Hearts were peculiar things; hearts were indecisive things. They could both love and hate the same thing simultaneously. They raged impossible wars, triumphing logic and reason.

His heart did.

As he sat in the warm midmorning breeze, aviators shielding his eyes away from Sammy's invasive stare, he couldn't help the way his ticker whined painfully in his chest. He had thought that he hated Sam; he had convinced himself that he did, but now, he realized that it wasn't hate. Not exactly. He was hurt. Sam had hurt him and he though part of him did hate him, that hatred had manifested from the love he had once held for...