Brown optics held forcibly shut, tight, squeezing until a headache is threatening to form within the back of his skull. Hands are no longer gripping a microphone, running through strands of jet-black hair, releasing an unsteady, stuttering breath from his lips. When he just cannot take it anymore, his eyes fly open, staring at the cream-colored wall mere inches away from his bed in the hotel room.

For the longest time, he is just staring, trying to concentrate on the black wall that gradually lightens just a bit as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He knows deep down that it just will not stay this way, he cannot just stare at the wall, and he cannot help but turn his head, his eyes drifting across the hotel room, across the small open space that was separated only by two nightstands and a small wastebasket. There, across the small isle way, where a pair of white slippers are sitting on the carpet just below the bed where his eyes stare with out diversion.

There is so much running through his mind, so many thoughts and emotions, things he wants to do, and simply cannot, and could never act upon. Those painful familiar feelings that rise up inside of him every time he lays eyes on the other man, or the mere mention of his name. That goofy type of smile that he tries to suppress so obviously, the racing of his heart and the same shortness of breath that has him caught up even now; so frozen and rushed with the passion and pure detestation that set his veins on fire.

His beloved Mexican aristocrat - su amor - was by far the most intelligent man in the world, educated by several of the most prestigious universities… yet he had not come to realize that his personal ring announcer, over-all assistant and best friend had any sort of romantic feeling for him.

Ricardo lays in his bed, staring at this man, the one he loves, and can only come up with the same round of questions that remain on his mind every night and day.

It was not as if he could just blurt out that he loved his friend and generous employer, and it was not as if now was any type of a good time to bring it up. Maybe his feelings have become noticed, and gone completely ignored; he was not in the league of Alberto Del Rio, and never would be in that class. If that had been the case, Ricardo could only figure that his boss really had been the kind and generous man that he knew he was; Alberto certainly did not hold the same feelings for his announcer, but was not about to embarrass him over the situation.

He was truly a kind and honorable man.

And yet… there he was, just several feet across from him in the opposite bed, though in his muscular and powerful arms was another man.

It is not as if the aristocrat is simply showing off, as he very well could; he is modestly entertaining his new lover. He could very well take the smaller man right in front of him, although he has abstained from doing this in any way, the purest form of tradición. Now, he simply amuses the other wrestler; letting him sit up on his waist while he pins Del Rio's arms over his head playfully, making innocent lighthearted claims that he could totally out-wrestle Del Rio and his Cross Arm Breaker.

With his trademark smile, Del Rio just leans up and kisses the smaller man's soft, plush pink lips that only remind Ricardo to buy chap-stick when he takes the Rolls Royce for gas in the morning; infuriating him with jealousy.

Their laughter mixes like a love song; Del Rio's hand caressing Evan's soft sun kissed skin as their lips meet with magnetic passion. Ricardo can feel his body stiffened and frozen in the bed, his heartbeat as if he had just ran several miles - or even was back at ringside, watching Del Rio fighting a losing battle that he just knows he has to interfere and put his own body on the line for his lover - employer.

The most painful fact came in knowing that as much as Rodriguez wanted to be happy with the man he pined for: Alberto Del Rio's happiness is all that truly mattered. He is as happy as he had ever seen him, there with Evan Bourne… su amante, kissing him and holding him in his arms. Complete.

He remembers the night that Del Rio had spoken up about his real intentions with the high flier, and that he had taken much notice to Rodriguez being more than unfriendly with Bourne.

A simple task of parking the white Excalibur in the lot of the local's Olive Garden for their cheap, last minute dinner reservations had become a shocking blow and revelation.

Not only had Del Rio demanded he make good friends with the high-flier, but he had fully planned to start shopping around for an engagement ring… and Ricardo's task was to become good enough friends with the other man to find out what his dream proposal was like. Una Boda…. at first, his mind ran with ideas to sabotage it completely out of his jealousy, he watches as they switch seats for him to go park, Del Rio escorting Evan inside like the true prince charming that he is. He stalled in the car after turning the ignition to off, taking a deep breath and recollecting himself.

Ricardo could not mess it up then, and he still cannot mess it up now, watching them together, so in love. He is trying hard to keep his mean streak in check with Bourne, his blatant rudeness, insolence and intolerance heavily lightened upon. He could not afford to push Evan too far, when it was so clear that the Essence of Excellence would go to any length to ensure the happiness of his 'Little Princesa' - even at the cost of his announcer's job.

It is now that he realizes he is not just staring and watching them together, but completely looking past them and into the black darkness of the fabric curtains with little illumination from the windows. It has never seem more real to him, the unknowing Bourne frolicking in the sheets with the man he loves, and time passing him right by. He is merely thankful that The One came in the form of innocent Evan, rather than someone after his affections for monetary gain… this painfully felt right. It was the same as any old match his employer had: only this time Ricardo Rodriguez could not interfere.