The very moment that he felt Brady's lips against his skin, Mark gasped in alarm and shoved Brady away from him. He jumped to his feet and backed away in horror. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he yelled in fright.

Brady had fallen onto his side and was staring down at the grass. He wasn't physically hurt; he was humiliated. His chest ached in a way that he'd never experienced before. It was like his aorta had been ripped away from his heart. He tried to look up at Mark but couldn't face him. Shame and regret were preventing him from speaking, so instead he slowly pushed himself up to his feet and walked toward the gate.

"Brady wait!" said Mark, chasing after him. "I'm sorry, don't leave." Noticing Brady turn back around and stand idle in the centre of the yard, Mark approached him. "I'm sorry Brady -- I didn't mean to yell," he began. "It's just I -- I'm not gay," he explained almost proudly.

His eyes blurred, and his stomach seemed to sink even lower than it already had. Brady dropped his head, feeling foolish and, oddly, betrayed. Without a word, he turned away from Mark and walked across the lawn and through the gate.

Mark wasn't sure what to do. He just stared like a fool and watched Brady walk away. Though he felt like a jerk, Mark didn't think his reaction was out of line, but he couldn't help but wonder if he had somehow led Brady on. His thoughts seemed tangled and only grew worse as his thoughts brewed. He didn't want to take a chance in hurting Brady more than he already had, and feeling tired and distraught, Mark decided it best to try and leave things until the morning.

Brady ran across the street and stormed into his house as fast as he could. He recalled the front door slamming behind him and his mother saying something as he rushed up the stairs. Right now, however, he didn't care. He was safe and alone, just as things should be. With his face planted against his pillow and his feet dangling over the edge of the bed, he allowed his tears to drag him to sleep.

The next morning he woke up to a sore back and puffy-red eyes. He could feel the crust of dried tears against his cheek. He felt both stupid and naive. How could he have gotten things so wrong? He was almost certain that Mark had feelings for him.

Forcing himself out of bed, Brady pulled off his shirt and kicked his shoes from his feet. He rubbed his eyes and ventured towards his dresser to find a change of clothes and take a shower, but before he could make it, his eyes were drawn to his computer. He didn't smile or think; his mind seemed to decide for itself, and he was drawn towards his chair.

Sitting down, Brady turned on the computer and waited for it to boot-up. His entire body felt strange, like his insides had frozen over and burned his flesh. Before it even registered, Brady had logged into Titans and Realms. The speakers roared to life, comforting him with their soothing melody. The realms came to life before his very eyes as the peasants began to chant his name in praise.

"All hale Lord Ghastly!"

Mark sat at the kitchen table waiting for his mum to serve breakfast. His hands were pressed against his cheeks and his elbows sprawled over the table as he tried to stay awake. He wasn't able to sleep most of the night. His mind wouldn't shut up. Everything was different now, and seemed even more so when tired. No matter how hard he brainstormed, he couldn't think of a way to apologize to Brady. He hadn't meant to offend him. He merely didn't want to be kissed by another boy, that's all.

As his head began to droop, Mark felt as if he were falling and nearly jumped from his seat. He gazed around the room sleepily, noticing that James was giggling at him from across the table. "What are you looking at?" he snapped.

"Mom!" whined James. "Mark's being a jerk!"

"Stop being a jerk, Mark," Brittany said in a huff, as she placed a bowl of cooked oatmeal in front of him. "PETER!" she suddenly yelled. "Hurry! You're going to be late!"

"Ah, the mornin' battle-axe," Peter sang happily as he spun his tie into a tangled-knot around his neck. "I don't have to be there until nine-thirty, luv," he explained, leaning towards her and kissing her cheek.

Seeing this, Mark was reminded of Brady. Was it really so bad that Brady kissed him? He thought. Perhaps it was only a gesture or something...

"Mark, dear," said Brittany, placing the back of her hand on Mark's forehead. "You feeling okay? You look a bit flush this morning."

