It's easier than you'd think, actually, to switch one blond for another. By some unspoken agreement, we always leave the lights off, making the delusion easier. They both have the same Perma-tan nowadays, are basically the same height. All I have to do is force Hunter's just-barely-New-York-accent over Billy's drawl and I'm set.

Not that we talk much, though. It's always been kind of a wham, bam, thank you Sam kind of deal, both of us using the other whenever the frustrations get too high. That's been happening more and more often lately. That pesky unrequited love thing'll do that to you.

Anyway. Back to not actually seeing Billy. I half regret that now, the fact that our whole impressively long fucking record has been spent with both of us ignoring the fact that the other person isn't who we want them to be. He deserves better than that. We both do. He's a good guy, under the bravado, loyal and a hell of a lot nicer than he acts. As for myself, even at my most fucked up moments I know I'm at least tolerable. I've heard Billy tell me enough times that I'm a good kid, that I'm gorgeous, that Hunter has to be fucking blind not to see it. Everything would be so much easier if I could just fall in love with him. It'd be a nice, pat, Hollywood ending. 'The two despondant lovers discover that they can find everything they need in each other'. Aww, how sweet. Roll credits.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the real world doesn't do pat endings.

With a sigh, I lean up against one of the bridge's support beams and shiver. I'm dressed in leather, I ought to be warm, but no go. I haven't been warm for a while, come to think of it. Clutching my coat closed with one hand, I close my eyes and try to remember the last time. I think it must've been back when I first returned from WCW.

God, I was so bitter then, pissed off at everything and everyone. I had started lashing out at Kevin and Scott in pure frustration because my damned broken body refused to cooperate with anything I wanted to do. The whole Fed Ex thing really didn't help anything. I smashed half the furniture in my house before Scott got there and forced me to stop. When he first got there, he touched me, started to pull me into a hug. Then he remembered the neck injury, stopped and pulled away. I'm not sure he knows, even now, how deep that cut. They treated me like I was fragile, afraid to even touch me too hard. I was starting to go crazy when I first walked into the WWF locker rooms last year. Hunter took one look at me and, neck injury and month of seperation be damned, pulled me into a hug so warm I could feel the ice in me crack. For a split second, pressed up against his chest with his hand tangled in my hair, drowning in the mingled smells of leather and something distinctly him, listening to him murmur that he had missed me, I believed that everything was okay.

Then he pulled back, and introduced me to Joanie. His girlfriend. His beautiful, strong, irresistable and utterly deserving girlfriend.

That makes me smirk, for some reason. She's his fiancee now, his protector. Hunter's Amazon is a wonderful woman, one I could never compete against. I'm not sure I would want to tear those two apart. It would break something deep inside Hunter, the part that's attached to Joanie like a boat to its anchor. I can't do that to him, any more than I can stand at the altar and be his best man while the knife twists in my back.

It's a universal truth that all the best guys are either gay or married. Just my fucking luck that Hunter had to be the wrong one.

His wedding's not coming any time soon, not with the schedule we all have, so I can't use that as my excuse. I still can't do this anymore. I can't smile and nod and try desperately to catch whatever attention I can while Hunter keeps going on in a permanent state of oblivious. I abandoned Kane for him. I've been chokeslammed, smacked in the head with chairs, beaten black and blue, all for him, the dumb shit. Anyone sane would have given up by now. Then again, if I was sane I probably wouldn't be sitting on the edge of a bridge overlooking a river that's roughly thirty degrees, watching the snow fall, planning on jumping off.

I might have held on longer, if not for this week's Raw. I just had a vacation, a week away from the source of my obsession. I got some sun, rested up, started to really smile again. I was fine until the first segment on Monday, minding my own business and trying to go for Mick's throat. That was about when Hunter decided to block me by pressing me up against him, every inch of him a solid heat against the front of my body. He was so close... I could have kissed him, claimed him...

Then Hunter gave a quirky little smile, a playful, just-kidding smile, and moved away. And Mick said the words that made reality clearer for me than it had been for months.

"I'm not sure any of us really give a damn about you."

Thanks a fucking lot, Mick.

I curl a little tighter into myself, sliding down the beam until I'm resting on my side on the metal platform. It's cold, so goddamned cold, and it'll only get colder when I hit the water. God, can't I make anything easy on myself?

With a sigh, I rest my head on the metal. I can feel the snow falling on my face, melting into my hair. Its touch is so cold that it burns. I just need a few minutes, then I'll jump. For the moment, I let my thoughts wander.

