With a slight groan, Stephen slowly began to awaken. He stretched his arms, yawned, and rolled over to an empty spot in the bed next to him. It hit him all over again. Ryan was gone. He had hoped that it was a bad dream. In fact, he had dreamt of his lover throughout the night. But now he was awake and, once again, alone in his hotel room. He drudged through the morning routine, which seemed painfully lonely. Halfway through, he had to turn on the TV just to break through the silence that haunted him.

After breakfast, he packed the last of his things and some of Ryan's into the car. He felt optimistic for a second. If he had Ryan's stuff, Ryan would have to talk to him. Wouldn't he?

Luckily, tonight's house show was only about 80 miles east. This was the first day in a long time that Stephen would have to drive from one show to another alone. He put his favorite Dropkick Murphys album on to aide the trip. It helped get him into a happy place. The drive only took roughly an hour and half; due greatly to the fact that Stephen liked to speed on the interstate.

Once he had pulled into the parking lot of the small campus arena, he pulled out his phone to call Paul. Stephen was really looking forward to talking to Paul. That may sound weird, but he was starting to feel socially deprived. He hadn't actually talked directly to anyone for more than polite, passing conversation since his exchange with Ryan last night. Finally, there was a click as Paul answered:

"Hey, man, what's up?"

"Hey, Paul. I jus got ta arena. Tinkin' of hittin' the weights. I was wonderin' if ya were already here."

"Yeah, I actually just got here about half an hour ago. I'm doing some cardio."

"Cool. I'll be in to join ya in just a few minutes."

"Alright, the weight room is down in the basement. Room 008. See ya in a few."

With a slight click, the call was done. Stephen grabbed his duffle bag from the backseat of the car and headed toward the entrance of the arena. At 11:00 am, the halls were already bustling with tech crew and general WWE staff. Only a handful of wrestlers were anywhere to be seen. After a little bit of searching, Stephen found the stairs and headed down stairs. The bottom of the stairs offered two long corridors to choose from. Going with his gut, he turned right. 004, 005. He was going the right way. 006 was a small practice gym set up with gymnastic mats. Stephen paid little mind until a familiar figure caught his attention.

In the practice gym, Ryan was working with a WWE trainer and Cody Rhodes. With Zac Helmsley's first singles match slated for next Monday night, the company was speeding Ryan through a crash course on in-ring performance. Cody would be his debut opponent. Stephen stopped and observed. Ryan seemed to be picking up pretty quickly and seemed to be remembering the things that he had worked on with Stephen and Paul.

SMACK!

Stephen couldn't help but seize up a little as he watched Cody slam the smaller boy face-first into the mat.

"This isn't going to help anything."

Stephen turned quickly, alarmed to hear a voice behind him. Paul was wiping sweat from his forehead with a small, black towel.

"Ya scared da shit outta me there, fella."

"Sorry. I waited for awhile but thought you may have gotten lost in this maze of a building."

"No, sorry, I got distracted."

"I see that…"

"Paul, I tink I messed up."

"Really, ya think? You really fucked up…but, look. We all do. You think I never pissed Steph off? Shit, I still do it on a weekly basis. Sometimes things get said and girls…and, um, I guess guys too, take it worse than we expected. Just give him some time. Then say you're sorry and try to work through it."

"I wanted to talk to him before da show tonight…"

"Eh, I don't know if that's a good idea. If it goes badly, you run the risk of both of you being too emotional to perform at your best."

"I guess that's true. But I need to give him some of the stuff he left in the hotel."

"Yeah, I'm actually supposed to get that stuff from you. He's not ready to see you. Again, just give him time."

"When am I supposed to know when it's okay?"

"Just wait until it feels rights. Now, let's go get that workout in and we can get lunch afterwards."

Stephen paced back and forth at the entrace to the stage. His match was coming up soon. It was to be a tag match with him teamed up Triple H against Randy Orton and the Big Show. That's the beauty of house shows; the card doesn't have to make that much sense. It's also worth noting that the drama involved with pairing up enemies and making them work toward a common goal has been a fan-favorite novelty for ages. The Big Show was the first to join Stephen at the prep area, followed shortly by Orton. While Orton was busy taping up his wrists and fingers, Big Show was being his usual chatty self. Stephen found him to be quite a funny guy, at least when he wasn't feeling to preoccupied. He was trying to keep his mind focused on the match, but he couldn't pull his thoughts away from Ryan. It had been almost 24 hours since they last saw each other eye-to-eye. Finally Paul showed up, but no Ryan.

