Later December 14th (or had it become 15th?)
With every sip, the stories got weirder.

''... And I was like 'Holyfuckingshit, dude! You're Lance Marshall! Why are you wearing panties?!', and wow was it awkward. Like, mad weird. Then I woke up and I realized it was, like, some flashback to earlier that night when I'd walked in on Lane Stevens changing, except my mind's eye went to a happier place when I relived it in my dream...''

Fresh bottles had been retrieved from the fridge, and they were both thankful for it when the older liquor had been emptied. Amy had one leg curled under herself on the couch, half-heartedly glancing to the TV on in front of them (Her host would be hard- pressed to admit that he'd actually had 10 Things I Hate About You in his DVD collection) to point out 'Super fuckin' adorable scenes' every few minutes, in between recanting Jared Sykes with what could be called memories, but were more likely figments of an alcohol-addled imagination.

''And oh, man, the shit I could tell you about this whole 'Dead Man's Hand' thing...'' The giggling was the liquor, but her proximity to Sykes was a close, quick friendship talking. ''Wrestling stable? Sure, but these people... they work for other people and... I mean, it's crazy. I shouldn't say anything, but shit gets real, and that's half of why I'm even in this mess with the spy novel garbage and the... the...''

She only stopped talking to sigh, having trailed into repeating herself. ''The relationship going out the window. Wow. I'm a fuckin' downer.'' Amy huffed and set herself back on a happier mental path in the blink of an eye. ''Where'd the tequila go?!''

''You drank it. Wait, did you?'' His head bobbed lazily as he scanned the nearby space for any evidence of tequila bottles. ''I thought you - Nope! Here’s one.''

He’d told himself that he would hold back when she started drinking. At least, that was the plan. Part of being a professional wrestler meant that at least on some level there was a need for competition that he had to satisfy. Still, he should have known better than to try and match pace drink-for-drink with Amy Campbell of all people.

Oddly, and most likely an unintended side effect of his recent depression-fueled depravity, he held his own fairly well.

''You bring that up a lot, the spies and whatever. I think you wanna be one. Like James Bond with boobs.'' He giggled. ''Yeah, I can totally see that. Wait… You know what I mean.''

''No! They are spies! Err, but my boobs... but them. I love Al to death, even if we can't work as... as a functioning kinda couple-thing... but I'm serious! I'm fucking serious, they're spies! Like, not government-level shit, but subter... no, wait. Not underground spies. Like... they're honestly working for businesspeople and shit, and she's trying so hard to get out of it and I think it's just to please me and it's so not working butlikeIdunno...'' Campbell shook her head, apparently under the impression that the motion could shake sense into it. ''It's wild. It's all fuckin' wild. My life is a mess, but it's kind of funny if you look at it.'' She smiled, but it turned into a frown when she saw the bottom of the bottle Jared had handed her. ''I could write a book... but where's the rest of the tequila? Jesus. Hold out on me more, huh?''

''Is gone. Not somethin’ I usually have handy, ‘cause, you know, blech… But then someone decided to annihilate what I did have, so, yeah. All gone, kiddo.'' His shrug was a little overdramatic, most likely a result of the liquor. Jared flopped his head back onto the couch cushion and sighed. ''I wish I had fun stories about spies. I’d totally have ‘em, like, get me a mini camera and some ninja pants. Yeah. Ninja pants. Yeah.''

''Would ninja pants be tight or kind of like Hammer pants?'' Amy queried. ''I mean, all that fabric swinging around has to be kind of noisy, but at the same time, tight pants would leave no room for their giant ninja dicks to swing around.''

She answered herself by shrugging while Jared took his turn giggling. ''Wait, are ninjas the ones with the big wangs? Maybe I'm thinking of Afro Samurai again. Fuck. Well, we can bet they still need some roomine--is that wine?''

Amy Campbell is easily distracted by shiny objects.

''Have you been hiding wine from me?!''

She's also a little impatient.

''GIVE!''

''I don’t know what you’re talking about. Unless you mean this bottle here.'' He leaned towards the floor, grabbing the bottle in his right hand. His grin was mischievous. ''Here you goooooonowaitfooledyou!'' He offered it to her, and then quickly retracted his hand before she could snatch it away. ''Okay, just kidding. Here you go.''

Then he did it again.

''This is a fun game.''

