Two Hundred Hours 3/?
A/N: Oh lookie, I'm still alive! Just been very busy with school, but I am not dropping this story, alright? Not that anyone's reading this story after all lol So to anyone who's still eager to read this chapter, thanks a bunch! Also reviews are welcome xD
It had been three hours since Monday Night Raw had ended and John was still restless. His knees bobbed up and down as he sat on his hotel bed, palms slightly sweaty as his hands took hold of his phone and he kept on heaving a sigh for each minute that had passed. And seriously, he was getting more and more anxious as the seconds ticked on his watch and somehow, it felt like someone had placed a grandfather clock right beside his ear. Eyes fixed on the blank screen on his phone the CeNation leader gritted his teeth and willed himself to just calm the fuck down.
What was it that was making this man so unnerved, you ask? It was just a simple phone call.
No, it wasn't because of a life-threatening deal or an anticipated ambush from an enemy or anything that dangerous. It was because he was waiting for a simple phone call from a certain man named CM Punk, who had promised that he would call once something bad happened. Well, he wasn't sure if something bad really happened to Punk 'cause he was too busy shaping up for his main event match with Otunga, leaving him no time to watch the guy's fight with Henry. That being said, right after he got F-5'ed by Lesnar for the second time, he got back to the locker room only to hear a couple of guys talking about Jericho and his continuing torments on the Champion. And even though he only heard the words 'Jericho showed up again right after Punk's match', he stormed out of the room and headed back to the hotel to look for the guy.
To no luck, he didn't find a single trace of Punk. He tried the man's hotel room, asked around the reception, even knocked around Punk's neighbors just to ask if they saw the Straight Edge Savior get home safely. And that must be his unlucky night for nobody saw the guy come through the entrance of the hotel and Punk's neighbors didn't hear any noise from his room. Also, he pounded on his door for almost a minute, half-expecting Punk to slam the door open and shout 'What the hell is the matter with you?' in his face. Well, nobody answered and that brought John's mood falling flat on the ground.
Now his only hope was the phone call Punk had promised him, although his hope seemed to deplete as the seconds went by.
"Dammit, Punk, where the hell are you?" John asked under his breath as his knees continued to bounce up and down in worry. Feeling kind of sick from the swirling in his stomach, he threw his phone on the bed and pressed the heels of his hands on his eyes, resting them for a few seconds. Darn it, shouldn't he be sleeping right now? Why did he want to see Punk so badly tonight, anyway?
John let out a deep breath, clearing his head up in the process. He needed to calm down; to think. Panicking wasn't the best solution right now. Just calm down, be patient and wait.
To his surprise, that statement actually worked. The tension of his muscles had relaxed, his heart started beating normally again and the spinning in his stomach had subsided. And he was planning on maintaining his aura like this until his ears would hear buzzing from his phone.
The only thing that interrupted his 'meditation' was a knock on the door.
It sounded hurried but John didn't care. It may be Brock on the other side, wanting to rip his head off from his neck or a WWE Creative Staff calling him for an urgent rehearsal or something but he didn't care. Perhaps it was a fan that had made his way in the hotel at two in the morning, but John didn't move from his seat. This incident had happened to him once or twice a week and from experience he knew that sometimes it was best not to answer the door anymore.
Nevertheless, the knocking didn't stop. Also, it sounded like the person on the other side really wanted to wake him up. Shoulders sagging wearily, John heaved himself up from the bed and walked to the door. Seriously, if this was another fan wanting his autograph in the middle of the night, he would shamelessly ask Kane to watch the door for him.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm opening the door, geez -"
And in fact, he did, only to have his jaw dropped from its hinges.
CM Punk stood on the other side, and quite surprisingly, the guy was still in his wrestling gear. His gray shirt was slightly crumpled up, Championship belt worn around his waist and a bag hanging over his shoulder. Even his somewhat ruined wrist tape was still wrapped around his hands. But what caught John's attention the most was the frown that was etched across the Straight Edge Savior's face.
Punk placed a hand on John's door and spoke as he looked straight into John's eyes.
"I had to find you."