It was getting dangerously close to showtime. Dolph Ziggler and Christian came through the curtained opening. They wished the others good luck before continuing to the locker room. Suddenly, Big Show's music hit and he was off. Where was Ryan? Just as Orton's theme was starting up, Ryan turned the corner of the hallway and sprinted up to Stephen and Paul. He was dressed in a pair of tight, darkwash jeans and a black t-shirt with a dark purple and green logo. He was busy pulling on a black leather jacket as he caught his breath.

"Sorry I'm late, guys. The hair woman was fussing over the fact that one half of my hair was wavier than the other today," the small one uttered with a roll of his eyes.

"Looks good…"

Stephen hadn't meant to say that out loud. It just kind of happened. Ryan briefly glanced his way with a sort of awkward, restrained smile, as though he was responding despite himself. The Celt would have taken the opportunity to try and further break the ice, but his music was starting. Once Stephen was gone, Paul placed an arm around Ryan's shoulder.

"You doing okay?

"Yeah…"

"Keeping your head in the match?"

"Yes…"

"Good. I love ya, little bro," Paul squeezed a little tighter and laid a soft kiss on Ryan's forehead.

Paul really was like a big brother to Ryan. He always seemed to know just what to say and what to do to calm the young man down.

"IT'S TIME TO PLAY THE GAME…"

That cue always got the adrenaline running in those two. Through the curtain they went and it was time once again to play the game.

After recent events, it seemed almost weird to be back at ringside. But this was Ryan's comfort zone. All he had to do was react to the match and trash talk his opponents. He had this…after all, that's a good part of the acting profession these days. The match was back-and-forth. In fact, it was almost ridiculous. You know, one of those matches that made you face palm every time the momentum changed hands.

No one but Ryan and Stephen knew the odd gymnastic duet going on between heart and stomach. Had Ryan not been in front of about 2,500 people, he probably would have thrown up. But he was being a professional and the audience was none-the-wiser. From a technical standpoint, everything was going well. Moves were executed flawlessly and things were going to plan. However, it was toward the point where the match was supposed to end. Orton was set up for the Brogue Kick.

"Aaaaahhhh!" the Great White gave his battle cry before springing into action.

At this point, the move usually flies on autopilot, but tonight something was just a hair off. The move didn't connect. No one had ever seen this before, at least not when it wasn't supposed to happen. Sheamus staggered and fell to the mat. Suddenly the improv kicked him and Randy went to work.

The younger Helmsley brother beat on the apron of the ring and shouted, "Goddammit, Sheamus! Get your shit together!"

Stephen knew that it was really Zac speaking, but in his head he just heard Ryan shouting those words at him. Then the conversation began to come back. He did his best to shake the unwelcome thoughts and went back to Orton. This time he flubbed an Irish Whip, tripping over his own legs and sending Orton chest first into the ropes. Randy, just slumped over the top rope, hoping Sheamus would recover quickly and finish him off. Stephen was starting to get frustrated. Thinking on his feet, Zac grabbed a hold of the ropes and swung his body upward, delivering a combat boot to the underside of the Viper's chin. Orton staggered back and Sheamus caught him in a rolling clutch pin.

1…2…3…DING!

It was over and not a moment too soon as far as any of the performers were concerned. The crowd was still eating it up though. The Helmsley's exited in the normal smug way with Zac playing up the fact that he "saved the day." Sheamus followed, displaying hurt pride. Less of this was feigned than the audience might imagine.

As soon as they were through the curtain, Stephen caught up to Ryan and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Ry, tanks for savin' my arse out dere. I don' know what got inta me."

"No, problem," Ryan paused as he looked for the right thing to say, "I was just doing what I was supposed to do – I was looking out for you…I mean, what was best for the show. I guess that's what we're really supposed to be worried about.

With this, Ryan turned and was gone. Stephen remained silent. He couldn't tell if that was a purposeful dig or not. At any rate, he felt like shit. A glass of whiskey and a lot of sleep began to call his name.

