Gary Barkovitch was not happy.

One class – he'd failed one stupid class. And now he was stuck in this summer school-type of thing for half the summer. At the moment, he was standing in the check-in line behind some big, burly blond who looked like he would take to take the first opportunity to shove him into a wall… or maybe down a flight of stairs, depending on his mood.

The line moved up. "Name?" the woman asked the blond. She looked like she was seriously not paying attention; checking her phone with one earphone in.

"Collie – oh, you probably want Collin, Parker," the blond said.

"Parkillo-"

The blond stiffened and Barkovitch snorted, unable to help himself. 'Parkillo' looked back at him and they glared at each other for a moment before the blond turned back to the woman. "It's Parker, you fu- uh, how the he- just- ugh." Parker took his schedule and headed down the hallway. He was moving slowly, for how upset he'd seemed.

"Your name?" the woman asked. Barkovitch swallowed and,

"Gary Barkovitch."

"Alright, Barkobitch-"

"What?" Barkovitch asked, bright red with both anger and embarrassment. "I- I-"

"You what, Barkobitch?" Parker asked. He'd stopped moving and was just standing there, smirking. Barkovitch turned an even brighter red.

"I-It's a v," Barkovitch said. The woman looked like she didn't give a shit. "Not-"

"Aw, someone sensitive?"

"Shut it Parkillo," Barkovitch snapped, and Parker went back to glaring at him. It wasn't like he hadn't heard Barkobitch before; when you're a kid no-one likes, they're going to mess around with your name. But that didn't mean he liked it. Freak, bastard, prick – usually preceded by 'little' – those were the other things he was used to. The freak Barkobitch, the little prick.

The summer school-thing was more of a summer camp, Barkovitch realized as he juggled his nearly overflowing backpack and schedule. He'd known he'd be staying overnight for the weekdays (going home on weekends), but there were other things that marked it as 'camp-like', such as 'fun icebreaker activities.' Shit. Barkovitch and 'fun icebreaker activities' didn't mix.

He readjusted his grip on his backpack and headed for his room.

To his dismay, the guy he was sharing a room with was none other than Collie – or Collin – 'Parkillo.'

Barkovitch swallowed and wondered if it was too late to run away. Parker glanced up. Barkovitch grimaced and headed into the room. And then was backed up against the door, Parker's hand grabbing onto the short bangs of Barkovitch's hair and jerking his head up.

Barkovitch's scalp burned, but he was a bit preoccupied with the fact that he was probably going to die.

"Is Parkillo still funny?"

"Yes." Barkovitch cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut. Shit. Shit, shit, shit he was going to die. Parker sneered, and Barkovitch shrunk against the door, still having to actively fight the impulse to a) stick out his tongue, b) give him the finger, or c) make yet another smart comment.

"You are going to fucking die, Barkobitch."

Maybe Barkovitch should think of something that wasn't Parkillo to call the guy.

Barkovitch spent much of the next few weeks more than slightly banged up. Thankfully, the other guys just made comments – he nearly had a run-in with a short, squat guy named Rank, but had escaped it by climbing a tree and screaming obscenities until Rank had gotten bored.

But Parker… Barkovitch really had to watch his step around Parker, who had also taken to taping his mouth shut when Barkovitch 'talked too much.'

One day, however, as he entered the room, the light was off. Barkovitch felt for the light switch and someone – Parker, presumably – grabbed his wrist and pushed him up against the wardrobe. Barkovitch braced himself.

And then felt soft lips crashing down on his. He gasped and his mind went blank. Who was this? Was this Parker? Oh God, was it Parker? No, it didn't seem rough enough to be Parker; this person was softer and a bit gentler.

Then the light flickered and Barkovitch was faced with a pretty, light-haired boy. Collie Parker was standing in the doorway, gaping. The other boy realized that something was amiss and opened his eyes.

"Oh," he said with a slight Southern accent. "I don't know you."

"Baker," Parker said. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Baker stumbled away from the extremely stunned Barkovitch and into Parker. "I thought it was you…"

"Are you – you're drunk," Parker decided, righting Baker. Baker smiled almost dreamily. "Did Abe do this?"

"No…" Baker said. "It was Olson."

"Olson," Parker muttered. "Well, I'll get you back to Abraham. He can take care of you."

"'Kay."

Barkovitch moved from right in front of the wardrobe right after Parker helped Baker out. He sat down on his bed, having no idea how he felt about what had just happened.

He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

Then again, Baker was soft, almost like a girl would probably feel. So, he wasn't sure.

Parker came back then and suddenly Barkovitch was kissing another boy. This was moving very fast for Barkovitch – he'd barely had friends before, let alone two people kissing him within fifteen minutes of each other. Parker was rougher, Barkovitch's back pressed into the bed, Parker's knees digging into his sides and rough, chapped lips pressed against his.

Okay.

He liked kissing boys.

Now that he had accepted this, he could also accept the fact that Parker was way too attractive to be normal. Something had to be fake, or a result of thirty billion hours working out.

But back to the thing that was going on at the moment. The kissing thing.

\ It hurt – Parker was rough, almost exceedingly so. And he was biting; he'd moved from Barkovitch's mouth to his jaw. He would have marks there in a little bit. He would have lots of marks there in a little bit.

Then Parker moved to his neck and Barkovitch really had no idea how he was not completely dead.

Someone knocked on the door just then and Parker jerked away, knees pushing even further into Barkovitch's sides. He scrambled off and, throwing a blanket over the once-again stunned Barkovitch – an swered the door.

"Oh. Hey, Abe. I wasn't fuckin' busy or anything –"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Abe's voice was surprisingly deep. "I'm here to thank you. I got Baker locked up in our room by now, of course, but I'm going to have to talk to Olson."

He wasn't quite sure what had just happened.

I don't really know what this is but whatever.