And damn John would be fucking lying if he didn't say that his heart fluttered at Punk's words. He even felt the heat rise up to his cheeks and he fought to keep the smile off his face.
"Really? You had to find me?"
"Yeah," Punk answered indifferently. "I need to use your bathroom."
It took John seconds to process what Punk said for he was kind of expecting words like 'I need your company right now' or 'Can I stay here for a while' so it kind of caught him off guard when the man answered his question. Really, he didn't know whether to feel disappointed or embarrassed for his stupid assumptions.
But John merely let it all go and stepped aside to give Punk room to enter. "I guess that's what the bag is for - wait, what is that smell?"
Punk stopped walking and stared back at John as if he was a deer caught in headlights. And in a second, the frown was back again. "You didn't see my match earlier, did you?"
John shook his head in reply. "No, I was in the locker room getting myself prepared for my own match. What happened to you back there?"
"Jericho assaulted me again," the Straight Edge Savior answered with a sigh. "And what you smell is the stench of dry beer stuck in my skin. Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick."
And with that, Punk dropped his bag on the floor then turned back to John who was watching him as the older man closed the door behind them. "So can I use your bathroom?"
"Y-Yeah, sure," John replied hesitantly. He didn't know what to say at all for he had a lot of questions running through his head, starting from 'Are you okay?' to 'Why are you showering in my bathroom?' and in fact, he had no clue where to start. Punk hated questions that made him look like a mugged victim or something so John crossed the obvious questions out. Although when he was about to start asking, the other man was already in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
John was left in the middle of the room, his mouth agape in confusion.
Shaking himself awake the CeNation leader let out an amused laugh as he grabbed the Championship belt and the forgotten bag that was lying on the floor. Replacing them on the side of the bathroom door, he took a seat on the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on the room where Punk was in as he chose whether to start asking or to just shut up and wait for Punk to leave. Curiosity got the better of him, though, and he cleared his throat before saying Punk's name out loud.
"Yeah?" was the simple reply from the Champion.
"Why are you showering just now?" And just in time, there was a sound of the shower head being turned on, so John had to speak louder as he continued, "And why do you have to use my bathroom?"
There was silence around the room except the pelting sound of the water hitting the tiled floor. And because of that, John thought that Punk wouldn't answer anymore so he let out a disappointed sigh. But then Punk's voice rang from inside the bathroom, responding to his hanging question.
"Medics took me to the clinic right after my match with Jericho. I didn't realize I passed out while they were tending me. Guess they let me be 'cause I woke up just half an hour ago. First thing I thought when I woke up was to take a shower so I headed first to my room, and guess what I found."
There was a pause and John had to ask out loud, "What?"
"My bathroom was flooded with water and somebody had played with the pipes. I bet it was fucking Jericho, I swear. I don't know how he did it and I didn't have the time to wonder or to wait for a plumber to fix the tubes, so I had to find you and ask you to let me use your shower."
That actually made John smile without reason, and grinning to himself, he leaned back on his bed, propping himself up with his hands. "So I'm the first guy you thought of?"
And there was no answer after that. John held his breath, anticipating a good reply from Punk, but no voice came after. Just the sound of the shower breaking the little silence between them. John's shoulders sagged. He must have asked the wrong question this time. Suppressing a groan, he hit his forehead with his palm, cursing himself for asking such a stupid, ridiculous thing. It sounded like he was having a high-school crush on the guy for crying out loud! He was there as a friend, not as an infatuated teenager damn it.
Well just to his luck - sarcastically speaking - he didn't hear from Punk since then and that actually crushed something inside John. He must have creeped the man out with his question. Feeling guilty, he heaved himself up from his bed, snatched the remote control from his bedside table and turned the TV on, just to distract himself from thinking about what he did, hoping that the sound of the television would drown himself to sleep so that Punk could leave without saying goodbye anymore.
Although it seemed that his head wasn't cooperating with him right now for thoughts kept on bombarding his head as he flipped on the channels to find a better show to watch for the night. He wanted to talk to Punk. Screw it, since their little chat the night after John's defeat at WrestleMania, his ears appeared to have been so hooked on Punk's voice that he actually smiled himself to sleep while thinking about it. In fact he was even looking forward to the sarcastic remarks that came from the man. And then after a week of not seeing each other, this was what he would get? A silent treatment from a guy he had been worried about for the past three and a half hours?
