Light flooded the room as Brady rolled over in bed and tried to fall back asleep. A task which was becoming more and more impossible, as the repetitive ringing of bells echoed throughout the house. "MOM! ARE YOU GOING TO GET THAT?!" screamed Brady, in frustration, as he sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"BRADY!" screamed Natalie from the bottom of the stairs. "DOOR!"

Still dazed from the pull of slumber, Brady climbed out of bed in confusion. "What?!" he replied in a grumble, struggling to put on some pants.

"Mark's here!"

Taking a moment to process what was said, Brady felt himself panic. "Just a minute!" he begged, hoping his mom wouldn't just send Mark upstairs. Stumbling across the room, Brady threw on a clean shirt, and was about to run out to the bathroom to comb his hair when a knocking suddenly thumped against the door.

"Brady?" said the slightly muffled voice of Mark, from the other side of the door.

"Yeah... uh, just a sec!" he begged through anxiety. "Be right there." Running to his dresser, Brady grabbed his comb and quickly sped it through his tangled hair.

"K, sure."

Opening the door, Brady's eyes met with Mark's, then slowly travelled downward. "Uh, hey?" he greeted Mark. "What's up?"

"Nothin' much. Just wanted to see if you were good for a run at the park."

Still looking at Mark, at his shining, silky-white basketball shorts and plain looking, white cotton t-shirt, Brady nodded. "Yeah, sure," he answered in almost a whisper.

"Cool. You might wanna put on something lighter, though," warned Mark. "It's hot as hell out there."

"Oh, yeah. Okay." Brady turned away from Mark, and approached the dresser.

"You all right?" queried Mark as he entered the room.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just woke up is all," explained Brady, while he searched for a pair of shorts.

"Whoops, I didn't wake you up, did I?" realized Mark, noticing Brady's alarm clock read ten-thirty.

"Uh, na, I was getting up anyway," Brady lied, turning to Mark with a pair of shorts in his hand. "Umm, I gotta get changed..." he announced shyly, while holding the article of clothing in front of himself as if to maintain modesty.

Looking over at Brady, Mark nodded and turned around. "Okay, go ahead. I won't peak, honest."

"Erm..." struggled Brady. "Okay..." Turning away from Mark, he cautiously began to unbutton his jeans.

"Cool computer, mate," complimented Mark, as he studied the room. "Got any good games on there?"

Keeping one eye on Mark to make sure he wasn't peeking, Brady looked over to his computer. "Uh, yeah. I've got loads of games."

"Sweet, I'll have to check your collection later," stated Mark. "You ready yet?"

Quickly jumping into his old, black gym shorts, Brady pulled them up as fast as he could. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Right on. You wanna get some breakfast or something first? I don't mind waiting."

"Uh, I'll be fine. Just let me grab a drink first."

"You sure? I'd die if I didn't eat breakfast. I can wait, honest. There's no rush, dude," said Mark as he followed Brady down the hall, to the stairs.

"I'm fine, honest."

Slowly treading down the stairs, the two boys then circled down through the hall and met with Natalie in the kitchen. "What are you two up to?" she asked as she flipped a couple eggs that were sizzling on the fryer.

"We're going for a run in the park," Brady explained, racing to the fridge.

"Run?!" blurted Natalie, in disbelief, almost dropping her spatula in the process. "You're gonna die!" she teased as she turned to the toaster, which had just popped two slices of toasted bread.

"Shut up, I can run," said Brady, defensively.

"Well, sit down and have something to eat first," suggested Natalie, spreading a generous amount of butter across the toast, "Otherwise you'll be all grouchy later."

"Mom?!" groaned Brady, getting a glass out from the cupboard.

"Come on, sit down," she demanded, dropping a plate on the table. "Would you like anything Mark?"

"No, I'm fine Miss," replied Mark, sitting down at the table.

"Brady," started Natalie, "Get your friend a drink, would you?"

Grabbing a second cup, Brady poured two glasses of orange juice then carried them to the table and handing one to Mark.

"Thanks mate," said Mark, placing the drink in front of him. "So you don't run much, Brady?"

As Natalie served Brady his breakfast, she couldn't help but giggle. "Brady hasn't ran since..." the humour faded in her voice, just as quickly as her words disappeared.

"Since what?" asked Mark as he took a sip of his drink.

"Since my dad died," blurted Brady, giving his mom a scornful glare.

"Oh... Sorry, mate."

"It's okay. Not your fault," stated Brady, quickly falling into silence.

Natalie instantly wished she had kept herself quiet, especially in front of the first friend that Brady's had since her husband died. "No, I'm sorry, Brady. I..." Dropping the empty pan into the sink, Natalie quickly excused herself from the room, without saying a word.

