Dylan,

I don't think I've ever hated anyone more than I hate you. Maybe evil scientists. But they don't count. The way I feel about you is different. I can't control it. I don't care that you're a test-tube mutant and can't help it. I don't care if you're the nicest and smartest dude in the universe and can sing better than Bono. I want Max to be mine. You have no right to touch her. I don't care how the wack-job whitecoats programmed you. I've been by her side practically since the day she was born.
But I can't be around. My anger towards you is getting in the way. Clouding my decisions. I don't know what is the right thing to do. And this thing with Max... it's a thing with you too.

Dylan,

I hate you still. So much. Even though I'm back home now (against my will, may I add – thanks a lot) I can feel Max slipping away from me every second you're around. And the worst is I find it hard to blame you for it. I don't know what it is – maybe you were engineered to be some sort of fucked up magnet – but whatever it is about you that draws Max draws me too. This would be a whole lot easier if you weren't always so great and smart and helpful. What's wrong with me?
The thing is, it's all your fault. Max belongs to me. She always has, and I've always belonged to her. I don't know how not to belong to her. Without that, I wouldn't know who I was any more. Don't mess with that. Don't you dare.

Dylan,

Stop it. All of it. Stop smiling at me and chatting to me and being so God damn sympathetic. I see the light in Max's eyes when you sing to her, and the way we all laugh at your jokes. I hate that you can make me laugh, that you're clever and interesting, that you can control my feelings this way. Every time I forget that we're enemies it only makes the Flock think I'm starting to accept you. Makes me think I'm starting to accept you. That's never going to happen. Let's be clear on that.

Dylan,

You kissed Max. Kissed her. It makes me burn with jealousy, and for all the wrong reasons. I can't control my thoughts, my feelings around you... I hate you for this more than anything you've ever done. You have no right to be this powerful.
Don't think you've won. Keep your hands off Max. I don't want you touching her.

Dylan,

Why are you doing this? Either you really have no idea, or you're some kind of sadist. Don't you know how confused I get when you smile at me like that, or that you stand far too close for my peace of mind? Don't you know it fucks with my head when you chat to me for hours and then go and snuggle up with Max? I hate the sight of you together more than ever. These thoughts are... She's all wrong for you – I mean, you're all – I don't even know any more. Do you enjoy screwing my life up? Is that it?
No, that's not the problem. I'm the problem, and I know it. I don't even know why I'm here any more. I should just leave you and Max and the rest to your cosy little nest. She obviously isn't interested in me any more, and let's be honest, I was never any competition. But I can't bring myself to go – it's you or Max or maybe a confusing mixture of both that keeps me prisoner here. When Angel's home, she won't stop watching me. If the four of us are in a room together her eyes flick back and forth like she's watching a tennis match.
In my first letter, I said I'd never hated anyone more than I hate you. It's still the truth.

Fang sucked in a deep breath, scanning the last paragraph of the letter he'd written last week. He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, wondering if that statement was true after all. I've never hated anyone more than I hate you. Maybe it had never been true. He thought back to that first letter with a quiet groan. Reading it over... even then, the dude had wormed his way into Fang's head. He refused to even think the word 'heart'.

Which left the problem (as he thought of it) of the note he'd found, lying on top of the keyboard. It would only be polite would have to reply, he supposed. It was a wrinkled shadow of its former self now, after much reading, crumpling, uncrumpling and rereading.

Fang,

I don't think I've ever loved anyone more than I love Max. But the way I feel about you is different. I can't control it.

Well, that'd teach Fang to leave the laptop running on his desk when he went out to the grocery store. I'm replying out of politeness, he repeated to himself firmly. You owe him the truth, no matter how confusing it might be. He turned his attention back to the laptop screen and closed the old document before opening a fresh one.

Dylan, he began. Here goes nothing...