"Maureen, I know you're my girlfriend, and I know you want to cook for me, but this, this is what qualifies as a bad idea," I insisted, hovering behind Maureen as she throws a couple pieces of our wall into the already slightly smoking trash can. Maureen cooking is a bad idea period. Pairing her cooking with the burning trash experience we had the other day is an even worse idea.

Maureen finally turns to me after I whine some more, a spoon in her hand and her hands on her hips. "Roger said we could use it as a stove." She points to the can with her spoon, "Look, he even wrote 'stove' on it," she says like it's the most convincing argument in the world.

Instead of point out directly how spacious her argument is I say, "If I spray-paint 'idiot' on his head will you believe that he's an idiot and trust me when I say that this is a bad idea?"

"I can hear you, you albino freak!" Roger calls from the kitchen, where him and Collins are huddled together in a vain attempt to hide a cupcake from me. The fact that I know it's a cupcake proves how futile their efforts are, and even though I've already pointed out their lack of discretion a couple times they still refuse to admit that they've been found. They're still trying to convince me that they're doing 'nothing'.

Even if I didn't know what they were doing I wouldn't accept that answer.

Collins and Roger are never up to 'nothing'.

Collins and Roger should never be trusted when they say they are up to 'nothing'.

I'm suddenly very worried what Collins and Roger are up to.

"If you smoke us out of the loft again I'm not going to be happy," I warn Maureen, trying to get a better look at the kitchen while still keeping an eye on the trash can. Roger nudges Collins and they both glare at me until I back away. Maureen pouts,

"It's your birthday baby- you have to be happy."

"Well I'm not," I mutter, folding my arms and getting ready to play the part of a spoiled kid who hasn't gotten that bike he wanted. Roger is giggling to himself and Collins looks over at me, grinning. "What the hell are you grinning at?" I demand. Roger giggles harder and I swear that he's cracked open the Stoli without me noticing.

"Collins and I got you a birthday present," Roger manages to get out.

I roll my eyes. "I know." The cupcake isn't much of a present, but I know that they got up early to go get it before I woke up, so it means a lot more to me than it really should.

Roger sobers up for a minute. I can see the gears turning in his head as he tires to figure out how I know. "It's not the cupcake," he says bluntly and Collins promptly smacks his head. "Ow! What the fuck Tom?" he hisses.

"There is no cupcake," Collins reminds. The suggestive tone in his voice suggests otherwise. Maureen darts behind him but I'm more concerned with the fact that they got me something other than the cupcake.

Which means that it's either going to be stolen or that it's going to scar me for the rest of my life. "Oh God," I moan, images of last years present flashing through my mind. I'm almost too afraid to ask. "What is it?"

"It's up on the roof," Collins says and Roger starts giggling once again.

I eye them suspiciously, "What the hell did you two do?"

Before Roger can answer me Maureen pushes past them with a cupcake in her hands, a single candle burning from the middle. I suddenly understand the Rogers hysterics and the hush-hush as the candle is modeled to resemble a… certain male organ.

I'm forced to sit down and listen to a couple renditions of 'Happy Birthday' before Maureen hands me the cupcake and allows me to blow out the candle. Roger is still singing his own personalized and much more devious version of the song while I pull out the candle, refusing to suck the icing off it, despite their urgings.

I honestly don't understand why they think I would in the first place.

"What did you wish for?" Maureen asks eagerly, sitting beside me on the couch and hanging off my arm.

"Normal friends," I respond dryly and everyone laughs but me. "You all seem to think I'm joking," I mutter under my breath, taking the cupcake and doing my best to split it into four equal pieces. Collins sits down on the armrest of the couch with his feet beside my lap and Roger finally calms down enough to settle on the coffee table.

I'm still convinced that he's already had a couple shots of Stoli. Roger maintains that a birthday (or any celebration for that matter) is an occasion to drink, and practices his belief constantly, whether or not he personally knows the person celebrating. The Life Café has made signs that prohibit the loud announcing of special days because of him. Which didn't really matter, because Collins swiped them after a couple days and 'modified' them. We were banned from the Life for a week, even though they didn't have any real evidence.

I smile from the memory. "Thanks you guys," I say, at that moment loving my life and knowing exactly why. I hold out a piece of cupcake for Collins, "Here."

"Nah Mark," he smiles, waving it away, "That's yours!"

"Well I want to share it," I insist, trying to force the crumbling cake into his hand. Roger leans across the space between couch and table, taking the cupcake from me,

"I'm not going to argue with that," he shrugs, smelling it and taking a small nibble.

There's a certain amount of disapproval in Maureen's voice as she says, "Of course you aren't Roger."

