The heat of fire had enveloped him. In all directions, as far as the eye could see, was fire, comparable only to Hell itself. Lord Ghastly stood amidst the blaze, and for the first time, felt fear. The smouldering of ashes climbed to the peaks of large, jagged-looking mountains, their edges appearing razor sharp.

Without warning, or any concern for his own well-being, Lord Ghastly Obscentus dove forward, plummeting into the depths of the blaze. With his head being repeatedly struck with shard after shard of skull-piercing coals, he soared downward, unaffected by pain or torment. Soon a bottom could be seen. It was charred as black as oil and glistened like reflecting water. At first, Lord Ghastly feared he'd be consumed by its gelatin-like appearance, but upon landing, discovered its surface to have a rubbery feel, like a leather ball's vinyl tube.

His head was split in several places and blood poured across his eyes, tainting his vision. Though consumed by fire, he felt cold, which added to his already compromised condition. Regardless of all obscenities and impossibilities, Ghastly Obscentus trudged forth. Becoming wearier by the moment, with every step forward he was forced to take another. It was like he was no longer in control, like someone was pulling him towards something, like a puppet on a string. Suddenly, in the nearing distance, something could be seen through the flames. It was a shadow -- no -- a silhouette; a person standing naked in the fire.

Curiosity overcame him, and the beckoning was no longer needed. Lord Ghastly had to know who it was. Motivation then fuelled his body with a much needed burst of adrenaline, driving him towards the entity; however, as he neared, his legs became heavy and his feet began to stick to the ground, which was now a boiling tar...

"Brady? Brady!? Wake up you're having a bad dream."

Brady's eyes shot open, causing his pupils to burn and strain against the morning's light. "What?" he asked sleepily while trying to focus on the form above him. "Mom?"

Natalie stood up from the bed. "Looks like no more greasy foods before bed," she teased, blaming Brady's nightmare on their late-night feast on fried chicken and french fries. "Come on, get out of bed," she urged. "Mark's already called twice for you, and poor Brittany's going insane."

"What?" asked Brady in confusion, still half asleep.

Natalie giggled and walked towards the door. "Breakfast is on the table, and I'm heading out to the mall with Brittany in half an hour. So get your butt out of bed; Mark needs a sitter."

Sitting up, Brady rubbed his eyes and looked over at his mother. "What time is it?"

"Twelve-thirty," she answered. "I figured I'd let you get some sleep, but I've really gotta get downtown before everything closes."

Brady grunted something incoherent, not even understanding it himself, and fell back against his pillow. "All right, I'll be right there," he said with a groan.

By the time Brady got down the stairs, Natalie was in her room getting ready to leave. Reaching on top of the fridge, Brady grabbed his comb and ran it through his freshly washed hair, still slightly damp. He then looked over at the table to see a plate of cold bacon, eggs and toast. "Mom!?" he moaned when he saw what she had prepared. "You coulda' told me it was this before I got in the shower!" Not waiting for a reply, Brady sat down at the table and quickly gobbled up his now cold and soggy breakfast.

"Hey, Hun. Ready to go?" asked Natalie, walking into the kitchen while trying to get an earring in her left lobe.

"Nuh-huh." Brady stood up and put his plate in the sink. "Why're you all dressed up?" he asked, noticing his mother's obvious efforts.

Natalie stopped and rolled her eyes. "Is it that noticeable?" she groaned.

"Is to me," teased Brady. "Where you going?"

"Just to the mall, mainly."

"Mainly?" caught Brady. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Suddenly, Natalie appeared guilty of something. "Well... we may go out for a bite to eat, after..."

It was then that Brady realized what was happening, and he didn't like it. "You're looking for a date, aren't you?!" said Brady, feeling both stupid and offended at the same time.

"Well, not exactly, no," said Natalie, trying not to make her tone sound like she were searching for her son's approval. "We're just going to have a couple of drinks, that's all."

Brady stomped past her, towards the front door. "Yeah-right," he said angrily. "Then why were you trying to lie to me?"

