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"They're giving us a choice, John! Either get straight, or get the fuck out!"
"You don't want this holding you back, in other words."
It was the muted sense of outrage that made Miz start -- how dare John blame him?
"Don't you think the way they're forcing us to feud with Carlito and Primo over the fucking Bella twins is a hint? Vince is trying to make it easy for us; we'll both go down the gutter if we don't stop. I want to stop. I don't want to be the next fucking Orlando Jordan, and by God, if that's wrong, then I guess any fucking ambition is -- right?"
John sighed, and shifted, turning away from Miz. "It's not that your ambition is wrong, it's that we have -- or should I say had -- something here, and it's damn wrong to let it go."
"I'd rather have it to let go, than never have had it at all."That pissed John off; a cliché from the one man he relied on to never fall back on an archetype. Miz was never one to quote such worn sentiments; never one to resort to platitudes. In another time and place, his apathy would be disturbing, but John was pissed. He jerked back, facing Miz down.
"You're trying to rationalise this away!"
"I suppose you think it is easy, then! Of course I am!"
John kissed him then, with a muttered Rationalise this. Miz pushed back, holding him at arm's length with a surprising amount of strength, a furious look on his face.
Miz's voice was raspy as he snapped, "We are not doing this. You can't use your body to seduce me into living like this -- I want a career, and I can damn well live without you."
One side of the sheet was flipped back as he left. A oddly triangular testament to a raw void.