Stubborn Viper

Randy was having one of THOSE days, well, one of those nights to be correct. He'd felt fine during his match with Swagger, but ever since he'd left the showers, a subtle pain had slowly begun to build in the pit of his stomach. Since he was finished with his obligations for the night, he had no trouble excusing himself from the arena and lurching off towards the tour bus that was his home/bedroom for the night. Normally Randy had his own private tour bus all to himself, but it had broken down in Chicago, so he was now sharing with Punk and Kofi, which he really didn't mind so much, contrary to rumour Punk was really a great guy and you couldn't help but like Kofi.
Feeling sicker by the minute, Randy let himself into the bus and headed down the narrow aisle towards the only "normal" bed the house on wheels possessed. He was supposed to sleep in one of the side bunks, but the mere thought of sleeping in that narrow space set a sharp chill up his spine, so he was more than happy to sit/fall onto the mussed up bed, his las conscious thought being that Punk would forgive him...
It was close to midnight before Punk and Kofi trudged out towards the parking lot, the last of a stream of superstars leaving the arena for their beds, tiny though they were.
"You think Randy's asleep?" Kofi whispered as they climbed inside. Randy was notoriously cranky if woken up early and Kofi didn't want to be the one to do it.
"Probably, John said he looked pretty tired," PUnk dropped their bags into the storage closet, then went to brush his hair out of his eyes, pausing when he saw the light on in HIS bedroom. He frowned, as did Kofi, when they saw two jean-clad legs laying on the bed, indicating that Randy had fallen asleep in his street clothes. Randy was, if nothing else, a man of habit, and he NEVER slept in his street clothes...
Punk turned "You got John's number, right?" when Kofi nodded he started off down the hall "Get it out, we might need it in a minute."
Randy was indeed dead to the world when PUnk cautiously peeked through the doorway, still fully clad, but, to his alarm, he appeared to be covered in a light sweat. This was BAD. Randy didn't get sick very often, but when he did, it was a big deal.
"Randy?" Punk crept closer "Hey, Randy, wake up!"
There was a slight groan as Randy shifted and opened two bleary eyes to stare up at his concerned friend,
"Hey..." he murmured, feeling extremely groggy "Sorry I took your bed..."
to be continued