Your "best friend". That's what you would call William Alan Dickey, your absolute asshole of a buddy. But you knew you weren't best friends; Not really. It was always obvious, at least to you-- in the way he looked at you, the way his hand brushed yours, the way he would attend to your interests with no issue—things he didn't do with Pete, Josh, or even Jerry. Boys weren't supposed to act like this with other boys.

Club was cancelled tonight, yet again, early to the bickering of Bill and the other members. He insisted that you stay, oddly enough, so you did. You and him were sat on the edge of his bed, his hand resting on yours. You felt uneasy-- You weren't sure what you guys were. What you were meant to be. What he wanted.

"..Bill, do you.." You started hesitantly. "..actually like me?" He looked over at you, giving you a look through his glasses like the thought was even crazy.

"I will never like you."

But his hand tightened on yours. Squeezed like he was trying to convince himself more than you.