Roger sticks his blackened tongue out at her and then addresses me, "I'll have Maureen's piece if she doesn't want it," he offers, taking a lick of the icing.

"Everyone's getting some," I say firmly, offering another piece to Collins, who accepts it this time.

"Good thing Benny's over at Muffy's," Roger says, watching in fascination as Maureen eats her share from my fingers.

"Alison," I correct absently, also fascinated with Maureen eating, but more so with the feel of her tongue on my fingertips, which I know she's doing on purpose to get me all hot and bothered.

"Whatever," Roger mutters but I can feel Maureen getting to me. At least I know she'll keep it PG in front of company. Well, 14A if we're talking about the company being Roger and Collins. There's a lot to be said about being a couple and living in a loft with only one actual bedroom that isn't yours.

For a minute or so we savor our little experiences with chocolate delight, and me, with Maureen's expertise in the more intimate aspects of life. I'm in a happy bubble of delight, surrounded by friends and getting a preview of what Maureen promises to be a very, very mind blowing night when Collins interrupts with,

"What's that burning smell?"

The top two feet of the loft have filled with smoke that is coming from the trash can left unattended in the middle of the room. "MAUREEN!" I yell, startling her and Roger, who falls off his coffee table.

"Where's the fire?" he asks sarcastically after he realizes that no one's been shot and I may have overreacted just a bit.

"Behind you," Collins mutters and Roger turns to look as I haul Maureen up to her feet beside me.

"Fuck!" I yell, my peaceful, comfortable moment ruined. "Damn it," I yank Collins up, more pissed that no one else seems as remotely worried as I am than the fact it's the third time in two days that we've been smoked out of our home. Apparently Roger hadn't learned that you didn't start fires with gasoline on the first go. "Go open the window," I order Maureen, who surprisingly obeys.

"Aw, Markie," Roger whines from the floor, "It's going to be fucking cold again!"

I yank him up to his feet as well, now certain he's a little tipsy from the alcohol I can smell in his breath. "We'll close it when the fire dies down," I say to pacify him, wondering what the hell was on the wood we used to feed the fire. And by default, what the hell was on our walls. Something about hard wood and soft wood comes back to me but I don't say anything because I know Roger will start giggling and begin making inappropriate jokes and comments the second the words leave my mouth.

"Where are we going?" Roger asks as I steer him out the door and to the right. Maureen is right behind me and Collins is closing the loft door so that the smoke doesn't enter the building. After yesterday's incident I'm convinced that if we did indeed burn down our loft, all others in the steel building would remain unaffected.

"Mark, where are you going?" Roger demands, starting to fight with my grip. I stop pushing him and he turns to me, "Upstairs Mark," he says.

"Why would we go upstairs?" I ask and he starts to push me, just like I had pushed him.

"Present Mark, present," Roger reminds and our little train changes direction as Collins heads up the expedition to the roof.

It's even colder on the roof than I would have thought humanely possible, and Roger offers me his coat when he sees me shiver. "I'm warm!" he exclaims and it takes the collective effort of both me and Collins to wrestle him back into it the damn thing because he's not wearing anything underneath. Maureen laughs for five minutes straight until I manage to tug the zipper up and snap the buttons on the collar of it in place while Collins holds him down.

"Kinky Mark," Roger winks at me, giggling and I have an urge to slap him. I don't though, because that would probably bring on a whole tidal wave of his 'kinky sex' jokes.

"Who let Roger near the Stoli?" I demand as Roger latches onto my arm and refuses to let go. "Collins!" I accuse as I try to shake him off but he growls at me. I look down at him. "What. The. Fuck?" I ask him and he smiles and I have to admit, at that moment, I can see why there're always girls clambering over themselves to get to him. I notice Maureen eyeing him with a hint of jealousy and smack him on the top of his head, "Bad Roger," I scold, "Bad. Very bad."

Roger whines.

Maureen latches onto my other arm and a tug-of-war ensues between her and Roger with me as the rope.

Collins' has lit a joint in the miniscule amount of time there was between getting Roger back in his coat and my hitting his head.

Have I said before how not-normal my friends are?

Collins notices my gaze and offers his joint. "Want one?"

I shake my head, my hands already literally full. "Ow!" I protest, as my neck snaps one way and then the other. Collins has apparently grasped the seriousness of the situation because he grabs the back of Roger's jacket and yanks him back,

"You're hurting the little man," he points out. As much as I resent the nick name 'little man', I find myself underneath Maureen and in no position to voice said resentment.

