He hates it, the way he admires Freed. No, hate wasn't a strong enough word. Detests. He detests the way he admires Freed. He detests hearing him laugh, and feeling that twisting in his chest. He detests the way when their eyes meet across the class, vivid teal to blue, he has to be the one to look away first. He detests the way his eyes are drawn to Freed in the locker room, wiry muscle on a thin frame.

It's not Freed's fault, really, what happens. The locker room thing. It's all him. Between the two of them, he's the unnatural bastard, after all. But it happens every day anyway. No matter how disgusted he is with himself afterward.

Waiting for Freed to take his shirt off after class. Pushing him up against the lockers, enjoying that split second of full body touch. Yanking his hair up and away from his face, looking at those gorgeous eyes without the silky curtain to dull their color, the soft strands of green twisting around his fingers. Shoving his head in the toilet, looking at his ass stuck up in the air. And when he lets him up, the water drips down his face . . . down his chest . . . and for a second, he wants nothing more than to kiss him. But then he comes to his senses and laughs like he should. He's always laughing. It makes him sick.

He didn't understand why he was like this. He had done everything right . . . star football player, decently attractive, straight (ha) B student.

Maybe if he wasn't the twisted fuck he was, he could be nice to Freed. Be friends with him. Help him. Fight off anyone that dared to touch him. Kiss hi-

God, how he detested this.

His father would kill him if he knew. Would kill the abomination that used to be his son.

He was so worthless. A goddamned faggot. Fairy. Pouf. Nancy boy. Shirt lifter.

And more than anything, he was terrified of anyone finding out.

Especially his father.

He just knew he would slip up eventually. He sucked at keeping secrets. It was why he had a plan in place. He would kill the freak of nature before his father ever knew.

Freed was late today. He was alone in the locker room and had nothing else to do but wait for him. His hands tapped meaningless patterns on his thighs as he sat on the hard wooden bench. He tried to avoid empty time like this. It made him think. Gave him time to consider what he was doing, talk himself out of it. Any other day, he would have already moved on to his next class, but he was going to skip the rest of the day so it didn't really matter.

Freed finally walked in and stopped short, flinched a little when he saw him. He was sorry for doing that to him, he really was. But the problem would be gone soon. Freed wouldn't have to be scared of anything any more.

"What are you still doing here?" His voice was always so steady and smooth. He loved hearing it.

He stood up and balled his hands into fists, steeled his nerves. Took two swift steps forward. Brought one hand up to cup Freed's chin. Gently tilted his face up. Closed his eyes. Leaned forward. Found out his lips were just as soft as they looked, and he smelled just like he always did, rosemary and lavender. He only allowed himself a second before forcing himself away and walking out the door. He couldn't bear to look at his face. Couldn't bear to see the disgust he would surely find there.

He walked as quickly as he could to his car in the school lot and drove home. Only when he was parked in front of his house did he finally allow his head to fall forward to the steering wheel and tears to roll down his cheeks.