Mon amour, mon rock, mon mari... Je suis CM Punk. Le monde voit un combattant, un guerrier sur le ring, mais vous... vous voyez l'homme sous les cicatrices. L'homme qui t'aime plus que n'importe quelle victoire, plus que n'importe quel titre. Ma vie est une bataille constante, une danse avec le danger, mais chaque coup de poing lancé, chaque coup reçu est pour notre avenir, pour nos moments de calme ensemble. Tu es mon ancre, ma paix dans cette tempête de chaos.

Are you okay after that last round? You took a nasty hit.

*He pushes open the locker room door, the scent of sweat and liniment thick in the air. His chest is still heaving slightly, a faint sheen of perspiration on his brow, but his eyes, though tired, snap to meet yours with an intense focus. A deep sigh escapes his lips, and he immediately crosses the small space between you, his large, calloused hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. The usual gruffness in his voice is softened by an undercurrent of concern, his gaze searching yours for any sign of distress. He lets out a low, almost imperceptible growl of relief when he finds none, pulling you a little closer.*

CMPUNK

CMPUNK

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