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(SONG RECOMMENDATION: I HATE U,  I LOVE U BY GNASH FT OLIVIA O'BRIEN)

SETH'S POV

“I’m no fag… I’m bloody straight,” I whispered to myself, standing at the door. My heart raced as the words left my lips, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my chest. Fuck. My hands were still trembling. My face burned with the memory of what had happened, the scene replaying in my mind like a twisted movie I couldn’t turn off.

I took a shaky breath and walked toward the dining room, trying to ground myself. The stairs loomed ahead, promising some semblance of escape.

“Coming this weekend!” my sister Amara’s voice rang out, loud and clear, piercing my thoughts. I stopped at the first step, turning stiffly to face her.

“What?” I asked, my expression blank. My head tilted in confusion as she exhaled a puff of smoke, casually dropping her cigarette into the ashtray. My frown deepened. I was already running low on patience, and my big sister was a bloody dickhead who loved to test it.

“Why not?” she said with a shrug. “She says it’s her son’s birthday. She wants to drop by… with her second husband, though. The first one’s off in the States on a business trip or something,” Amara explained, her voice casual like she wasn’t throwing a grenade into my evening.

I grumbled at her words. Not Clark. I couldn’t handle him, with his cool-headed demeanor and his incessant need to hover over me like a fucking parent. And certainly not Murphy, who had this way of treating me like a damn child.

“Tell her I don’t need her or her husband around me,” I snapped. “She can stay wherever the hell she is. If she cares so much, a check would be nice enough.”

With that, I stormed back toward the stairs, my footsteps heavy with frustration.

“Be bloody grateful,” Amara called after me, her voice tinged with sarcasm. “She doesn’t give a shit about you, but she’s coming anyway.”

I ignored her, my hands balling into fists as I climbed the stairs. “I don’t bloody need her,” I yelled over my shoulder. “She can drive here if she wants, but I don’t see or speak to her. Pass the goddamn message, Amara!” I didn’t wait for a response before slamming my door shut and locking it with a sharp twist of the bolt.

Amara's loud yells still trailed after me, I heard her yells and curses along with grumbling, she might have said something about hanging out with some friends or stuff, didn't bother much about it and I felt partly relieved hearing the slamming of the main door and her footsteps receding away from the house.

She was gone.

I threw myself onto the bed, tossing my bag aside as my eyes fixated on the ceiling. Today had been one fucked-up day.

Every bloody thing about it was wrong. I didn’t spend my holidays relaxing like a normal person. No, I spent mine studying, training, doing everything twice as hard so I wouldn’t have to end up like this. And still, here I was. 

I groaned, the weight of it all pressing down on me. Nineteen and a half, almost twenty. I should have had my shit together by now. But no. I was stuck with this.  

Amara had always been the golden child, even if she didn’t need to be. She worked part-time at a cinema, not because she had to but because she liked it. Mom adored her. Both of her husbands adored her too, calling her a goddess. And to be fair, she did look the part. Red hair, dimples, hazel eyes, a perfect set of teeth. She was beautiful, and I hated to admit it, but it was true. Although it was something she would never hear me admit, I'd rather die than praise my sister's looks 

What I didn’t admire? Her smoking habits. She was addicted to the stuff—vapes, cigarettes, tobacco—anything she could puff into her lungs. No one said anything about it, not Clark, not Murphy, not Mom. After all, she could do no wrong in their eyes. Mom was still swooning over her remarriage seven years after Dad’s death. And not just one remarriage—two.

I’d gone to her weddings, seething the whole time. My friends had their opinions about it, but I didn’t care. They didn’t bring it up to my face, and that was fine with me. I had bigger goals to focus on—like chasing the NHL dream. I didn’t need their approval, and I sure as hell didn’t need Amara’s either.

My father had been a legend in his own right, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps. I admired him deeply, maybe too much. He built his wealth from the ground up, and while Mom had kept the estate thriving, and my siblings had steady careers, I wanted something more. I wanted my name to mean something.

But today? Today was a far cry from that dream. 

I groaned again, clutching my head in frustration. The memory from earlier refused to leave me alone. It gnawed at my mind like a relentless parasite. I hated him. I hated Miguel.  

And yet, the thought of him lingered. His blue eyes, the sound of his voice as he came… My stomach twisted at the memory. The filthy words I had whispered to him, urging him to cum for me. My hand had been wrapped around him, stroking him, making him fall apart.  

“Bloody hell, what’s wrong with me?” I muttered, my fingers tangling in my hair. 

