That evening, Natalie had come home to two boys giggling hysterically to some unidentified comedy on the television, surrounded by several empty cans of soda and blackened crumbs that were scattered across the couch and floor. "Geeze, what happened in here?" asked Natalie, dropping her purse on the floor, next to the stairs, and studying the turned-over living room in disbelief. "Brady, have you been trying to burn the house down again? It smells like you barbecued with plastic."

Both boys looked at each other then to the mess in front of them. Brady swivelled his body on the couch, to face his mother. "Nope. It was Mark," he replied, humorously. "You told me not to cook anything, remember?"

Rolling her eyes, Natalie kicked off her shoes then circled the couch, to sit down in between both boys. "What have you guys been up to today, besides making a mess?"

"Nothing much," replied Brady, keeping his eyes on the TV. "Went to the park for a jog. Played some video games, and now we're watching a movie."

Unable to contain herself, Natalie leaned over and wrapped her arms around Brady, kissing him on top of the head. "Sounds like fun," she said, happily. "Of course... was the mess really necessary?"

"Mom! Stop!" Brady protested in embarrassment.

Natalie giggled mischievously and kissed the top of Brady's head again then snuggled him in closer. Beginning as a comfortable sigh, her breath suddenly mutated into an obscene gasp, startling herself and her son at the same time. "Jesus, Brady! What the hell happened to you!?"

As his body was pushed upward, away from his mother's embrace, Brady felt his head being turned around. His eyes met his mother's, he could see the look of concern on her face, accompanied by anger. "It's nothing, Mom. Just met up with Riley and his idiot friends at the park. It's not that bad, honest," he explained, turning his head away from Natalie's eyes, as if in shame.

"Not that bad? Jesus, Brady. You've really got to start fighting back. Those boys need a good whooping -- it's the only way they'll stop." Realizing what she was saying, Natalie jumped to her feet. "Forget it, I'm calling the police. That Riley kid has been harassing you for too long!" Storming across the room and picking up the phone, Natalie began to dial.

"What?! No, Mom!" begged Brady, leaping off of the couch. "That'll just make things worse. Besides, even if they locked him up, he'd just be back out in a week. Anyway, Riley only made it look worse. I got hit in the face with a ball the other day. Riley just made it swell-up again."

Sighing in frustration and slamming the phone down on the coffee table, Natalie turned from her son and walked into the kitchen and straight to the freezer. "Come here. Let's put some ice on it."

Mark looked around the room, unsure of what he should be doing. "Sorry Miss Jeston. I'll clean this mess up for you." Jumping from the couch, Mark gathered the empty soda cans and started walking towards the kitchen.

Watching as Mark walked by, Brady couldn't help but follow him with his eyes, staring secretly at his behind. The shine of his shorts seemed to lure his eyes towards them, accentuating his backside to a perfection that neared impossibility. Although he hated himself for looking, he had no control over his gaze. His eyes were acting on their own, as if they had spawned a mind of their own.

"Brady?" said Natalie, forcing Brady from his thoughts. "Get over here," she demanded, waving a cloth filled with ice in her hand.

Instantly becoming flush with guilt, fearing he had just been caught, Brady cleared his throat and jumped to his feet. "Yeah... sorry Mom," he apologized, and ran into the kitchen.

Natalie had soaked the cloth with cold water so that the ice could penetrate the fabric better, but, consequently, when she placed it on Brady's cheek water immediately began to run down across his chin and neck, right into his shirt.

"Geeze Mom, that's freezing!" Brady whined, as he hopped around in front of the sink.

"Five minutes on, five off," instructed Natalie, as she walked back to the couch. "I can see you remember, so don't even think about putting that down!"

Noticing that Mark had been cleaning everything on his own, Brady apologized and helped him wash the dishes. "Thanks," said Mark, as he passed Brady the last plate to put away.

"No prob," Brady smiled shyly. "I'd help you do my chores anytime."

"Can you bring me a beer, before you run off, Hun? requested Natalie as she kicked her feet up and onto the coffee table. "And in two minutes I want to see you with that ice on your face," she reminded him.

