"Wake up!" Brady felt his body rocking against the old, springy mattress. "Wake up, Brady!" repeated the young sounding voice.

Opening his eyes, Brady stared up toward the ceiling, momentarily being brought back to the night before when he had been woken by Mark's father, to see James standing above him, wearing bright white pyjamas with the Batman emblem scattered randomly across the fabric.

"What are you doing here, Brady?" asked James, jumping up and down on the bed, with one leg on either side of Brady's waist.

"I slept over," said Brady, rubbing his eyes and smiling. "What are you doing here?"

James dropped down onto his knees, straddling Brady, and brought his face directly above him with a grin. "I live here, dummy."

"JAMES!" screamed Brittany, from down the stairs. "YOU BETTER NOT BE BUGGING THAT POOR BOY!"

James rolled his eyes then jumped off the bed, with a loud thud. "How's she always know!?" he asked in awe. "You coming for breakfast?"

Brady nodded as he stretched out his arms and then rolled onto his side. "Yup. I'll be down in a minute," he explained, watching the boy already running out the door.

Pushing himself up from the bed, Brady sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, leaning forward and staring down at the floor as his eyes adjusted to the daylight. He then stood up and quickly made the bed before heading toward the door.

"Morning," said Mark with a smile, leaning against the wall outside the bathroom. "Lil' snot beat me to it," he explained and nodded toward the closed door of the bathroom.

Brady returned the smile and approached Mark in the hall. "When did we fall asleep?"

"Dunno," Mark shrugged. "I was sleeping... Why did you sleep in that room?" he asked, staring down the hall.

"Your dad," replied Brady. "He woke me up and told me to go sleep in there."

Mark's happy expression seemed to fall from his face. "Did he say anything?" he asked, seriously.

"Not really. Just made the bed and let me sleep. Why?"

"No reason, I guess." Mark looked over at the bathroom door. "Dad just gets a little weird about that sort of thing, you know?"

"What sort of thing?"

Mark frowned, slightly, and stared at the floor. "The 'camping' sort of thing, you know?"

"Oh." Brady suddenly felt that same lump in his chest return. Only this time, it seemed riddled with serrated-edged thorns, and they were slowly gouging at his insides. "Is it bad?"

Mark nodded, avoiding eye contact. "It's a long story, but don't worry about it right now." Just then, the bathroom door swung open and James zipped by, leaving a strong, pungent odour in his wake.

"I made a massive stinky!" he yelled while thudding down the stairs.

"Great," moaned Mark. "Wanna go first?" he offered with a grin.

"Umm, no. That's okay. I'll wait," decided Brady, stepping away from the doorway and covering his nose.

Mark lifted the neck of his shirt over his nose and held it to his face with his left hand. "Some pal you are," he remarked, then stepped inside and closed the door.

While Mark was in the bathroom, Brady thought it best to evacuate the bathroom's... aura, and made his way down the hall toward the banister leading down the stairs. As he approached, he could hear Brittany and Peter talking in the kitchen, and Brady couldn't help but to eavesdrop.

"What do you mean they came back?" said Brittany, "and what do your dreams have to do with the boys?"

"You know what it means," said Peter.

"No! I won't let you ruin this for Mark, Peter. It's not like that between them, and even if it was..."

"If it was?! It isn't!" Peter paused. "All I'm saying is: I don't like the idea of my son sharing his bed with a boy."

"Peter -- just because you... You shouldn't... Get your mind out of the gutter."

Suddenly, Brady felt something against his shoulder, and he whipped is head around to find Mark staring at him.

"Sorry, Brady," said Mark, squeezing Brady's shoulder. "Dad's a bit homophobic, yuh know?"

Brady shrugged and turned around, trying to hide his obviously hurt feelings. "It's okay. I shouldn't have been listening."

Mark smiled and his eyebrow raised. "No, they shouldn't be talkin' so damn loud."

Brady laughed, half-heartedly, and stepped away from Mark. "I should probably get going," he announced.

"What? No, don't go," said Mark, reaching again for Brady's shoulder. "He's leaving for work right away. And besides, he's still the same guy you knew yesterday. Nothing's changed."

Brady didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. All he knew was he had to get out of there; at least for a while. He needed time to think, to be alone. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"You promise?" asked Mark, following behind Brady down the stairs.

"Yeah. I just need a shower and change of clothes. That's all."

Mark lifted his arm and smelled his armpit. "Phew," he gasped, "think I do, too."

Brady chuckled lightly while sliding on his shoes. "Should I grab some more movies for later?" he asked, turning toward the door.

"Yeah, sure," agreed Mark. "We can also finish those ones we missed last night, too." With that said, Brady turned the doorknob, opened the door, and left.

"Brady, is that you?" asked Natalie when she heard the front door opening.

"Yeah, Mom. It's me."

