Freddie sighed as he sat in his bed. His mind was constantly drifting to the man that held his heart… not that Spencer knew what he meant to him. See, contrary to popular belief, Spencer was the Shay that Freddie was in love with - not Carly. She was just a convenient cover. Sometimes he wished he could be a normal teenage boy. The jock that everyone loved and every girl wanted to be with. But he was just a shy, gay tech. Nerd, with almost no friends.

He stood up and walked into his closet, pulling out a bag. It looked like any of the other bags he had to hold his numerous cords and wires, but this bag held his darkest secret, something that no one could ever find out about. Settling back on the bed, he dumped out the contents of the bag. A sharp razor glinted in the light. The silver gleam contrasted beautifully with the blood stained cloth that lied next to it.

Freddie sighed again, knowing that this was the only way he could cope. He knew that his feeling for Spencer would never be returned. He could practically hear the words now.

"Listen Freddo, I like you and all, but you're just too young. It will never work."

Hot tears ran down his cheeks, clouding his vision. Just why couldn't he be normal? He began rolling up his sleeves in an almost ritual way. Red lines and old scars covered his arms, showing the years of self-harm he'd suffered. He picked up the razor and made the first cut, blood instantly welling up and running down his arm like rubies, while crystals ran down his face.

Suddenly Freddie felt angry. Angry that he wasn't strong enough to fight his feelings, angry that he couldn't just be normal. He didn't realize he had cut too deep. He felt tired, so tired. He laid down, closing his eyes. Blood still running down his arm, he didn't hear the door open or the started gasp that followed. The last thing he remembered was a familiar scent surrounding him and a whispered name passing his lips.

"Spencer…"