Mark nodded and picked up a spoon. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just had a late night," he explained, while poking at this oatmeal.

"Well eat up then. We're going to drop off your father and then run into town for some shopping," stated Brittany, subtly making it clear that Mark didn't have a choice.

"Can I come, Mum?" chirped James as he greedily shovelled scoop after heaping-scoop of oatmeal into his mouth.

"Well I'm not bloody-well leaving you here alone," chuckled Brittany. "We'd be lucky to come back to a house."

As James giggled through a muffled mouth of oatmeal, Mark rose to his feet. "I gotta talk to Brady for a sec, Mum," he informed her, already walking for the door.

"Right this second?" Brittany asked in alarm. "We're leaving right away, and what about breakfast?"

"Oatmeal sucks, Mum. I'll be right back!"

Brittany turned her head to face Peter, who was still fiddling with his tie. "What's that all about, then?" she asked him.

"Dunno," shrugged Peter, becoming frustrated with himself and staring up at Brittany, in defeat. "Can you give us a hand with this bloody thing?"

Brittany threw her tea-towel over her shoulder and began to untangle her husband's mess. "What have you done with this thing? I didn't know it was possible -- it's more like a noose than a Windsor."

Lord Ghastly Obscentus raved through the lands, burning towns into embers with the single click of a mouse button. His forces were many and his Titans relentless, the Lord of Atlantis did not stand a chance. Brady smirked at his screen as his followers invaded the depths of sea. Through the reaping chaos of battle, he could hear the front bell ringing and the door repeatedly knocking, but he chose to ignore whoever it was.

Mark backed away from the steps and stared up at the house. "Brady!" he called out. "Brady! Come to the door!" he tried again. Looking at the closed window, Mark could only see Brady's curtains. "Brady! Come out mate, let's talk!" he tried once more.

Across the street Mark could see his family's car backing out of the garage. Reluctantly, he turned and walked down the driveway, towards the street, and waited for his parents to pull up to the curb.

Brady had peered out the window after the noise had stopped. When he saw Mark walk away, he was only reminded of the previous night. Becoming embarrassed again, Brady grew tired of the emotion, causing it to mutate into anger. He reached for the drapes and snapped them shut, then stormed off into his room. His fists were clenched and his face a deep red, but he didn't know what to do. Looking down at his himself, he could see his arms shaking and his toes curled, trying to clutch the floor. He wanted to scream, but Mark was still outside and would hear him.

Mark had whipped back around when he heard the hissing of curtains being slid along their rail. Brady must have been watching, he thought; he knew he was there and ignored him. Though still tired, Mark no longer cared. He was angry. Sure he had hurt Brady, but what was he supposed to do? He wasn't given another choice. Brady did it to himself; it wasn't his fault. Mark jumped into the back of the SUV and slammed the door.

"Mark?! Mind the door!" snapped Peter, surprisingly against his normal character. Knowing that when his father yelled he meant business, Mark apologized and rested his head against the window.

Brady couldn't take it anymore. His eyes were already streaming with tears and his insides were ready to burst. Finding himself slowly turning in circles, Brady lunged forward and grabbed the first thing he saw. His arms flew upward and the next thing he knew, he had thrown his lamp against the wall. Glass and porcelain shattered in an explosion of sparks and streaming light. After it tumbled to the floor Brady felt better, even stronger, so he grabbed something else. Books were flung across the room, and clothes scattered in all directions, until finally his dresser came crashing to the floor. He heard the creaking but didn't care, and as splinters of wood soared by his face, Brady punched the dresser again and again.

Managing to escape his mother and James, Mark walked through the aisles of a large discount store. There were people everywhere, most with large, overstocked shopping carts. Mark thought that to be silly; no one needed that much stuff at once, ever. Dismissively, he continued to dodge the incoming carts as he half-heartedly roamed the store.