Watching Natalie's departure, Mark looked back at Brady, who was poking at his breakfast with a fork. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Brady sighed, allowing for his emotions to subside. "It's just... we don't talk about it that much, that's all."

"No prob," Mark assured him. "I'm not here to pry."

Taking a long chug of his orange juice, Brady jumped up from the table. "You ready?" he asked, thumping his glass back down on the table.

"Uh, yeah sure," replied Mark, noticing Brady hadn't touched his breakfast.

"Come on Brady! Hurry up will yeah?!" teased Mark, from a bench at the park's entrance.

Huffing and wheezing, Brady caught up with Mark and dropped to the bench. "God, I haven't ran in so long..." he explained through a gasp for air, while sprawling himself across the bench's entire length.

Mark chuckled, while stretching out his legs. "I told you to take it easy on the way over, but noooo, you had to kill yourself on the first block."

Sitting up to rub his burning calves, Brady stared over at Mark who was holding his right arm behind his head. "Guess I should have warmed up a bit first, huh?" he admitted, still trying to regain his breath.

"Always, dude. Especially if you haven't done it in a while," Mark walked over to the park's trail. "You ready for more?"

Glaring up at Mark, Brady forced himself up to his feet. "Yeah... I guess, but let's take it slow this time, can we?"

"Haha, no prob." agreed Mark with a wide grin. "Just keep to my left. That way I can protect you from any air assaults by runaway footballs."

"Shut up!" squeaked Brady as he stiffly walked to the path, next to Mark.

Starting off in a light jog, the boys slowly made their way through the park. Still being fairly early for a Monday morning, there wasn't many people there yet. They saw a few mothers watching their children playing on a play-structure, along with the occasional jogger, but, other than that, they had the entire park to themselves.

By the time their first lap was completed, Mark was showing signs of impatience and started to speed up the pace. "Come on Brady, let's kick it up a notch, eh?"

Feeling the burning-ache of his ribcage already begin to cramp, Brady forced himself to match Mark's new speed. "Wow -- dude -- much faster and I'm gonna implode," gasped Brady, wiping the streams of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

"Feelin' the burn, huh?" snickered Mark. "Tough it out. The hurt will go away soon, honest."

"I dunno," choked Brady. "Can we at least stop for some water?"

Mark turned his head back to Brady, who was struggling to keep up. "Too late, we passed the fountain," he explained. "Besides, if you have a drink now your cramps will just get worse. We'll take a break next time around, cool?"

Brady grunted in agreement, dipping his head and pushing himself to speed up. "Okay, but if I don't make it..." he started, taking a moment to catch his breath, "...tell my mom that it was all your fault."

"Oh come on, mate, it's not that bad," chuckled Mark.

Turning his head and glaring over at Mark, Brady wiped the sweat from his brow once again, feeling his face flush and burn. "Uh-huh," he groaned, in almost a cough. "Speak for yourself."

"We're almost there, see?" pointed Mark, towards the fountain where several other guys were sitting.

Looking up ahead, Brady's momentary relief turned to apprehension. "Uh -- let's just keep going. One more lap?"

Staring over to Brady then back at the fountain. "What? Why? Just a second ago you were ready to keel over."

"Yeah," murmured Brady. "Think I got a second wind."

Realizing that the sudden 'second wind' was more likely due to the group on the bench, Mark slowed his pace. "No worries, Brady. We'll just stop for a quick second for a drink, then we'll be on our way, okay?"

Without receiving a reply, Mark decided to stop. Allowing a moment to catch his breath, he looked up at the three guys, who were staring at him from where they sat. "Ello mates, what's up?" he greeted them.

"Ello mates!" replied the oldest of the three, mockingly, as the others chuckled, as if on cue. "Is that Brady? Brady Jeston?" he noticed, and stood up. "What's up Brady?" he asked in a tone which expressed to Mark that the two weren't friends.

"Come on, Mark, let's keep going," suggested Brady.

"Aw, come on Brady. What's the matter? Don't you wanna catch up with your pals?" asked one of the other, smaller boys, who looked a couple years younger than the first boy.

"Not especially," replied Brady, in a near whisper.

Mark watched as the three neared Brady and circled him. "Who's your friend, Brady?" asked the younger boy.

"Come on Riley, just forget it, okay?" pleaded Brady, avoiding eye contact with the boys.

Riley turned his head to look at Mark, "What's your name, kid?"

"Mark -- Come on Brady, let's get going."

Brady looked up at Mark through sad, empty eyes. "Why don't you go on ahead? I'll catch up."

"Oh Brady," started Riley, putting his hand on Brady's shoulder, "don't be like that. We're just trying to be friendly, right Allan?"

The oldest of the boys nodded with a smile. "Hey Mark, why don't you come over here. I've got a secret to tell you."

"Mark, don't," warned Brady, staring at the ground.