Maureen positions her lower half between my legs and grins, trailing her hands suggestively down my chest. "Hey sexy," she winks, her wicked grin intensifying. She bends down to kiss me and I can feel my cords beginning to get a little tight.

Then she has to go and stick her hands under my shirt and I scream bloody murder into her alcohol tainted mouth because they're fucking cold.

Maureen promptly slaps me after she's collected enough to do so.

I rub my cheek but don't complain because, hell, even I feel I sort of deserved it. "Is everyone drunk or high but me?" I demand and Maureen giggles, lightly tracing her fingernail along what I'm sure is mark on my cheek. It tickles more than anything and I start squirming to get out from under her.

"Of course not Markie," she winks but I know she's lying. I just don't understand how it happened, when she had the time and how I couldn't have noticed before now.

Collins pulls Maureen off of me. "Come'on," he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, "You still need to get your present."

By now I've forgotten all about the present, and temporarily forget about it once again as I slap Roger's hands away from the zipper of his coat.

"I'm too hot!" Roger insists, glaring at me.

I fold my arms and glare right back at him, "Too fucking bad. It's my birthday." This single proclamation makes me King of the loft and Roger drops his itching hands.

"Bastard," he mumbles, tugging at the buttoned collar but faithfully keeping his fingers away from unclasping it.

Before I can get an insult out Collins is redirecting my attention for the umpteenth time, "Present Mark. Jeez, focus a little!"

I look around the roof and see nothing but white. I voice my observations and Roger pelts me with a snowball before disappearing behind a section of roof. When he appears again he's dragging something behind him that looks a lot like…

"Is that…" I trail off. I'm not sure whether to once again question the sanity of my friends or laugh my ass off.

I figure since I've already deemed my friends clinically insane, I laugh. Hard. And for a long time. So long that there are tears frozen onto the inside of my glasses, my face is even redder than it was from the cold and I'm doubled over, holding my stomach because it hurts to move or breathe.

"I thought he didn't drink or smoke anything," I hear Maureen comment at one point. Collins responded with something, and Maureen 'oh'-ed about it, but I was the only one laughing.

Apparently they don't find anything amusing about this. They don't find anything amusing about this. My crazy friends who think making fires indoors with only a trashcan is a good idea. My friends who gave me a penis candle for my birthday cupcake. My friends- - the insane- - don't find the ping-pong table Roger pulled out of hiding, the least bit amusing.

This train of thought makes me laugh even harder.

"I thought it was a good gift," Roger said grudgingly and I know if I was able to look up I'd see him with his hands shoved into his pockets, sulking.

And I want to say that it was a good present, that I'm laughing because it's so perfect, so… us, but I can't.

I'm laughing too hard.

"Can a person laugh that long?" I hear Maureen ask a little while later.

Roger responds with, "Who fucking cares," still in a sulk, and Collins says,

"He's bound to run out of air soon…"

When I finally compose myself enough to look up, Roger kicks a sizable portion of snow at my face. "Hey!" I protest and he glares at me. "What?" I demand but he's giving me the cold shoulder and won't talk to me. "Guys?" I ask. I push myself onto my feet and see that Maureen and Collins are giving me the exact same looks as Roger. "What?" I ask, confused and a little indignant.

What, so Roger and Collins can be pyromaniac, and the second I have a laughing fit there's something wrong?

"Guys, I love it," I say, but they don't look like they believe me. "Seriously! Seriously. Guys… Guys?"

They're really starting to worry me. Other than Roger kicking snow at me, neither of them has moved whatsoever.

"Guys?" I ask again, wishing there was some kind of breeze so I could see if their hair moved or if I've somehow stopped time. "Look, I'm sorry, but you have to admit it's really funny that…" I trail off. I turn around to Collins, who's bound to be the most rational. "Collins, I didn't- what the-"

Roger's arms are clamped around my shoulders and I'm falling to the ground with him on top of me. "Roger!" I scream, confused, scared, frustrated and wondering if I'm going to join the insane-rank of my friends.

"We were just messing with you boy," Collins grins, pulling Roger off me and once again giving me a hand up.

"Ha ha," I laugh dryly, "Very funny."

"I thought it was," Maureen giggles, wrapping her arms around me and landing a sloppy kiss on my cheek. I wipe it away before her saliva has a chance to freeze to my cheek.

"Come play with me," Roger demands, throwing himself dramatically between me and Maureen and forcing us apart with a chop of his arms.

"Roger, I'm not sure-"

"Shut the fuck up Markie," he sing-songs, sobering up. He grabs the sleeve of my jacket and Collins thrusts a ping-pong paddle into my hands as me and Roger pas s him. It takes a second for the paddle to register in my fingers and I look over to Collins, attempting to figure out were the hell it'd come from.