In the clothing section he saw mothers torturing their children with hideous clothing that wouldn't last a week, and near the shoe aisle he saw nearly the same thing. Suddenly his eye caught something of interest and he instantly rerouted. The electronics section had to be better than watching a bunch of mums as they held out cartoon underpants and dangled them in front of their children's waist.

Cutting through the women's clothing section, Mark circled incoming carts and people as he made his way to the electronics. Passing the iPods and MP3s, straight past the DVDs and Cds, Mark stopped in front of the video games. He browsed happily through them for a while, sliding his finger against their spine and occasionally reading the back. Soon, in the PC section, Mark's eye caught a glimpse of a familiar title. He thought for a second in a scheming manner then pulled it off of the shelf.

"Titans and Realms," he said to himself. "Thirty-nine, ninety-nine! That's highway robbery!" he squealed, nearly chucking the game to the ground.

"Can I help you, young man?" interrupted a small, stout woman with brown hair that was spun up in a tired looking bun.

"No," Mark shook his head. "I'm good, thanks."

The woman rose an eyebrow, staring at Mark with scepticism and obvious mistrust. "Well, if you need a hand, I'll just be around the corner," she said more in warning than in service.

Dismissing the old hag's implications, Mark grabbed the game and walked out into the aisle to look for his mum. He looked back at the woman as he left, noting her angry glare. "Old coot," he mumbled, just as he disappeared in the crowd.

Feeling like he had been searching for hours, Mark decided to take a seat on a bench near the cash registers. That way, he'd see her before she got in line. On the other end of the bench, an older man of about fifty sat and rested. Mark couldn't help but get the feeling that he was being watched, but every time he turned to look the man was facing the opposite way.

Knowing something was going on, Mark slyly lowered his head, while watching the man through the corner of his eye. Not more than a minute after Mark caught him staring. "What?" he asked coldly.

The man raised his head and looked Mark in the eye as if sizing him up. "Excuse me?" asked the man, almost convincingly.

"Sorry." Mark decided it best to go and wait somewhere else and got up to leave. He walked straight past the registers and lines of people, only to turn around to see the man following in behind him. Mark became panicked and increased his pace, but this only confirmed his suspicions, as the man had sped up too.

Turning a corner, Mark clenched the game to his chest and ran for the exit. A loud, ear piercing siren echoed from all around, and red flashing lights spun in circles at either of his sides. Suddenly, he felt someone grab his arm, causing him to scream in terror. The game fell to the floor as Mark felt himself being tugged back. He looked up and saw the man that had been following him, now dragging him across the floor.

"Help!" he screamed. "Help! Pervert!" Mark twisted and thrashed about. His fists had come into contact with something several times, but he was so scared that he couldn't tell what they were. "HELP!" he begged as tears flooded down his cheeks.

Suddenly, Mark was forced to the floor, knocking the wind out from his lungs. He felt his arms being tugged behind his back followed by a cold, metal object that wrapped around his wrists. "Stop moving you little bastard!" demanded the man, pulling Mark up to his feet. "It's okay everyone," he began to announce. "Store security," he explained, while holding out his identification.

With his head resting on the back of what was left of his dresser, Brady studied his room. It was a mess to say the least, like a mini tornado had sprung from the ceiling and wreaked havoc on all of his possessions. Brady could barely remember what he had done. Only the feeling remained. It glowed throughout him like a slowly dying coal. He looked at his bloodied knuckles, burning like a thousand bee stings, and climbed to his feet.

Surveying the damage, he felt only regret. The mattress had been flipped and its frame stood on end, against the wall. There was a mix of paper, clothing, wood and glass scattered across the floor, and his dresser was destined for the dumpster. The only thing in his room left untouched was his computer and chair. Considering his blind rage, the thought that his subconscious hadn't allowed him to destroy the damned-contraption scared him. Was he that obsessed? Did the game really have that much control over him? Or was it self-preservation, like leaving a lifeline? Brady carefully tip-toed across his room to fetch his shoes and then went downstairs to grab a garbage bag.

