For Roger, baseball was pretty much the only thing that mattered at the moment. An escape from his damaged household, abusive father, and worries, even if it was for only a few hours a day.

With his lean, but muscular body, he was perfect for the sport. Even the football cheerleaders were caught gawking at him when he strolled across the green turf, his tight red and white t-shirt complementing his white, dirt scuffed pants. As he stepped up to the plate, and pulled his cap down so his eyes we're dark with shade, he kicked his cleats into the dust, and smirked.

His focus wasn't always on the game, however. He was straight, right? Of course he was! But when he saw a certain member of the track team, who ran pretty much right beside the baseball diamond, he had to make sure to not be caught drooling.

Mark Cohen. That was his name. The little bastard had no idea how crazy he drove Roger. He was pretty short, and scrawny, so running came pretty naturally to him. His short blond hair was soft looking, and was gelled carefully before practice. By the time it was over, though, it clung to his head in light tufts. He sported brilliant, icy blue eyes, and when you stared in for a few minutes, you could swear you were floating into another world.

Roger still remembers the first time he saw him. It had been a long day of practice, and the entire team was sprawled across the field, talking to the coach, tossing a baseball around, or just being exhausted. He sat far away from everyone else, not really the social type. He knew a few people, but most of the team was afraid of him. Tipping his head back, and sighing, a pounding of feet, and shouting instantly woke him up.

Mark was sprinting like a bullet. Roger could have sworn he was faster than one. Everything seemed to slow down when he caught the smaller boy's stare. He took him in, his eyes raking over his face, determined, with a small smile, as the rest of his team wasn't even close. His lean body, slightly muscular arms glistening beneath his sleeveless track shirt. His entire body was lit up with sunlight, and even squinting against the fading light, his eyes resembled chunks of ice.

As he darted across the finish line, his entire team cheered, and Roger found himself with a love struck, doofy grin on his face when he heard Mark laugh with excitement for the first time.

Ever since then, trying to talk to the albino was a struggle. He was really shy outside of practice, and the first time Roger tried to introduce himself, he put an arm around Mark's shoulders, to which the small boy must have assumed he was about to be beaten up, because he let out a scream, and ran like the devil was on his heels while Rog stood back, kicking himself.

At his last practice, he had hope. He had gone over to Mark, a smile on his face, and introduced himself. The smaller boy had smiled a little, and nodded, and they chatted about their teams. They wished each other luck, and the next big meet, which was where the actual games would take place, would soon come up.

At the meet, Roger's team was set to play soon. He sat in the dugout, away from the other boys, anxiously looking around for Mark. His questions were soon answered, however.

The pale teen was seen running, but instead of pride, terror was clear on his face. About four big guys from the rival football team were laughing, sick expressions being worn, tailing Mark. Roger knew Mark was getting exhausted. With all the sweat dripping down his cheeks, it was obvious they had been tormenting him for a while. He felt something ignite inside him.

"You guys are up!" his coach yelled, but he didn't listen. He grabbed a metal bat, sprung out of the dugout, and took off. He heard his entire team yelling for him, but he ignored them. Blood roaring in his ears, and adrenaline making him feel light, he fought to catch up to the thugs.

"RUN BLONDIE, RUN!" one brute screamed, and Mark began slowing down, unable to keep going. Lucky for him, Roger had launched himself forward, smacking one of the jerks cleanly upside the head with his weapon. The guy went down, his three other buddies forgetting Mark for a moment, and turning on Roger.

"You son of a bitch!" yelled one, and he tackled Roger to the ground. The other two joined, and the boys were in a vicious tussle. Roger managed to knock out one, but the other two began to beat him savagely, and kick after kick was being landed to his side. All of a sudden, the pain stopped as he heard two distinct cracks. Rolling over on his side, he coughed up blood.

He fell onto his back once more, gasping for breath. Everything about him was screaming in agony. Someone fell into the grass beside him, and he felt a gentle hand cup the side of his face.

"R-Roger! Oh no…. Roger?" murmured that beautiful, familiar voice. He couldn't help but purr as Mark's hand smoothed down his hair. He opened his eyes, blinking up at the track runner. He looked worried. His vision started to get blurry. Before he blacked out, he smirked at Mark, and winked.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Mark's voice came through.

"He should be fine, son. He just took quite a beating. Five broken ribs, and a concussion. Those thugs hit him hard. He's got a thick skin, though. A tough guy."

He heard Mark giggle a little. "He always does parade around the field like he owns it… I just… I had no idea he was gonna come to my rescue… those morons were chasing me for an hour, and nobody helped… until him…"

He fought to open his eyes. Once he did, he let out a moan as the bright light of the hospital stung them. He heard Mark shuffle to his side, and his hand was grasped tightly.

"M…. Mark?" he asked, coughing, and opening his eyes once more.

"Hey Rog…. Thank you… you… you saved me… big time…" He smiled as Mark pet his hair again.

"Hey… no big deal… id do it again…" He heard Mark scold him like a mother would.

Ever since that day, He'd always catch Mark hanging around the dugout. When he was well enough to play again, Mark helped him up to the plate, and stood, watching proudly as he hit homeruns. He would come to Roger's games, and Roger would go to his races. By junior year, they were best friends. Pretty inseparable. By senior year, A note in his locker made his heart stop. Mark was in love with him.

It was obvious the feeling was mutual.