Seeing him kiss someone, here, on my beach, was unnerving. 

This is. My. beach. It was always mine, AND HE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE THIS BEACH. HE ALWAYS COMPLAINED ABOUT IT.  I walked over to him, tapping on his shoulder. 

" Uh. What do you think you're doing here, Harry?"

" I'm kind of busy, dude."

I chuckled dryly.

" I don't care. Why did you come here?"

" It's a public beach, love. You don't own it. Now can you let me—"

As he was turning back towards the girl— kind of felt bad for her. I interrupted her cute little make out session. 

" No. This is my beach, you don't even like it. Go away."

He towered over me, and for a second I was almost intimidated. He was wearing sage green again, and flashes of me asking him to wear it more often cause it suited him so well appeared in my mind. Was he trying to spite me on purpose? 

" God. You can't even let me have my own spot, can you?"

His eyebrows furrowed. 

" This isn't your spot. None of this town is your spot. Your spot, love, is in hell."

The word love had never felt so poisonous. It was almost funny, because I knew he didn't mean any of that. All the religious—homophobic— nonsense he spouted everyday was stuff spoonfed to him by his parents. But he knew better. He was an educated person. He had just, for some reason unbeknownst to me decided to align with their beliefs and spite me. 

" The only reason you know how to properly kiss is because I taught you. Did your little girlfriend know that? That her boy practiced with a boy before he knew how to kiss?"

It wasn't a big deal, but I decided to press on his little anti-gay buttons. He wanted to play that game? Well the flames of hell might be hot, but the flames of my anger were hotter. If he wanted to unleash the inferno, then so be it. 

" You weren't even a boy back then!"

" Oh I was. I never once had long hair, or any attributes that made me in any way a girl, except for a few key elements that don't even matter. You're just scared to admit that you might be a little gay. Are you scared, Harry? Are you scared that little mister perfect might be going to hell too? Mhm? I'll make sure to save you a fresh seat next to me, love."

" You sound like a child."

" Well you coming here is plain provocation. I thought people our age were past those games. Guess your maturity act was well. Just an act. Can't say I'm surprised."

" I don't understand why you're so annoyed about me being here. It's a public beach. It doesn't say your name on the ground, does it?" 

" I hate you, Harry. Now enjoy your little make-out sesh. If ever you want to kiss a real man, Miss, you know where to find me."

The girl blushed and looked away. She didn't need to know I was as straight as a circle. 

Frustration boiled in my blood as I made my way back to my friends. Why would he come here, of all places? It was a very small beach, and barely anyone ever came here except for me and my friends. And he hated it. He didn't like how it felt like it might belong to someone, how it felt like you were intruding, he always asked to go to the main beach instead. There was no way he hadn't come here on purpose, just to spite me. 

He usually didn't make out with people in public either because he didn't want his very conservative parents to see him making out with random girls— even if Stan was the kindest person ever, he also had very strict rules and morals. 

Why is he doing this? Does he want me to hate him even more?