"Sure Mom, just a minute." Brady followed in behind Mark and helped him find the recycle bin, and then quickly swept the floor.

"Two!" Natalie shouted, humorously.

"So... what now?" asked Mark, stretching his arms out above his head while yawning.

"I dunno," Brady shrugged. "Mom's probably going to start dinner soon," he explained. "You can probably stay, if you want?"

Mark shook his head while still battling a yawn. "I don't think I should. Mum gets annoyed if I don't tell her in advance that I'll be eating out; she hates wasting food."

Feeling a sudden cringe of nervousness, like he had just made a fool of himself, Brady replied with a nod. Trying not to come off as a dork, he shrugged passively and agreed, hoping that the sting of rejection wasn't apparent on his face.

"We could hang out later, though, if you want," suggested Mark. "Maybe play some football or something?" Mark cleared his throat, "I mean, soccer, that is..."

"Yeah, cool. Uh, give me a call or something?" Looking up into Mark's eyes, Brady remained awkwardly still. Mark's eyes were unmoving and slightly glossy, causing his blue-grey irises to appear a near-green. Brady swore he could see magic there, if there were such a thing. They seemed to speak to him without words, like an emotion that had become airborne.

Suddenly, Mark blinked and shook his head, as if he had just awoken from a dream. "Yeah, sounds cool, then," he agreed in almost a whisper. "Seeya later?"

Unable to help himself, Brady smiled and lowered his head in embarrassment. "Yeah," he finally said, putting his hands into his pockets and backed up so that Mark could pass him and get to the door.

Sliding his shoes on at the speed and grace of an upturned turtle, Mark clumsily fell into his sneakers, stomping his foot to the ground, as if to stop himself from falling with each one. He then stared up at Brady, who was still quietly watching him, and gave his a friend a wink. "I'll come by later," he assured him, and turned to the door to leave. "Bye."

Brady stood and watched Mark run down the driveway and across the street, until he disappeared inside his house. Hearing himself sigh, by accident, Brady closed the door and turned around to lean his back against it. Thinking about what had just happened between him and Mark, Brady attempted to make sense of everything. His fear was that he was reading too deeply into a simple stare, but he could not seem to dismiss the idea that Mark may have been thinking the same thing as he had. Like, for a brief moment, they had somehow managed to communicate without speaking.

"You two seem to have become best-of-friends already," observed Natalie, noticing the conflicting expression on her son's face. "Why didn't he stay for dinner?"

Pushing himself away from the door and walking into the living room, Brady plopped down on the couch next to his mother. "Because he didn't tell his mom in advance. He said that makes her angry."

"Just as well, I suppose. We're only having frozen pizza."

Brady guiltily shook his head and smiled. "Uh... no, we're not," he confessed. "Mark and I had that for lunch."

Natalie chuckled and scruffed Brady's hair with her fingers. "Well pooh. Guess I'll just have to think of something else then."

"Mark?! Where have you been!?" shrieked Brittany, the moment she saw her son walk through the door.

"I was with Brady, remember? We went for a run then back to his place," he explained, kicking off his shoes and walking into the kitchen. "What's for dinner?"

With a tea-towel in one hand and her hip in the other, Brittany spun around in exasperation. "Next time give us a call, would yuh? We've been searching for you all day."

"How'm I supposed to call when the phone is off the hook still? Besides, I was just across the street."

"You were supposed to go into town with your father to pick up some more adaptors," Brittany explained, as she turned back to the oven. "Instead, your father's been gone all day. I'm afraid he's gotten himself lost!"

"That wouldn't surprise me," giggled Mark, sitting down at the table and grabbing the place mats to set the table. "Where's James?"

"Went with your father -- seems we've lost him, too."

Letting the situation process in his head, Mark's eyebrow raised. "Does this mean dinner's gonna be late?"

Brittany huffed in an attempt to hold back a chuckle. "Do you ever think of anything other than that tummy of yours? I swear, you're like a bottomless pit."

"What are you talking about?" retaliated Mark. "I haven't eaten all day!" he lied, making sure not to face his mother as he did.

"Whose fault is that?" started Brittany as she turned and opened the oven. "Not mine, that's for certain."