The redhead didn't agree. ''I have short arms, goddamnit!'' ''I'm not drunk enough!'' and ''But, but... it's meant for me!'' were among her pleas as she reached, grabbed and damn near clawed for the bottle Sykes held. Fingers dug into one of his knees to balance Amy when she stretched as far as she could across him, turning her head while she did to deliver the tiniest of headbutts. ''C'mon!''

''No way! And no headbutts, that’s cheating!'' What Jared soon realized is that sofa cushions do not provide adequate traction for sock-covered feet, so his escape didn’t go nearly as well as he planned. Still, his height gave him a small advantage and once again the bottle was out of reach. ''Besides, this is, like, a 2009. That wasn’t even a good year!''

''If I don't drink at least one bottle of cheap wine, the hangover will suck!''

A couple of months ago, to see Jared Sykes and Amy Campbell wrestling on a couch over a bottle of fifteen dollar wine would have been incredibly strange. Even present day, that held true. Amy slipped up his chest, reaching out as far as her tattooed arm would take her, with fingertips barely touching the bottle.

The turn of her head toward the booze-hoarding villain was a negligible motion. What happened when she turned, however...

Well, that was far stranger than two friends in a drunken playfight - at least under those circumstances.

''Alright, alright.'' He let her get a hand on the bottle. ''You win.''

The alcohol meant that they were both laughing pretty hard. It also removed the awkwardness that would have otherwise come with Jared being pinned under Amy outside the confines of a wresting ring. From where he laid Jared could feel the rise and fall of her chest. He was pretty sure that she could feel his heart rate spike.

Bottle finally in hand, Campbell took a swig. ''Here's to us, am I right? Here's to departed friends, fuck the two-faced friends, and here's to being on a couch, depressed as all hell, with the very best of any friends I've had.''

They were both still chuckling from the sorry excuse for a wrestling match over the fifteen dollar wine, but laughing slowed before his kiss, a tiny peck on grinning lips, caught her completely by surprise.

Their eyes met, but neither said a word. Nervously, Jared bit his lip as he tried to determine not whether he’d crossed a line, but by how far. She didn't bolt up, though, and actually let her lips wander to where he bit his. If his mind hadn't been a thousand other places, he might have noticed her heart race to match the frantic pace his kept. He didn't even realize when his hand carefully moved to her chin, nor did he have the time to realize that she had just kissed him back not once, not twice, but slowly and deliberately. It was a second - a long, long breath in and out - before either of them truly processed their actions. Sykes was completely still, afraid of the flame they were veering dangerously close to. There was a moment of pause for Amy before she finally shook her head.

And that, as they say, is when it hit the fan.

''Not good.'' was all she could manage to croak. It was noteworthy that she didn't immediately move away from - or off - him.

In any other circumstances he’d try to look away. He’d let his eyes jump to the floor, the ceiling, something shiny on the mantle, anything. But she was too close, and held his gaze like a tractor beam.

''I’m sorry.'' He kept his voice low and tried to get his pulse back under control. ''I probably shouldn’t have done that.''

''That was... umm...'' She slid back to sit where she'd been on the couch. ''You're right. I mean, I'm sure it was the liquor talking. Just a slip. We'll laugh about it later.'' They wouldn't. ''And, uh... I'm sorry? I mean, you're... you can't... there's no reason for you not to. I have, you know, and... and that was a really bad idea, yeah.''

''No, you’re right. You’re totally right, ‘cause… yeah.'' Jared found the embarrassment startlingly sobering. He swung his legs off the end of the couch, leaned forward, and cradled his head in his hands. His next words were a barely audible whisper. ''Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.''

''Relaaax,'' Amy couldn't help but slip back into a slightly more overblown version of her drunken self, trying to retool the mood. ''A friendly gesture, am I right? We're fine!'' She forced a smile through the butterflies in her stomach, swinging an arm around his shoulders. ''C'mon. I vote for more drinking.''

''Are you sure that’s such a good idea? I mean, fuck, that’s kinda what got us here in the first place, you know?'' He started rubbing his hands together nervously. His skin felt electric, a result of her touch, and it took the whole of his willpower (or what remained of it) to not run screaming from the room. ''I don’t wanna end up in a place where I do something you or anyone else might hate me for.''

''You know I trust you, right? You're the best friend I've got right now. Don't sweat the small stuff.'' She shrugged. ''Sit and drink with me. I won't kiss you again - promise.''

Strangely, her promise to stay away only made him feel worse, and that in turn made more alcohol seem like a good idea.

''Alright,'' he conceded, shrugging. ''I guess it can’t hurt, I don’t think.''

As sober logic would later dictate, more alcohol was certainly not a good idea.