A/n: Pls read—I want to point out that the beginning paragraphs do not reflect the whole setting of the story. They are just a beginning point. This IS NOT a college set fic. I know a lot of people run away from those and don't like them so I wanted to point that out before anyone freaks out and leaves. There will be eventual slash. People in this story include: John Morrison, The Miz, Shawn Michaels, Jeff Hardy, John Cena, Glenn Jacobs, A.J. Styles, Ted DiBiase, Cody Rhodes, Chris Jericho, Shane McMahon, and R-Truth. There may be others briefly pop up, I'm not completely sure, but all of those mentioned above are the main characters. Thanks and enjoy.

Guru

John wrapped his arms around Mike, and held him close as they leaned against the bricks and watched from the Student Union as the sun sank low in the sky. The fountain in the center of the campus, which could be seen only feet away from their vantage point, had been shut off for the day. The elegant white body of it was silhouetted against the setting sun which washed the sky with hot reds, pinks, and oranges. Above the fiery ball of light, the sky began to bruise and darken with the oncoming of night and it was a beautiful sight to behold, and an amazing moment to be held in. Mike closed his eyes, and enjoyed the feeling of John's muscular arms around his waist.

John was amazing, plain and simple. His voice dripped with charm, his smile could dazzle the masses, and his body—it was so perfect it seemed unreal. His mind was deep, full of wisdom that did not seem to befit his young age. He seemed to be a god among men, a beautiful, all knowing presence that had stepped down from silver lined clouds and decided to chose a mere mortal as his own. Mike would never know what John had seen in him, but he didn't question it. They'd been together since freshman year and now both were second year seniors, due to graduate with the class of 2003. Mike was seeing the extra year because he didn't fare well with books and term papers, and John because he couldn't seem to make up his mind on a major. He flitted from one thing to the other, his most recent declaration being a major in Marketing with a minor in Public Speaking. Mike didn't know why John would need a degree in either—he seemed to be a natural at that type of thing. He could get anyone to do anything for him with a flash of his smile and a few carefully woven words.

Mike just knew that some day John was going to be greatness. Maybe he already was. Words purred against his ear, tickling the sensitive flesh, and swirling deep into his mind. Mike closed his eyes, leaning back against John's rising and falling chest. Being with John like this made him feel dizzy, high even. It was an experience Mike had never imagined himself being entranced in but just the same it had happened. Many times he woke up next to John in the morning and wondered if he was awake at all, if he wasn't still asleep dreaming. It just seemed so surreal. As if John knew, he placed a soft kiss to Mike's neck, validating the beautiful reality.

"Michael, open your eyes and look at the sky." John urged him, his voice like honey.

Mike slowly opened the dazzling blue orbs and the sight made him gasp. The sun had nearly disappeared, the last trace a burning aura against the horizon. Above the night sky was a deep, royal purple that faded slowly to black, and against the velvety blackness stars winked like precious diamonds. It was such a simple sight, the sky, and yet Mike had never noticed it or beheld it with such pure awe.

"Beautiful." John purred breathily against Mike's ear. "It's so freeing, to look up there. There aren't any outlines of buildings, no anxious bustle of people, no stink of smog, just an infinite chasm of freedom, if we could reach it." He tilted Mike's chin upward, and caressed his neck. "Wouldn't that be wonderful Michael, if we could lose and find ourselves, in that celestial plane? We could fly. Nothing could hold us back, nothing could bind us, we could fly."

John smiled when a cool breeze kicked up and ruffled his soft hair against Mike's cheek. Mike's eyes closed and he was lost in the warmth of John's arms and the wafting of the night air, which made him prickle with a deep need he could not place his finger on. John was always saying things that made Mike think and feel in ways he couldn't comprehend, and just a few years ago, would not have thought possible. He was never a deep thinker, but John with only a few words, could seem to plunge his mind to intoxicating heights and depths.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful Michael, to be free?"

John quieted and let his last words envelope them like the silky fingers of night. After a few moments, he loosened his grasp on Mike and trailed his hand down the young man's back.

