Freaks.

"Hey! Hey come see that!" Phil screamed.

Jamie turned Pantera louder. Whatever Phil did was bad news. Phil was bad news. They all rushed towards the blond teenager, and Jamie's music wasn't loud enough to stop the mocking, shrieking voice of his bully to come to his ears.

"I've always told you he's a fag!"

Jamie looked over to where the group stood. They were all gathered in a tight circle, apparently looking at something. Jamie gulped and found himself trembling on his chair, praying for some supervisor to enter the canteen. 

But it was too late already. The group were circling his table, and Phil threw three photos on the table with the smile of someone that has achieved something. Jamie looked at the pictures and constated with fright, that they were photos of Stuart kissing him. He wasn't wrong about the click of the camera when Stuart was forced to come upon him. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand grabbing the back of his longish hair, and shoving his head into his plate of beans. Jamie struggled, sauce and crushed beans getting into his nosetrils, the hot food burning his skin. He almost couldn't breathe. He felt his chair being pulled from under him, and all his body collapsed, while his head was still stuck in the plate by the forceful hand. An intense pain shot up his neck and he screamed in fear and distress, trying to get away. 
His head was finally released, and he grabbed back his breath, spitting and sneezing the beans and the sauce, triggering maniacal laughers from the group of bullies. He felt uncontrolable tears come to his eyes, as his trembling legs gave up under him and he fell to his knees.

"So you're a faggot, Richie? Who'd have gueeeessed?" Dafydd sniggered from the group. 

Someone slapped violently the back of Jamie's head, and the teenager let out a sob.

"That's it, go cry to your fag boyfriend! If he's not already whining in his little corner!"

"He's not m-my boyfriend and I'm n-not g-gay!" Jamie sobbed. "Th-They forced him to come and kiss me and I--"

A shower of cherry yoghurt interrupted him. Phil had opened the pot that sat on Jamie's tray and poured it over the teenager's head. The thick pink substance merged in Jamie's hair. 

Jamie couldn't take it anymore. He didn't even have the force to run away. 
He let his body slump to the floor, exposed and vulnerable, and closed his eyes, listening to the laughers raining on him, wishing he could just disappear. 

--

"Look, class, and take lesson! Mr Oliver understood the purpose perfectly!"

Jamie hid his blush and just smiled at the photography teacher while the others gathered around his set of pictures. The 21-years old scratched his head, feeling his now short hair underneath his fingertips. 
Rachel, a cute girl with curly, long clear brown hair, smiled at him, looking impressed. 
Jamie felt his heart warm up. 
The bell rang and the teacher called off the class, wishing good holidays to them. Jamie put away his work, bid goodbye to the teacher and started walking out of the building towards the dormitories. 

Bristol. Away from all the bad memories of Pontypridd. What could he ask more? But it was his last year there. His paintings were getting recognition, and he wanted to focus on that. And photography. 

All the bullying was far off behind him. It had left scars, sure, but now he was glad he was out of it. 
He had seen the boy Stuart a few times in the streets of Ponty but not in the last two years. Maybe because he hadn't been around that much. Ha. 

Time to get home.

Once his little bag of personal things was done -- the rest stayed in the dormitory-- he walked towards the bus stop. 

After a three hour journey between bus, boat and train, he finally arrived in Pontypridd, dragging his luggage behind him. 

It wasn't raining ; not yet anyways. There weren't much people in the streets though. The night was falling, and everyone was either locked up inside their house or down at the pub. 
He sighed, turning into a dark, cliché alleyway.
The sound of his luggage's wheels resounded on the walls of the alleyway, and Jamie shivered in the cold air, shuffling out of the freaky street to a larger road. That's when someone called his name. 

"Heyyyy look it's little Richie!"

"Fuck." Jamie swore under his breath, not even bothering to look ancross his shoulder. He accelerated the pace, knowing who it was.

"Hey! Oliver!"

He ignored the calls. His house wasn't too far...
Suddenly a tall man popped in front of him. Dafydd, a bottle of Jack Daniels in the hand. 

"Come on Richie, you're not going to run away, are you?"

"Leave me alone!" Jamie growled, continuing to walk.

"Hey, hey." Jamie's wrist was grabbed. "You thought you faggot could get away from us so easily? Really?"

"Let me go Dafydd." Jamie hissed. 

"You'd like."

Jamie tried to get away, but a fist was lauched right into his guts. He gasped, stumbling back, and another guy kicked him in the legs, making him fall to his knees. He got kicked in the belly again, before recieving a rain of punches. 

He cuddled into a little ball, all his body hurting, hoping the beating would be done soon. 

It's not like he wasn't used to it. 

--

Jamie frowned at the canvas, dipping the paintbrush in more paint, before correcting the little slip he had done on the girl's face. He smiled, remembering the price his previous work had reached. £5500! If that wasn't cool. 
His phone rang. Taking his paintbrush in the other hand, he grabbed the buzzing device, opening the flip and pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hey Jame! It's Ian!" 

Jamie grinned, sliding the phone between his shoulder and ear, putting down his palette and his paintbrush.

" 'ey mate! You okay? It's been some time!"

"Yeah! Super good! And yeah, I'm really sorry bro, music and all... Your business' doing good?"

"Yeah, definitely! £5500 for the last one!"

"WAH! Well wow... That's one hell of a pack of money!"

"Yeah, you said it... For what were you calling?"

"Oh well...Can I ask you for a service?"

"Uh, I guess so?" Jamie smiled, carressing his short, bleached hair. 

"Well, you know, Lostprophets? Well we've found a REAL bassist -- uh, and Stepzak left, but well, I need a ride to go to the mixing session of the album! So I was wondering..."

"No shit man! You've finally recorded the album? Wow! And yeah no problem! When do I pick you up?"

"Uh, well... Now?"

Jamie grinned, grabbing a winter cap, and his coat, and jumping in his Nikes. 

"I'm coming right now! Tidy!"

"Thanks mate!"

--

Jamie and Ian ran inside the studio, soaked from the rain. 

"Hey E!" Mike shouted from the other room. 

Jamie followed Ian to the studio's main room. Lee was asleep on the couch, cuddled up on himself, Mike was eating crisps in an armchair, Chiplin sitting on the armrest. And in a chair, headphones on, face to the mixing table, sat a tall, black haired young man. He had a pair of glasses on that didn't hide his dark blue eyes, and was quite muscular. Despite the last thing, Jamie recognized him on the spot. 

"Oh my god!" he murmured. 

"What?" Mike smiled. "It's just Stuart, not the Pope!"

Stuart turned his head away from the mixing table, pushing the headphones off his ears. 

"Heard my na-- oh shit!" he gasped when he saw Jamie. 

The two of them stayed there, staring at each other. 

"You... You're that guy I..." Stuart stuttered. 

"You..." Jamie gaped. 

"What? What's happening?" Ian laughed.