A/N: First off, can I just say how happy I am to those who reviewed or followed this story? Thank you so much! :') It's nice to know people are actually reading this.

To that mysterious Someone: I'm glad you liked the pun :p and thank you! You really are inspiring :D I hope you like what I've updated!

Sorry it's been a while since my last update, but in apology, here - take two chapters instead of one! xD

A loud sigh escaped the bored figure who was reclining on the carpeted floor. His soft hair was spread out around his head, looking like a messy halo under the dim lighting. He flipped through the music magazine in his hands, for want of something better to do; but his mind wandered despite his mild efforts to keep it busy.

After school both that day and the previous day, Carl had dutifully carried Blake's stuff for him as they walked home together. Although Blake hadn't demanded that Carl do anything particularly embarrassing or strenuous so far, he had still expected the older boy to complain, display annoyance or even just roll his eyes – but Carl had suddenly withdrawn into himself. He hadn't shown any reluctance, let alone put up any resistance, and Blake was almost unnerved by it.

Sighing again, Blake tossed the magazine aside, not caring where it landed. He stared up at the hanging green pterodactyl above him, and the black ceiling beyond it. How many times before had he studied the unmoving, plastic creature, on this very same patch of floor?

His mind drifted away again, and he thought back to the day before. The two of them had entered the Gripling house after school, and Carl had dropped Blake's bag on his bed, then turned around and stated that he was going to Hoodsey's to see why he had been absent. Before Blake could respond, the redhead had rushed off, to the younger boy's chagrin. Carl had been acting strange enough at school, what with his sudden silence and his reluctance to eat, and Blake had hoped he would return to his normal, loud self by the next day.

He had been wrong.

Carl had continued to be totally wrapped up in his own world, and Blake practically had to stop himself from ordering Carl to do something stupid just to get a reaction. He had a feeling that the older boy had something on his mind that was really troubling him, and it sometimes seemed like it had something to do with Blake… but surely he was just being paranoid, he assured himself.

The blond rolled onto his side, and his finger traced the pattern of alien spaceships in the carpet. He didn't see why Carl would suddenly start acting so strangely; it couldn't have been the dare, could it? But he had lost their bets before (although not quite as often as Blake did) and it hadn't affected him in this way. Blake irritatedly got up into a sitting position, and firmly resolved to push the matter out of his mind; over-thinking it wouldn't solve anything.

He turned around as he heard the creak of the door being nudged open; the thirteen-year-old who had been occupying his thoughts entered, bearing a tray of snacks and tall glasses filled with soda. Placing the tray on one of the low white tables, Carl hesitated briefly before moving to shut his bedroom door.

"Well, about time, Foutley," said Blake, eyeing Carl. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten the way back up here."

"Ginger found out that I'd finished the apple pie she'd baked," Carl said quietly. "Took her a while to stop the yelling." He walked past where Blake was sitting and flopped onto his bed.

Blake frowned; Carl hadn't even rolled his eyes or smirked as he talked, the way he usually would when recounting annoying his sister. Trying not to look up at the moody boy on the bed, he moved towards the table with the tray on it. He reached out for a soda; the sight of the cold beads of perspiration running down the side of the glass was making him thirsty.

Sipping delicately, the younger boy decided to break the silence. "Aren't you going to drop over at Hoodsey's today?"

Carl shrugged non-commitally, still staring at his wall. "I'll just call him later… he's probably still got the flu."

"Oh…" Blake frowned; Carl had shrugged the same way earlier, when Blake had suggested they head over to the Foutley's after school. Racking his brains for what to say next (he was rather tired of Carl's silent, contemplative demeanor), he suddenly remembered something. "Anyway, where's my book on vampire history, Carl? I accidentally left it here during my previous visit, remember?"

Carl finally sat up, and looked around his messy room. "Good question, that, Gripling… uhh, must be around here somewhere, I was looking at it the other day-"

He started searching for the item in question, and Blake grinned a little, as his best friend seemed to come back to life somewhat. He himself looked around at Carl's large, cluttered room, wondering where on earth Foutley could have hidden his treasured book.