Natalie thumped her foot against the floor and her face reddened. "That's not fair!" she declared. "I lied because I knew THIS is how you'd react!"

Forcing on his shoes, Brady stood back up and glared at his mother then, without saying another word, turned and stormed out the door.

"Good afternoon, Brady," greeted Brittany at the front door of her house. "Mark's been expecting you," she added with obvious relief over Brady's arrival. Brady just smiled at her as she moved to the side and escorted him in the house. "Go on up. He's in his room."

Making sure the first thing he did was to take off his shoes, Brady positioned them neatly in the corner. "Thanks Mrs. Dawson," he said, just before walking up the stairs.

After knocking on the door and waiting for a reply, Brady entered Mark's room. The place was a mess. There were clothes scattered across the floor with wires sprawled in between them, connecting everything like some kind of obscure web. Tiptoeing across the floor, Brady sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Mark, who was smiling up at him. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

In reply, Mark grinned and punched Brady in the shoulder. "What the hell took yuh, mate? I've been waiting for ages!" he complained.

Brady jumped back and rubbed his arm. "Ow!" he whined. "I'm sorry! I just woke up a while ago -- I thought you'd be too... I dunno, messed up to do anything today."

"Well I'm not!" chuckled Mark. "Well, besides my belly. It feels like my insides blew up or something. Kinda gross."

"Yeah..." Brady looked around the room. "Looks like your insides aren't the only thing that blew up, huh?" he joked.

"Shut up!" Mark attempted to punch Brady again, but his stomach contracted in protest. "Owwwww," he moaned, gripping at his belly.

"So... What are we going to do?" Brady asked, not wanting to sound like he was complaining but still curious as to how they were going to fill the time.

Mark tried to sit up but failed. "Ugh... Mum picked up some movies," he replied, pointing at his television. "Figured we could watch those or something."

"Cool. Did she get anything good?"

"Dunno," Mark shrugged. "Probably some thrillers and a couple actions, but I haven't looked at them yet. Figured I'd let you choose," he offered.

Brady stood up and walked in front of the TV where a small stack of movies were placed and then brought them back to Mark. "Hmmm." Brady sat back down on the bed and shuffled through the stack. "The Mist, Transporter 3, Resident Evil, 28 Weeks Later, and, holy crap, the original Amityville Horror."

"Is that good?" asked Mark, picking up on Brady's enthusiasm toward the last title.

"Yeah," replied Brady with a smile on his face. "It's way different than the remake."

"In a good way though, right?" Mark hoped.

Brady looked at Mark, wide-eyed and amused, and grinned. "Guess we'll find out, huh?"

"No!" Mark protested. "Save the scary ones until later!"

"Later?" Brady asked without a thought. "We gonna watch them all?"

Mark shrugged and then smiled. "Got nothin' better to do, do you?"

"Guess not," realized Brady and then jumped to his feet. "So, Transporter 3, Resident Evil, The Mist, 28 Weeks later, and we'll save Amityville for last," he planned.

"Sounds good to me," said Mark as he glanced at the clock. "Should be done by like midnight... Too bad I can't eat anything good, though. This would make a great munchy day."

Brady smiled and walked back to the TV. "Well, maybe you can't..."

"Can't what?" asked Mark, watching as Brady took out the first movie.

"Can't munch out." Brady looked back at Mark, grinning. Mark, however, did not look amused.

"That's no fair. Aren't you supposed to, like, sympathize for me, or something? I mean... Brady no!" he pleaded as dramatically as he could manage. "Eat soup with me! And soda crackers... and... and... Ice cream! I've got ice cream!"

Brady chuckled softly while placing the movie in the player. "Well... what kind of ice cream?"

"Chocolate. Well, I don't know that for sure, but if my mum bought it for me then it has to be chocolate."

"I'm kind of a vanilla guy though," lied Brady. "Maybe I should run to the Sev down the street and grab something..."

Mark crossed his arms, pouted his lip, and shrunk down in his bed. "That's not fair," he declared, trying to give Brady his best pouty face.

