Bartholomew was a very clingy Infected.

He wasn't sure why, but he knew that he deserved to be held. He deserved to have affection showered on him at any given moment he wanted. He deserved to be loved.

He knew this; at his very core he knew it was right. But, he rarely got what he rightly deserved. What he knew he'd always had, but had never experienced.

The damn Smoker wasn't giving it to him though. And it pissed Bartholomew off. Enough for him to take off for a few days and hide out wherever he could until the need to touch the other again got to strong. Even if the touch wouldn't be reciprocated, and if the disappearance would only cause a fight between them.

All Bartholomew wanted was a little affection. A God damn hug occasionally would be good enough. Anything to show that he was the special, little Hunter that the weird womanly voice in his head kept telling him he was. But no. All he got were insults and punches and anything else Frankie deemed suitable.

Bastard.

But, despite the anger Bartholomew felt over the lack of affection, he did like Frankie. And he liked that Frankie would put up with his clinging, kinda, and would, on occasion, pull him close, even if it was to show other Infected that he wasn't sharing his toy.

And he liked that when Frankie fell asleep, and Bartholomew would curl up beside him, that he would wrap his arms around Frankie's waist and pretend he was being held back.

Pretend that Frankie liked him for more than a toy, more than a possession.