John's thumb kept on pressing the button on the remote control as if he was actually scanning every channel on the damn TV but his mind floated away as he did. And from too much thinking, he didn't realize that Punk was already coming out from the bathroom with the younger man drying his hair up with a towel. The chuckle that came from the Chicago native was the only thing that woke John from his deep trance.
"Seriously, John, are you trying to break your TV?"
Snapping his head toward Punk, John dropped the remote in an instant and sat up on the bed in surprise. The guy was wearing a spare of his white "Best in the World" shirts with faded jeans for his bottoms. He barely saw the guy in casual clothing, he realized, and the only times he could remember were back at the night where The Rock beat him at WrestleMania and the first night Lesnar gave him the F-5.
Huh. Looked like they were having these meet-ups weekly without even noticing.
"Didn't your mom tell you it's rude to stare?"
That query made John chuckle and shake his head with a little laugh. "I just find it unusual to see your hair like that. I mean, it's like you always use a day's worth of hair gel on whenever you get in the ring."
"Stop making excuses, Cena. Just admit that you were staring."
John nodded with a shrug. "Yes, I was staring."
"And that's my cue to go."
Making a move to grab his things, Punk reached for his bag and Championship belt which were carefully placed beside the bathroom door and to be honest, it made John panic all of a sudden. Jumping off the bed, he approached the younger man before everything was too late.
"Hey, hey, I was kidding. No staring, I swear."
Punk paused and tapped his chin with his index finger as if thinking carefully. "Meh, I'm still going even if you weren't so - "
"Come on, Punk," John said almost pleadingly. He even stopped himself from grabbing Punks wrist to prove he was serious. "Do you seriously want to go back to a flooding hotel room? And besides, you just got here. Make yourself comfortable."
The Chicago native eyed John straight into his eyes, chewing on his lip ring as if considering John's offer carefully. Then after a second, Punk shrugged his shoulders, suddenly smirking at the CeNation leader and saying, "Yeah, I guess I can stay for a while," before dropping his things back on the floor again and rushing toward John's bed, leaving the older man gaping in surprise.
Silently, John watched Punk reach for the remote control then lay back on the bed. It seemed that this kid was really making himself comfortable. The sight made him chuckle out but he didn't expect Punk to hear it at all.
"What's so funny?" The Champion asked as his attention was waved away from the show he was watching.
"I was just thinking," John replied while leaning on the wall beside the bed. "You look horrible tonight, man."
"Psshh," Punk scoffed out loud with a smirk. "Says the guy who got a busted lip."
That made John crack up and shake his head in amusement. He had to admit, he was still feeling the blow of Lesnar's fist against his mouth and boy did it knock him out for a split second. But he didn't care about that. Heck he didn't even mind the second consecutive F-5 Brock gave him earlier that night. All of the pain just magically disappeared when he heard about Jericho appearing again right after Punk's match with Henry.
"So," John asked cautiously, his hands on his back. "Did Jericho douse you with alcohol again?"
He was expecting Punk to retort or ask him to back off and mind his own damn business so when the younger man answered indifferently, it really surprised the hell out of him. Although he couldn't rule out the sarcasm that was tainting his voice as he spoke.
"Yeah, he did. And he's actually getting creative. He used beer this time."
"Did your alcohol withdrawal kick in again?"
"Nah, it didn't," and without thinking about it, Punk lifted his hand with his palm facing up, not too obviously though but John noticed it was the hand he held when he was comforting Punk a week ago. John's heart skipped a beat with that but he didn't say anything. He didn't want to get things awkward.
Kicking out from his daze, Punk snapped a head toward John all of a sudden, startling the bigger man for a bit. "By the way, congratulations on slapping a UFC Fighter right in the face. It was classic, Cena."
John snorted and crossed his arms on his chest. "Yeah, well, I didn't know that my prize was a bloodied lip."