"I'm kidding," Brady finally admitted as he sat down on the bed again. "I don't have any money anyway."

Raising his eyebrow and sitting up a bit, Mark stared at Brady, as if examining him. "You're... different today," he noticed. "What's up?"

Brady merely shrugged and reached for the remote control that was beside Mark. "Nothing."

"Fuck that, 'nothing'," said Mark as he stared Brady in the eye. "You're all, I dunno, talking and stuff today. What happened to the shy kid I met in the park?"

Shrugging again, Brady leaned back on the bed a little while trying to think. "No idea. Guess I just feel good today," decided Brady, now also feeling unsure of himself.

"Well, whatever it is, it's cool to see that you're human after all."

"Shut up," blushed Brady, trying to turn the movie on. "How do you work this thing?"

Mark giggled and grabbed the remote from Brady's hand. "Well, for starters, you need to use the Playstation because the DVD player isn't hooked up right. Besides, this is the TV's remote, not the DVD player's. I lost the remote to that I think somewhere between here and Cambridge."

"Well now you tell me." Brady stood back up, peering back at Mark -- who was looking back at him, and walked back to the TV. "So why isn't the DVD player hooked up?"

"Because I lost the wires about the same time I lost the remote," explained Mark. "Are you thirsty?"

Brady turned around, giving Mark a funny look. "What?"

"Are you thirsty? We have drinks downstairs if you want," offered Mark.

"No, I'm good," decided Brady as he turned on the Playstation.

"Oh... Well, can you go grab me an apple juice then?"

Brady laughed and walked back across the room, handing Mark the controller. "Okay, but can you set up the movie while I'm gone?"

"Sure thing buddy, thanks."

Being alone in Mark's house gave Brady a strange, eerie feeling. When he had arrived downstairs, he had expected to see James running around aimlessly, Peter trying to figure out which adaptor fits with what plug, and Brittany roaming around the kitchen waving around a tea-towel. However, this was not the case. No one was home. Although he knew Brittany had gone out with his mother, James and Peter were unaccounted for. Instead of the normal, chaotic feel, the entire main floor was quiet, aside from the soft humming of the refrigerator.

Brady couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was somehow trespassing, or at least invading someone's privacy. It was like he had broken into their home and was now looking for valuables. Of course, as Brady tiptoed through the living and into the kitchen, to grab Mark an apple juice, he couldn't help but to laugh at himself. "What kind of burglar would steal juice from the fridge?" thought Brady, shaking the can in his hand while reaching for an orange juice with the other.

"Brady!" Mark suddenly yelled. "Hurry up, mate! The movie's starting!"

Startled, Brady jumped away from the fridge, as if he had just been caught red handed in the middle of a heist, nearly dropping the cans of juice on his toes. Just as relief and foolishness set in, the fridge door closed with a loud thud, frightening Brady again. "Coming!" he yelled in reply while staring at the fridge, feeling silly.

"What took you so long?" asked Mark when he saw Brady walking in the room. "I tried to pause it, but the stupid battery must be dying because it won't work."

Brady passed Mark his drink and sat down on the bed. "It's okay. I think I've seen this before anyway."

"You have?" asked Mark, sounding disappointed. "Well that's no fun. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Doesn't matter," said Brady as he opened his orange juice. "I don't mind watching it again."

Mark took a long sip of his drink and placed it on the side table, next to the bed, and snuggled underneath the covers. "We're quite the pair, you know that?"

"Huh?" asked Brady, both confused and intrigued.

"Well, either it's you getting your ass kicked by some strange, blunt object, or it's me inflicting bodily harm on myself. AND when one of us isn't getting hurt, we're getting our asses kicked by thugs."

Brady chuckled and nodded his head. "Weird, I never realized that before."

"By the way, who was that massive bloke who saved our lives that time?" recalled Mark.

"Oh -- James?" asked Brady as he remembered the incident with Riley and his henchmen.

"Yeah that guy. You said he was a teacher, right?"

