I hated him. I hated him so much. He was an asshole, a sharp-tongued, snake-eyed prick of a teenager. He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't much either. His lips were always pressed in a thin line and he always scowled. I don't think I ever saw this guy smile. He transferred from Ireland freshman year, and somehow managed to make me miserable beyond belief every day. We only met because I had to work with him on a project, and he didn't speak a word the whole time. I just did all the work myself and he got half-credit. I told him that wasn't fair and he told me to fuck off. We got in an argument, but before we could fight, a teacher stepped between us. God, I hated him. From then on he'd shove me whenever he saw me, and I'd trip him every chance I got. It was a mutual hate- had to of been.

It got even worse our senior year, because I came out of the metaphorical closet. I never intended for him to find out- I only told a few friends. I just didn't know that one of my said friends had a hard time keeping secrets, and thus told half the school about my situation. A few days after I came out, the whole school knew- including my nemesis. God damn Jack, with his big ears and fuckin' caterpillar brows... Every time I saw him was a nightmare. Until one particular fight...

"Faggot," he shoved me as he walked passed, his shoulder ramming into mine. I barely stumbled, as I was much stockier than he was, but his bony shoulder had likely bruised me.

"I wouldn't be talkin', you sick spud fucker." He'd whipped around after I said that, and pushed his way back to me through the mass of students who were originally minding their own business.

"What did you just say?" His eyes could have killed, they were burning with hatred, stabbing into my heart with every step he took.

I waited until he was in front of me, our chests barely an inch apart. He had coffee breath to the max. "I said, 'I wouldn't be talking, you sick. Spud. Fucker,' " I hissed, pushing him back with both of my hands firmly on his pecs. He fell, and a few students angrily shoved him back toward me, then turned to stare. A small crowd was forming around us, and I knew that it was finally time we battled this out. Dropping my backpack to the floor, I made my intentions clear. A sneer turned his gaze from menacing to terrifying, and he threw his backpack down. I approached him slowly, loving the rhythmic chant of "fight, fight, fight," from the students around us. Some teachers had taken notice, but couldn't get through the circular barrier of bodies.

"That's what I thought you fuckin' said," he spat, his obnoxious accent driving me insane. He seemed to be almost smiling, though I was too focused on watching his eyes to pay attention to much else. I swung, but my knuckles never reached his cheek. His hand had shot up and caught my fist. My eyes widened, and I felt my jaw drop. "Didn't see that comin' did ye?" He snarled, and brought my hand down, forcing his fingers between mine. Just like that, we were holding hands in front of dozens of students and faculty. Before I could comprehend whatever the hell that had been, a security guard finally forced his way through and yanked him away from me. He seemed very reluctant to let go of my hand.

"Fischbach, get in my office, now," the principal roared. I followed behind him, Jack, and the security officer. Plopping down in an uncomfortably cold leather chair, I could only watch as Jack sat beside me. He didn't once look my way, which made me more confused.

"Care to explain yourselves?" Mr. D leaned back in his chair, trying to seem authoritarian.

"He called me a faggot and bumped into me," I said quietly. Jack just folded his arms across his chest and continued to glare.

"Really Jack?" He urged.

"He called me a spud fucker."

"Mark!" Mr. D gasped at me.

"Oh, come on, he bumped into me first!" I whined.

"Are you sure it wasn't just an accident?"

"Calling me a faggot wasn't an accident," I said flatly.

"Jack, do you have any thoughts on that?"

He leaned forward, feigning innocence. "Well, he is one, I was just stating facts."

"Even if he is, Mr. McLoughlin, that gives you no right to call him such a derogatory name."

"I could call him Gay Lord, if you'd rather," Jack suggested smugly.

"Jack, I'm going to have to call your parents. Mark, you too. You're facing a three-day suspension. And when you come back, I expect no more of this nonsense. Use your days off to work this out, because I won't tolerate it here."

"Fine," I sighed. Jack only shrugged.

Our parents arrived at the same time, my dad in a red SUV, and his mom in a black Chevy. Our vehicles seemed to be following each other as we made our way home. I was surprised to find that he lived just a few streets away from me. That night, even though I had been grounded for the next week, I snuck out while my parents went out for dinner and made my way to his house. I'd been thinking about him for hours, seeing as I had nothing better that I was allowed to do, and I was pretty sure I knew just what was going on. I wandered around outside his house, trying to discern which room could possibly be his, before a high-pitched bark made me almost jump out of my skin.

"Jack, take Gizmo out!" I heard a man call from inside. I froze in place, right by the back door. A few moments later, Jack emerged, a black leash tied to a yapping little monster in his grip. The thing dove for me, snarling and snapping, foaming with rage. Jack kept it a foot away from me, but his face shifted into an unrecognizable emotion when he noticed who I was. The silvery-blue porch light gave him a soft aura, and brought out the tint in his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, yanking Gizmo back by his side before he spoke. "Can I help you?" He asked, surprisingly calm. He started down the two steps and I backed up, but he kept the beast away from me.

"Uh, I just wanted to talk... About today," I stammered, and he rolled his eyes.

"Sure thing, pal, let me just pour some lemonade and set up the checkers," he joked, the annoyance clear in his tone.

"Look, my goal isn't to become friends, or even resolve our issues. I just wanted to talk."

