(A/N: Ahhhhh. Dear readers, I would just like to stop and thank you for reading this story. It was rushed and amateur at the beginning, but you guys stuck with me and I sincerely thank you for continuing to read this and I hope my writing has improved. On another note, sorry about my writers block. I often find hashing out a chapter or two quickly can help, but honestly, I've been so busy with exams. Thank God they are over. I think I survived, but only barely. )

MAX POV

The next month passed by without any event. We all settled in together in a routine of school and home. Everything was nice and fine, and everything was uneventful, except for my eighteenth birthday, which passed by uneventfully, also. We all pretty much just had a nice dinner and cake, thanks to Iggy, at home and watched movies. Mom Martinez bought me a bottle of wine to celebrate the fact that I was finally drinking age and legal for everything. I also went out and and got my Canadian drivers liscence. That was about it for that time. Nothing else happened.

Er, yes everything there was quite condensed, but I've had seventeen birthdays before that, so it didn't matter. I really wanted to get that month out of the way, because now is when things begin to get interesting.

It was just the beginning of February, only a few weeks before Iggy and Fangs birthday, and I was sitting in my room that night. It was snowing outside, and the only light cane from the robust moon outside and the lamp beside me. It was a Friday night of a long weekend, and because of exams I didn't have, I didn't have school for over week. The house was silent and all other lights had been extinguished an hour and a half ago. I, myself, though was not part of the slumbering people. I was perched up on my bed, music in my ears, a book on how to survive a zombie attack resting on my drawn up knees.

I hummed along silently as the song switched from a Theory of a Deadman song to Octavius or something like that by Dream Theater. The band was great, but I didn't really want to listen to a forty minute song, so I skipped it.

The first few riffs of John Wayne Gacy Jr. -the weirdly calm song about the infamous serial killer- began to play and my fingers automatically began to move to imaginary guitar in my hands, then a moment later, my fingers changed from air guitar to air piano, and I continued to switch until the song ended.

I was somewhat cured of my insomnia after that, so I played the song again, grabbing my acoustic guitar from the closet and played the song two more times, my fingers warming up to the instrument after months without playing.

A light switched on in one of the rooms and I heard footsteps. I leaned across my bed and tried to put it down as quickly and as gently as possible, but it hit the floor a little too hard, with a thud and a twang, but it was out of view.

"Everyone else is a heavy sleeper." Fang told me.

I jumped, surprised. "I woke you up?"

"No," Fang replied, sitting down on my bed. "I couldn't sleep. What were you doing?"

"Reading."

"Thats not what it sounded like. Were you playing music?"

"No..."

"Yes you were."

"So what? They're heavy sleepers."

"So nothing." Fang smirked. "You don't need to be so defensive. I was just asking."

"Well what were YOU doing?" I asked him, sticking my tongue out.

"Updating my blog. Reading. Burying my latest victim."

"You did not!" I quiet shouted, picking up a white pillow and whacking him over the head with it.

"Hey!" Fang picked up another pillow, this one decorative and blue and fuzzy, returning the hit, this one to my shoulder.

I hopped off the bed, narrowly missing my guitar, moving it under the bed with my foot, then ran over to his head and gave him a whack. He predicted it and ducked, using my followthrough to land a gentle hit to my stomach. I stumbled back a bit and a plan of attack formed in my head as I regained balanced.

I lunged forward, purposely doing a weak swing that left me too far forward and my back exposed to knock me down. Sure enough, Fang took the opportunity to take the hit and I pitched forward, over exaggerating it and landing discreetly on my hands, a truck I learned during Martial Arts training. I hoped that he wouldn't notice, and would think I landed on my face.

Sure enough, I could feel Fang's presence beginning to lean over me. I waited one second, then kicked my feet onto his ankles and rolled to the side so he wouldn't fall on me. My kick was perfectly placed, and Fang landed on his side, right where I had been. I hopped to my feet while Fang was beginning to hoist himself off the ground and plopped myself down on his chest.

"What?" Fang asked.

"Bite pillows!" I said a little too loudly, then rapid fire hitting his face from side to side. After several hits, I jumped off him and scampered to the other side of my bed, taking shelter.

"What are you?" Fang asked. "A squirrel?"

"I'm just nimble and quick, like Jack and the candle stick." I chirped, jumping away again.

"A ballerina," Fang snorted, and I managed to trip and fall.

Fang reached down to help me up, so I grabbed his hand and let him pull me up.

"Are you okay?" Fang asked, out of standard procedure.

"Yeah. But we should probably stop pillow fighting, lest the wake up." I suggested.

"Well, I'm not tired yet. What do you want to do?" Fang asked.

"Eat. And run. I want to eat and then go jogging."

"Eating is okay, jogging isn't. Not at this time of night." Fang told me. "Not at this time of night. "

I mock pouted. "But I want to."

Fang ignored that as we tip-toped the stairs. "What do you want to eat, Max?"

"Food."

Fang rolled his eyes. "What food?"

"Good food."

"Not funny, Max." Fang said dryly. "Tell me what you want to eat before I give you snails."