"Yeah," replied Brady, realizing where Mark was going. "He's a self-defence teacher. I used to be in his class a couple years ago."

"Really?" Mark giggled, unable to picture Brady fighting. "Why'd you quit?"

Brady shrugged and looked up at the television. "Just because, I dunno. Can we just watch the movie?"

Mark sank back into his bed, feeling offended. He didn't mean to pry, but he could tell that there was a lot more to his friend than what he's letting onto. It was obvious that Brady preferred a lot of himself to remain anonymous, or at least in the past, yet no matter how hard Mark tried, he couldn't quite let it go. He felt it was his mission to help Brady open himself back up to the world, and even if Brady didn't realize it, Mark could tell that he wanted to. Just thinking back on the last couple of days that they've known each other could be held as proof. When they first met, Brady was barely even willing to look another person in the eye, but now he seems to enjoy the attention.

"Sorry," said Mark without looking at Brady.

Turning from the television, Brady glanced at Mark, noting his gloomy expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," lied Mark. "I thought you wanted to watch the movie," he added coldly.

Brady felt his insides tighten and his nostrils sting, causing his eyes to slightly water. "He was my dad's best friend," he offered.

"What?"

"James. He was friends with my dad since second grade. That's why I was in his class."

Mark slowly sat up again and faced Brady. "So, your dad made you join a self-defence class because his friend needed the business?"

Brady smirked and shook his head. "No. James offered to teach me for free because I was his best friend's son, so my dad signed me up."

"So are you like this major Karate kid or something?" asked Mark, amused at the thought of Brady even being able to throw a punch, much less kick."

"Hell no. I haven't even been to his class since..." Brady turned his head back toward the TV, "Since my dad died."

"Oh." Mark leaned forward and placed his hand on Brady's knee. "I'm sorry mate. Didn't mean to make you bring that up... Seems like everything from before we met connects to your dad somehow."

"Yeah. We were pretty tight."

"Tight?" Mark snickered. "I'm sorry, but that word doesn't sound right coming from you," he teased.

"Shut up," chuckled Brady. "I wasn't always a..."

"Nerd? Dork?"

Brady held his hand out in front of Mark's mouth. "Okay, I get the point," he said and giggled some more.

"So what were you like then?" Mark asked in earnest.

"Well," thought Brady, looking up at the ceiling. "Kinda like I am now, I guess."

Mark raised his eyebrow in confusion. "Huh? Well what's the difference then?"

"No -- I mean right now, like here... with you," Brady now looked at his feet. "I haven't had a friend in a while," he admitted as if it had been a secret.

Suddenly, the entire room shook as a large explosion consumed the television screen, catching both boys' attention at the same time. Mark immediately lowered himself back down into the comfort of his blankets as Brady leaned back on his elbows at the end of the bed.

Frank Martin, the main character in the movie, was miraculously jumping, kicking and turning everything he touched into a lethal weapon, just like Jackie Chan without a personality. Strangely enough, his most deadly of weapons was no more than the shirt on his back. Every time poor Frank seemed to be losing a fight, he'd just whip off his shirt, flex his muscles, and suddenly his shirt was just like the most treacherous of nunchucks, invincible to bullets, blades, and even fire.

Mark quickly became devoured in the movie's fireworks while Brady ridiculed and laughed at all of Frank's impossible moves. "The man's immune to physics!" chuckled Brady, watching as Frank slid across a floor on a bike, jumped from a table to a pole then flew through one window, straight down and then into a driver's side car window while managing to knock the driver clear across the vehicle and out the passenger's window, onto the ground outside.

"Shoosh!" pleaded Mark. "You can't criticize action movies when you watch monster movies with overly-sexual, lesbian vampires!"

"What?!" Brady chuckled, facing Mark. "Where did you get that?"

"Aren't you a Twilight fan?"

"No... and I don't think there's any lesbian vampires in it either."

"Hmm," Mark thought. "Must have been thinking of some other show, I guess. But you gotta admit, that stuff this guy is doing is awesome!"

"Right..." said Brady as he attempted to get more comfortable on the end of Mark's bed.

