Life As He Knew It (Open)

John got up, and started to get ready. "Baby, we leave in 30 minutes!" He called as he took all their luggage downstairs.

Randy headed into his closet, pulling on sweats and a sweatshirt, not bothering with an actual shirt. He pulled on some shoes and headed down stairs, sliding on some sunglasses.

John wanted to wear his sunglasses, but his damn eyeglasses prevented that. He called a cab, and when it arrived he brought their stuff out to the taxi. He grabbed Randy's hand, gently pulling him along. "Let's go." He said.

Randy followed him, sliding in the car and resting his head against the window.

John wrapped both arms carefully around one of Randy's. "After WrestleMania, you're gonna take me to get a tattoo." He said, tracing Randy's tattooed arm.

"Kay," Randy replied softly. He would have to call Wes and make an appointment. "What do you wanna get?"

"Your name." John said simply. "Either on my hip or the small of my back." He said, thinking.

Randy groaned. "You want it to hurt, dont you? Those are two of the most painful places to get a tattoo. I wont stop you, but when you're in pain, dont blame me," he muttered. Randy had a high threshold for pain but those places would hurt even him.

John pouted. "No need to be so mean about it. It's my first tattoo, how the hell am I supposed to know it's gonna hurt." He muttered, pushing away from Randy.

"I already told you it was going to hurt! Places that there is little muscle is going to hurt because your bone is right there," Randy said. He didnt mean to be mean to John but he didnt want John to go through all that pain.

"Thank you for the anatomy lesson, Dr. Orton. And I know its gonna hurt no matter were I get it. I'm a bitch when it comes to pain. So relax and stop being an asshole!" John snapped, something he never did. He bitched, he whined, but he never got angry. But Randy was pushing him.

"Dont get mad at me. Im just trying to make it so you dont regret it. Im not gonna put up with your Diva prissy attitude all week, so you can stop now," Randy growled. He was only trying to help John out and he snapped. Randy doesnt stand for that.

John glared out the window. "I'm not a Diva..." He muttered quietly, though he knew that was a lie. But still... that didn't mean he liked to be called a Diva as an insult.

"Then dont fucking act like one," Randy said, before putting in his headphones and blasting his music.

John clenched his jaw glaring out the window. They arrived at the airport, John not talking to Randy the entire time. He was pissed off and hurt. They boarded the plane, John crossed his legs, sinking down in his seat. When the plane took off, John tensed. He wanted to hold Randy's hand but he was still mad at him.

Randy sat down, praying no one hit his arm or leg. He was already in a bad mood. He kept listening to his music, trying to calm down before the voices came back. They were already getting louder.

John stared out the window, not paying attention to Randy. He took out his phone, trying to busy himself with something.

Randy bit his lip and closed his eyes. Go away. Please. He tried to ignore them, but they were practically yelling at him.

John glanced at Randy and saw something was wrong. He slid his hand down, intertwining it with Randy's. With the other hand, he caressed Randy's cheek, making him look at him. He reached up, kissing Randy's temple, trying to calm Randy's voices.

Randy sighed. He closed his eyes, the voices quiet. "Im sorry," he said, pulling out an earbud.

"I'm sorry." John whispered, leaning in and pressing his lips to Randy's. "I'm sorry I'm so bitchy." He sighed, not even realizing he was doing that kicked puppy look.

Randys chest ached at the look John was giving him. "I love you," he said, hoping that would get John to stop.

The look disappeared and John smiled softly. "I love you too." He said. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly getting a headache. He turned to a flight attendant. "Can I have a White Russian please?" He requested.

Randy leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the head rest and stretching out his long legs, careful of his fractured one.

John had a drink... then another... and another... a few more... a couple more... a shot here and there... a few Martini's... He was sure Randy didn't even notice. But John told himself he was fine... even if he couldn't think straight or make words.