His mind kept trailing back to the incident with Mark, even after everything that he'd just done back in the bedroom; nothing seemed to cure him. The more he thought about Mark, the less he seemed to understand. For once Brady thought he had found something good, something worthwhile. Everything came crashing down so fast; even quicker than it had taken him to destroy his room. If only he had controlled himself more, he'd still have a friend, he thought, but why was he even at the door this morning?

Brady walked into the kitchen and grabbed a garbage bag from under the sink and stopped to pour himself a drink. After washing the blood from his hands, he sat down at the table and dropped his head over his folded arms and once again began to cry.

Sitting in a small, dingy room, Mark stared at the wall in front of him. Graffiti and bubble gum seemed to have found the ability to grow on their own, thought Mark as he gazed up at the words drawn at impossible heights, leading up to the ceiling. On the table in front of him was a five page survey on 'why he had chosen to steal'. He wasn't going to answer it, though. It was crap. He hadn't stolen a thing. The thought never even crossed his mind.

Finally, the door opened, and in walked the same man from the bench. He stared at Mark and then down at the survey. "You can't leave until you fill that out," he said. "Your Mom's waiting outside."

"This is crap!" Mark protested. "I didn't steal anything!"

The man shook his head in frustration and sat down at the table across from Mark. "Then what was in your hands when the alarm went off?" he asked with a smug grin.

"I forgot I had it. I'm sorry. I thought you were a pervert," Mark tried to explain. "I was just trying to get away."

"That's a new one," the man congratulated.

"I'm serious!" yelled Mark, becoming angrier. "If I was trying to steal the game, why would I go and sit on the bench? I was waiting for my mum!"

"Look, Mark," the man leaned forward as if to express an understanding. "We're not going to press charges on you. Just fill out the questionnaire and you can go -- You'll only be banned for a year."

"I don't care!" Mark shouted. "It's not the point! If you want me to admit I was stealing then you admit that you were purposely trying to freak me out."

"I was," the man smiled. "That's my job."

"But I was still in the store! There was no reason for you to be following me! Check your cameras even! The only reason I tried to leave the store was because you scared the shit out of me!" Mark picked up the survey and tore it in half. "Besides, you're not even supposed to talk to me without a guardian present. And why would I steal if my mum was here? How stupid do you think I am?!"

The man stood up from his chair and walked in behind it, tucking it in. "Okay Mark. You can go," he offered and pointed to the door.

"No," replied Mark, surprising even himself. "I'm not leaving until you apologize -- you can't treat people like shit just because they're kids."

Sudden laughter caused Mark to become confused. He wasn't expecting the man to laugh; he wanted to be taken seriously. "Okay kid. I'm sorry," the man chuckled, but then his face suddenly became extremely serious. He leaned forward, placing either hand on the back of his chair and thumped it against the ground. "Now get out!" he demanded.

Mark jumped to his feet and ran for the door without looking back once. The moment he was in the hall he found his mother and threw himself into her arms. "I didn't do it, Mum," he tried to explain. "I was waiting for you."

After Mark explained to Brittany what had happened, Brittany was furious. She tossed Mark the keys to the car and instructed him to wait there with James. The last thing Mark saw was his mother stomping around the corner towards the back, with a tea-towel still on her shoulder.

Natalie had just pulled into the driveway of her house when her attention was drawn across the street, towards another woman waving a tea-towel in her hand. At first, it didn't register and she merely waved back, but when she saw Mark climbing out of an SUV Natalie realized that the waving stranger must be the boy's mother.

"Afternoon," greeted Brittany, as she crossed the street. "I'm Brittany, Mark's mum," she introduced.

Meeting the woman at the end of the driveway, Natalie held out her hand to meet Brittany's and shook. "Natalie," she replied. "Brady's mother."

