Tom Levitt hates a lot of things.
He hates celery and tomatoes. He hates kiss-asses and phonies, smokers and reality TV. He hates getting up early, pigeons, driving himself to the airport and the entire third season of Glee.
But there is nothing Tom Levitt hates more than Derek Wills.
Tom hates Derek's smug, self satisfied grins. He hates how, seven years ago, Derek strutted around the set of Heaven on Earth like he owned the place. Like he had done all the work instead if Julia and Tom, and the hundreds of people on their technical staff.
Tom hates the way Derek treated-treats-his actresses. Like they were pieces of meat that he could sleep with and than toss aside, leaving them in the dust, dazed, dreamy looks of longing still in their eyes.
He hates that he's caught that look in Julia's eyes once or twice.
Tom hates that Derek just assumes he's right about everything. The dancers he picks, the costumes and blocking; It all has to be the Derek Wills way.
Tom hates that, whenever he tried to speak up or make suggestions, Derek would just scoff and roll his eyes.
"That's cute Tom." He'd mutter in his British drawl.
Tom hates that one late night after several months of working on Heaven On Earth. Julia and the actors had packed up and gone home. It was only Tom and Derek in the front row of the Shurburt.
Tom hates that he went to confront Derek. About his selfish ways, the four devastated chorus girls he'd taken to bed in the last few weeks, the way he looked down on everyone around him.
Tom hates how he barely got a sentence out before Derek threw his hands in the air, exasperated.
Tom hates how Derek reluctantly leaned over, like it was a chore, and kissed him until he stopped talking.
Tom hates himself for letting him.
For digging his fingers into Derek's suede jacket and taking deep breathes of his crisp, cool aftershave.
Derek's soft lips pressed against his as they stood right in front of center stage. Maybe they were there for a few seconds, maybe hours. Tom didn't really care.
Tom hates how Derek was the one to break away.
Tom hates how, expressionless, Derek picked up his bag and left.
Tom hates himself for sitting on the floor, waiting for an hour and a half for Derek to come back.
Tom hates himself for getting dazed and hopeful, just like the dancers he used to mock.
Tom hates when Derek came in the next morning, he acted like Tom didn't even exist.
Tom hates that this sent him into nervous fits, not unlike those of a thirteen year old girl, all day.
Tom hates that he marched up to Derek during a lunch break and demanded to speak with him.
Tom hates that, instead of tearing Wills a new one, he asked Derek to drinks, to talk over what happened. Or even just talk.
Tom hates how Derek Wills looked him dead in the eye, smirked and said.
"That's cute Tom."
Tom Levitt hates a lot of things.
But most of all, he hates what Derek Wills did to him.
"I really think it's Ivy. We shouldn't pick Karen unless we get her a full time dance instructor." Tom says, scribbling his thoughts onto the legal pad balanced on his lap. He paused, glancing around the room. "Actually, we should keep that in mind." Derek didn't even look up at him.
"That's cute Tom."
What Derek Wills does to him.