Chris sat on the bed, watching TV as Kurt emerged from the bathroom. He hadn't exactly been thrilled to be rooming with Kurt in the beginning, but he was starting to grow on him. "Dammit, Kurt," Chris said, not taking his eyes from the television screen. "What took you so damn long in there?" When he did finally look in Kurt's direction, he knew the answer. After taking a rather long shower, Kurt was wearing a pair of gray pants, a white button down shirt, and a gray vest. "You're looking mighty spiffy tonight?"
Kurt sat on his own bed which was next to Chris's. "Thanks," he said. He bent over and began putting on his shoes.
Leaning over, Chris could smell his cologne. "You smell good too. What's the occasion?"
"No occasion," Kurt said, his cheeks slightly pink. "I'm just going to check out an all night bookstore."
"Oh... Okay."
After putting on his shoes, Kurt grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. "Don't wait up," he said.
"An all night bookstore," Chris said to himself. "Yeah right. Those clothes plus cologne equals hot date." He flipped through the channels and finally came to the conclusion that there was nothing decent on television. "At least he has plans." Chris glanced over and saw his coat hanging on the back of a nearby chair. Sticking out of one of the pockets were pieces of paper. The letter, he thought. Might as well find something to amuse myself.
After removing the pages from his pocket, he sat back on the bed. Kicking off his shoes and settling back against the pillows, he picked up where he had left off. The comment about Kane's ring attire was only the tip of the iceberg. Whoever this guy was, he was obviously serious about the Big Red Machine. There was talk of longing and loving, touching and tasting. After reading five pages of sentimental prose, Chris felt as if someone had suddenly turned up the temperature in the room. His palms were sweaty and his body was warm. But it was a good kind of warm. A kind of warmth that he had never felt before.
"A walk," he said out loud, gasping for breath. The room suddenly felt about 10 sizes too small. "I need some fresh air." He put his shoes back on, grabbed his jacket and left the room.
Chris walked down the block. He left his jacket open, the cold breeze cooling his skin, allowing the tingling sensation to subside. God, he thought. I need a drink. Anything to stop the thoughts that the letter brought to his mind. Realizing that the chaos of a bar or club would not lessen his confused feelings, he spotted a store at the end of the block, hoping that it sold alcohol.
He entered the store, shading his eyes against the light until they were able to adapt. Walking to the back of the store, he stopped in front of the refrigerators. As he peaked inside each one, trying to make up his mind, he unconsciously began singing along with the song that was being broadcast over the speakers. "I feel so light," he began. "This is all I want to feel tonight. I feel so light." Movement at the other end of the aisle attracted his attention and as he sang the last line of the chorus, his gaze fell upon a tall figure dressed in black. "Tonight and the rest of my life." There, at the other end, stood Kane, wearing tight fitting black jeans and a black t-shirt. Chris couldn't keep his eyes from traveling along his body, taking in all seven feet of him.
The warmth and tingling had returned in full force. He put his forehead against the frosty glass of the refrigerator, trying to get his breathing back to normal. When the tightness in his chest had subsided, he glanced back over to where Kane had been, only to see the rest of the aisle was empty. Not wanting to risk seeing him again, Chris reached into the fridge and pulled out 3 forty ounce bottles. He carried them to the register, paid, and quickly left the store. Once outside, he leaned against a nearby streetlamp to get his bearings. The cold air felt good to him and he closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure.
Feeling pressure on his shoulder, his eyes slowly opened and were met by a pair of soft blue ones. Groaning inwardly, Chris tried to act normal.
"You okay?" Kane asked.
"Yeah," Chris said. The tightness in his chest had returned as well as one in his lower region. Not understanding what was happening to him, he only wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, ending his misery.
"Good. Cause you looked like you were about ready to puke."
"No, no... I'm fine." He ran his fingers through his blond hair, trying to erase his disheveled appearance. "Really. I'm fine."
"Whatever you say."
Kane picked up the case of Fosters that laid at his feet and proceeded down the block. Chris followed behind him, trying to keep up. They walked back to the hotel in silence. Chris, not knowing what to say, made a few random Stephanie slut jokes. Although he didn't bust out laughing, it did appear to him that Kane was at least acknowledging his existence. They entered the hotel and got on the elevator. The ride, like their walk, was silent. Chris finally came up with something intelligent to say.
"So, where's Taker?"
"Don't know," Kane said. "He mentioned something about an all night bookstore and then took off."
"Really? Kurt said he was going to an all night bookstore, too. Maybe they'll meet up." Realizing what kind of implications his statement might have made, Chris cursed himself for opening his big mouth. The elevator doors opened and they both stepped out. Since they were staying in rooms at the opposite ends of the hall, Chris waved good bye to Kane, who merely nodded and headed on his way.
Chris entered his room, put the bottles down on a nearby table, and threw himself, face down, on his bed. He didn't know what was going on with him or how to make it stop. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he wanted it to stop. But what he did know was that he was gonna get piss ass drunk or pass out trying. As be began to polish off his second forty ounce, boredom set in again. Since he was obviously intoxicated and feeling quite brave, he called down to the front desk to ask for a room telephone number. He dialed the number and waited. The phone rang about three times before someone answered.
"Hello?" Kane said.
Chris paused as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. The warmth flooded back to him and he knew it wasn't just the alcohol. He heard the voice on the other end ask who it was. Jericho answered before he lost his nerve. "Heya Kane! Wazzup!!"
"Who is this?"
"It's me, silly. Chris Jericho."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"You still there?"
"...Yes."
"Good!"
"Uh... Chris? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Just had a few forty ounces."
"Ah! I see... you're plastered."
"Just a little. What are you up to tonight?"
"Nothing."
"Drinkin a couple beers?"
"Yeah. A few."
"You know what, Kane? We've never had a real heart to heart talk."
"Yeah... I guess that's true..."
"Well, I think there's no time like the present. I think we should get to know each other better."
For the next few hours, Chris and Kane talked about everything and nothing. They talked about family, friends, and work. About their favorite movies, music, and food. They joked about the fights they've had with each other and were too shitfaced to care about insulting each other. As the late hours of the night turned into the wee hours of the morning, a connection was made between the Big Red Machine and the Ayatollah of Rock and Rollah. And it was only the beginning.