I totally can't wait for Punk vs Jericho! This match is going to be awesome. I kind of wanted to write something after the promo Jericho cut Monday. Personally, I don't get why people seem to think WWE went too far with this storyline. They've done much worse stuff and CM Punk has cut promo's himself about it back in his indie days so it's not like this was some big secret. If he okayed this storyline, I don't see what the big deal is…

I guess a few people thought this story was a oneshot…I reread it, though, and it does read like a oneshot I guess…

The first thing Punk noted when he woke up was that his head was pounding. The second was that he was warm. Eyes still closed, he moved closer to that warmth. It wasn't until the other man shifted in his sleep that he was made to realize that he was not alone in bed.

He had to concentrate a moment through the pounding in his head to get to the vague memories of John helping him out of the arena after RAW. Punk rolled away from John, buried his face in his pillow, trying to quell the nasua that rose up at the move. With a groan, and when he was sure he wasn't going to lose what little he had left in his stomach, he pushed himself up so that he was sitting.

He still felt like shit and he had to sit still for a minute in order to keep from having to run to the bathroom but at least he was lucid. He pulled his knees up, wrapped one arm around his head. He sat there for several minutes and a small part of him wanted to lay back down next to John and go back to sleep.

He and John weren't exactly best friends. In fact, most of their conversations tended to end up mild forms of the verbal sparring they'd had in the ring in the past but after getting to know John a little bit, Punk actually started liking the man. He wasn't bad company, at least.

Embarrassment burned through him when he remembered that it had been him that had asked John to stay. He really hated getting sick, hated how fuzzy his memories were from the night before, hated how it was really the only time he lost control of himself.

It wasn't that he would mind John in his bed when he was lucid, he'd entertained the thought on more than one occasion. He was also pretty sure, even before last night, that John wouldn't have minded it either. He wasn't completely blind. He'd seen the way John had been looking at him lately.

The problem was that he would never ask while he was lucid enough to think about it. He'd made that decision a while ago.

Xxxxxxxxx

The hand that landed on his shoulder almost made him jump, brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned his head to meet John's gaze.

"You alright?" John asked.

"Peachy." He paused. "What are you doing in my bed?"

John chewed his lip. "You asked me to stay, remember?"

"Right." Punk sighed and then dropped back down on his back. He brought the cover up almost over his head and twisted onto his side. He really did just want to sleep.

"Okay, well…I'll just…" John's voice was halting, hesitant and Punk tried to ignore the look on his face. That look, that morphed into disappointment when Punk didn't stop him from getting up.

He'd been trying to ignore that look since he'd first seen it on John's face. As much as he prided himself on his ability to be brutally honest, hurting John just because he could wasn't exactly appealing and he'd resolved a while ago that he wouldn't bring it up unless John did.

Xxxxxxxxxx

John couldn't help but to be disappointed. Well, at least Punk hadn't freaked out on him when he'd woken up but there had been a part of him that had hoped Punk would still want him to stay when he woke up.

Wishful thinking. John had been doing that a lot lately, since this new infatuation he had with Punk had started to develop. John stared up at the ceiling from his own bed. It was still early, still several hours away until he had to get up, until his flight back home.

John usually wasn't so bad at reading people. It wasn't just last night that had had him hopeful that Punk would ask him to stay in the morning. It was more than that. He was pretty sure he saw the same attraction he felt in Punk's eyes on more than one occasion.

Maybe he had read the look wrong, though. Or maybe he hadn't and Punk was just embarrassed about asking him to stay when he wasn't completely aware of what he was doing. Despite his tendency to speak without thinking, John knew enough about Punk to know that he hated being in situations that were out of his control.

John had seen that aspect of Punk's personality months ago when he'd left WWE with the title. He'd seen it when Punk had gone after Triple H and Vince McMahon. Maybe he shouldn't give up so soon…

Xxxxxxxxxx

"Shit." The word came with a groan as Punk collapsed on a bench in the locker room. His muscles ached horribly and the match he'd just had did nothing to help his stomach. It just had to be the one night when Smackdown was three hours and he and several others from the RAW roster were scheduled for it.

He didn't believe in luck but, dammit, he recognized the fact that the only reason he'd won his match against Ziggler was because Ryder had interfered. He was looking forward to being home, but not the plane ride it was going to take to get there.

"You doing alright?"

Punk looked up at John, who was standing close by, a concerned look plastered on his face. "I'm fine." He stood, probably a little too fast because the world spun and he wavered on his feet.

"Whoa." John reached forward, settled a hand on his right bicep to steady him. Punk blinked a few times. He'd gone into his match with a headache and Ziggler had gotten more than one hard shot in to his head.

"I'm alright." But he did sit back down and bent to pull his boots off.

"Sure you shouldn't get checked out?" John pressed.

Punk shook his head, but he almost smiled at the concern shining in John's eyes. "No. We're off until Saturday. I'm good."

"Alright." John went to his bag, which was sitting on the bench next to Punk and zipped it up. The smile he gave Punk before he walked out the door was bright and Punk could see that look in his eyes again.

Punk watched him walk away, chewed his lip as he thought about the situation. He got the feeling that John knew his infatuation wasn't completely one sided. When his phone rang, he only glanced at the display and a scowl formed on his face. Reluctantly, he answered it.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Xxxxxxxx

When he finally made it back to the hotel, Punk was not in a good mood. He still had a bad headache, in fact his whole body was still aching, and he was pissed off. He was beginning to think he needed to change his phone number again. John was sitting on the couch in the room when he made it inside, a movie playing on the television.

"Everything alright?" John asked with a raised eyebrow when he caught the scowl on Punk's face.

"Fine." He dropped his bag by the wall.

"You want to watch?" John gestured to the free side of the couch and Punk eyed him a moment before giving in and dropping down on the couch. It would be nice, after that phone call, to hang with someone who didn't hate him.

When John moved closer to him, he should have said something but he was exhausted, his head was still pounding, and his nerves were fried. He let himself sink back into the cushions and his anger bled away as he and John made light conversation and mocked the B horror movie playing on the screen.