"Shut up homo!" screamed the third boy, punching Brady in the stomach.

Feeling all the air burst out of him, Brady fell to the ground. Mark ran towards Brady on impulse, but Riley grabbed his arms and held him back. "Hey Mark, has Brady told you yet?"

"Leave him alone!" demanded Mark, struggling to get out of Riley's hold.

"But Mark, we're trying to help you," explained Riley, forcing Mark down to his knees. "Jerry, come hold him for me!"

The boy who had punched Brady instantly complied with Riley's demand, like the good little follower that he was. Noticing that Brady was about to get back up, Allan kneed him in the side of the head. "Stay down faggot!"

"I guess that's a no," continued Riley. "Brady here's a murderer. He didn't tell you, did he?"

Still struggling to get free, Mark looked over at Brady, who was being pushed around by Allan. "Whatever," replied Mark, in an agitated whisper.

"But we're trying to help you, Mark. He killed his dad -- you could be next," he said in a strangely humorous tone.

"Hey!" shouted a deep, distant voice. "Leave them alone!"

The three boys turned their heads towards the approaching voice to see a tall, muscular looking man, running at top speed directly at them. "Shit!" screamed Allan, "It's James, bail!"

Mark looked up from the asphalt path where he lay, at the man the boys had called James. "You two okay?" asked James, offering his hand to help Mark up.

"Yuh, I'm good. Your timing was perfect, thanks," replied Mark, grabbing the man's hand and feeling his body fly upward until he was back on his feet. "Brady, you all right?"

Rolling onto his side, Brady groaned and climbed to his knees. "Yeah," he murmured. "Next time let's just keep going, okay?"

James knelt down beside Brady, placing his large hands on the sides of Brady's head to examine the quickly swelling eye. "You might wanna go put some ice on that," suggested James.

"Brady poked at his temple, wincing at the pain. "Damn, I just got the swelling down from yesterday."

"Those twats got the same eye as the ball?" asked Mark as he knelt down next to James.

"Yeah... Just my luck," groaned Brady.

Helping Brady to his feet, James directed him over to the bench, which just happened to be the same bench at which he had met Mark the previous day. "I can't believe those guys are still picking on you, Brady," said James, sitting Brady down. "You should really start defending yourself."

Brady shrugged. "There's no point. They'll just come back."

"Yeah, but once you start defending yourself it won't be as fun for them," explained James. "You're just letting yourself be a target." Realizing that his words were falling on deaf ears, James patted Brady on the back. "Anyway, it's good to see you again, bud. You should come back to class -- it'd be good for you. Everyone misses you."

"Nah, I'm cool James. Thanks for saving us," said Brady, still staring at the ground.

"Anytime..." James replied awkwardly then looked up to Mark. "Why don't you get Brady home and throw some ice on his eye."

James jumped to his feet, surprising Mark, who jumped back. "Jesus, you're huge," he pointed out, staring at the large, almost unnatural looking man.

Giving Mark a wink, James patted Brady's shoulder and said good bye. "Remember Brady, you're welcome to come back anytime you want, okay?"

"Sure thing James. Thanks."

With that said, James resumed his run through the park. Mark sat himself down next to Brady, watching James as he departed. "God that guy's huge," he remarked. "He looks like he came straight out of a movie."

"Yeah, he's really big into fitness and stuff," replied Brady. "He's a cool guy, though."

"No shit? He just saved our asses," reminded Mark, slapping his thighs and jumping to his feet. "Well, enough of this. Let's go re-ice that face of yours."

"Yeah, okay," agreed Brady, standing up slowly.

"I can't see that guy being a teacher. Maybe a boot-camp director or something."

"Huh?" replied Brady, poking at his face. "Oh, yeah, something like that."

"You okay?" asked Mark, realizing Brady's watering eyes.

"I'm fine. Just sore, I guess."

By the time the two had made it back to Brady's house, Natalie had gone to work. Relieved that he wouldn't have to hear his mother freaking out over his eye, Brady went straight to the freezer and grabbed some frozen peas. Mark followed him inside and sat down at the table, quietly.

"Are you okay?" asked Brady, finding it odd that Mark was being silent.

"Yup, why?" Mark assured him, obviously lying.

"Right... What's wrong? Did Riley hurt you? I've got more ice if you want."

"Nah, I'm good," Mark assured him once again. "Those guys are major jerks, though. Do, uh, do they pick on you lots?"

"Not really. I'm not usually out much," replied Brady, sitting down at the table. "You want a drink or something?"

Mark didn't answer. Instead, he just stared down at his hands as they scratched against the table. "Why did those guys say you were a murderer?" he blurted, regretting his words immediately.

