A/N: The Song is "No One's Gonna Love You" by Band of Horses. Also, please leave feedback if you feel up to it... It helps me gauge how I'm doing and what I wanna do next.

Chapter 4: No One's Gonna Love You

Ever since Adam left, Max is pretty sure that he's forgotten what a good night's sleep feels like. He is bone tired, and despite everything that happened in the past with Punk, the older man's arms somehow still feel like home to him. After killing two of the Gatorades Punk brought him, and a big plate of hash browns Punk made from potatoes and onions Max had in the kitchen, he asks Punk if they can go to his room. It's not the come on it sounds like. Max can feel the exhaustion down to the marrow of his bones, and Punk can see it all over his face. Max is the king of taking care of himself – always has been – so for him to look so tired, it's obvious that life has been weighing on him.

It's looking like a limb torn off,
Or all together just taken apart.

In his room, Max crawls into the bed. It's not the same bed Punk remembers. Only makes sense… Max was supposed to be getting married. He probably didn't want the bed from his early twenties to share with his soon-to-be-husband… turned not-to-be-husband. He wonders briefly if Max and the piece of shit who broke his heart (The other piece of shit who broke his heart? Because I'm also the piece of shit who broke his heart) picked this bed out together. But once the younger man is under the blankets, Punk looks at him and feels the love he's always had for Max wrap around his heart like a vice. Max looks so vulnerable like this, and even Punk can't bring himself to say something snarky right now.

We're reeling through an endless fall.
We are the ever-living ghost of what once was.

Max looks at Punk from his spot in the bed, and the older man reads the request in his eyes without Max needing to say a word. Grabbing his t-shirt by the back of the collar, he pulls it over his head, then takes off his jeans, folding them neatly and putting them in a pile on the floor. Some things never change, but others do… and Punk has become a little more conscientious about certain things in his old age. Down to his underwear and socks, Punk crawls into the bed next to Max, and isn't at all surprised when Max moves that little bit closer to rest his head on Punk's bare chest.

And no one is ever gonna love you more than I do.
No one's gonna love you more than I do.

Adjusting the pillow under his head, Punk wraps one arm around Max's shoulders, holding onto him, and uses the other to brush Max's curls back from his face. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks the younger man. "Or do you just want me to be here and shut the fuck up? I've never been all that good at shutting the fuck up, but this is a special circumstance, I guess." He gives Max that little half-smirk-half-smile of his, and Max can't help smiling back. Mission Accomplished.

And anything to make you smile,
It is a better side of you to admire.

"I'll believe you can shut the fuck up when you prove it," Max challenges, but his smile, though still there, is sad – tinged with the hurt of too many heartbreaks and too much bullshit that nobody deserves to go through. Way, way too much of which is Punk's fault, and he knows it. He almost hates himself for being here right now, knowing full well that things never end well between him and Max. The love is there – that has never been the question. The problem is the brokenness in these two men – the sharp edges of their personalities that are just too good at cutting one another. The way that they fuck each other over without even meaning to, and the way that they tear each other apart by trying to hold on.

But they should never take so long
Just to be over then back to another one.

"I don't really know what I want," Max finally admits, not looking at Punk as he speaks. His eyes are locked in on his own fingers, tapping slowly, rhythmically, along the tattoos on the older man's chest. "I want to not be me right now… that much I know. But I'm shit out of luck on that one. Still stuck being me."

And no one is ever gonna love you more than I do.
No one's gonna love you more than I do,
And someone, they could've warned you.

Punk tightens his arm around Max's shoulders, pressing repeated kisses into the softness of his hair. Max's gentle fingers on his chest almost tickle, but Punk never dreamed he would be here again, holding onto the man he has loved for so long and gone without for what seems like a lifetime in five years. "Well… whatever that turns out to be… I'm here, Max. I'll be here as long as you need me to." He's going to regret this promise. He knows that, too. He's walking into hell with his eyes wide open in a gasoline soaked bodysuit, and he will walk through the fire again if it means Max doesn't have to feel alone in this. If it means in any way making up for all the pain he put him through for so fucking long, there's nothing Punk won't do.

When things start splitting at the seams and now
The whole thing's tumbling down

Max curls a little closer against Punk's chest. This whole thing is going to be filled with regret. They both know it better than they know their own names. But Max leans into the comfort for now. When the pain comes, it will come with a vengeance, but for right now? In this moment? It's the first time he's felt like staying alive since Adam walked away. "Don't you have work or something?"

Things start splitting at the seams and now
If things start splitting at the seams and now
It's tumbling down hard.

Punk can feel Max's breath on his chest, and it feels so familiar that it hurts. "I'm still in a band," he says with a shrug. "I had a few gigs lined up, but I called a guy to fill in for me while I'm here." He gives Max a little squeeze, and adds, "So, I'm all yours." He only wishes he could put into words just how true that sentiment is. Just how much he's always been Max's, even when it meant being his worst self at the worst of times.

Anything to make you smile.
You are the ever-living ghost of what once was.

"Always so generous, Phil," Max replies, and Punk snickers. In all the time they've known each other, Max has only ever called him by his given name to be a pain in the ass. And if Max is being a pain in the ass, even in this smallest of ways, Punk will take it as a sign that he's still in there, somewhere… if wounded and aching.

They never want to hear you say
That you'd be better off
Or you liked it that way.

Max is tired… Punk can feel it in the way the younger man's body relaxes in his arms. He isn't going to push Max to talk anymore right now, but if he wants to, Punk will listen. His hand cups around Max's shoulder, gently rubbing the smooth skin there as he holds him. "Hey, Punk," Max says, his voice thick in the way it always is when he's sleep-deprived and teetering on the edge of an accidental nap.

And no one is ever gonna love you more than I do.
No one's gonna love you more than I do.

"Yeah?" Punk asks softly, not wanting to get Max riled back up. He's hoping he can get his ex to sleep for a while now that he knows he's safe – or as safe as he's ever been with CM Punk in his home, anyways. Which is – well, not always incredibly clear, and depends on your definition of safety.

But someone, they should've warned you.

"Thank you," Max murmurs. "For coming here. I don't know why you did, but thank you."

Punk nods, not speaking just yet, because he's feeling a little emotional hearing Max's words. After everything they've been through together, all of this time… Punk half expected Max to be mad when he got here. Instead of half clinging to him like Punk's the only thing that can heal his pain.

They both know better. That's never been true, and as far as he knows, it never will be. But for right now, he just kisses Max's hair again and says, "Anytime, kid. Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

When things start splitting at the seams and now,
The whole thing's tumbling down

In the quiet of the room, with Max in his arms, Punk can hear when Max's breathing evens out. He's asleep, and Punk finds himself thanking whatever powers that be might be listening for any rest that Max might be able to get. His cheek against Punk's chest, Max seems to finally be settled, at least for the time being, and that will have to do. With Max sleeping, Punk pulls the blankets up to tuck them around Max's shoulders. Max has always slept cold… Punk long ago lost count of the nights he woke up freezing his ass off with no blanket, only to find a cozy Max sleeping peacefully beside him with the entire blanket wrapped around him.

Things start splitting at the seams and now
If things start splitting at the seams and now
It's tumbling down hard.

With Max warm against his chest, Punk himself feels like he could stand some rest, and closes his eyes. This is all the worst of ideas… there have been better ideas had at bad idea competitions, Punk's sure of it. But for right now, the man he loves is safe, sleeping next to him after god knows how little sleep he's had in the last few days.

Both men have dozed off when Piper hops up on the bed, as if to inspect and make sure her Daddy's safe. Seemingly satisfied for the time being, she curls herself into Max's neck and starts to purr.