Mark whiffed the aroma in the air and sank further into his chair. "Mmm," he moaned. "Is that roast lamb?" he asked. "Did you do potatoes, too?"

"Yes it's lamb," replied Brittany in a quick breath as she scooped it out of the oven. "But don't count on getting it much over here; it's bloody expensive!" she complained. "I worked it out and it's over four quid more for a five pound cut of lamb here. It's like robbery! I'm sure I've been taken for a fool."

Mark shrugged and sat up in his chair. "Maybe you just did your math wrong," he suggested. "But who cares? At least we finally get a real dinner!"

"Too true," agreed Brittany, placing the lamb on the table. "We should get around to setting up the dining room. I'd love to have a proper family meal again."

"Not today though, Mum. It's just you and me, isn't it?" said Mark, trying to get out of doing any work. "Don't we need another table first?" he then realized, happily relieved that he had nothing to worry about.

"Sod-it! I knew I was forgetting something. Too bad we can't call your father."

"So..." Mark began, listening to his stomach roar in hunger. "Are we waiting for them?"

"No," Brittany gave in. "Dig in. No point everyone eating it cold."

Without allowing any time for his mother to change her mind, Mark quickly grabbed a knife and sliced off a thick portion of the roast and slapped it down onto his plate. "You did make potatoes, right?"

Rolling her eyes, Brittany positioned a bowl of roast potatoes in front of Mark. "You can't have one without the other now, can you?" she smiled. "But if you even try to put tomato sauce on it, I'll hang you in the garden!"

Mark frowned and rolled a few potatoes on his plate. "Is there at least apple sauce?"

"Oh shut up and eat," teased Brittany, sitting down at the end of the table, next to Mark. "So you've been gettin' on well with that Brady, boy," congratulated Brittany. "It's good to see you fitting in."

"What do you mean?" asked Mark through a full mouth.

"I'm not sure, really. You've just been a misery lately, haven't you?"

"Nah. I guess I'm just missing my friends back home."

"You mean Owen, don't you?" Brittany recalled. "That boy was always getting you into trouble, wasn't he?"

"Did not, he just always took the blame," admitted Mark, defensively.

"Well don't get your knickers in a twist," said Brittany, poking her fork into a potato. "I was just reminiscing. Of course, you two weren't always as clever as you thought you were."

"Of course not," Mark chuckled, accidentally spitting a piece of lamb from his mouth onto the table. "We were always being kept in too much to do anything."

"Seems Brady's not the sort for trouble," she decided. "Quite the quiet child, isn't he?"

Mark nodded as he jumped up to fetch a drink from the fridge. "Yeah, but he's better when it's just us."

"Oh. So his innocence is all an act, is it?" teased Brittany. "Did you ever invite his mother over for tea?"

"Maybe, can't remember," Mark replied truthfully. "But Brady's coming to kick the ball around later, so I'll talk to him then."

"She's a single Mum, then? What happened to the boy's father?"

Mark shrugged, deciding it best not to chance Brady's trust. "Dunno, Mum. Quit being so nosey."

"I wasn't being nosey!" Brittany assured her son. "It's a valid question, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but if he wanted everyone to know I'm sure he'd tell us."

Just then, the door that led to the garage opened and the sounds of excited little feet clapped against the wooden floor. "Mummy we're home!" yelled James, announcing his arrival and running into the kitchen.

"James, your shoes!" scolded Brittany, jumping up from the table and running after the boy. "Get them off at the door!" she snapped, whipping her shoulder's tea-towel in front of her.

Coming into the house, Peter slid off his shoes while balancing several bags in his hands. "Evening darling," he welcomed. "Got us a lifetime supply of wires. The salesman must've seen me coming, though. I think I spent more on these wires than I did on the electronics themselves."

"Wires?" queried Brittany. "Whatever for?"

"The appliances, love. The man at the shop said the adaptors were meant for temporary use, so he helped me find some wires to swap-out with the ones we already have."

"Hey Dad?" started Mark, turning to face his father. "Wanna play some football out back after?"

"After what?" replied Peter in a fluster, as he attempted to sort through his bags.

