William was running.
After a dreadful argument turned dire punishment, William had managed to escape from the depths of his Uncle's home without merely a scratch. He should be awarded a medal.
Then again, he had sprinted, his backpack weighing him down, and his art utensils clacking as they bounced in his bag.
Sighing brutally, silently relieved, he slowed once he had vanished from Stan's horrifying neighborhood, and walked steadily along the side of the road, dreading the thirty minute walk to school.
Walking in silence meant he would be thinking.
And he didn't want to think. Because all he was thinking about was that idiotic Oliver Emerson.
Leaving without a mere farewell.
And then gawking at him yesterday whilst his teammates tormented the living soul out of poor little orphan gay boy William Levi.
He had no right.
Emerson had no right to look, to talk, to touch, or to even think about him.
William Levi had come to the conclusion over night that he hated everything about Oliver Emerson.
He hated his perfect blonde hair, he hated his emerald green eyes, he hated his lean physique and his openly friendly personality, and his invitingly smooth voice, and the fact that he could play with William's fucking heart and not even notice, not even realize.
The arrogant bastard.
William loathed him.
But not really.