Wormy's note: Even though I'm not gay, heck I'm not even male, this contains M/M SLASH, so beware! If you are a hippy or homophobe and this frightens or threatens you in any way, don't read the story, because I will not put up with any flames of the relationships that I choose to put in here.

All the characters and the plot are solely mine, so ask before copying!

This story is rated R for lots of violence, psychological problems, and reference to sexual situations, but that will be it-no actual lemons. If you have a problem with this, you can make up your own situations in between, but I won't do it for you.

I realize that the first part of this chapter might be a little confusing, but it will be sorted out in a while. Just realize that 'him' and 'Him' are two different people, ok? Also, parts between the '-' marks will be explained later, though you should be able to figure them out before then.

Have fun reading, and please review! If I get a few reviews I promise I'll keep it going.

'Dylan pressed himself into the wall, trying to block out the sound of his beating heart as he listened for his pursuers.

Silence. Only his labored breathing disrupted the crypt-like air. Slowly, Dylan released the breath he'd been holding, sliding down to the floor and burying his head in his arms.

There was no hope for him now-he was being Chased.'

"Hey, faggot!" He was brought back to Earth with a bump. Behind him, he could hear Them laughing. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he quickened his pace, trying to outrun the footsteps that chased after him.

It didn't help. Eyes wide in fear, he felt His grip on his arm as he was whirled around.

"Don't try and run from us, fag. You should've learned that long ago." His voice growled.

They were surrounding him, cutting off all escape as They pulled him into the familiar alley, Their familiar faces and familiar words taunting him. It had all become routine by now. All of the insults he knew from years of being the butt of them. They used them, his father used them, his teachers used them . . . and then there were those who called him much worse, words he hated to remember, things he hated to remember.

And he believed. He'd never had a reason to think anything else, and so he let his mind be tossed about in the wind of his world.

He almost sighed as his backpack was ripped off, opened and the contents scattered on the ground around them.

He cried out in pain as His fist hit the side of his head, but that only provoked Him further as His gang ranged around them, jeering. He watched in terror as He pulled out something new-4 shiny brass knobs, which he slid onto his fingers, savoring the feeling of them. The boy swallowed and braced himself. Every time, he managed to convince himself that he'd gotten used to the pain, the denial, the self-hatred, and every time they proved him wrong.

The assaults rained down on him, and Their fists soon joined as They backed Their leader. His blood was smeared on the ground, the walls, and the fists, coloring the scene a fiery red as They continued to beat him.

It was worse than the times before, and it didn't take long for the pain to overwhelm him so that he blacked out, but it was much longer until They left him alone, and longer still until the rain slowly started to fall, blurring the ink and scattered flecks of blood on the pages strewn around him; ruining the carefully neat lines that had once spelled his name, as the pain had long since obliterated the barrier between how he thought of himself and how They did.

Darren sighed, letting the warm water wash away the dirty feeling that overwhelmed him, reasoning away his scruples as he always did. He stepped out of the virtual stranger's shower, quickly dried himself and pulled his clothes back on, wincing slightly at their smell.

Silently, he left the other man's house, as he'd left all the other men's houses in the unvarying routine that was his nightlife.

As he walked slowly home, Darren had to hitch his collar up against the slight rain. He felt horrible, reproaching himself, but he knew he'd go back to the bar and go to a random man's apartment to get lost in the temporary satisfaction again, if only to satisfy his need for human contact, while his desperately romantic heart cried out at the lack of a relationship. It was like a horrible addiction, and he was still foolishly waiting for the right man to get him out of it.

Darren smirked bitterly. He was a fool to even think it would ever happen. He'd be just another body for the rest of his life. He knew what they called him behind his back. He wasn't Darren to them, a person with interests and a life, no, he was the One-Night-Stand Man.