"Dinner..."

While Natalie figured out what to cook for supper, Brady had gone upstairs for a shower. Even though he knew he'd just be running around and getting all sweaty again, he didn't want to appear as a slob in front of Mark and his family. In passing, Brady stared at his computer, now collecting dust in the corner of his room. He had imagined his separation from the game would be more painful, but the truth was that he was relieved to get away from the surprisingly vast amount of politics of his video game. Of course there was a bit of guilt in not living up to his obligations as a Lord, but with all the time that he's spent on the game he hadn't enjoyed himself nearly as much as he was now with Mark.

Mark was like the game in a way. He was full of surprises and excitement, luring and addictive, but he did have one thing that the game could never offer him. Mark brought him happiness and friendship and only ever asked for company. Whereas, Titans and Realms was demanding and time consuming. Even being a Lord of the Dark Realms you'd have to see that your followers were happy and that their needs were always met. It was like being the father to thousands of thoughtless children, all spoiled by 'Daddy' his lordship: Ghastly Obscentus.

Looking at the computer now, it was different. It was no longer a lifeline, but a ball and chain with a broken shackle. It sat there lifeless, inanimate without complaint or purpose. However, Brady knew not to doubt its power. Even though, for the moment, it appeared innocent, he knew all too well what it could do to a person. Turning away from the mechanical beast, Brady collected some clean clothes and continued to the bathroom.

As the warm water splashed against his face and trickled down his back, Brady's thoughts began to wander. The way Mark had stared at him earlier was still simmering on the front-lines of mind. His eyes were so beautiful and peaceful. The way they had turned from that bright, pale blue to an almost emerald green was mystifying. Such a thing could make even the most sceptical of people into believers of magic. What did it mean though? The stare more than the colour, it seemed to carry their thoughts from one to the other, like they had developed telepathy for a single moment. Although Brady wasn't certain that Mark had felt the same thing, he was almost positive it carried more meaning than either of them intended.

"BRADY!" shouted Natalie. "DINNER'S READY, and MARK'S AT THE DOOR!" she announced in a double breath.

Feeling his stomach panic, Brady finished rinsing his hair and quickly turned off the water. "Coming!" he shouted, rushing for a towel.

Mark looked up to the stairs when he saw Brady travelling down them, wearing a clean pair of black, track pants and a white t-shirt. "You showered?" Mark asked, puzzled. "Your just gonna get dirty again, mate. You know that right?"

Brady blushed and nodded. "Yeah, but I didn't shower this morning. I felt all gross."

"That's cool. Should I come back in a bit? I don't wanna bug you during supper," suggested Mark, already turning for the door.

"No, it's okay," blurted Natalie. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Yes, miss," Mark nodded.

"Well, why don't you sit down and watch some TV while Brady eats," she suggested, directing Mark to the couch. "Want something to drink? Brady, get your friend a drink, hun."

Barely down the stairs, Brady stopped to put on his socks. "Just a sec, Mom," he requested, sitting down on the last step. In the corner of his eye, while pretending to concentrate on his feet, he secretly followed Mark being ushered into the living room.

After sitting down, he looked over to Brady with that same look in his eyes as before, trapping Brady's secretive glance in a breathless stare. All guilt and worry became non-existent. Nothing mattered and everything all at once. There were no words expressed but, instead, thousands of thoughts in their place. For a moment, Brady felt as if their minds had become one, but a sudden wink from Mark caused him doubt and disbelief. Was this boy just playing with him? Messing with his mind as a game? Or was it simply his own feelings playing tricks on him? Brady smirked and looked away, almost shamefully. How he could keep allowing his mind to drift to, or dwell upon such farfetched fantasies was beyond him. He couldn't control it much less pretend it wasn't affecting him.

Brady climbed to his feet and walked through the living room. "What would you like?" he asked politely and stood to wait for a reply.

"Anything's good, thanks," replied Mark, trying to figure out how to work the remote. "I think this thing is broken."

"What thing?" asked Brady, walking closer. "The TV's fine. Try pressing the function button and then power. If a channel doesn't show up right away then press the 'switch' button and use the arrows to select cable."

