapped, though a bit playfully as well.

Eh, whatever.

"Keep your mouth… brain… whatever shut in the apartment." I rolled my eyes at my own insanity and sighed. "Here goes nothing."

Opening the door to my apartment and stepping out into the hallway was the simple part. Knocking on Punk's and remembering on how to breathe was not easy. Which is pretty sad if you think about it.

And of course, like the dork he acted like, Punk answered as soon as my hand had left the metal. "Took you long enough," he muttered playfully, welcoming me inside. I stuttered over a reply to his comment while trying to see how CM Punk lived. Definitely was a bachelor pad… nothing looked like a female lived there. There was take out bags in the garbage and the furnishings were far from beautiful. Not that there was much of any furniture in what was the livingroom anyway. A lousy looking couch, a coffee table and a TV made it up. The walls were a bleak green color, reminding me of puke.

"Don't even say it," he groaned, looking at my far from a poker face expression. "I know my apartment sucks." He shrugged. "I'm not in it much, so it doesn't really matter." I turned to look at the kitchen, not bothering to answer him. There wasn't much there other than a stove, fridge, and a microwave. One broken looking table sat in the corner, two chairs around it. "Maria tried to fix it up when she lived here with me, but… you can't teach an old dog new tricks, you know?"

It wasn't dirty or old looking, though. It just looked… bare. If I would have walked in alone, I would have thought someone just planted anything they didn't want and left it there.

"Are you going to answer me?"

"Huh?"

Punk rolled his eyes. "I said my apartment sucked, so you can say it does too… don't worry, it won't bother me."

I shook my head. "It doesn't suck."

"Sure, sure," he muttered back.

Coming closer to him. "It doesn't suck," I stated again. "It's just… empty."

He nodded. "I know. I'm not much of an interior designer." He gave me a puppy dog like grin. "Like I said, Maria tried to make me one, but it wasn't happening. I can barely match my own clothes, let alone make myself a contemporary-looking apartment." He seemed apologetic.

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't bother me any," I told him truthfully. To be honest, I was glad I wasn't met with any of the Core when I walked in. A rat could have jumped onto the table and did the worm and I wouldn't have minded.

… Much.

He grinned. "Well thank you."

"Sure," I said with a shrug. "No problem."

"So… are you hungry?" I stared at him blankly. "Oh, right! You just had dinner. I'm a fucking moron, ignore me."

For some reason, it really clicked with me then that I was standing next to CM Punk, in his apartment. How the hell did I get into something like that? My eyes widened.

"What's the matter?" he asked suddenly, seeing my expression.

"Nothing… it's nothing."

He didn't seem convinced. "You sure?"

"Phi—Punk, it's nothing." I shook my head. "Ugh, it's so weird calling someone Punk. I feel like I'm scolding you or something."

He grinned, seemingly forgetting about my strange expression. "Yeah, well, get used to it. If I hear you call me Phil, I'll have to put you in some kind of a headlock."

I shook my head. "Humor still isn't working."

He continued to grin at me. "Oh well."

About an half hour later, after I had convinced Punk I wasn't hungry, had to use the bathroom, and no, I did not want a Pepsi (like I was going to tell the Pepsi-loving-freak that I liked Coca-Cola) we finally sat down on his couch, the TV playing in the background. If you asked me what was playing that day, I couldn't tell you.

"So, why'd you invite me over?" I'd say I was feeling pretty bold, actually. The more I stayed with Punk, the more comfortable I got. He had an easy-going feeling about him.

"I don't know… I feel bad for waking you up because of John the other night. Figured I'd mend the ends." He left sorry for me? Great. Just fucking great.

"Oh… you didn't have to. It wasn't a problem."

Punk nodded. "Oh… well, it's too late for that. You're here now." Sure am. "So, how's it feel to be in the same room as the WWE World Heavyweight Champ?" There was a false cocky tone to him, letting me know he wasn't really saying it to be mean.

But, I hadn't known. "YOU WON THE BELT?" I shrieked.

He looked positively taken back. "You do watch, don't you?"

I calmed down a little. "I… did." Taking a deep breath, I had to grin. "I haven't watched since the end of June. Congratulations!"

He grinned back. Did I forget to mention how great that man's smile was? "Thank you. Why'd you stop watching?"

Bad move. "I… uh…" I wished I had a poker face.

"Sorry," he mumbled to me, obviously reading my face again. "Subject change time."

"Yeah," I muttered back.

"Uhm… favorite color?"

I looked at him, a 'are you serious?' look on my face. He shrugged. "Yellow," I muttered.

"Really? I pictured you a purple girl." He looked at me with a fascinated smile for a moment. "Strange."

I rolled my eyes. "What about you?"

"Don't really have one."

It went silent and I had to remember how to talk again. Every time he smiled, I couldn't remember. And he smiled a lot. "You know," I started, a bit happy with what I was going to say. "There is something about you Punk."

He raised an eyebrow, The Rock style. "There is?"

I nodded, smiling softly. "Yeah, there is. Like maybe someone's favorite jeans. They're comfortable. Slipping into them… it just feels right. Talking to you feels right." I smiled at my comparison.

"So you're saying I'm putting you at ease?" he asked back slowly.

I nodded. "Something not easily done."

He grinned like a child, obviously proud. "Cool." And in my mind, I thought, cool, very cool.

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