He was laughing at the matter right now, but John was seriously enraged about what happened. If it wasn't for half the locker room and staff holding him back, he would have smashed Lesnar's face right there in the ring. But he guessed he could wait; he had been a patient man anyway. There was still Extreme Rules. He was going to get his payback when that night comes.
There was still something else that he wanted to focus on first before turning his attention to another pissed off legend.
"Hey Punk," John asked when he noticed Punk's eyes starting to droop close. Despite that, Punk turned to him, waiting for what he would say next. "I was wondering what could make you feel better tonight."
Punk hummed thoughtfully with that then answered in a slightly excited tone, "My comics. And some ice cream."
"Wait, what?" John blurted out. He was expecting something else, like verbal encouragement, or looking for Jericho right this moment and kicking his ass so that he couldn't go on the tour this week. Really? That was what Punk wanted? "I don't know what comics you like and I doubt there's an ice cream store open right now."
"Hey, you're the one who asked me what could make me feel better, you ass. Come on, my comics are in the closet in my hotel room and I bet you can find a 24-hour convenience store just around the area. Run along now."
Without complain, John moved on with his feet as Punk waved him off like a billionaire asking his butler to get him some food. Well, what could he do? He did say that he wanted to make Punk's mood brighter. Besides, he promised that he would make the guy feel better every time he was troubled. Obviously, the perfect time to do that was now.
Stepping outside his room, he shook his head in amusement as he shut the door behind him. The things that I do for the people I care for.
Precisely thirty minutes later - yes, he was measuring the time since he left - John got back to his hotel room, a stack of comic books and a gallon of vanilla ice cream in tow, only to find the TV left forgotten on and a sleeping Punk on his bed. John couldn't help a sigh, smiling at himself right after. Punk looked so peaceful in his sleep; body curled up in a fetal position and arms wrapped around a fluffy pillow. John didn't have the heart to wake the guy up. Well, who would, even?
Fetching a paper and a pen from his bedside drawer, he scribbled a note for Punk, telling him that he left the ice cream in the fridge then leaving the note on top of the comics which he placed right beside the sleeping guy's head.
John turned the TV off, switching the lights off on the way out, taking one last look on Punk's sleeping figure before exiting through the door.
"Goodnight, Punk."
And with that, he left.
It had been three hours since Monday Night Raw had ended and John was still restless. His knees bobbed up and down as he sat on his hotel bed, palms slightly sweaty as his hands took hold of his phone and he kept on heaving a sigh for each minute that had passed. And seriously, he was getting more and more anxious as the seconds ticked on his watch and somehow, it felt like someone had placed a grandfather clock right beside his ear. Eyes fixed on the blank screen on his phone the CeNation leader gritted his teeth and willed himself to just calm the fuck down.
What was it that was making this man so unnerved, you ask? It was just a simple phone call.
No, it wasn't because of a life-threatening deal or an anticipated ambush from an enemy or anything that dangerous. It was because he was waiting for a simple phone call from a certain man named CM Punk, who had promised that he would call once something bad happened. Well, he wasn't sure if something bad really happened to Punk 'cause he was too busy shaping up for his main event match with Otunga, leaving him no time to watch the guy's fight with Henry. That being said, right after he got F-5'ed by Lesnar for the second time, he got back to the locker room only to hear a couple of guys talking about Jericho and his continuing torments on the Champion. And even though he only heard the words 'Jericho showed up again right after Punk's match', he stormed out of the room and headed back to the hotel to look for the guy.
To no luck, he didn't find a single trace of Punk. He tried the man's hotel room, asked around the reception, even knocked around Punk's neighbors just to ask if they saw the Straight Edge Savior get home safely. And that must be his unlucky night for nobody saw the guy come through the entrance of the hotel and Punk's neighbors didn't hear any noise from his room. Also, he pounded on his door for almost a minute, half-expecting Punk to slam the door open and shout 'What the hell is the matter with you?' in his face. Well, nobody answered and that brought John's mood falling flat on the ground.
Now his only hope was the phone call Punk had promised him, although his hope seemed to deplete as the seconds went by.