This time it was Brady's turn not to answer. The silence between them became so awkward that Mark feared that the slightest sound from him would cause Brady to lash out at him. He didn't mean to think like that, nor did he want to. He just found it hard not to consider some truth behind Riley's comment, especially after Brady's silence. The fact of the matter was, however, that whatever truth may be behind Riley's words, Brady didn't seem like the type who would hurt a fly, much less another person.

"Brady? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm an idiot for even thinking about believing those idiots," said Mark, deciding whatever had happened in the past wasn't any of his business.

"Don't worry about it," said Brady, so quietly that Mark just barely heard him. "Those guys are always on my case."

Thinking it best to change subjects, Mark jumped up from his seat at the table. "How about that drink? Then we can go check out your computer games."

Eyeballing Mark's expression, trying to read through his sudden change in tone. "Yeah, all right," replied Brady, putting the bag of peas down on the table. "What do you want?"

"Don't worry about it. I can get it." Mark walked over to the fridge and pulled out a can of cream soda, "want one?" he asked, waving the can in front of himself so that Brady could see.

"Good enough," accepted Brady, taking the drink from Mark.

Following Brady up the stairs, Mark looked up at Brady as he climbed the stairs. Noticing the bare skin of Brady's leg, Mark stretched out his arm and pressed the chilled can of soda against the back of Brady's knee. Instantly after, Brady screamed and instinctively moved his leg, which caused him to lose balance. Immediately regretting his actions, Mark threw out his arms, catching Brady before they both plummeted to the bottom of the staircase.

Before Brady had registered what had happened, he found himself cradled in Mark's arms, staring right up into his bright, blue eyes. He felt dizzy and confused, but strangely happy. The warmth of someone else holding him, other than his mother, was more comforting than anything that he had experienced in his life.

"Jesus! I'm so sorry Brady... Crap, I really should think before I do something."

Before Brady could say a word, before he could react, he felt himself being pushed back up onto his feet. Disappointment lingered in his thoughts as he regained his balance, still looking down at Mark on the stairs. "It's okay," said Brady. "Kinda refreshing."

Mark giggled with relief and continued up the stairs. "Sorry..."

"Don't be," started Brady, as he walked down the hall to his bedroom. "I'm the one who got you beaten up, remember? I should be the one saying sorry."

"You didn't get me beaten up. They just held me down, that's all. You're the one that got pulverized."

"I wasn't pulverized... just caught off guard."

"Yeah, sure," said Mark, rolling his eyes. "We saw those guys coming. If you ask me, it looked like you let them hit you. Maybe that James guy is right -- you should start fighting back."

"Nah. I'm not a fighter..." stated Brady, about to continue.

"I know, I know, you're a lover, right?" interrupted Mark.

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Brady turned his face, so that Mark couldn't see his brightened shade of red, and quickly opened the door to his bedroom. Mark went directly towards the computer and sat down in the chair to look over all of Brady's games. Brady, on the other hand, sat down on his bed, behind Mark.

"Wow, you've got a massive collection," complimented Mark, while reading over all of the games' titles, neatly lined on a shelf. "You don't have all of these installed, do you?"

"Yup," replied Brady. "I had to install a second hard drive, though."

"This is insane. You've got more games than I have DVDs."

Standing up, Brady approached Mark, and stood in behind him. "You like movies?"

"Yeah. Well, I'm not a movie buff or anything. I just like watching them -- I'm horrible at explaining them to people, though," explained Mark. "Which one of these is your fav?"

"Titans and Realms," replied Brady, pointing at a stack of cases that were separated from the rest of his games.

Reaching for the games, Mark grabbed the stack and shuffled through them. "The graphics are insane! What's it about?"

"Uh, it's kinda like... um... Well, you start as a civilian and have to work yourself up to a lord. After that you build a kingdom and raise an army, so that you can take over other realms."

"So... what happens when you conquered all the realms?"

"I have no idea. No one has ever done it, but I'm almost the ruler of all the dark realms. I just gotta destroy the Lord of the Fire Realm," explained Brady, proudly.

"So... you're really powerful, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess," shrugged Brady, attempting to not sound as proud as he really was towards his game.

"Mind if I have a go?" asked Mark, looking back at Brady, who was standing several feet behind him. "I don't bite, dude," he teased and motioned for Brady to come closer.

"Heh, sorry. Um, yeah-no, go ahead," replied Brady, nervously. "Just be careful when you log in. The last time I logged out, I was in enemy territory, so it might be dangerous."

"Okay, but I'm not worried. You're gonna help me out, right?" asked Mark, looking up at Brady, who was now beside him.

Brady couldn't help but smile, "Yeah, of course."

Mark opened the game, and Brady reached over to enter his log-in information. As the game began to load and Brady backed away, handing the keyboard over to Mark, his nostrils filled with Mark's fresh, outdoor scent, causing Brady a moment of timelessness, like nothing else existed. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, while slowly moving back in behind Mark. Randomly, his breath became staggered, as if he had forgotten how to breath, causing Mark to whip his head around to face Brady.