"I have to go. Class in the morning." John explained. Mike barely nodded, his eyes focused once more to the simple, elegant beauty above them. Wouldn't it be wonderful, Michael, if we could lose and find ourselves? Nothing could hold us back. We could fly.

Mike stayed there after John had left. The silken words kept pirouetting through his mind, and as his eyes roved over the millions of winking stars, they misted with tears. John had touched on something so deep, that it stirred Mike in a way he had never felt before. He wanted the kind of freedom that ghosted from John's lips, the offering like a gift just waiting to be unwrapped. There were too many things that keep people locked in chains, and most of them go through their whole lives being shackled, many never even realizing it. Wouldn't it be wonderful…we could fly.

Mike moved through the darkness towards the tower of dorms where he lived. The soles of his shoes seemed not to touch the sidewalk path that wound to building. It seemed as if he was floating, no it seemed as if he had left his body still standing near the fountain at the Student Union, gazing into the sky, and his spirit had moved on. He didn't remembering entering the building, or pressing the button for the elevator. He didn't remember taking the car to the sixth floor, or moving down the hallway to his room, or entering it. He brushed back the curtains from the single window in his room and his eyes which seemed to see through new lenses once again focused into the inviting realm of the never ending, inky heavens.

We could fly. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be free?

Mike closed his eyes once more, recounting the soft breath of wind kissing his face. How amazing it would be to let that wind bare his soul, carry it weightlessly through space and time, ascending it above and beyond everything that tied him with unforgiving and unrelenting bonds to this mundane and unfulfilling existence. He opened the window, and opened his eyes, and wind danced against his face.

We could fly.

Mike climbed onto the thin ledge of window, stood for the briefest moment, arms outstretched and a content smile on his face. The night breeze was going to bare him away to a peaceful eternity. The silhouette toppled, uncaring, with a contented smile upon its young face. It was a smile that was dashed to blood on the parking lot, six stories below.

x-x

Jeff Hardy woke with a start, and with a gasp spun to look at his clock so quickly his feet tangled in the white sheets, and he was tossed to the floor. He looked up at rounded clock upon the glass table that was next to his bed. The clock looked like a big lime-green egg rested on its side, and the face was black, the little white digital numbers unlit. Damn it. He untangled his naked body from the sheet and stood up, giving his back a little stretch. He bent again and snatched by the corner a decorative pillow that had also tumbled off the bed along with himself. He tossed it onto the bed, admiring for a repetitive time how much he liked it. He had hand-made the pillows himself, as well as nearly everything in the room—including the room itself. Well, that he hadn't made but he had designed it meticulously. The whole house was spawned from his own drawings and when he had it built into the side of a cliff the poor men under his employ had nearly tossed themselves over because of his pickiness in every minute detail.

Even something as small as those pillows he had to have done perfectly. They were white with lime and leopard print detailing; the same theme carried brilliantly throughout the room with only a splash of purple here and there for an intermittent pop. The fact that he'd been able to use such a vibrant and loud color pallet without it looking tacky in the least, was only one of the reasons he was Hollywoods top interior designer. His schedule was booked in advance for months and was as hard to get a spot on as was the most upscale restaurant in the city. The top of the top graced his list of clientele, and he was probably about to be late to one of his meetings just now.

He padded through the spacious, open house, and gave his morning hair a ruffle as he made it into the kitchen. He plucked his charging Blackberry up from the counter where it was charging, and noted the time. He was not late, but just the opposite. He was up an hour earlier than he needed to be. With a sigh, opened a cabinet and removed a glass, and poured himself some orange juice. He took a sip of it and his feet moved over the cool flooring and into the open living area. It was furnished with modern pieces, low, and angular shapes, white with splashes of red for accents. He moved past the couch and chairs that rarely had visitors seated upon them, and framed himself in one of the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the ocean below was gorgeous, but he rarely found himself taking the time to really notice it, and after all, the amazing view was the whole reason he had picked such a location for his home to be built. That, and the seclusion.