"Dammit, Punk, where the hell are you?" John asked under his breath as his knees continued to bounce up and down in worry. Feeling kind of sick from the swirling in his stomach, he threw his phone on the bed and pressed the heels of his hands on his eyes, resting them for a few seconds. Darn it, shouldn't he be sleeping right now? Why did he want to see Punk so badly tonight, anyway?
John let out a deep breath, clearing his head up in the process. He needed to calm down; to think. Panicking wasn't the best solution right now. Just calm down, be patient and wait.
To his surprise, that statement actually worked. The tension of his muscles had relaxed, his heart started beating normally again and the spinning in his stomach had subsided. And he was planning on maintaining his aura like this until his ears would hear buzzing from his phone.
The only thing that interrupted his 'meditation' was a knock on the door.
It sounded hurried but John didn't care. It may be Brock on the other side, wanting to rip his head off from his neck or a WWE Creative Staff calling him for an urgent rehearsal or something but he didn't care. Perhaps it was a fan that had made his way in the hotel at two in the morning, but John didn't move from his seat. This incident had happened to him once or twice a week and from experience he knew that sometimes it was best not to answer the door anymore.
Nevertheless, the knocking didn't stop. Also, it sounded like the person on the other side really wanted to wake him up. Shoulders sagging wearily, John heaved himself up from the bed and walked to the door. Seriously, if this was another fan wanting his autograph in the middle of the night, he would shamelessly ask Kane to watch the door for him.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm opening the door, geez -"
And in fact, he did, only to have his jaw dropped from its hinges.
CM Punk stood on the other side, and quite surprisingly, the guy was still in his wrestling gear. His gray shirt was slightly crumpled up, Championship belt worn around his waist and a bag hanging over his shoulder. Even his somewhat ruined wrist tape was still wrapped around his hands. But what caught John's attention the most was the frown that was etched across the Straight Edge Savior's face.
Punk placed a hand on John's door and spoke as he looked straight into John's eyes.
"I had to find you."
And damn John would be fucking lying if he didn't say that his heart fluttered at Punk's words. He even felt the heat rise up to his cheeks and he fought to keep the smile off his face.
"Really? You had to find me?"
"Yeah," Punk answered indifferently. "I need to use your bathroom."
It took John seconds to process what Punk said for he was kind of expecting words like 'I need your company right now' or 'Can I stay here for a while' so it kind of caught him off guard when the man answered his question. Really, he didn't know whether to feel disappointed or embarrassed for his stupid assumptions.
But John merely let it all go and stepped aside to give Punk room to enter. "I guess that's what the bag is for - wait, what is that smell?"
Punk stopped walking and stared back at John as if he was a deer caught in headlights. And in a second, the frown was back again. "You didn't see my match earlier, did you?"
John shook his head in reply. "No, I was in the locker room getting myself prepared for my own match. What happened to you back there?"
"Jericho assaulted me again," the Straight Edge Savior answered with a sigh. "And what you smell is the stench of dry beer stuck in my skin. Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick."
And with that, Punk dropped his bag on the floor then turned back to John who was watching him as the older man closed the door behind them. "So can I use your bathroom?"
"Y-Yeah, sure," John replied hesitantly. He didn't know what to say at all for he had a lot of questions running through his head, starting from 'Are you okay?' to 'Why are you showering in my bathroom?' and in fact, he had no clue where to start. Punk hated questions that made him look like a mugged victim or something so John crossed the obvious questions out. Although when he was about to start asking, the other man was already in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
John was left in the middle of the room, his mouth agape in confusion.
Shaking himself awake the CeNation leader let out an amused laugh as he grabbed the Championship belt and the forgotten bag that was lying on the floor. Replacing them on the side of the bathroom door, he took a seat on the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on the room where Punk was in as he chose whether to start asking or to just shut up and wait for Punk to leave. Curiosity got the better of him, though, and he cleared his throat before saying Punk's name out loud.
"Yeah?" was the simple reply from the Champion.
"Why are you showering just now?" And just in time, there was a sound of the shower head being turned on, so John had to speak louder as he continued, "And why do you have to use my bathroom?"
