happy pills ~a treebros ghost au~

loud music

it's almost 12 as i watch the credits roll, the little bat dogs flapping around the names as they scroll by. i shut my laptop and turn to evan only to find him not there. i look around the room, searching for my ghostie friend.

he's nowhere to be seen and i can't feel him looking at me like i could before.

"...evan?" i call out, untangling myself from the blanket and standing up. "dude, hiding from me is no fun for anyone, i can't see or hear or feel you. you're a ghost."

i walk around my room, searching for my ghost bud. why do i even care? i don't. but my sister is the type of person to think there's a ghost and go on and on about it until i have to leave because she's so convinced i got stoned and summoned a spirit (which has totally has never happened even once). i don't want ghostie boy to get exorcised, i need to know more about him.

"evan?" i call out again, cracking open my door and peering out. he's not in the hallway and i can't be bothered to leave my room so i shut the door and shrug. he's a ghost, if he wants in he can come in.

i look through my stack of records, find three cheers for sweet revenge (i would kill for this—or any mcr record... for legal reasons, this is an exaggeration) and put it on the record player, skipping to you know what they do to guys like us in prison and pulling out my sketchbook. i sit at my desk and open to a blank page where i sketch a random character sitting in a bubble bath. no clue why, just felt like it. i was polishing some of the flowers, which i'd decided to throw in there, when i noticed i hadn't turned the record over yet it was playing hang 'em high which was on side b. uh...

"evan?" i look over at my record player. yeah, side b, i'm not wrong. "did you flip my record or have you let all your demon ghost buddies into my house? and if so why y'all touching my records, get your filthy hands off 'em. those are my most prized possessions."

"sorry." someone says from right beside me, i jump, scattering my pencils, and whip my head around.

"dude, this shit is freaky." i hiss, scrambling to fix the small mess.

evan stands beside me, looking guilty. "sorry."

"what did we say about saying sorry?"

"right. sorry." he realizes what he did and shakes his head quickly, retreating into his polo.

i groan and drop my head onto the desk. "i'm not gonna kill you, you're already dead. what're you even afraid of?"

"nothing!"

i shrug and look over at my record, flipping it back over to side a and playing i'm ok (i promise).

about halfway through the song, evan speaks up. "it's very loud."

"i'm not turning the volume down."

"n-not the volume just... in general."

"well it's great music and i have no records that are 'quieter' that i would ever play so just deal with it."

"yep, yup, of course, totally, no problem, my bad."

i glared at him as he slowly leaned over to look at my records. "can i see what you have?"

"no changing the record until i let you?"

"oh. obviously. of course."

"then go ahead."

he sat criss cross on the floor and took the first few jackets off the stack. "my chemical romance... panic! at the disco... all time low... paramore..." (i actually have a p!atd record and a paramore record *proud emo preening*)

"i'm emo, i know."

"oh. i don't know any of these bands, actually."

"whAt?"

"sorry?"

"none of them?"

"...no?"

"well we're listening to mcr—my chemical romance, right now."

"neat."

"remind me to put on some p!atd afterwards."

"ok." he set the records aside and grabbed some more. "penelope scott... green day... gerard way... more my chemical romance... fall out boy..." he looked up at me. "i'm going to guess these are all pretty emo as well?"

"not penelope scott so much, but she's a goddess so we play her music anyways." (just say it's set in a covid-less 2020 cause i love her)

"i don't know any of these bands." evan declared a few minutes later, surrounded by records.

"what do you even listen to?"

"uh... podcasts."

i squinted at the ghost. "yeah, that tracks."

"it-it does?"

"i mean, what type of music would you even be into?" he sat in thought for way too long to think of good music genres. "i rest my case."

the record came to an end and i shuffled through the pile to find death of a bachelor, which i'd say i'd put on.

"tonight we are victorious, champagne pouring over us, all our friends, we're glorious. tonight we are victori—" i notice him looking at me. "what?"

"you sing really good."

"yeah. duh. cause i'm the best." hahaaaaaaa i see what i'm doing here: pretending to be cocky to not reveal my insecurities. (calling myself out)

"oh, y-yeah. of course."

how does everything make this guy anxious? usually the 'i'm the best' thing backfires on me but i could say anything and he'd be like 'of course, yeah' (calling myself out, yet again)

"you look tired." i point out, after the fifth yawn he's awkwardly tried to stifle. "i'm not going to sleep whether or not you are so you might as well take a nap. can you even sleep?"

"i can sleep."

"great. then do it, i don't want to have an exhausted corpse follow me around tomorrow." maybe it's impertinent to assume he's going to follow me around tomorrow but i can see ghosts (apparently) and he's a ghost so who the fuck else would she go to, huh?

"good night." he curled up on the floor in the middle of all of my records, which was mildly annoying until i remembered those were technically ghost records and not real records.

—~•~—

the filleriest of filler chapters, but i needed to publish something and not every chapter can be important.