A/N: Hi! I'm back again with another Fanfic. I hope you enjoy it, it took a month in the making. And it was beta'd by randomness 101-Fanfic Freak who was kind enough to correct my awful spelling of Robert Pattinson :) BTW, this was written long before the Twilight spoof aired on iCarly, so for the story's sake, Freddie has never been in anyway affiliated with Rob Pattinson or Edward Cullen. Ever. Rated T only for paranoia. And because I say so. On to the story!

Disclaimer! Freddie belongs to Dan Schneider. And my wildest dreams. But not to me :(

Freddie's POV:

Some people are just so easy to hate.

Preferably people who couldn't care less.

For instance, due to Carly's recent psycho-obsession with maliciously sparkling vampires, I have since composed a list the length of a short Russian novel of the reasons why I hate Robert Pattinson.

But, realistically, if Robert Pattinson ever walked up to me on the street and asked me what I thought of him, well...I really wish I could tell you that I was the suave and collected guy that told off a multi-millionaire movie star/ teenage heartthrob... buuut my initial reaction would probably be to stare blatantly, dazed, and wonder what the heck the vampire was doing outside of my TV set.

After my brain kicked in, I would probably have been groveling at his feet for the secret as to how he managed to con millions of teenage girls (and Spencer) into thinking that glitter was manly.
And mainly how to get them to stop. That shimmer epoxy is really starting to burn Spencer's skin.

So truthfully, it's really convenient to hate people that we don't know, will most likely never know, and will therefore never find out how much you hate them.
I'm ashamed to admit it, being the gentleman my mother raised. But my mother raised me for a perfect world, where everyone waited until they got to know a person before they placed their judgements on them, and where all commuters picked up their trash on the subway. Being human meant that neither one of them was going to happen. Ever. And why fight it?

Life is tough, life isn't fair. People are constantly looking for an outlet. Why not blow off some steam blaming your bad mood on the Justin Bieber song blasting in the car next to you? Or get ticked off at an A-list celebrity for having everything that you never will right at their fingertips?

They're just names. Just faces. Just words. You never look at them and think to yourself:
"They're just people."
Because to you, they're not.

And how wrong is it to hate a name anyway? A few letters on a page that can be easily rearranged into a thousand other different combinations. A picture in a magazine can't retaliate, or feel the pain of the unprecedented shards of loathing you fling at it. Heck, even in person Robert Pattinson probably wouldn't care that I hate him.
I'm just another disembodied name to him too.

That's the thing about celebrities, they come and go so quickly, that unless you actually get a chance to meet them, they're of little value to you. New names and faces will soon fill their spots up just as quickly.

And you'd better hope that you never meet them, because once you shake their hand, and feel the warmth in their greeting, and laugh along with them at that clueless idiot on the other side of the room; they become real people.

And it's hard to hate real people. Really hard.

No matter how much you want to.

Around the time my voice was about two octaves higher, and my head was 14" closer to ground level, I had convinced myself that I was desperately in love with Ms. Carly Shay. Who was, as my luck would have it, unfortunately in love with Jake Crandall.

I hated him. He was all wrong for her.

He had dated half the girls at school already and he was too popular to have gotten his high GPA legitimately and he acted too nicely to actually be a nice guy and his left earlobe was slightly lower than his right one and he couldn't sing to save his life and it doesn't even matter that I couldn't sing to save mine, he was still all wrong for her.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

And that was why I hated him. At least I tried to.

I was doing a great job at despising his every molecule until he actually joined the A/V club a month or two after appearing on iCarly. I tried my best to hold him at arm's length, because he still couldn't be trusted. I didn't have much of a reason as to why at that point, I just knew that he couldn't be.

But after a mishap involving a lock malfunction with the doors to the A/V lab where we were trapped inside together for five hours on end, we actually started up a normal conversation. Approaching the third hour in, the realization struck me that in the midst of all the commotion, I had forgotten that I was talking to Jake. Jake the smooth talking stud of the ninth grade.
Because somehow, when I wasn't looking, I had let him become a real person.

By the time the janitors found us and managed to break open the lock, the idea of Jacob Crandall had suddenly become a tech-savvy musician, who was using his would-be college funds to keep his grandmother out of the nursing home after his mother died and his father moved halfway across the country. And I couldn't possibly hate this Jake.