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and quickly looked away. No. I couldn’t do this. I hated him. I hated his goody two-shoes act, his perfect exterior hiding God knows what. He was bloody gay, a liar, a faggot who loved sucking cock.  

And yet… my body betrayed me. I wanted his lips on me, his mouth wrapped around my cock. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. 

I shook my head violently, trying to rid myself of the image, but it was no use. I couldn’t deny it—today, between us, something had shifted. Jerking him off had turned me on so much it hurt.  

My cock twitched in my pants, the thoughts invading my mind, I tried to restrain myself, think of counting sheeps and stuff, but nothing, I was still rock hard with a growing boner pitching a tent in my pants.

I curled up my fingers, shutting my eyes releiving the memories, his voice…fuck, I had grown even bigger picturing his pretty lips wrapped around my cock. I imagined him on his knees now, begging for my cum, his tongue lapping against the pink cap of my boner.

His lust  filled blue eyes glazing into my soul, and then his cock, his blonde fucking length, the way the veins bulged  at the sides, his white tasty precum. I wanted all of it just as much as I wanted him to milk my cock dry,

Giving into the  hunger, I wrapped my palm around my cock, throwing my hips up and fucking my fiss, biting on my lips to muffle my moans.  playing pretend that Miguel was on high knees now, mouth apart taking my cock down his throat.

I had to jerk myself off again just to ease the ache, and the worst part? I enjoyed it. I’d cum harder and faster than I ever had with any woman.  

And it was because of him.  

Miguel. His stupidly perfect blue eyes. His damn smirk.  

My cock twitched at the thought, jolting me back to reality. I pressed myself hard against the mattress, willing the arousal to go away. I had cum hard three times today, yet I wanted more.  

No. This never happened. The goddamned thing never happened.  

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing to sleep. Tomorrow, it will all be forgotten. None of it mattered. We wouldn’t talk about it. We’d shove it under the rug where it belonged.  

Miguel was gay. That was his weakness.  

And me? I was fine. I was straight. I was fine.

I clung to that thought as darkness engulfed me. Drifting slowly into sleep.

*****

Fuck, fuck, and fuck me.

I needed meds. Anything. A sedative, a therapist—whatever it took—because this wasn’t possible. There was no way I still felt myself swooning over Mr. Goody Two-Shoes, the perfect gay star pupil.

This was wrong. Completely wrong. He didn’t speak of it. He ignored me entirely. I held his weakness in my hands, but suddenly, it felt like *he* was mine. I’d told him not to bloody talk about it, but I hadn’t prepared for him to act like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.

It was our last class of the day, and Miguel hadn’t so much as glanced my way. He’d ignored me through lunch, through every class before this one, and somehow, that pissed me off more than anything else. 

His phone buzzed on his desk. A message popped up. Curiosity burned through me as I leaned forward, lowering my head over his shoulder to get a better look inching forward to see who it was, what this person wanted, was it the same guy with dick pics? Was it someone else? Miguel doesn't look like a player, a golden retriever one could call him, but he didn't look gay either. He must’ve felt me because he turned abruptly, our faces suddenly inches apart. My breath hitched.  

“Don’t bother,” he said flatly. “I changed the password. Stop invading my space, Seth.”  

The way he said my name—low and deliberate—made my chest ache, though I didn’t know why. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to pretend nothing had happened. But why wasn’t he flustered or affected like I was?  

When I woke up this morning, it was late. My body was a mess, my morning erection so painful I’d had to jerk off just to function. My thoughts, my memories—they all spiraled back to him. The kiss. His cock. His voice. I’d cum hard, again and again, unable to stop myself.  

Like I was high on his drugs wanting more of him, wanting to taste him again, hold him again Even when I knew how fucked up it was, I jerked off four times in the bedroom, once in the bathroom and a quick wank before finally coming to school.

Six times I had already stroked my length and spilled my nuts thinking of nothing of the bloody wanker and this was all I got?.

The  bastard had the audacity to ignore me all day. Even when I shoved my leg against his desk, he didn’t react. He just sat there, calm and composed, like he didn’t care. It drove me insane.  

By the time lunch ended, I couldn’t take it anymore. I leaned close, my voice laced with sarcasm as I asked, “Your babe… you met up last night? Did the two of you get it off?”  my voice was laced with venom, dripping with mockery,but I hoped at least it would get him to talk to me, 

To my shock, he smiled. Not just any smile—a knowing, wicked smirk that made my stomach churn. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “Yes. We had sex all day and all night. He left this morning after giving me a blowjob and fingering my ass.”  