"Bloody-shoit," grumbled Mark, flustered. "How about you do it, and I'll go fetch the drink," he decided and handed the remote to Brady.

Chuckling, Brady turned on the television and switched to cable for Mark. Looking over to the kitchen, Mark was already pouring himself a drink, and Natalie was putting dinner on the table. He placed the remote on the coffee table and slowly walked to the kitchen. "What did you make?" asked Brady, in horror. "I'm looking at it, and I still can't tell."

Mark tilted his head and leaned over the table and raised his eyebrows. "Looks like squashed potatoes n'corn over fish fingers and some stewed gravy to me."

"It's actually chicken fingers," corrected Natalie, slightly blushing at her horrible meal-presentation skills.

"All tastes the same to me," shrugged Mark as he walked passed Brady, back into the living room.

After Brady had finished eating and helping Natalie clean up, the two boys quickly ventured across the street to Mark's house. Before they even made it to the front steps, James ran to the door and swung it open. "Hey! You guys playin' footy?" blurted James at the speed of light.

"Yup," answered Mark, ruffling his brother's hair as he walked by. "You gonna play? How about Dad?"

"Dunno about Dad, but I'm playin' for sure," stated James, following directly behind his older brother's steps.

"Chill, would yuh?" Mark asked in frustration. "Your crushing my heels with those bony feet of yours."

James stopped in his tracks and lowered his head. "Sorry Markus," he apologized.

"Ah, it's okay squirt. Go see if Dad's gonna come, o'right?"

Brady couldn't help but giggle at Mark's pronunciation of 'all right', and, just as James had done, he lowered his head. Mark looked over Brady's face, red and shaking due to restrained giggles. "What are you laughing at?"

"It's OH-right, nothing," chuckled Brady.

"Are you making fun of my voice, Mr. Ghastly?" asked Mark with a grin. "Come in Mr. Ghastly."

"Okay," Brady rolled his eyes. "The game might be nerdy, but at least I'm not afraid of a harmless dragnet."

"Seriously? Your gonna bring up that freaky little monster? Well... um... Let's go play football -- on no wait, you don't have much luck with those," giggled Mark as he ran out into the backyard.

Brady shook his head and smiled, running behind Mark to catch up. He stopped when he realized how large the yard actually was. Surrounded by trees and bushes, along a tall wooden fence, the yard was big enough to hold three Olympic sized swimming pools with room to spare. "Geeze, that's so unfair," commented Brady. "My yard's not even half this size."

Mark stopped running about halfway across the field-like yard and stared at Brady from a hundred feet away. "No kidding! This thing's massive as hell, isn't it?"

Suddenly, as if fallen from the heavens, the blur of a glossy-white soccer ball bounced to the ground and rolled towards Brady's feet. "I haven't played this game much," he warned, bending over to pick it up.

"Foul!" called Mark. "Hand ball!"

Glaring at the ball and then to Mark, Brady dropped it to the ground. James then zoomed passed him and scooped the ball up with his feet. "Nuh uh!" he cried out. "Ball wasn't in play!" he announced.

Mark giggled and held out his hands. "Pass it hear, twerp!"

Tapping the ball with the bottom of his shoe, it bounced once and James caught it on his foot and kicked it to his knee. Allowing the ball to roll down his leg and curl off of his foot into the air, he then kicked it to his brother.

"Quit showing off!" chuckled Mark, as he caught the ball in his hands. "Is Dad coming?"

"Nah," replied James, pulling up his shorts a bit. "He says he's too busy," he explained and ran over to Mark. "Did you know he's starting work tomorrow already?"

"Is he?" gasped Mark. "I thought he had another week."

James shrugged and slyly stole the ball from Mark's hands. "Nah, they said they need him tomorrow. Some guy got fired and they got no one else."

"That blows," decided Mark, stealing the ball back. "Bet Mum's pissed."

Shrugging again, James re-stole the ball and ran off. "Let's play then?"

"Can't have a game with three," Mark reminded his brother and then ran over to Brady. "Let's just toss it around some, instead."

Brady nearly sighed in relief. "Good. Looks like you guys are out of my league."