Despite severing all ties with his country upbringing, he was still that boy at heart and he needed that escape from the noise and constant drum of the city. This was supposed to be that place where he could go at the end of the day to get away from the world, a place where he could breathe, and yet it still felt empty. The perfect house upon the cliff had seemed to forget its purpose, and it was just a shell with things in it. Jeff's shoulders slumped.

"This negativity isn't going to do you any good, man." Jeff told himself, as he watched the blue and silver waves wink in the distance.

He finished off his glass of orange juice, and flopped onto the curvy sectional that he had customized himself, just as he had every detail of the house. He sat the empty glass on the dark wood floor and reached for a book poised on the edge of the glass coffee table. The receipt for the book poked up from the pages, marking his place in it. He was nearly through with it, and stopped to admire the handsome features of the author which graced the cover. He called himself 'The Guru' and his newest self-help book which Jeff held in his hands was called 'Achieving Greatness'. Jeff had everything The Guru John Morrison had ever written. His first book was out in 2004. Jeff had stumbled upon it by pure change. It was misplaced among the Art section of the Books-A-Million. He could still remember tugging it free and seeing that face for the first time. He seemed to be captured by it immediately, and when he read the summary on the back cover of the book, he was sold. The words swept him away so completely, and spoke to him in such a deep way, that he had immediately sought out more from this man, but at the time that had been Morrison's only offering to the world of self-help.

That book had propelled Morrison to a quick fame. He soon had countless followers and was jokingly deemed by many as just another fad. John began to speak at events, he sold DVD's, he wrote a second book, and in the blink of an eye it was the top selling book in the nation. He was featured on talk shows and early morning news programs, and it was on one of the Late Night shows that he was first labeled 'The Guru'. He was consulted by celebrities and business moguls, politicians, and common folk all alike. His following became immense, and tickets for his events were always sold out no matter how high the price. His name was as commonly known as the presidents. There were those who discounted his work and his followers, sometimes labeled a joke, and other times labeled a cult master. Those were the real whackos, the ones who could take something beautiful and meaningful and twist it into something vile. Jeff had been to many of John's live events and he knew first hand that such sadistic attacks at the man were unwarranted. He was an authentic fellow with words of truth that would find many living better lives if they would only listen. It was The Guru who helped Jeff keep his life on track, and it was The Guru helped him become the successful man he was.

By now John had written six books, all of which Jeff owned. His blue-ray collection featured every set John had released, including tapings of live events which took place all over the country. He subscribed to The Guru's Pod-cast, was a member of his fan club, and received daily e-mail updates from his website. The Guru's Ten Principles were placed in every room of his house and his phone buzzed every morning with that days inspirational quote from John. He was one of the really devoted ones, not one who just read his books and thought they were nice, and not one who just went to one of his seminars, had a moving experience, and called it a day. Jeff Hardy was one of The Guru's children.

He touched the face on the cover of the book reverently. This time next week, he would be driving to LAX to catch a plane to Santa Fe, New Mexico. There he was going to meet personally the man who had changed his life. The last event Jeff had attended was a kick off to 2010, and there had been pamphlets handed out which spoke of a special retreat. The prices were ungodly—for many middle class attendees it would have been the amount of an annual salary. Only a select few would be able to attend this one of a kind retreat. Only the most devoted followers would be moved to put themselves in that much debt, to give their life savings, to write that check, to be able to attend. Jeff was doing well for himself, and had that kind of money. He had planned on using it for other things, but the chance to spend one week with this man who held so many secrets—and was going to reveal them to the Select—was more than worth it. He had signed up immediately, eagerly writing the check and dashing to the lobby to seek out the person to turn his money over to. He'd found a man who worked closely with John, a man who John simply called 'Truth' and Jeff had placed the filled out pamphlet and the signed check into his brown palm.

Soon he would be away from this empty feeling house, out of the layers and layers of fakeness that was Hollywood, and most of California in general. He would find himself face to face with John Morrison, and face to face with discovery.

x-x