"I'm cool with that. Some butter, some garlic..."

Fang made a minorly disgusted face. "Really?"

"Yup."

"Well, we don't have any. How about some extra buttery popcorn?"

"Sounds delectable." I replied In a mock British accent.

"Hey!" Fang Said, sounding a little shocked.

"What?" I asked slowly.

"You just put on a British accent. A fake one!" He accused.

"So...?" I asked wondering what Fang was getting at.

"That means you're one of us now." Fang told me as he put a popcorn bag into the microwave.

"Oh." I shrugged. "Oh well. But you know what? If were having popcorn, we should watch a movie. I'll pick one." I ran off into the living room to choose a movie.

I finally chose one that I thought would be fun, Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I personally loved eighties movies. Their fashion was so weird, and it was fun and they were from before when Hollywood started making cheap over-budget crap.

I heard Fang walking over, so I tried to put the movie in. I fiddled around with the foreign device, poking and turning buttons and dials in an attempt to turn the movie on.

"Can't figure it out?" Fang asked, and I heard the sound of him sitting on the couch behind me.

"Noooooooo..." I replied, pushing a black button which sent the large screen of the television into static. Fang looked at me, raising an eyebrow, that disappeared into his long, jet black hair. "Yes." I finally sighed.

"Well?" Fang asked, gesturing for me to continue.

"Could you help me?" I asked sweetly.

"Yes." Fang leaned forward, grabbing the remote, and pushed a few buttons. A second later we were on the main menu for the movie's DVD form. Fang looked at me, his eyes asking 'really'?

I sent him back a look that said 'you've got a problem with that?'.

Fang just shrugged and pressed play. I dug into the popcorn with Fang, which was just a little too buttery and perfectly salty, making it perfect. I leagued silently as we watched the movie together.

...

"Game over." The intergalactic puppy told me. "Your score is eight billion, five hundred thousand, ninety-eleven. Would you like to collect your prize?"

I murmured a nod and rolled over.

"Your prize is," The space hamster said, it's voice morphing into a deeper male voice. "Max?"

How was my prize me? That's not possible.

"Max?"

I looked up but I didn't see anything. And then I remembered to open my eyes. Drowsily, I looked at Fang's face, looking down at mine. "Yesh?"

"Sorry. I didn't think you were actually that deeply asleep. I was going to ask what movie you wanted to watch. But do you want to go to bed?"

I thought about it for a moment. Right here, I was very comfortable, lying against the side of Fang's chest, under his arm. I cranes my head a slight amount to she the LED light on the DVD player that read 3:05.

"Not in the least." I yawned, flattening my hair with my hand. "Play another movie."

Fang did, lifting me off him and going to the console and putting in another disc.

"What movie?" I asked, settling myself onto his shoulder again.

"Scream." He replied nonchalantly.

I stared at him. Scream? Really. I mean, I had always pegged as a horror movie guy, but still... I just wasn't a huge horror fan. They kind of always sucked. I put my hand on his leg and pushed myself off of him some so I could see him better. "Really?"

"It's not too bad." Fang shrugged.

"Can you please pick something better?" I whined.

"No. I put up with Ferris Bueller, didn't I?"

"You didn't have to though. I was asleep." I pointed out, pressing my finger tips a little bit harder into his leg as I pulled myself into a kneeling position. "Please let me pic a different movie." I pleaded. "I'll grab the snacks this time."

"You would anyways. And I want to watch this, Max, please?" Fang asked, not a hint of begging in his voice.

I pouted.

Fang looked back at me, his incredibly dark eyes even with mine. We continued staring at each other, stares not wavering and not blinking in our unspoken staring contest. We continued staring for something like 60 seconds, that felt so much longer, when my eyes began to itch, and then burn, then water, and I finally blinked involuntarily.

"Fine." I sighed, my shoulders flopping down. "We'll watch it. But you get snacks."

Fang began to get up, avoiding the coffee table on his way to the kitchen. I mindlessly watched the trailers that were on the DVD, all for crappy looking movies that came and went years ago. Fang came back, arms full of bags of candies and chips and pretzels that I didn't know we had.

"My secret stash." Fang explained, pressing play, the movie going to the opening scene, a girl on a phone. I tore open a bag of salt water taffy, happy I had found it, and munched away, shoving several pieces into my mouth until I could barely keep it closed, then settled back into my cozy place under Fang's arm.

"Don't you ever worry about getting fat?" Fang asked bluntly.

I jumped out of his arm again, taking on a defensive position, sitting cross-legged on the couch, my arms crossed over my chest. "No!" I huffed through the taffy. I have a killer metabolism." Though it cane out more as "Ahf a kwedllr metashbosim." I checked awkwardly, teeth sticking to each other until I could speak normally. "I have a killer metabolism. Don't you worry about dying a virgin?"

"No need to get snippy. I like girls who eat, unless they get super fat from it, not because they're fat, but because they aren't looking after themselves." Fang explained.

"You're digging yourself a deep grave buddy. Stop talking, like you usually do." I advised, lying down so my head rested on his leg.

This was the life.