"Woah, dude. You okay?" asked Mark, almost jumping from his seat.

Holding back a panicked snort, Brady nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I.. uh, think I was gonna sneeze or something." Feeling his face become hot, and the pain of his swelling face returning, Brady quickly backed away from Mark. "I'll be right back. Just gonna go grab those peas."

"Okay, I'll try not to touch anything while you're gone," said Mark, as the screen loaded and a loud, eerie cheer blared through the speakers: "All hale Lord Ghastly!"

Brady ran into the bathroom and closed the door. Rushing to the sink, he turned on the cold water and splashed the cool liquid across his burning face. The coolness of the water only made his skin feel hotter, but he continued to drown his face in its distraction. Looking up into the mirror, a gasp escaped his lungs as he took sight of his cheek and eye. The swelling was going down, but there was now a large, deep-purple bruise forming from the side of his eye and straight down to his jaw. "I'm screwed," he mumbled to himself, thinking of what his mother would say, and then turned around to dry himself off.

After running downstairs for the half-thawed peas, Brady took a moment to compose himself. Taking a deep breath, he re-entered the room, where Mark was screeching at the computer monitor.

"Help!" he begged the moment he saw Brady return. "This bugger's been chasing me since I got in!"

Brady stood in behind Mark, to look at the screen, and began to laugh hysterically. "Dude, it's only a dragnet. It won't hurt you," Brady assured him, as the character, Lord Ghastly, sped about in circles. Mark, however, remained screaming, his arm tense and shaking at the same time, while trying to escape the tiny dragon's endless chase.

"It keeps trying to land on me!" he cried out for help.

Brady chuckled and reached over to take the mouse from Mark's hand. "Here, I'll take care of it for you, but I'm not sure what you're going to do if you meet a gargantuan or something."

"Well... that's simple," replied Mark, studying the screen as Brady made Lord Ghastly stop running to allow for the dragnet to land on his shoulder. "I'll just hand the mouse back over to you."

"Haha, well, you could, but that's no fun," stated Brady. "There, see? It's a friendly monster." Looking down at Mark, Brady let go of the mouse. "Here," Brady put Mark's hand back on the mouse. "To move, use the arrows on the keyboard, to attack you click the buttons on the mouse. Right click for the right hand and left for the left one. You got it?"

Mark appeared to be confused and glared back up at Brady. "But then how was I moving with the mouse before?"

"You must've switched setting some how," explained Brady, returning his direction to the screen. "To change weapons press 'w'. To use a spell press 's' then any number between zero and nine. If you want to summon a titan, press 't' and click on the titan you want to use, but be careful with titans. Some of them work better in specific locations. Like, you don't want to summon a titan that is from the sea when your in a desert or something, you know?"

"Yeah, that makes sense, but I don't think I'll be doing any summoning," decided Mark, as he resumed his, unsteady, walk towards what he assumed to be a village.

Through a snicker, Brady leaned down to the keyboard. "Try walking straight," he said, placing his hand over Mark's on the mouse and keyboard. "See? When you move the mouse, you change your direction and end up running in circles. The mouse's movement is your vision, so it's like turning your head."

"Oh... Okay, I get it," said Mark in a moment of clarity.

It was then that Brady realized that he was holding Mark's hands -- not in the usual way, but, instead, resting over them. Upon this discovery, Brady scared himself. It was like he had broken some kind of law or invaded Mark's space. Immediately, Brady leaped back, as if he had just been stung.

"Woah, dude. You okay?" asked Mark in concern. "You scared the crap outta me."

"Sorry," was all Brady could manage.

"You're a jumpy one, huh?" Mark teased, oblivious to Brady's embarrassment.

After a while, Mark was able to manage Lord Ghastly on his own, so Brady had taken the opportunity to put some distance between them. He was afraid to be next to Mark. No matter what was happening, whenever he allowed himself to be too close to Mark, something in his head would shut off and cause him to act like, in his opinion, an idiot. Instead, Brady admired his new friend from a distance, just like he was used to doing. He felt overwhelmed and out of place at the same time. Like he had forgotten how to communicate and sometimes even breathe, literally.

Brady found himself staring at Mark, and after a while it seemed like he wasn't really there anymore, as if he were really watching television. The sensation that arose from this was more familiar to Brady, and he found it comforting, which allowed for some of the guilt, that he had been struggling with, to diminish.

With his new perspective, Brady allowed his mind to wander and his eyes to roam freely. Although, from his angle, he could only see the back of Mark's head, it was more than enough for him. It felt strange to Brady to be staring at someone in such a way, but the temptation was overwhelming. The way that Mark's bright-blond hair tapered off into the slight curve where his neck began, and the way his ears poked out on either side of his head, not a lot but just enough to be cute. Of course, the main attraction was how Mark interacted with the game. It was like he was speaking to another person, rather than a machine, which reminded Brady of when he was younger and just beginning to play video games.