"A runaway ball is out of your league," teased Mark, giving Brady a playful shove. "Come on. Maybe I can teach you some tricks."

Throwing the ball into the air, James kicked it towards Mark, who then headbutted it to Brady. Brady panicked, which caused a burst of unforeseen adrenaline, and booted the ball with all of his might, sending it high up into the air. "Shoot, sorry," he moaned, running after the ball. "I'll get it."

James giggled and ran after Brady, racing to get to the ball first. "You gotta pass the ball, not hoof it 'cross the world," he teased, as he stole the ball from Brady's feet.

"Lay off. Quit messing around James, pass it!" said Mark, racing to steal the ball from his brother.

Brady stood back and watched from beside the bushes. He couldn't quite understand it, but he felt jealous over James's handling skills. Not because the boy was good at the game, but because he was able to share something with Mark that he couldn't.

"Brady!" warned Mark. "It's comin' to you!"

Looking up in the air, Brady saw the ball gliding through the air directly towards him. With his adrenaline still peaked, he didn't even stop to think, and his instincts took over. Jumping back and throwing his weight into the air, he felt his left hand land against the ground as his legs flew out to the side.

Both Mark and James froze in their tracks, watching in disbelief as Brady's right foot swooped through the air and kicked the ball directly between the two. With the ball bouncing until idle, just beyond where they stood, Brady fell to the ground with a heavy thud; they stared at him in awe.

James was the first to react. He bounced in the air and flailed his arms in all directions, with the excitement of a rabid dog. "Jesus! How'd you do that!?" queried James, still jumping about. "It was like a Kung Fu or something!" he praised, trying to re-enact what Brady had done.

Reaching for his groin, Brady rubbed at his upper thighs. "I think I pulled every muscle in my body," he explained and slowly climbed to his feet.

"Dude, that was wicked!" exclaimed Mark, running to Brady's aid.

"Just don't ask me to do it again," Brady whimpered, as Mark helped him hobble towards a tree so that he could rest.

"You'd make an awesome football player!" beamed James, jumping as he spoke.

"No I wouldn't. I tore every muscle in my legs, I think," replied Brady, as Mark eased him to the ground, against the tree.

"Where'd you learn that?" Mark sat down beside Brady and waited for an answer.

"I didn't learn it. It was an accident," offered Brady, hoping that Mark would accept his explanation.

"Whatever, man. That was skill; I can tell," said Mark, staring into Brady's eyes for a reaction.

James had retrieved the ball and was throwing it into the air and trying to imitate what Brady had done, unsuccessfully. For the first time, Brady couldn't look Mark in the eye, not when he was lying. Instead, he watched James roll about in the yard. "It's nothing," started Brady, still avoiding eye contact. "I just used to run around a lot more, that's all."

Still feeling he was being lied to, Mark turned his head and let it slide. Obviously, for some reason, Brady didn't want to talk about it. "So what now? Guess you can't play if you're injured."

Brady shook his head and shrugged. "Dunno," was all that he could think to say.

"Well you're a lot of help," replied Mark, shoving his shoulder into Brady's.

This time Brady shoved back, causing Mark's body to topple over. "Hey!" squealed Mark, in surprise, and he pushed himself up and crashed his shoulder back into Brady's. "How'd you like that!?" he shouted, falling into Brady's side.

Brady attempted to shove back, but Marks weight prevented him from getting off the ground. Giggling, he manoeuvred himself onto his back and pried his hands under Mark's shoulder, trying to push him off. "God, you're heavier than you look," Brady grunted, as Mark rolled his weight on top of him and lifted his legs against the trunk of tree and pushed down for added force. "That's not fair!" wheezed Brady.

"Sure it is!" teased Mark, pushing himself harder against Brady's body.

Noticing what the others were doing, James dropped the ball and ran over to them. "Pile on!" he hollered excitably and dove on top of Mark.

All of the air in Brady's lungs was forced out of him in a fraction of second. His throat squeaked and huff of air escaped him. Struggling for a breath, he tried to roll onto his side to alleviate the pressure on his chest but was unable to move. James had pinned them both below him, and was frantically whipping about to see to it that no one could escape.