I found out a week later that all it takes is a leftover scrap of bacon fat and a conniving demon named Sam to gunk up a lock.

And so now, a few inches taller and a couple bursts of testosterone later, I'm standing in the iCarly studio with Jake Crandall, my best male friend, while he picks out a tie to wear as he takes out my female worst nightmare.

Hey, someone had to stop him from rocking the Hawaiian floral print.

So we go on drifting through mindless conversation, if only to fill the otherwise silence of the deserted studio. After a few minutes of this drivel, I found myself asking him why out of all the girls in eleventh grade, he wanted to go out with Sam Puckett, the Terror of Ridgeway?

And his face just lit up at the thought, and his eyes got a faraway look in them, like his mind was drifting in a daydream. Then he told me that she was amazing, how she managed to exude confidence in every compromising situation, how she was at complete comfort with herself and what she stood for, and just didn't care whether you liked it or not. He talked about how stunningly gorgeous she was and how she was the strongest girl he'd ever met, and how she always seemed to be smiling and always spoke her mind and didn't I ever see any of that?

And I hastily avoided his eye contact, staring aimlessly at the floor, because no, I never had thought of her that way.

And I couldn't listen to the things Jake said because he was wrong. Again.
Just like last time. I knew that she was truly a demon inside, and she ate like a starving gorilla, and beat me up daily and laughed in my face as she shot out an insult, and she hated me. I knew she hated me, she told me so. So I returned her hate, and I pushed her back when she pulled me in, because she would never become a real person to me because she wasn't a real person, and I...I just hated her.

I've been telling myself that ever since that night on the fire escape when...just for a moment, no more than a second really, I had thought... I thought that she might have been more than just a name and a face. That maybe the person sitting in front of me who wasn't exuding any confidence at all, or was in any way sure of herself...maybe she was real. That maybe this was real.

It had sure felt like it when she leaned in.

But it wasn't. And she's not. She can't be.

If she was real I would have noticed now how her blonde hair that curled in soft ringlets over her bare shoulders reflected the evening light as she walked down the stairs.

If she was real I would have seen how Carly's borrowed strapless sundress made her look for all the world like a down-turned flower in the summer air.

If she was real I would have realized how out of place Jake's arm looked wrapped awkwardly around her waist, and how she was wearing a touch of make-up that she really didn't need, just like she was any other girl.

But she's not.

So I didn't notice any of that. Not at all.

Because she's always made it easy for me to hate her, and I...I have to hate her. We have to hate each other. We're just supposed to hate each other.
We just are.

Because she hates me, and Carly's always said that I tend to fall for the girls that will never love me back. And I've always known it to be true.

Which is why she can't become real. I can't let her become real.

It's so much simpler when the person you hate never knows you enough to hate you back. It's so much more complicated when they know you, and don't hate you back at all. It's so much worse when they know you, and do. Especially when you never wanted to hate them in the first place.

Sometimes life sucks like that.

So I can't let myself feel the old pang of resentment towards Jake as he walks her slowly up to the elevator. Because Jake was a real person now, ever since the night we got locked in the lab together. He was Jake, with the feeble Grandma and the guitar and the A/V club and the dreams. We were best friends. I couldn't hate him. I didn't want to hate him.

But still...

I watched him brush a stray curl behind the shell of her ear, and then lean in to softly peck the smooth curve of her cheek. She turned to him and her smile lit up the stale hallway air.

I never thought a smile could cause that much pain.

Yeah, sometimes the only thing worse than trying not to hate someone you care about...
...is trying not to care about someone you hate.

And it'll take a lot more than a scrap of leftover bacon fat to let either one of us forget that.

Hope you liked it, I wanted something with a little less sunshine and rainbows, and maybe a little more sorrow. Can you say 'unrequited lurve'? Which is only acceptable in Seddie form IMO. No Creddie will exist in my writing, sorry Creddiers.

Fun Fact: A short Russian novel can be as long as a thousand pages. Now you know.

Drop a review and I'll mention you in my next fic! Is it bribery? Naaaahhh ;)