I didn't kiss him.

"Yeah you did," Jericho reminded himself with a sigh as he dug through his duffel bag for wrist tape. "But you didn't like it."

Yeah I did, he answered himself. He froze. He hadn't expected to respond like that.

"No, I didn't," he responded, ignoring the fact that he was (a) talking to himself and (b) talking to himself outloud, and went back to looking for his tape.

Then why'd you kiss him?

"My eyes were closed! I wasn't thinking..."

You can't tell the difference between kissing a man or a woman?

His heterosexual side remained silent.

Why were your eyes closed to begin with?

"God, I hate him," Jericho muttered to himself, finally finding the tape and started wrapping his left wrist.

"Hate who?" A soft voice asked. The question was followed up by a small hand with manicured nails examining his arm distractedly, from shoulder to elbow.

"Chris-" Jericho almost answered straight away, but realized that might not be the best idea as he would have to explain why. Better stick with an old standard. "Ah, Triple H."

"Oh," Stacy Keibler answered quietly, as she stopped looking at Jericho like a piece of meat. "Him. Yeah, actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah?" Jericho responded absently, tearing the tape on his left wrist as he awkwardly started on the right.

"Yeah," Stacy breathed. "Oh, let me help you with that."

"Thanks."

Stacy took the tape and started wrapping Jericho's right wrist, holding his hand and arm more than truly necessary. "Yeah, Triple H really embarrassed me last week. I was hoping you could... maybe... avenge me? I'd really appreciate it..."

Jericho managed to contain a derisive snort. "Well, actually, I'm going to challenge Hogan since he stole a title shot that was rightfully mine and beat Triple H. Hell, if that 'has been' beat Triple H, I could have destroyed him."

Jericho finally looked up when Stacy stopped wrapping the tape and was surprised to find Stacy glaring at him. She ripped the end of the tape off with frustration and stomped her foot indignantly. "Fine! I'll ask someone else!"

With that, she threw the roll of tape at Jericho and stormed off. He raised an eyebrow, confused, and jumped slightly when she slammed the door behind her. What was that?

Stacy Keibler was flirting with you, and not only did you not flirt back, you didn't even notice.

"I was-!"

...thinking about Edge and Christian.

Jericho growled to himself.

You kissed them. Both of them. And you liked it.

"No..." Jericho sighed, sitting on a bench.

Yes. Your only problem is that you can't decide which you liked more.

"Neither, neither," Jericho muttered under his breath. It didn't really matter if he was talking out loud, he felt like he needed to get this out of his head before it exploded. He needed to find that stupid voice in his head and beat the holy hell out of it.

You can't get rid of me, I am you. You can't deny it anymore.

"Like hell!"

Fine. Deny all you want.

"I will," Jericho answered himself haughtily, but stopped when he caught the implications of that statement. "Goddammit. I could have any woman I want. I'm a living legend!"

So you didn't want Stacy?

Jericho fell silent again, furiously tying back his hair.

Give up. Give in.

"It's not true."

It's decision time.

Jericho unsuccessfully tried to wall off that encroaching corner of his brain.

Is it Edge? The aggressive, spontaneous, powerful, hot lover? You know you'll be the bitch.

Jericho shuddered, dropping his head in his hands.

Or Christian? He's much more careful, delicate. And, god, did he ever smell good.

Jericho looked up suddenly after thinking that. He caught his incredulous reflection in the mirror on the wall. "What?"

Oh, you like the hot, sweaty man smell? That's understandable, too.

Jericho shuddered again, dropping his head back in his hands.

You know you're never going to be able to forget that look on Edge's face seconds before he kissed you. You liked it. You liked the fact that you knew Christian was going to kiss you. You were jonesing for it.

Jericho's thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand drop on his shoulder. He jumped up and turned to the person who had entered his locker room.

"I'm not gay!" Jericho yelled suddenly, surprising himself. He'd been so distracted by his own thoughts he hadn't noticed Triple H enter his locker room. Triple H raised an eyebrow with surprise, then smirked, losing the anger he had intended to approach Jericho with. He looked Jericho over, noticing the long, braided hair and, more prominently, the pink sparkly jumpsuit.

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Triple H asked with a laugh. Jericho just glared at him. Triple H's laughter slowly subsided. "I'm sorry, sorry. I came here to give you hell about what you did to me last week, but it looks like you're having some issues already. You ok?"

Jericho didn't respond.

"Look, man, I know we're not on the best terms, but we do have a common enemy or two. And my enemy's enemy is my friend." Triple H watched Jericho's emotionless face for another second before shrugging and leaving.

"Wait," Jericho called, hesitantly. Triple H stopped and turned slowly, with a raised brow.

"You're right."

With that, Jericho sighed and looked away. Triple H cast him a crooked smile before leaving.