"You're home early," she said from inside the kitchen. "Want some breakfast?"

"No, I already ate," he lied. "I'm just gonna run up for a shower, okay?"

"All right, hun."

Kicking off his shoes, Brady climbed the stairs and went straight to his room. From the moment he opened the door until his head hit the pillow, all Brady could think, feel, and hear was the air as it passed his face. His eyes were warm and his cheeks felt as if they were on fire, and he could feel his pillowcase moisten as tears absorbed into the fabric.

Mark had just sat down at the table for breakfast. Brittany was fussing over a pan of scrambled eggs, while James nibbled on a piece of toast. Noticing her son sitting at the table, Brittany turned around and looked at Mark. Although he still looked a little pale, there was no doubt that he was doing much better than the previous day. In fact, he even seemed to be happy, in a new, radiant sort of way.

"How are you feeling, Mark? Any better?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Mark reached for an already filled glass of milk and took a long, greedy gulp. "I'm good, Mum."

"You're looking much better. How's your stomach?"

"Fine."

"And your back?"

"Better." Mark reached across the table, toward James's plate, and stole a half piece of toast. "Where's Dad?"

"Hey!" whined James, throwing out his arms toward his stolen breakfast.

Turning off the stove-top and carrying the pan over to the table, Brittany served the eggs out in four portions around the table. "He's in the basement getting ready for work or something."

"In the basement?" asked Mark. "What's he got in the basement?"

Just before Brittany could answer, Peter pushed his way through the basement door toting one of his reclining chairs awkwardly behind him. "Mornin' Mark. How's that gut of yours?"

"What are you doing, Dad?" asked Mark, staring at the large chair in the hall.

Peter let go of the recliner and stepped into the kitchen. "Figured if you and your pal Brady were going to be watching films the next few days, I'd put a chair up there so you two didn't have to crowd on the bed."

"What? It's fine, Dad. Really," said Mark. "Besides, where's that thing gonna go? It won't fit in my room."

"Sure it will. We'll just slide your bed over, some, and shove this ol' brute at the foot of your bed."

Mark stood up and walked around the table and into the hallway. "Oh come on, Dad. It's massive! Look at it!" Mark turned to his mother in hopes of some kind of support, but Brittany only looked away. "Mum? Seriously?"

Peter walked back into the hall and grabbed the end of the seat. "Too bad you're all ski-wiffed. I could really use a hand with this."

James twirled around on his chair and launched himself up to his feet. "I can help!" he offered, jumping down from the chair.

"No James," said Brittany. "Sit yourself down and eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

"Dad come on. Please don't," begged Mark.

"I... don't... see... what... your-problem-is, Mark," struggled Peter as he tried to get the recliner up the stairs. "You're not the one doing all the work."

"Mark," started Brittany, softly, "come here and eat some breakfast. Let your dad kill'emself," she said with a wink.

Mark stomped from the hallway and into the kitchen, sitting down with a thump, "That thing's not staying in my room!"

Brady stepped down the stairs and into the hallway, rubbing a towel against his damp hair, then walked through the living room, toward the kitchen. The clock on the stove read eight-twelve, and Natalie was rushing to get ready for work.

Stopping at the edge of the kitchen table, Brady draped his towel over his shoulder, being reminded of Brittany, and placed his hands on the back of a chair. "How'd things go last night?" he asked, looking up at his mother as she tried to fasten a small golden necklace around her neck.

"Fine, I suppose," replied Natalie. "Brittany can't hold her liquor though," she giggled. "And the strangest thing: about an hour after we arrived at the restaurant, Brittany being all dolled up, still had that tea-towel of hers on her shoulder."

Brady snickered. "Weird, I was just thinking about that."

"How about you? Did you have a good time with Mark?"

"Yeah, mostly. We fell asleep halfway through the forth movie."

Natalie rushed toward the fridge, opened it up, and pulled out a small container that held a sandwich for her lunch. "You going back over there today?"

Brady nodded. "Yeah, probably this afternoon. But I think I'll go on a jog through the park first."

Natalie nearly dropped her lunch on the floor when she heard Brady's plan. Looking up at him skeptically, like she was looking at a stranger, she smiled and slid her lunch into her handbag. "Really?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yeah..." Brady lowered his eyes to the table, slightly embarrassed but not sure why. "Uh -- about yesterday, you know, when I freaked out on you..."

Natalie walked around the table and placed her hands on Brady's shoulders. "It's all right, I know you didn't mean it."

"Yes I did." Brady looked up, making eye contact with his mother, trying to read her expression. "But still, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

Natalie wrapped her arms around Brady's shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. "It's okay, silly. I should have discussed it with you first." Rubbing her right hand up and down her son's back, Natalie stepped back and glanced at her watch. "I better run, or I'll be late for work... well, later."

Brady smiled and nodded and then pulled the towel off of his shoulders. "Later Mom."