There was silence around the room except the pelting sound of the water hitting the tiled floor. And because of that, John thought that Punk wouldn't answer anymore so he let out a disappointed sigh. But then Punk's voice rang from inside the bathroom, responding to his hanging question.
"Medics took me to the clinic right after my match with Jericho. I didn't realize I passed out while they were tending me. Guess they let me be 'cause I woke up just half an hour ago. First thing I thought when I woke up was to take a shower so I headed first to my room, and guess what I found."
There was a pause and John had to ask out loud, "What?"
"My bathroom was flooded with water and somebody had played with the pipes. I bet it was fucking Jericho, I swear. I don't know how he did it and I didn't have the time to wonder or to wait for a plumber to fix the tubes, so I had to find you and ask you to let me use your shower."
That actually made John smile without reason, and grinning to himself, he leaned back on his bed, propping himself up with his hands. "So I'm the first guy you thought of?"
And there was no answer after that. John held his breath, anticipating a good reply from Punk, but no voice came after. Just the sound of the shower breaking the little silence between them. John's shoulders sagged. He must have asked the wrong question this time. Suppressing a groan, he hit his forehead with his palm, cursing himself for asking such a stupid, ridiculous thing. It sounded like he was having a high-school crush on the guy for crying out loud! He was there as a friend, not as an infatuated teenager damn it.
Well just to his luck - sarcastically speaking - he didn't hear from Punk since then and that actually crushed something inside John. He must have creeped the man out with his question. Feeling guilty, he heaved himself up from his bed, snatched the remote control from his bedside table and turned the TV on, just to distract himself from thinking about what he did, hoping that the sound of the television would drown himself to sleep so that Punk could leave without saying goodbye anymore.
Although it seemed that his head wasn't cooperating with him right now for thoughts kept on bombarding his head as he flipped on the channels to find a better show to watch for the night. He wanted to talk to Punk. Screw it, since their little chat the night after John's defeat at WrestleMania, his ears appeared to have been so hooked on Punk's voice that he actually smiled himself to sleep while thinking about it. In fact he was even looking forward to the sarcastic remarks that came from the man. And then after a week of not seeing each other, this was what he would get? A silent treatment from a guy he had been worried about for the past three and a half hours?
John's thumb kept on pressing the button on the remote control as if he was actually scanning every channel on the damn TV but his mind floated away as he did. And from too much thinking, he didn't realize that Punk was already coming out from the bathroom with the younger man drying his hair up with a towel. The chuckle that came from the Chicago native was the only thing that woke John from his deep trance.
"Seriously, John, are you trying to break your TV?"
Snapping his head toward Punk, John dropped the remote in an instant and sat up on the bed in surprise. The guy was wearing a spare of his white "Best in the World" shirts with faded jeans for his bottoms. He barely saw the guy in casual clothing, he realized, and the only times he could remember were back at the night where The Rock beat him at WrestleMania and the first night Lesnar gave him the F-5.
Huh. Looked like they were having these meet-ups weekly without even noticing.
"Didn't your mom tell you it's rude to stare?"
That query made John chuckle and shake his head with a little laugh. "I just find it unusual to see your hair like that. I mean, it's like you always use a day's worth of hair gel on whenever you get in the ring."
"Stop making excuses, Cena. Just admit that you were staring."
John nodded with a shrug. "Yes, I was staring."
"And that's my cue to go."
Making a move to grab his things, Punk reached for his bag and Championship belt which were carefully placed beside the bathroom door and to be honest, it made John panic all of a sudden. Jumping off the bed, he approached the younger man before everything was too late.
"Hey, hey, I was kidding. No staring, I swear."
Punk paused and tapped his chin with his index finger as if thinking carefully. "Meh, I'm still going even if you weren't so - "
"Come on, Punk," John said almost pleadingly. He even stopped himself from grabbing Punks wrist to prove he was serious. "Do you seriously want to go back to a flooding hotel room? And besides, you just got here. Make yourself comfortable."
The Chicago native eyed John straight into his eyes, chewing on his lip ring as if considering John's offer carefully. Then after a second, Punk shrugged his shoulders, suddenly smirking at the CeNation leader and saying, "Yeah, I guess I can stay for a while," before dropping his things back on the floor again and rushing toward John's bed, leaving the older man gaping in surprise.