Frustrated, Mark reached his arms around James, one around his shoulder and the other between his legs. Flipping James onto his back, the boy screamed in pain and jumped up to his feet. Mark's grip slid to the to bottoms of the boy's shorts, and as James tried to run away Mark pulled them down and watched as his little brother tumbled forward to ground. "That's what you get!" teased Mark, from on top of Brady.

James sat up and reached for the shorts at his ankles. "That's no fair! You cheated!" he complained, while wiggling his body to pull his shorts back up.

"Now as for you," said Mark, turning himself over and staring into Brady's eyes.

Gazing up at Mark, Brady had hardly noticed that his hand had found its way to Mark's upper thigh, directly below his buttock. If it wasn't for Mark's sudden movement, which had caused Brady's hand to slide across the silky mound of his friend's behind, he probably never would have known. However, at the realization Brady's face became flush and he quickly rolled onto his side to get away.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Mark, now up on his feet and standing right over Brady. "I'm not done with you yet," he grinned.

Brady tried to climb to his knees, tried to scurry away, but Mark was too fast and caught him without any trouble. He felt Mark's arms curl under him and grab hold of his shirt, near his stomach, and before it could register Brady was forced back to the ground. With Mark sprawled directly on top of him, he couldn't move. He tried roll over again, but Mark's grip was too tight. He wanted to struggle more, but Mark's breath was tickling the back of his neck.

They laid there without moving for what Brady felt to be an eternity. He could feel Mark's warmth against the entire length of his backside. There was no struggle or word, just silence. For a moment, Brady even thought that he'd felt Mark smelling his hair, but dismissed it as his imagination.

Suddenly, Mark rolled off Brady and lay next to him. He turned his head and smiled, while looking straight into Brady's eyes. "You surrender?" he asked with a smirk.

Brady nodded and turned himself onto his side. He looked over to see James kicking the ball around again, on his own but quite content. Glancing back at Mark, who had closed his eyes, Brady studied the boy's face. It looked smooth and his cheeks were rosy from running around. His hair was a mess, but still shined brightly with the sun's reflection, causing streaks of gold and bright yellow to seemingly glow. He wanted, more than anything, to steal a quick sniff of Mark's aroma, but couldn't conjure the nerve.

Mark opened his eyes and shuffled onto his side, staring up at Brady's gaze. "What?" he asked nervously. "Do I got something on my face?"

The same nerves that Brady couldn't find for himself fluttered across his body, causing him guilt and worry. "Nothing," he replied. "I mean, no you're face is fine."

Mark chuckled and rose an eyebrow. "You okay? You seem kinda out of it," he observed.

"Nope, I'm good."

Sitting up, Mark released a sigh and stretched out his arms. "You can be pretty strange sometimes," he remarked, and looked back down at Brady to check his reaction.

"What?" Brady replied. Fearing Mark was angry at him, he sat up as well. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I just don't get you, that's all," he explained. "It's like you want to say something, but you never do," he said, not knowing why.

With his eyes welling up, Brady turned his head to hide his childish reaction. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't be sorry," Mark said, regretting his words after noticing Brady's reaction. "I didn't mean to upset you. I can be stupid like that; I blurt things out without thinking, you know?" Folding his arms around his legs, Mark rested his chin on his knees. "I can be an ass sometimes, I'm sorry. Everything just seems to be a secret with you."

Not sure what to say, Brady remained silent. He wanted to tell Mark everything, but he was afraid that once he started talking he'd mess up and ruin everything. Things were finally looking good, and he didn't want to lose what little he had. Even though he's only known Mark for a couple of days, he knew their friendship was right. It was different to any friendship that he'd ever had. Perhaps more complicated than his thoughts could sort, but definitely the start of something that could be great.

"You're off again, huh?" noticed Mark, looking at Brady through the corners of his eyes.

"No. I'm still here," Brady assured him. "What's it like in England?" he randomly blurted, wondering where the question had come from, himself.