The next week seemed to fly by. With Night of Champions just three weeks away, everyone was in a promotional scramble. It was nonstop interviews, photo shoots, and so on. Neither Ryan nor Stephen had any days off this particular week. Furthermore, their divergent storylines prevented them from even having "work" time together. Unfortunately, this meant they both had to hold on to their feelings. It doesn't take a psychologist to know this isn't good. Hurt emotions are like an open wound. If left untreated, it just festers and gets worse as time wears on.

It wasn't until the following Monday night that their paths crossed again. Ryan was on his way to the ring when he passed Stephen in the hall. He wasn't sure if he should stop and talk or keep on going, but the Celt reached out and grabbed him gently by the arm.

"Ry…I…um, have been wantin' to talk to ya but this weeks been pretty crazy and…I just wanted to say,"

Stephen's words were soft. Ryan tried his best to resist but found himself melting into the Celtic Warrior as he had so many times before. Stephen gently caressed the side of the boy's face preparing to continue when they were interrupted by the footsteps of an approaching Evan Bourne. With this, he jumped back like a child caught doing something he knew was wrong.

"I jus wanted to say good luck…you'll do great out there…" the tone was completely different.

Ryan's mood came crashing down real fast after a build up like that. All he could do was crack a half grin.

"Thanks," he didn't even make eye contact, "I'd better get going."

Once again the boy was out of sight and the Irishman was cursing himself for screwing it up.

"Maybe it's just best if I let him go," Stephen thought to himself, "I just going to keep hurting him."

It was yet another busy week. Days were beginning to blur together. How long had it been since the two of them talked? Three days? Four?

Stephen laid in his bed at home for the first time in over a week. A street lamp outside his window cast a dull blue tint over the room. He stared into space with his mind doing laps around itself. The apartment was completely silent except for the low roar of the air conditioner. He suddenly realized how empty his king sized bed seemed when he was all alone in it.

He tossed and he turned, but try as he might, he couldn't get to sleep. 12:37. 1:13. 2:53. He was losing the night quickly. Not exactly how he wanted to spend his only night off. With a groan, he rolled over and buried his face into the crack between his two sets of pillows, a trick he had used for sleeping since he was a teenager. It was nice a cool, but something seemed different. He smelled a familiar yet misplaced scent. Where the rest of his bed and pillows had the faded smell of laundry detergent, something smelled richer. He sniffed around until he located a pillow at the bottom of the pile. That is where the smell was coming from. He thought for a second then took a deep sniff.

"What is this? I know…but I can't…" he thought to himself.

He kept racking his brain until the scent memory came back to him.: Ryan's shampoo. This must have been the pillow that Ryan used most when he stayed over. The things he wouldn't give to have those times back. The large man closed his eyes and snuggled the small pillow into himself, breathing deeply he pretended that he held Ryan in his arms and finally began to drift to sleep.

A thousand miles away, Ryan was lying in bed, spooning his body pillow. The room was illuminated by the glaring screen of his iPhone. Every couple of minutes, he'd press the home screen button just to be sure he hadn't missed a text. He had spent most the night with Nicole, but ended up heading to bed early. This was his normal way of escaping human contact to be alone with his thoughts…and sad showtunes.

The boy continued to stare at his phone. He wondered what Stephen was doing. Was he in bed too? Was he out at a bar? Did he even stop to think about the recent events? Ryan just wanted to talk to him, but he wouldn't allow it. Unfortunately, he had a self-destructive way of dealing with emotional issues such as this. No matter what Nicole told him, Ryan refused to abandon the old silent treatment that he liked to use. He had the policy that, as a very talkative individual, his silence was the quickest way to let someone know he was upset. He never really took into account that if things aren't said, things can't be fixed.

"I'll wait for him to make the first move…" he thought.

Had this method worked in the past? Yes…but not often enough to justify stubborn reliance.

Ryan's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his door creaking open. He lifted his head quickly in alarm. He saw no one from the faint glow of the nightlight in the hall, but as he lowered his head back down he recognized a small familiar shape making its way toward his bed. Soon a gray cat leapt up onto the bed and lied down in the space beside Ryan.

"Hey, Shakespeare."

"Meow."

"Yeah, I know, I know. You're the one constant male influence in my life."

The cat nuzzled up next to his human and began to purr himself to sleep.

"Some days I think this is the healthiest relationship I've ever had…"

Ryan shook his head, cozied up with his pillow and cat, and closed his eyes.