As he watched Mark play, Brady's thoughts slowly redirected themselves. The thought of how video games had become such a large part of his life, along with the memories of why he felt so drawn to the virtual world was quickly drawn towards his father, just before he died. He recalled that day, living it out over-and-over again in his mind, when suddenly he heard a distant voice calling out to him:

"Brady? Oh Brady, you there?"

Brady opened his eyes to see Mark standing directly over him, and quickly realized that he must have, somehow, fallen asleep. Mark cupped his hands over his mouth and made the sound of a radio cutting in, "Come in Brady! Earth calling Brady," bellowed Mark, staring down at Brady.

"Woah, sorry. I must have passed out on you."

"No kidding," chuckled Mark. "I didn't even notice you fell asleep until a second ago when you started making weird noises."

Sitting up, Brady looked around the room. The computer had been turned off and Mark was standing beside him, by the bed. "Wow, guess I should stop playing that game so late," replied Brady, rubbing his hands against his eyes to get rid of the blur he was experiencing.

"Got any food in this place?" asked Mark, patting at his belly. "I'm starving."

"Yeah. Uh, I think we should have some frozen pizza or something downstairs."

Mark reached down and pulled Brady to his feet. "Sorry, don't mean to be rude or anything... I'm just too lazy to run home for a bite," he explained, honestly.

"It's cool. I'm pretty hungry, too -- haven't eaten yet today."

"Well, you could have -- but..." Mark stopped himself in mid-sentence, trying not to bring up the previous conversation that had occurred earlier.

Walking over to the door, Brady waved for Mark to follow. "Well, um, this is gonna sound dumb, but can you work an oven?"

"Yeah.... why?"

"Um, well I've got this thing -- I keep burning things," explained Brady, starting down the stairs. "My mom's pretty much banned me from the stove."

"Oh, well you're in luck then!" began Mark, "I'm like a blue-ribbon chef when it comes to not burning stuff -- mostly."

Brady turned his head and stared up at Mark, with a slight grin on his face. "Mostly?"

"Well, I've had one or two minor incidents. Nothing too extreme, though, honest."

"That's reassuring," Brady replied, sarcastically, as he turned into the kitchen and opened the freezer. "So, it says to cook at four hundred for eighteen to thirty minutes... but every time I've done that it came out black and toasty."

Mark gasped and snatched the pizza box out of Brady's hands. "Well there's your problem! Never, EVER, follow heating instructions. They're always rigged to make people screw up. You gotta read between the lines, kinda like a code."

"Um, okay -- how?"

Sliding his finger along the words on the back of the box, Mark turned to the oven and turned the dial. "Okay, where it says 400, what the really mean is 375, and where it says eighteen to thirty minutes, they mean fifteen to twenty."

"How'd you get that?"

"I dunno. I'm just guessing," Mark admitted, "But I've never seen a frozen pizza take more than twenty minutes in the oven," he explained, turning back to the oven. "Uh... where's the starter?"

"The what?"

"The starter? To turn the thing on?"

"Oh. No, it's an electric oven. You already turned it on."

Peering in through the oven's window, Mark studied the slowly brightening coils inside. "Cool. I've never seen an electric cooker before."

"Really? Gas scares me," announced Brady, sitting down at the table. "So when do you put the pizza in the oven?"

"When it's done preheating."

"How do you know when that happens?"

Mark thought for a moment, his nose scrunching up like it had before. "Well how the hell should I know? It's your house. Mine always used to beep when it was heated."

"I've never heard mine do that... well, the fire alarm has a few times, but never the oven."

"Damn. Well how about we just put the thing in now, and check on it every five or so?" suggested Mark, as he opened the box and slid the pizza out and onto the table.

"Okay, sure. Throw it in."

Brady sat down at the table as Mark placed the pizza inside the oven, without a pan. "Are you sure you don't need to put it on anything?" he enquired, as Mark sat down in the chair next to him.

"Huh? No -- or at least I've never put it on a pan. It makes the bottom cook better," explained Mark. "So... what's the deal with those punks, anyway?"

"What punks? From the park?" Brady replied. "I dunno, really. They're just a bunch of bored, jerks who have nothing better to do."

Fiddling with the empty pizza box, Mark examined Brady's expression. It was obvious that he was being lied to, but Mark wasn't sure how to get the truth without offending Brady, again. "I hope you'll still wanna come running with me, though. Like... I dunno, it's more fun with someone else, you know?" explained Mark, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable, without any logical explanation.