"It was the best," Mark answered without thought. Paying no attention to the change in subject. "We lived in this really old house made of stone and brick. The yard was horrible, though, but it didn't matter because the country was ten minutes from home." Now smiling, Mark's words became more vibrant. "We used to skip school and head out to the countryside," he paused with a grin while reliving his memories. "There's this pond just east of Taversham where we used to go swimming and hide out for the day. We'd build a fire and steal eggs from Mr. Keensley's farm to cook. That man called the coppers on us so much that they stopped coming!" he giggled.

"Did you ever get caught?"

"Yeah, loads of times. We were kept in almost every other day," replied Mark. "Why do you think we had to dodge school? Otherwise we'd never get to do anything."

"Who's 'we'?" asked Brady, almost jealously.

"Owen," Mark replied happily. "He was my best mate since we were five. He moved from Ireland, and everyone used to make fun of him, until I stood up for him. Got our arses kicked a thousand times that year, but we never gave-in. We just kept fighting back until everyone gave up."

"You miss him, huh?" Brady asked rhetorically.

"'Course." Mark looked over at Brady. "Guess that's my problem. Owen was always talkin' and couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. You're like his complete opposite, and I guess I'm still used to him."

Both boys fell into silence. They watched the sun set and their world become dark. James had gone inside long before either of the two even thought to budge. Brady had caught a glimpse of Mark as he wiped away single tear from under his eye. After that, he felt too guilty to say anything. It was his fault after all. Mark was fine until he had to pry. On top of everything, he felt bad for making Mark open up, and not offering anything in return.

Glancing over at Mark, Brady cleared his throat quietly. "I never used to be like this you know," he said in a whisper.

Mark turned his head to face him. "Like what?"

"Shy, quiet -- weird," listed Brady. "I used to do a lot of stuff with my dad. Even had friends once."

"What was your dad like?"

"Superman," Brady replied in the faintest of breaths.

"What?" Mark snickered quietly.

"We used to go camping all the time. He could build anything, fix anything, and I swear, if he really wanted to, I bet he could've flown."

"What did he do? Like for work?"

Brady giggled and placed his head down on his knees, looking up at Mark. "He was a pilot."

"Really? So he could fly!"

"Yeah, I guess he could," realized Brady.

"Bet your mum loved him in those tight spandex, too," snickered Mark.

"Ewe!" Brady cried in disgust. "Don't even say that -- gross!"

"What kind of plane did he fly?"

"Not the big ones. He used to be in the Air Force before he met Mom. But after they got married he started flying cargo planes, or whatever they're called. He used to bring weird little toys from all over the world whenever he went somewhere new. I got this one thing from Russia that's made from a velociraptor's talon."

"Really? What is it?" asked Mark. "How'd he get it?"

"Dunno how he got it. But it's like a necklace carved into the shape of a man with his arms spread out."

"Like a cross?"

"Kinda, I guess."

"So..." Mark stopped, trying to process his words before blurting something stupid. "Why did you lie before? When I asked you what your dad did, you said you never met him."

Brady's insides cringed and cowered deep into his stomach. Being called out in a lie, no matter what the reason, was always embarrassing, but lying about his father to Mark made it seem even worse. "I, uh, I dunno. It just kinda came out. What was I supposed to say? 'My dad used to be a pilot, and oh yeah, by the way, I killed him too," Brady's eyes began to tear, and he buried his face between his knees. "I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to run away like everyone else."

Mark leaned towards Brady and placed his arm over and around his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Brady. I should of kept it to myself."

On contact, shivers surged throughout Brady's body. All the thoughts of his father diminished in an instant, just as passively as if his story were a faint summer's breeze. He didn't feel guilt. Instead there was only comfort. Only it was different coming from Mark, like it meant something more. He turned his head to face his friend, his mind clouded and confused. Mark's eyes were shut, and his head leaned at angle towards his own. He appeared so innocent and kind, not like an angel but rather a gift. It was as if Mark had been sent to his side in this time of need to help carry him through. The very thought, to Brady, seemed selfish and silly, but the more he stared at the boy the more his need for him grew. He didn't think, or was he not listening? He closed his eyes and he leaned forward, and as his head tilted to the left his lips placed themselves against the very corner of Mark's mouth.