Haunted by a Ghost

Chapter 1: Subtlety

'Subtle' was not a word that Michael Townley would use to describe his best friend, Trevor Philips. From the moment Michael met Trevor, he'd known that would be the last word he'd use when referencing the rugged male. In the very moment the duo had met, Trevor shot a flare gun into a man's eye—melting flesh burning in a mixture of flames and cartilage, a repugnant smell permeating the air. Yeah, Michael never even thought of subtlety being in the opposing male's nature.

And yet, that's exactly what Trevor was when it came to how he felt. Subtle.

It had started with a particular incident that took place one day after robbing a small store—they managed to swipe $2,000 off of a poor sap off the very outskirts of North Yankton about 30 miles south. Both men had been in their late twenties; and yet, each time Michael got any sort of score, he felt like the same teenager on the football field scoring a touchdown. He was sixteen again, hair cropped short with a stocky, muscular build—and he was the star quarterback, sprinting with all his might in his attempt to get a run-in. He scores! Trevor gave a hearty laugh at the irresponsibility and havoc the two men had caused—speeding at about 95 down the iced pavement leading back home.

"Fuckin' A, that was perfect T!" Michael grinned, counting the cash in the front seat of the car. "We keep at these small stores, we'll finally get somethin' big." The young male took a swig of his beer before handing it over to the opposing male, "Here, take a fuckin' drink—you deserve it." It hadn't been the first time he'd shared a drink with Trevor, but by the way the other male looked at it, he'd wondered if his saliva had somehow tainted it.

Regardless, Trevor smirked before taking a drink of the shared bottle, eyeing his best friend. "Don't mind if I do, Mikey. Don't mind if I fuckin' do."

____________

After their folly, Trevor pulled up near Michael's house, dropping him off near dinner time as usual. Trevor was getting used to picking up and dropping off Michael most days—they would attend to business, then kick back and watch the sensational sunset together before heading inside to his small home to share a few beers together until slumber took over them. Too many nights had Trevor fallen asleep on Michael's couch. Too many nights, Trevor refused to tell Michael that it was because he had no bed to return to at 'home.'

This night, however, felt a little different—there was something... Heartwarming, about being with Trevor. The guy was an absolute psychopath, and yet, there was something about him that lingered of home—a presence that Michael had not felt since he was a child and his mother would make homemade cookies for Santa Clause—back when he still believed in that bullshit, anyway.

Michael was about to get out of the car when Trevor finally spoke. He had been silent that day, and Michael hadn't quite been sure why—he figured he was just jittery from stabbing the guy in the store and then drinking while driving, but as his best friend spoke, he recognized that it was something more than just that.

"Hey, Mike—" Trevor murmured, and the opposing male turned to face him, a look of uncertainty on his face. They were close—too close—fuckin' debatably close. "Look, I uh..." He fumbled slightly, biting his lip like he'd meant to say something else but couldn't get it out. "You did real good today, yeah?" His eyes spoke an earnestness that his words couldn't. Immediately, Michael felt like the front seats of the car was far too small for the both of them as he recognized that fuck, he hadn't been mistaken, Trevor was definitely looking at his lips and, and—

"Daddy! Uncle T!" A faint familiar voice called from the front steps. Out came little Tracey clumsily, in boots far too large for her and one of Trevor's spare parkas that he'd left over at Michael's house, tripping in the snow as she ran out to the car where the two men resided. Trevor was the first to get out of the car, getting down on one knee before lifting up the young girl with one arm.

"Fuckin' little Tracey! There's my girl!" Trevor called, watching as the adorable young girl giggled because 'Uncle T said a bad word.'

"Hey, Trevor—" Amanda called, stepping outside. Her hair had been exceptionally long and straight, and she had the skin of a goddess—she was literal epitome of beauty in North Yankton; the 'town's talk' if you will. "Language." She spoke, raising her eyebrows.

"Ah, hey Amanda," Trevor remarked, perhaps a little more irritably than necessary.

"Hi honey," Michael responded before giving her a quick peck on the lips.

"Ewwww," Trevor remarked obnoxiously before looking at Tracey, who was also claiming "Ewww!" at the sight of her own parents kissing. "Jesus get a room you two!"

Amanda, despite being irked by Trevor's constant inhospitality, kept a light smile on her face, that could have easily been mistaken as a grimace. Regardless, Trevor was Michael's friend—his best friend—so she remained calm and composed despite her distaste for the other man.

"Hey, T," Michael called as Trevor let down Tracey, allowing her to run back over to her parents. "Do you wanna come in? Have a couple'a beers? Celebrate today's victory?" He asked, a grin on his face.

Trevor wanted nothing more than to say hell yes, but something stopped him abruptly. The juxtaposition felt all too real in that very moment—two men, the best of friends, standing outside in the snow at dusk—one single and quite obviously ostracized from the outside world, and the other at the brink of starting a family. Married, with a beautiful daughter. Of fucking course, Michael already had everything—he had a place to sleep, a wife to sleep next to, and his daughter to tuck into bed at night. Although his house was shitty, small, and unkempt, it was a house—compared to the in-and-outs of homelessness that Trevor had faced—nights of sleeping in the car, crashing at Michael's, and living in motel rooms praying that drugs and alcohol would save the excruciation. When they were together, they were the same—two boys who never grew out of being young—but at night, Michael could go home—and Trevor? He grasped at the invisible strands of love tethering him to the fellow male—but never quite getting close enough.

"Me? Oh, no, I'm good, I got business to take care of—" Trevor lied, blatantly.

"Oh yeah? What business, huh?" Michael inquired, a smug look on his face that claimed, 'I know you've got nothin' better to do.'

"Business that involves takin' care of this money we got, shithead!" He proclaimed, much to the continued distaste to Amanda who couldn't stand when either men swore in front of Tracey.

"Alright," Amanda proclaimed in an attempt to get Michael inside, "We should probably put Trace to bed anyway. Say goodnight to Uncle T, sweetheart," A slightly abrasive tone was present in her voice—letting Michael know it was time to go.

As Amanda carried darling Tracey inside, Michael remained out a little too long as both he and Trevor looked at one another, a strange concoction of feelings and borderline desire reminiscing about them. Once again, Trevor was far too fucking subtle. "I'll see you tomorrow, Trevor?" Michael called, peering from the door.

Trevor smiled.

"You bet."