Scratching at his forehead, like it was more of a nervous tic than an itch, Brady stayed quiet, seemingly trying to find an excuse to not have to run ever again. "I dunno," said Brady in barely a whisper. "Every time I go somewhere, something bad happens."

"Well... that's just bad luck. Coincidence, you know?" Mark said, trying to be encouraging. "Come on, maybe there's some other place where we can go? Maybe it's the park that's the bad luck," he suggested, jumping up from his chair with the box in his hand. "Where's your garbage?"

"Under the sink," Brady pointed as Mark glided across the kitchen. "Well," he stopped, thinking. "Maybe we could go to the school's field, it's usually pretty empty in the summer."

"Cool!" blurted Mark, louder than he had anticipated. "I mean... okay. Is that the school we're going to?"

"Nah, this one's my old school. We'll be going to River Heights on the other side of the park. The field we're going to is a bit smaller, but Riley's been banned from the school grounds so we won't have to worry about them there."

"Banned?" asked Mark, checking on the pizza.

"Yeah. He got kicked out of school in grade seven and then banned for life from the school grounds."

"Woah, what did he do?"

"Set fire to the bleachers," explained Brady, in a tone that almost sounded like regret.

"Wow, that guy's a psycho. Did anyone get hurt?"

"Nah -- well..." Brady stopped himself, getting up and walking to the fridge. "Wanna drink?"

"Well, what?"

"Nothing -- so do you?"

"Yeah, sure," replied Mark, trying to get Brady's obvious distraction out of the way. "You gonna finish? Come on, don't leave me hangin' like that!"

Brady's cheeks turned red, like he were about to explode in rage. He turned away from the fridge, thumping two canned sodas onto the table and looked up at Mark. "I ratted him out, okay? That's why Riley and his gang are always on my case, that's why everyone hates me and that's why I don't go anywhere." Sitting down with a thud, as the legs of his chair squealed against the floor, Brady pressed his hands to his face, combing his fingers back through his hair. "I know it doesn't sound that serious, but, around here, squealing on someone is a big deal -- everyone's hated me, ever since."

"That's stupid," said Mark, unsure of what else to say. "I would have told on them, too. Stuff like that, it's wrong, you know? Someone could've been killed."

Looking up from the table, Brady studied Mark's obviously-concerned expression. It was the strangest look he had ever seen -- very hard to read completely. It was like he was both infuriated and disappointed at the same time, but that same expression, somehow, comforted him. "Guess you're regretting making friends with such a nerd, now, huh?"

"Pfft, no..." Mark suddenly felt confused. "Wait, no. You're not a nerd."

Chuckling, timidly, at Mark's feeling of entrapment, Brady felt his chest become heavy, like somewhere inside of him was a large weight, which suddenly dropped, pulling all of his insides down into his stomach. "I didn't kill him you know," Brady heard himself say the words, but couldn't understand why. "My father, I didn't kill him."

"You don't have to explain yourself," Mark assured him, knowing that whatever the story was, it was a painful one.

"Yeah, I do," Brady said, defensively, as if he was being forced to speak. "It was an accident."

Realizing the intensity and grief in Brady's voice, Mark remained quiet -- he wasn't sure if this was something he should be hearing, but he did know that whatever it was, Brady had to get it off his chest.

"We were camping. Mom had stayed back at the tent to relax, and me and dad were canoeing across the lake." Taking a moment to settle the quivering tone in his voice, Brady took a long sip of his drink. "I don't know what happened, exactly. The boat just flipped over and we were in the water... Everything happened so fast. Dad was screaming my name, I could hear him, but it was all muffled. I dunno, something must've caught my life jacket because I couldn't swim to the surface..."

"Brady," Mark said softly, "you don't..."

"He was only trying to save me -- but I panicked when he grabbed me." A long silence consumed them both as Brady attempted to force the rest of the story out. "I don't know what happened. The next thing I knew, I was floating up to the surface -- but Dad never came back up. He just disappeared."

"Brady, I'm sorry... I..."

"We didn't find him until three hours later. Something had hit him in the head, and we were told that he would have been left unconscious and drowned."

"That couldn't have been your fault, Brady."

"That's the thing, though. It could've been. I could have kicked him on the way up or something. They never determined what it was that hit him."

"You don't know that. What if he hit the side of the canoe or something? It could have been anything."

"Sorry," Brady sniffled, wiping the tears from his reddened eyes. "This probably isn't the best thing to tell someone I just met."

"Nah -- I'm glad you did. I mean, it's better than wondering, right? And it sounds like this is something you should be talking about. Besides, I've got no place to go -- you're probably stuck with me." Mark's throat instantly swelled with guilt, fearing he had just said something wrong. Brady, however, chuckled through a sloppy sniffle and looked up at him with a beet-red smile.

"You're so weird, you know that?"