Collins grins at me and wiggles his eyebrows, "Make us proud Snowflake!" he shouts and I scowl at him until Roger almost gives me whiplash.

"You're on that side Mark," he instructs, stopping and shoving me so quickly I stumble and fall into the table; for a moment I imagine my kidney exploding from the impact, and the air leaves my chest.

Roger takes a second from his extraneous warm-up on the other side of the table to stare at me. "You okay Mark?" he asks, remarkably serious.

I nod and peel myself off the shiny green surface. "Fine," I breathe and Roger grins,

"Good, 'cause you're gonna get your ass kicked! Ball!" he shouts.

First of all, A, I'm not entirely sure how Roger manages to catch the tiny white ball, which just happens to blend in perfectly with the snowy surroundings, and second of all, B, I really want to know where the heck Collins is hiding all this stuff. And let's throw in C, while we're at it: how the hell did they get a ping-pong table up here?

"You ready to meet your maker?" Roger taunts and I raise an eyebrow, but refrain from responding. I'm not sure if Roger's sober or drunk, but it's certainly easier to just let him have his way, either way.

Holding up the ball, Roger closes one eye- aiming, I assume, and then lets it drop to the table. He lets it come back up… and takes a whack at it.

And he misses.

I can't say I'm surprised.

"You gotta hit the ball, Roger," Collins comments from the side and I nod,

"Hitting the ball would be nice," I agree.

"Shut the fuck up," Roger growls in response, before winding up to take another hit. The same process is repeated.

He misses.

Again, I'm not surprised.

I feel the tell-tale signs of a grin.

"Shut the fuck up Mark," he growls even though I haven't said anything and I start a full-out grin. I hear Maureen laughing with Collins. Roger gets ready, and with a comically intense look of concentration I've never seen before, he finally manages to hit the sucker. "Take that!" he yells and I watch it hit his side of the table and then promptly bounce off and into the snow. "Damnit!" he screams in frustration.

"Wow," I say, watching him retrieve the ball, "Roger can't play at all..."

He lines himself up, "Let me try again," he mutters.

I almost feel bad for him when the ball makes it over the net, but misses the table. Picking it up, I hit it easily to his side, and he hits it back, grinning.

It's a miracle.

"Fuck ye-" His celebration gets cut short when, after I've hit it to him, he hits it and it goes flying off into the whiteness. Maureen moves to go find it among the mass of snow and I watch the spectacle that Roger was becoming.

"Fuck!" he yells grabbing his head with his hands and acting, honestly, like the world's literally ending. "I hate this game," he proclaims in this position, very melodramatically, "And I hate the world!"

"Some people just suck at stuff," Maureen stats, shrugging as she hands me the ball. It's cold, and I really don't want to be holding it for much longer.

"You ready Roger?" I ask and he shakes his head. "What?"

"This time you have to at least try for it," he says, "Dive for it if you have to."

He's so serious I can't say no. I hit the light ball to him gently, getting ready to spring into action, fully committed to dive at it if need be.

Need was be.

I was also diving to my right; which wouldn't have ordinarily mattered, but Roger had placed the ping-pong table in such a position that it was right beside the glass portion of our roof, which also coincidently happened to be to my right.

Needless to say, I dove into the glass roofing- almost straight through it in fact.

I felt the glass break away under me, and the only thing that kept me on the right side of it was the metal reinforcements between the panes of glass, and Collins' strong hand hauling me back onto the rooftop. "Jesus Mark," he hisses, but I can see the relief and worry in his eyes, "Never do that again boy."

I defend myself with, "It was Roger's fault!"

I'm not really sure why I'm more shaken up than I am. I mean, I did almost plummet to my death- or at the very least, very painful recovery- seconds ago.

It probably just hasn't hit me fully yet.

And it's probably because things are starting to get fuzzy and I'm almost positive that there was an extra something in the cupcake they'd gotten me that definitely wasn't powdered sugar.

Because I did plummet. To my death. Almost. Or did I?

"Guys," I say, trying to keep a straight face, but it's almost impossible, "What the fuck'd you do to me?"

"Markie's gonna have fun TO-NIGHT!" Maureen screams, and I grin in that lazy, I-have-not-a-care-in-the-world-and-I'm-totally-gonna-let-my-friends-take-care-of-me-tonight-because-damnit-I-deserve-it, kind of way.

I remember I did have a lot of fun.

I just don't remember exactly what that fun entailed.

There was a hole in the glass the next morning though, so I knew I remembered that part- and it was also warm inside the loft for the first time in a long time.

All in all, I think everything worked out just fine.