"Could it possibly be in the Rocket, Carl?"

The "Rocket" was the alcove-like niche above Carl's bed, built like a huge compartment over it with a ladder. The whole structure was pretty solid - made of wood with a curtain for privacy, and the niche was large enough for four people to cozily fit in among some of Carl's possessions. Carl had considered naming it "Doghouse Junior", but his newfound fascination with shuttles at the time had won him over, and the name "Rocket" had stuck ever since.

The redhead turned his head to survey the Rocket thoughtfully, as he rummaged through his bedside drawer. "It could be-"

Blake was already climbing the ladder; Carl went through a pile of junk on the other side of his bed, trying not to stare at the considerable amount of exposed skin when the blonde's turtleneck hitched upwards. Pushing past the purple curtain, Blake peered into the dim space – he could see a stack of books and magazines in one corner, and he climbed inside, making his way over to look through them.

Suddenly, his palm pressed down on something that poked into him; he quickly drew his hand back with a slight yelp. Clenching his hand, he looked down at the culprit – a sharp-edged picture frame, facing downwards. Annoyed, he picked it up to place it next to the stack of books, but froze when his eye caught sight of the picture.

It was a picture of Carl and Noelle Sussman that had been taken nearly two years ago. Blake remembered that Carl had met up with her at some Psychic convention, and the two of them had apparently spent a great day together, despite their past. Blake had been utterly peeved about it, back then – or at least, he had been until Noelle had started dating a sandy-haired boy from her school who had the power of telekinesis. Carl had been upset when he heard, and the picture had disappeared from his collection of photographs on his bedside table; swept into a drawer out of sight.

Until now, apparently.

The blue-eyed gaze intensified as he wondered why Carl had suddenly taken it back out of hiding. Was he brooding over Noelle again? Blake had gotten the impression that the older boy had finally given up on her for good, but could he have just hidden his true feelings away?

The things that made it up to the Rocket, Blake knew, were the objects that Carl Foutley would spend generous amounts of his time on. His favourite books, sheets of paper filled with his schemes, jars of floating, gruesome things that he could stare at for hours (including his precious petrified eyeball) and his game boy. Gripling was an intelligent young man who knew his best friend well. If this single, dreaded picture had made it up here, then Carl had obviously spent a lot of time over it.

Was this the reason Carl had been acting so oddly lately? Was his mind always on… Noelle Sussman? A strange mixture of disappointment, sadness and betrayal settled over the blond.

"Blakey-boy! I found it!" Carl's triumphant yell broke into the younger boy's musings, but instead of making him smile, the sound seemed hollow in his ears. He backed out of the niche, dropping the picture frame blindly and going back down the ladder.

Carl was standing right behind him, and waved the book in his face when he turned around. "It was in my backpack, I forgot I'd put it there to give it back to you at school."

Blake took his book without looking at Carl or saying anything. He wasn't entirely sure, but a suspicious prickling at the corners of his eyes told him that if he didn't try to quell the uprising wave of emotions inside his slim body, he was going to make a fool of himself in front of Foutley.

Carl sensed that something was wrong; he frowned at Blake as the smaller boy turned away from him and shoved the book into his bag. "Hey Gripling, you okay?"

Blake's voice came out slightly strangled. "Everything's just peachy, Foutley. Absolutely peachy," he moved away and drained his glass of soda, setting it back onto the table, then hoisted his bag. "Well, must be off, got loads to do. I'll see you tomorrow then… I suppose."

"Blake?" Carl quickly crossed over to his friend before he could slip out the door. "Is something wrong?"

The young Gripling glanced up at the taller boy who was standing so close to him, his hand placed concernedly on Blake's shoulder. He was pretty sure he'd managed to keep his eyes dry, but he couldn't be sure of what his expression might give away – he shrugged Carl's hand off impatiently.

"I'm fine, Foutley." He paused, unsure of what to say next. Carl stared.

"Blakey-"

"See you around." Blake said shortly, and the next thing Carl knew, he had exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a snap.

A/N: Next chapter will be longer.. I hope you liked it! Don't be too disappointed by the turn of events ;) There is more to comeee