My face went pale. I bit my lower lip, hard enough to taste blood, trying to process his words. He pulled back, that damn smirk still plastered on his face.  Even now he had the upper hand, fucking miguel, how the fuck was he always doing this? Shoving me to a corner and having it all.

“What’s wrong?” he asked mockingly. “Didn’t you want the details? You already know my dirty secret. What’s the harm in hearing more about the.. Well, disgusting things gay guys do?”  

“Fucking faggot,” I snapped, flipping him the middle finger. “You disgust me, Miguel. Wait till everyone sees what you really are—a dirty, cock-sucking slut.”  

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Anger, maybe. Pain. It was hard to tell. He opened his mouth to respond, but the door creaked open, and the physics teacher walked in, cutting him off.  

He turned to face the front, ignoring me for the rest of the class.  

When the bell rang, I watched him pack his books, slipping his textbooks into his locker with practiced ease. I found myself trailing after him like a damn stalker. He laughed and chatted with others, his smile bright, his voice calm. But I could see it—the tightness in his jaw, the slight strain in his movements. He was faking it.  

“You’ve been staring daggers at Miguel all day,” Jason said, startling me. I turned to face him, scowling.  He was on the same team as I was, a mutual friend of my roomate jeremy and one od the pests in between my daily fucked up life.

“What’s going on? You two fighting again? You look like you’re about to jump him—or maybe fuck the frustration out of his bloody senses,” Jason teased, a smug grin on his face.  

“Shut up,” I muttered, rolling my eyes and turning away.  

I couldn’t let anyone notice. It was easier to pretend we were just enemies. But deep down, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. To hit him? To… fuck him?  

Fuck no. No. Not again. Why would I let him fuck me? If anything, I would certainly be the one doing the fucking.  I'd be screwed if Miguel was the topping it meant I'd eventually lost in all ways to him,  why was I even thinking about this?. 

“I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow,” I said abruptly, needing air.  

“Jeremy’s party tonight. Are you coming?” Jason called after me. I shrugged, waving him off as I headed to my bike.  

The rest of the day passed in a haze. I couldn’t focus. Somehow, without realizing it, I ended up across from Miguel’s house, leaning against a tree. I didn’t know how I got there. One minute, I was jogging; the next, I was here.  

The door creaked open, and Miguel stepped out, his hoodie pulled over his head. He didn’t see me as he glanced around, acting suspicious as hell.  

Why the fuck was he sneaking out?  

I followed him, keeping my distance as he walked down the street. The streetlights were dim, the air cool against my skin. Seventeen bloody minutes into his walk acting like some mafia spy, he stopped.  

A man approached him, their faces close, and then their lips met.  

My blood boiled.  

Miguel kissed him back, his hands tangling in the guy’s hair. My jaw clenched as I watched, rage simmering beneath my skin. My cock throbbed painfully in my jeans, but it wasn’t lust—it was jealousy.  

Those lips should’ve been mine.  

Before I knew it, I was storming toward them, tearing them apart with a furious shove. My fist connected with the guy’s jaw, the satisfying crunch of bone barely registering through my rage.  

“Embry?” I spat, recognizing the face staring back at me in shock.  

“Get the fuck away from him!” Miguel yelled, shoving me back, but I ignored him. My hands wrapped around Embry’s throat, my fists pounding into his face.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Miguel shouted, gripping my arm and pulling me off him. “Is this one of your homophobic games?”  

“He’s two-timing you!” I snarled. “He’s dating Heather. Did you know that? My ex-girlfriend! This bastard is playing you.”  

Silence fell between us. Miguel’s eyes widened, pain flickering in those icy blue depths. I saw it—the tear slipping down his cheek.  

“It’s none of your business,” he snapped, his voice trembling. “Just leave, Seth. Stop messing with me.”  

“You scream, now!” I yelled at embry seething, he wasted no time and running off too scared someone might see him,or probably scared of being bloodied by me.

“Stop fucking with me seth! Leave me alone!” Seth screamed,pissed and broken, in pain like I haven't seen him before.

I reached for him, but he pulled away, his shoulders shaking.  

“Don’t cry, baby,” I murmured, my voice soft. I brushed my thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the tears. “Don’t…”  

Before I could stop myself, I kissed him. His lips were warm, soft, and everything I’d been denying myself.  

For a moment, he kissed me back, his tongue brushing against mine, but then he shoved me away.  

“Get off me, Seth,” he said, his voice breaking.  

But I couldn’t. I pulled him closer, my hands gripping his waist, my lips finding him again.  

And that’s when I knew—I was doomed for him.