"Hey, why don't you just come over here?" suggested Mark, patting the empty space in his bed beside him.

"Uh," Brady's thoughts were instantly clouded with thousands of thoughts and excuses. "I dunno..."

Mark suddenly became irritated. "Oh come-on you wanker. Quit being a nervous little girl and get over here," he demanded. "Besides, my legs are cramping up, and I can't move them with you over there."

Brady felt his throat dry out, just as his heart-rate increased, as he attempted to think of a reason to offer as to why he couldn't lie down with Mark, but nothing came. He knew it wasn't a good idea. He could feel it deep down inside of him, like he were going to do something stupid, something embarrassing or even humiliating. Looking over at Mark, who was still staring over at him, Brady sighed and gave in.

Standing up and circling the bed to the other side, Brady placed his right knee on the mattress then his hands, one touching Mark's pillow. He stared down at his friend briefly, still wearing his multicoloured flannel pyjama bottoms. The thin mainly-green material hugged Mark's body as if it had become a second skin, and Brady couldn't bring himself to look away.

"See something you like?" commented Mark, grinning mockingly. "Hurry up, it's getting cold," he added while waving his blankets against his hip, implying that he were going to share them with Brady.

"Sorry," was all Brady could manage to say as he carefully lowered himself into the bed.

The immediate scent of Mark filled Brady's nostrils the moment he laid down. Directly following this, Mark tossed the blanket over Brady's waist. "There you go," he said with a smile. "That's better."

Brady couldn't reply; he wasn't sure what to say. He knew that Mark knew that he was gay, so why was Mark doing this to him? The question simmered in Brady's mind for what seemed like hours. In fact, before Brady even managed to lower his head, the movie ended.

"What a rip!" said Mark, apparently disappointed in the movie's ending. "How could they end it there?"

"End it where?" asked Brady, finally finding his voice.

Mark slowly rolled himself over, so that he was facing his friend. "Were you even watching?"

"Yeah, of course I was..." he lied, trying to recall the end of the movie.

"Liar! What the hell have you been doing back here this entire time?" chuckled Mark, staring Brady directly in the eye.

"Nothing." Brady blushed and looked away. "Just spaced out, I guess."

"Uh-huh," replied Mark. "Were you staring at my bottom?"

"What!?" squeaked Brady. "No! I was..."

"Staring at my bottom!" Mark grinned deviously, "You were, weren't you!"

"No! How could I? You're covered with the blankets!"

"Nuh-huh!" Mark lifted the covers and peaked underneath. "Whatcha looking at then?"

"Nothing, I swear," said Brady, so embarrassed that his eyes began to water.

"Hmm..." Mark lifted the blankets a little higher and stuck his head inside. "What do we have here?"

Out of nowhere, Mark's fingers jabbed into Brady's side. "Ah!" screamed Brady in surprise. "What are you doing?"

Mark rolled his fingers from Brady's sides to his stomach and began to tickle him. "Nothing," Mark said as innocently as he could.

"Cut it out!" pleaded Brady, rolling onto his side, trying to escape from Mark's attack.

"No! Tell me Brady! What were you doing?" Mark demanded to know, tickling Brady more intensely by the second.

Soon, Brady couldn't take it anymore and retaliated. Forgetting about Mark's stomach, he grabbed the boy's sides and began to tickle him back. At first, Mark jumped and laughed playfully, when suddenly, he shrieked and scooted back.

"Shit!" he moaned while holding onto his stomach. "That hurt."

"What did I do?" asked Brady in concern and guilt. "I'm sorry, I..."

Mark randomly turned his head, his eyes slightly red and watery, and stared Brady in the eye. For a moment, Brady thought that Mark was going to cry, like he had done something horrible to him and now they were going to have to bring him back to the hospital. Brady felt himself begin to panic; he had screwed up, and now Mark was going to hate him. However, instead of tears, Mark continued to stare. Brady wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of the right words to say. He wanted to run away, yet something prevented him from moving. And then, something unexpected happened.