Tossing her tea-towel over her shoulder, Brittany turned and glanced across the street at Mark. "Our boys seem to have hit-it-off quite well, haven't they?"

Natalie smiled and nodded. "Yeah. It's great to see Brady getting out of the house, for once."

"I can relate," said Brittany. "Anyway, you're just getting home, so I won't take up too much of your time. I just wanted to introduce myself and extend an invitation for a little get-together; has Brady mentioned it to you?"

"Oh, yes he did," Natalie recalled. "Sounds like fun."

"Great!" Brittany clapped her two hands together and placed her knuckles against her lower lip, as if to think for a moment. "When would be a good time for you?"

"How's Saturday?" suggested Natalie. "Weekdays are always touch-and-go at work. There's no telling when I'll be home."

"Then it's settled," smiled Brittany. "Be nice to speak with the same kind again. All I've got is boys back there," she explained, nodding towards her house. "How's two work? A few drinks before tea, perhaps?"

"Two's perfect," agreed Natalie. "What shall I bring?"

"Just you and the boy will do," said Brittany. "Don't you worry over a thing; just come and enjoy yourself."

"A bottle of wine then," decided Natalie. "I couldn't come empty handed."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with a little hospitality, but if you feel obligated with this wine business, make sure it's in a box. Nothing fancy."

Natalie giggled and agreed. "It'll be the biggest, ugliest box of wine you've ever seen."

"Perfect!" chuckled Brittany. "See you then, luv. Gotta get some food on the table before the hounds start gnawing at the furniture."

"Great," replied Natalie. "Nice meeting you, too."

Brittany had already started across the road but turned and waved good-bye with her tea-towel. "Pleasure's mine."

After getting in the house, while hating how awkward she felt about her introduction to Brittany, Natalie kicked off her shoes and hung her purse in the closet. "I'm home, Brady," she announced as she walked into the living room. Just as she was about to sit down on the sofa, she noticed Brady sitting at the kitchen table with his head resting over his arms. "Brady? What's wrong?" she asked and walked closer, noticing that her son had fallen asleep. "Wake-up sleepy head!"

Feeling himself being gently shaken, Brady opened his eyes to see his mother staring right at him. "What time is it?" he asked, groggily.

"Almost five," she answered, quickly noticing her son's red and puffy eyes. "What's wrong?" she repeated. "Was it Riley again!?" she asked in anger.

Remembering everything that had happened and seeing his mother's worried face, Brady couldn't control himself and burst into tears. Through guilt, shame, regret and even fear, as his mother's arms wrapped around him and held him tight, he felt only relief. His tears streamed down his cheeks and absorbed into the fabric of Natalie's blouse. He clawed his fingers at her shirt as if he couldn't find a secure place to hold onto, but more to ensure that she could not leave him.

Brady couldn't understand it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop. The more he held onto her, the more he had to let go. With every passing second his tears grew stronger. His eyes burned and his cheeks stung. Every muscle throughout his body was sore and his lungs were tired, but he could not make himself stop.

Natalie held the back of Brady's head, pushing him firmly against her chest. She pressed her face into his hair, quickly soaking with her tears. It had been so long since her boy had cried that she had almost forgotten what to do. Although she hated to see him in so much pain, she had become overwhelmed with happiness. "It's all right, Brady. It's okay; we're okay," she whispered.

"No," sniffled Brady. "I screwed up."

Feeling her heart seemingly twist inside of her chest, Natalie squeezed her son closer and kissed his forehead. "No you didn't. It's okay," she assured him. "It's okay."

As Brady felt himself run out of tears and his body begin to tremble, he realized that he was now on the floor, lying on his side, in his mother's lap. Her hand was stroking his hair, and her lips were pressed firmly against his brow. He felt strange; his body seemed so foreign, like it was not his own. A shiver surged across his skin, causing his teeth to chatter. Looking up at his mother, the guilt returned. "I broke everything."

