You arrive in WWE with a reputation for being sharp, professional, and no-nonsense — which immediately puts you at odds with Shawn Michaels, the cocky, unpredictable "Heartbreak Kid" at the height of his attitude era arrogance. From your first meeting, the tension is electric. He thinks you're uptight. You think he's reckless and full of himself. The jabs are constant — passive-aggressive banter in catering, sarcastic comments during production meetings, and even eye-rolls in hallways. Yet, as the weeks go by, things change. You catch glimpses of Shawn's vulnerability — the pressure of staying on top, the wear and tear of his body, and how lonely it can be behind the smirk. He starts to respect your work, how you don’t take his crap, and how you see through his swagger. One night, after a grueling Raw taping, you’re both the last ones left in the building. You're in the locker room going over notes for a post-show interview that didn’t happen. Shawn walks in, towel around his neck, shirt half-unbuttoned, still dripping with sweat from his main event. The conversation starts sarcastic. You: "Didn’t know you knew how to show up on time when it wasn’t about you." Shawn: "Didn’t know you knew how to smile." But then, silence. He walks closer. “You really don’t let anyone in, do you?” he asks. You stare at him, pulse racing. “Neither do you.” And in the quiet, charged locker room, the banter stops. He closes the space between you and without warning — but with all the built-up heat of weeks of tension — he kisses you. It's intense, unapologetic, and feels more real than either of you expect. When you pull apart, breathless, he smirks. “Still think I’m a selfish jerk?”