Mick isn't entirely right, actually. This'll pretty much kill Billy. He's been balanced on the edge for months, his grip on sanity wavering. Poor bastard's going over whether I jump or not, it's only a matter of time. That's what comes of falling for Jesse, every loyal, sweet natured and happily married part of him. I don't think Jess knows exactly why Billy turned on him, that it was a last ditch effort to save himself. That effort crashed and burned. When Jess called him back, he went, throwing up his last defenses against the thoughtless, casual touches and friendly smiles. It's not working. He's losing sleep, weight, and his mind trying to fight against it, smothering everything down, and I can't help him any more than he can help me. It won't be long before he crashes.

JR seems to find it amusing to comment that Mr. Ass has cracked. Not yet, Ross. Give him about a month. He'll end up where I am right now.

Maybe, maybe not. I left a note back at the hotel room. I apologized for this, told him to take care of himself. In case that doesn't work, I told Jesse to watch him. It's not much of an absolution, but it's the best I can do on short notice. There are other things on that note, crazed things I only half remember writing. I think I was crying. Can't remember. Don't want to remember.

I told Hunter that I loved him.

I've stopped shivering. Everything feels disconnected now, the angry howl of the wind and the way it bites into my skin, the snow settling down on me, the rush of the occasional car driving across the bridge. No one stops, but I'm not particularly surprised by that. All I can feel for sure is that I'm so fucking cold...

I never wanted to die cold. If anything, I grew up believing that everyone died warm and in bed at a ripe old age, safely asleep, never knowing that their heart is coming to a slow, steady stop. If they're lucky, they die in someone's arms, warmed by someone's else's body. Made safe. Made happy.

I try to reach up to pull my jacket tighter around me and realize with a sudden, dull surprise that I can't. My body won't work anymore. Nothing will move, as if all my limbs are frozen solid. I'm as brittle as an ice sculpture. If I move too quickly, I'll shatter into a thousand pieces. If someone touches me, I'll melt away.

The thought makes me smile, or at least try to smile. I feel sluggish, drugged. So tired. I don't even raise my head as the car pulls to a stop behind me. Can't be important. They're not here for me.

A hand closed on my shoulder, shaking me gently. "Kid?" The voice is low, hesitant. Familiar. I can feel the crackle of ice as my jacket shifts. The shaking increases until it's almost violent, rocking me back and forth in place. "Sean!"

I know that accent. It's important, somehow, vital that I know that accent. He shouldn't be here. Something about San Antonio... it can wait, though. I'll be able to think straight after I get some sleep. The cold is numbing out, now. How did I think I was cold in the first place?

"Waltman!" Hands close on my shoulders, shaking me hard enough that my entire body is jolted. This voice is plaintive, somehow, shot through with distress and fear. "Sean, you stupid little fuck, you open your eyes right the hell now or I swear to God-"

He doesn't have a threat to back that up. I open my eyes anyway, because Hunter really shouldn't sound that upset. I wonder when opening my eyes became this much of a struggle. All I see is blurs, patches of blond hair and darkness. I try to reassure him, but nothing comes out. Hunter makes an odd broken noise, his hand closing on my shoulder hard enough that it breaks through the numbness. "Still alive," he manages, his voice a harsh whisper. "Thank God..."

"Not gonna be alive much longer, Helmsley, if he stays out here." The other voice cuts him off. His voice is rough, all anger and relief. He sounds tired. Everybody's tired.

Arms slip under me, pulling me off the metal. I can feel the ice cling for a moment before tearing away, taking cloth with it. Then I'm cradled up against a warm chest, being moved somewhere. Hunter is talking to himself, mumbling reassuring lies as he walks with me. He ducks inside a place flooded with warmth, closing the door behind him. The wind cuts off abruptly, to be replaced by the mechanical whir of a car heater.

Car heater? Wait... I want to be on the bridge, I need to be on the bridge, and they're taking me away from it! They CAN'T!

"Sean, shh, shh..." Hunter sounds more than a little desperate. His hand pets my face, stroking my hair. His touches burn. I try to twist away from him, only to be pulled up against his chest again. "Easy. We've got you. I've got you. Calm down."

My soft, distressed whimpers as I try to struggle away aren't even close to coherant. I reach, touch glass that seems warm but has to be cold, then have my hand pulled back. Still murmuring soothingly, Hunter rocks with me. With every second, my body starts to burn. Feels like fire-oh, God, that hurts, everything burns-

"Try to relax, Sean. I know it hurts. Don't fight me, kid, please!"

Shouldn't hurt this much. I'm dying in his arms, I should be fine, but it still burns. Can't think, can't even breathe...

"Fuck, Hunter, he's crying."

"I was aware of that, Michaels." A softer voice for me, a shaking touch that would be soothing any other time. "Sean, baby, just hold on. I promise you'll be okay, you'll be perfectly fine. Just keep breathing for me. Just keep breathing..."

And as the world fades away, I shudder... and do what Hunter says.

I knew I should've jumped.