Mark laughed a little, placing his hand on Brady's forearm. "You haven't seen the half of it."

"Uh-oh, what's that smell?" Brady jumped from his chair and ran towards the oven. "Shoot! I think we just burnt our lunch!"

Following directly behind Brady, Mark pulled the oven door open, waving his hand in front of himself to clear the smoke, "Damn, so much for my blue-ribbon cooking."

Examining the damages, Brady poked at the crust. "Not bad, I've done worse. We could probably still eat it at least."

"A little black never stopped me before," replied Mark as he pulled on some oven mitts. "Grab a knife?"

The two sat back on the couch, their burnt pizza sitting on a plate over their laps and a soda in hand, both staring at the blank television. Mark would occasionally poke at the pizza, testing it, to see if it had cooled sufficiently, as Brady absentmindedly searched for the remote. The smell of charred dough and crisped cheese consumed the entire house but, fortunately, hadn't set off the smoke detectors. "Aren't you gonna have any?" asked Brady, noticing Mark wasn't eating.

"Too hot, still."

"Sorry I spilled all that on you -- I'm not usually such a drama queen."

"Nah, it's cool -- I told you that already. Quit worrying about it." Finally, Mark gave in and took a large chomp out of his pizza. The loud crunching of the crust echoed throughout the quiet house, causing Brady to burst out in laughter. "What?" asked Mark through a muffled mouth full.

"That's so loud," Brady chuckled.

"So you're teasing me now, are yuh?" said Mark, taking another loud bite out of his food and chewing it slowly.

The crunches seemed to become louder with every bite, and the plain, blank look on Mark's face was so casual that Brady couldn't help but to laugh even harder. A sudden snort caused his chuckles to halt, which, in turn, set Mark into a heavy case of the giggles.

"Shut up!" blushed Brady, feeling his face redden and his eyes begin to tear. Mark's head drooped to the side. Not a single noise escaped him, but the constant shaking of his body told Brady that he was still being laughed at. "I said shut up!" he demanded, giving Mark a nudge on the shoulder.

"I didn't say anything!" replied Mark, leaning away from Brady's shove. "I'm sorry!" he screamed, suddenly losing the air in his lungs as he, too, snorted -- twice as loud as Brady had.

"Holy crap!" Brady wheezed, rolling onto his side, away from Mark.

Moments after, Brady felt himself calming down. Everything was again quiet, maybe even quieter than before. Slowly he sat back up. Mark was sitting there, his face red and eyes glistening and watered. Lifting his hands from his lap with the pizza in his grip, Mark slowly brought the crust to his mouth, parted his lips, and very slowly bit down on it. This time, the crunch wasn't as loud, but it was long and exaggerated, like a never ending crackle. He turned his head to Brady, slowly chomping down on the crispy morsel. Their eyes met, for what seemed like an eternity, neither one of them willing to be the first to give in to the inevitable...

As the crunching diminished, and Mark had to slowly, he simply took another long, slow bite, staring right into Brady's eyes. That was the final straw. Brady could no longer hold it back. Without warning, Brady tried to gasp for air before he lost control of his laughter. Consequently, the loudest of all snorts blew through his wind pipe, scratching the roof of his mouth and tickling his nostrils at the same time. An instant yelp of embarrassment quickly followed, resulting in a more hysterical giggle. Just as Brady felt himself falling back down to the couch, to hide his face, Mark's body fell towards him where his head rested on Brady's hip.

The warmth and continuous vibration both from Mark's laughter and self making contact so close to home, immediately caused Brady's muscles to tense. His giggles instantly diminished and his embarrassment mutated into something more, something unfamiliar. Mark slapped his hand against the side of Brady's lower thigh, near the knee, but did not move after. He could feel Mark's breath tickling against the partially exposed skin of his stomach, right above his waist. Then, without warning, a sharp but ticklish-pain surged through every one of Brady's nerves, originating from the top of his thigh, directly below his behind.

Brady jumped in a yelp and scurried away from Mark's sudden pinch. He looked back to see that Mark's other hand had somehow been caught underneath him. "Jesus!" Brady squealed, looking back at Mark, who was still laughing. "You scared the crap out of me!"

Still giggling, even harder than before, Mark wiped the building tears that had pooled in his eyes. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself -- it was too easy," he chuckled some more then forced himself to sit up. "You're mad?" he noted, as Brady's face was red and his eyes were staring, almost, right through him.

"No -- It's cool. Just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

"Well, that was kinda the point," teased Mark, reaching for his drink.

Rubbing at his leg, where he had been pinched, Brady sat himself up straight and inched away from Mark. "Is the pizza any good?"

Glaring down at his half-eaten slice, Mark took a moment to assess a verdict. "Um, well, it's..." Reaching down for the pizza, Mark took another bite then replied with a full mouth, "crunchy."