He paused as he thought the situation over, and eventually Gizmo quit growling and grew impatient to return indoors. "Fine, but we're going to my room." With that, he spun around, and started back inside.

"Wait," I whisper-yelled, "won't your parents mind?"

"They're in the living room, they won't notice," he informed me as he opened the door and set Gizmo loose in the house. She'd lost all interest in me and ran out of the kitchen. Something told me that her bark was way worse than whatever sort of bite her tiny mouth could manage. Jack went for the stairs, which were straight ahead. I followed, timing my footsteps with his. There were three doors, one on our left, one in front of us, and one to our right. He pushed open the one on our left, which was adorned with a poster of some heavy metal band. The walls inside his room held the same sort of decor, poster after poster lined up symmetrically. Some were of more bands, some were of video games, and some were of movies. Between each poster, a little bit of electric blue paint peeked through. It's a wonder this dude could sleep at night; even his ceiling was covered.

"No naked women?" I mused.

"I'm not that kind of guy," he snapped, and sat on his bed, which had a blue and white striped comforter draped lazily over it. I awkwardly sat facing him, one leg folded and the other dangling off the bed. I tried not to look around me and just ask what I'd come here to ask, but his room was filled with so much STUFF. He had two CD racks filled, a ton of coffee cups lined his dresser, surrounding a small box TV. On the floor around the dresser were several different consoles, a few of which I didn't recognize. Scattered around were cords, headphones, chargers, controllers, anything and everything else. His grey carpet was almost covered with cords. I was a little disappointed to see no stuffed bear on his bed, but figured he probably hid it until bedtime rolled around. The image made me smile, a sleepy Jack cuddling up with a worn-out bear...

As if he just thought of it, he turned on the stereo behind him. When he faced me again, an unfamiliar rock band started to play. "Whatcha fuckin' starin' at?" He mumbled, tugging his beanie off and running his fingers through his short, dyed green hair. It looked so soft, such a contradiction from his personality.

"Your room," I retorted, and he rolled his eyes.

"Whaddya want to talk to me about?"

"You caught my punch today."

"Yeah, and?" He kicked his shoes off and brought his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"And then held my hand. I mean, you actually held my hand. I didn't go and force my fingers between yours. What was that all about?"

He exhaled heavily and held his face in his hands for a split second before his eyes met mine again. His cheeks were slightly pink, but there was no indication of that in his voice. "I think you're fucking crazy. I didn't hold your hand, I stopped you from hitting me. It was self defense."

I got on my knees on his bed and moved closer, almost falling on him. "Then fight me now, Jack. Since you obviously don't want to talk."

"I don't want to fight either," he whispered, barely audible over the screeching guitar.

I looked at him, trying hard not to stare too deep in his big eyes. "Then tell me what you want," I leaned down, my nose almost touching his. He let his mouth hang open and I smirked. This is exactly what I expected. Titling my head, I put my hands on either side of his face and brushed my lips against his in one slow upward motion. His arms went limp and his legs spread. I shuffled between them, kissing him lightly. He kissed back, even lighter than I. Not five seconds passed before he suddenly snapped. He recoiled violently, shoving me as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"What the fuck was that?!" He hissed. "I didn't ask for that."

I sat on my feet in between his legs, since his shove hadn't done anything except break our kiss. It was lovely, his lips were soft and felt perfect against mine. "That was a kiss," I murmured, gently touching his chin. "And you didn't need to ask."

He smacked my hand and tried to get up, but he couldn't get his legs away from around me. Instead, he just bent them at the knee, glaring darkly. "Could ya fuckin' move back?"

"No," I smiled, leaning closer to him and taking his face in my hands once more. I wanted to kiss again, and I could see it in his eyes that he did too. I exhaled, a deeply warm feeling spreading through my gut. He didn't move to push me away, and actually closed his eyes. This fucking doof. I kissed him again, hungrily, my hands sliding around him and under his shirt, my fingers caressing his warm back. His hands rushed to my shoulders, gripping them tightly as I moved to kiss his neck. I felt his breathing catch, and he let out a soft groan.

"Mark, I-" he started, but stopped once I began biting, pulling on his flesh. When I pulled back, I turned his head, admiring the red patch I'd made. He looked up at me, his eyes shining. It was a comfortable moment, me laying over him, our bodies perfectly aligned... "Three years, you piece of shit," he chuckled.

"Huh?" I whispered, trailing a finger over his chest.

"I've had a crush on you for three fuckin' years..."

I laughed once, almost shaking my head. "Coulda fooled me."

"I kinda did, didn't I?" He giggled, pulling me by my collar so our mouths collided again. My body hummed sweetly in response. I loved the energy between us. He was indescribable. I never knew that he was hiding such passion behind every insult, every glare, and every rough shove that'd send me toppling. He never meant to hurt me, he only meant to protect himself. He didn't want to admit what he felt for me.

The door flung open, making us both jump. "That music is too lou-!" A man, I'm assuming his father, stepped back, shocked. Scrambling, I pushed passed him down the stairs and out the back door. I could hear shouts as I did so- but I didn't stop until I got down the street. Then I smiled, panting up at the stars with my hair all messy and my shirt wrinkled from Jack's grip. As I approached my house, I noticed that the lights were on, meaning my parents were home and waiting for me. I sighed, ready to face whatever I had coming. One thing I knew for sure though, Jack and I had a lot of explaining to do.