Silently, John watched Punk reach for the remote control then lay back on the bed. It seemed that this kid was really making himself comfortable. The sight made him chuckle out but he didn't expect Punk to hear it at all.
"What's so funny?" The Champion asked as his attention was waved away from the show he was watching.
"I was just thinking," John replied while leaning on the wall beside the bed. "You look horrible tonight, man."
"Psshh," Punk scoffed out loud with a smirk. "Says the guy who got a busted lip."
That made John crack up and shake his head in amusement. He had to admit, he was still feeling the blow of Lesnar's fist against his mouth and boy did it knock him out for a split second. But he didn't care about that. Heck he didn't even mind the second consecutive F-5 Brock gave him earlier that night. All of the pain just magically disappeared when he heard about Jericho appearing again right after Punk's match with Henry.
"So," John asked cautiously, his hands on his back. "Did Jericho douse you with alcohol again?"
He was expecting Punk to retort or ask him to back off and mind his own damn business so when the younger man answered indifferently, it really surprised the hell out of him. Although he couldn't rule out the sarcasm that was tainting his voice as he spoke.
"Yeah, he did. And he's actually getting creative. He used beer this time."
"Did your alcohol withdrawal kick in again?"
"Nah, it didn't," and without thinking about it, Punk lifted his hand with his palm facing up, not too obviously though but John noticed it was the hand he held when he was comforting Punk a week ago. John's heart skipped a beat with that but he didn't say anything. He didn't want to get things awkward.
Kicking out from his daze, Punk snapped a head toward John all of a sudden, startling the bigger man for a bit. "By the way, congratulations on slapping a UFC Fighter right in the face. It was classic, Cena."
John snorted and crossed his arms on his chest. "Yeah, well, I didn't know that my prize was a bloodied lip."
He was laughing at the matter right now, but John was seriously enraged about what happened. If it wasn't for half the locker room and staff holding him back, he would have smashed Lesnar's face right there in the ring. But he guessed he could wait; he had been a patient man anyway. There was still Extreme Rules. He was going to get his payback when that night comes.
There was still something else that he wanted to focus on first before turning his attention to another pissed off legend.
"Hey Punk," John asked when he noticed Punk's eyes starting to droop close. Despite that, Punk turned to him, waiting for what he would say next. "I was wondering what could make you feel better tonight."
Punk hummed thoughtfully with that then answered in a slightly excited tone, "My comics. And some ice cream."
"Wait, what?" John blurted out. He was expecting something else, like verbal encouragement, or looking for Jericho right this moment and kicking his ass so that he couldn't go on the tour this week. Really? That was what Punk wanted? "I don't know what comics you like and I doubt there's an ice cream store open right now."
"Hey, you're the one who asked me what could make me feel better, you ass. Come on, my comics are in the closet in my hotel room and I bet you can find a 24-hour convenience store just around the area. Run along now."
Without complain, John moved on with his feet as Punk waved him off like a billionaire asking his butler to get him some food. Well, what could he do? He did say that he wanted to make Punk's mood brighter. Besides, he promised that he would make the guy feel better every time he was troubled. Obviously, the perfect time to do that was now.
Stepping outside his room, he shook his head in amusement as he shut the door behind him. The things that I do for the people I care for.
Precisely thirty minutes later - yes, he was measuring the time since he left - John got back to his hotel room, a stack of comic books and a gallon of vanilla ice cream in tow, only to find the TV left forgotten on and a sleeping Punk on his bed. John couldn't help a sigh, smiling at himself right after. Punk looked so peaceful in his sleep; body curled up in a fetal position and arms wrapped around a fluffy pillow. John didn't have the heart to wake the guy up. Well, who would, even?
Fetching a paper and a pen from his bedside drawer, he scribbled a note for Punk, telling him that he left the ice cream in the fridge then leaving the note on top of the comics which he placed right beside the sleeping guy's head.
John turned the TV off, switching the lights off on the way out, taking one last look on Punk's sleeping figure before exiting through the door.
"Goodnight, Punk."
And with that, he left.