"Shhh," hushed Natalie. "It's okay."

Brady sat up and pushed himself away from her. "No it's not," he said and then looked to the ground. "I busted everything in my room."

"Okay. It's fine," she decided. "Let's go take a look."

"I'll pay for everything," he offered in remorse. "I'm sorry."

"Let's not worry about that right now." Natalie climbed to her feet and took her son by the hand to help him up. She had almost screamed when she first saw his knuckles. They were swollen to more than twice their normal size and scratched so badly that some cuts appeared black. She had to force herself to close her eyes and turn away, before she broke-out into more tears.

The moment Brittany entered her house, Mark was waiting for her by the door. "What were you and Miss Jeston talking about?" he enquired, awkwardly.

"Just saying hello," replied Brittany. "And I invited her and Brady over this Saturday."

Mark lowered his eyes and stared at the ground. "That's great, Mum," he said wearily. "Did she say anything about Brady?"

"Nope, not really," Brittany tried to recall. "Why? What's the matter?"

Leaning down and grabbing a bag, Mark turned for the stairs. "Nothing."

"You two didn't have a fight already, did you?" sighed Brittany.

"Nah. Not really; just a misunderstanding, I guess. It'll be cool, though," he said hopefully, and started to walk up the stairs.

"I'll call you when I leave to pick up your father," she warned. "There's no way I'm packing James up in that car again, today."

From the top of the stairs, Mark watched as James zoomed through the halls with his new toy fighter jet. "Sure thing, Mum," he replied and continued into his bedroom.

Sitting down in front of his laptop and then turning it on, Mark watched the screen impatiently as it booted-up. He then reached down beside himself and grabbed his shopping bag from the floor. He couldn't help but snicker after fishing out the game that his mother had managed to get for free. How he wished he could have been there when she had barged into the head-office of that department store and gave the manager a piece of her mind.

Mark knew he'd never fully hear what his mother had said, but she was in there for more than an hour. When she finally returned, they had given her a free copy of Titans and Realms and promised a written apology from the owner, which was to arrive in the mail before the week's end.

James had entered the room and was standing behind Mark, watching as the computer installed the game. "What are you doing?" he asked, placing his hand on Mark's shoulder.

"Installing a new game," Mark explained, randomly poking his brother in the tummy.

Through a giggle, James groaned and rubbed at his stomach. "Is that the one Mum got for nothing?"

"Yup," Mark grinned. "And all I had to do was get arrested."

"Bet that was scary," said James, leaning closer to the screen.

"I guess, yeah. It was scarier when I thought the guy was a pervert, though."

James's eyes widened and he stared at Mark in fear. "Like a homo?" he asked.

"Hey," Mark scolded in a playful manner and flicked him on the chin. "Don't say stuff like that."

"But that's what Dad calls 'em," said James. "He says they're all perverts that steal little boys."

"Dad? He didn't say that, did he?" asked Mark in disbelief.

"I'm serial," nodded James as he sat down on Mark's lap to watch the computer screen.

Mark leaned forward and rested his chin on James's shoulder. "He just said that to scare you, James. It's not true. Gay people are just like any other person."

James shrugged and grabbed the mouse. "Can I play when it's done?"

"Yeah sure," promised Mark, as he randomly tickled his brother's sides. "But I need to do something first, okay?"

His mother's reaction to what he had done to his room had left Brady baffled and confused. He thought he would have been grounded for life, at the very least, but instead she had hugged him. Even after the hug, things didn't turn grim. Instead, she seemed almost relieved. She had smiled in a way that Brady couldn't understand, appearing both happy and sad at the same time. Now, after cleaning up the mess, Brady sat alone in his room, at his computer. Other than the pile of clothing that was stacked neatly in a corner, the entire room was back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened.

Logging-in to Titans and Realms, directly after the music and chanting of his name, a large, blue box popped up in the middle of his screen which read 'Friend request from: Sir Bradium Sorre'