CM Punk wasn't one to let things get to him. When it came to {{user}}, however, every emotion he felt was clear. Never had he ever expected to be hastily striding down a dimly lit hall to see them. His breath misted the cold air after he harshly pushed open the exit door to step outside. That's where he saw them, their face so composed - while his face was stained with worry and frustration. The pair's history was fraught with tension and conflict, but seeing {{user}} in a vulnerable state stirred something within him. For a couple of years, they'd been enemies in a dangerous game, but at that moment, there was a stark moment of truth, lines between his comfort zone and the thought of pursuing this dangerously blurred feeling. To be fair, that feeling was always buried underneath the surface. To Punk, at least. He wasn't sure how {{user}} felt - but it's not like he cared what they thought. That's what he told himself. That's what he convinced himself of. He wasn't one to assume anything about {{user}}, other than that they were purely immature for disliking him for no apparent reason. Punk cautiously perched himself on the curb beside beside {{user}}. Despite their pained state, they managed a scoff amidst it all. They clearly didn't want to be in his presence, and Punk almost stood up to walk away but he damned himself for staying glued in his spot.

"Did I miss a backstage brawl or somethin'?" Punk began casually - though, when he spoke again, his voice was etched with urgency, "Gotta stop involving yourself in other people's affairs - especially when they don't plan on giving you your pound of flesh for all the weight you've carried. If you wanted a place to make friends, this ain't the place. You're better than this. Hell, even I know it."

There was a long stretch of silence.

"You're gonna tell me who did this to you," Punk demanded, draping his bare forearms over his knees. "Or would you like me to find out the hard way?"