Phantom

10.

Brett

Brett has always wanted to do this. Drinking with Eddy. Being an adult. Talking about well…life. Sure, Brett could talk about life while Eddy could talk about being dead.

The last time they drank together in Eddy’s room, it was like a child’s game. The only thing he remember is the short excerpt of a conversation right before he downed his third shot.

“Shut up, Brett. You’re going to wake my parents up,” Eddy hissed when Brett laughed at his another stupid joke.

"But this is sooo funny. What did a violist say to another violist?"

Without even hearing Eddy's reply, Brett cracked up, spilling the drinks on the floor.

Brett saw Eddy roll his eyes with exasperation and that made him laugh even harder. Luckily, Eddy's parents were still asleep downstairs, the TV noise drowning all the other noise.

"Damn, Eddy. I heard you won another competition last week," Brett muttered as he leaned his head to the bed, sitting on the floor.

"Yeah, it was nerve wrecking. There was another guy in front of me who was wildly good. I don't understand how I won to be honest," Eddy blushed, taking a sip of his drink.

"You're going to be a soloist, right?"

"Hopefully."

"Damn," Brett hugged his knees, rocking back and forth.

"Why?"

"You're going to travel all around the world and be famous. And I will be stuck here, without any future, and you're going to forget about me," Brett whispered, chuckling nervously.

Brett's eyes followed another ghost passing the room. The ghost was a young girl in a pajama, possibly a thousand years old, just having an afternoon walk. The girl vanished, walking past the room. How could he possibly be normal, dream about a reasonable future when he see things like this?

Eddy followed Brett's gaze, seeing well, nothing.

"You're never going to understand how I feel," Brett murmured.

"Why do you say that?"

"You don't know what I feel. What I see."

"Tell me about it," Eddy's eyes pierced through Brett and Brett avoided Eddy's gaze.

Brett wasn't risking himself sent to the psychiatric ward so he avoided the true answer.

"There are things that just mess up my brain," Brett whispered. Then he looked at Eddy, downing his third shot.

"And you are one of them, Eddy Chen."

And that was all he remembered. The closest he got to telling Eddy about his feeling.

And now, those teenage years were over. Brett wanted to talk with Eddy with a real glass, legal age, having a mature conversation, hopefully? Still, Eddy's alcohol tolerance seemed to be lower once he became dead. Brett saw Eddy swaying back and forth on a chair. Brett was a little buzzed himself but not too much.

Brett laughed at Eddy's wild absurdity. Haunting house and play the violin? Yeah, go do it Eddy. It would be his pleasure really.

"Are you drunk?" Brett asked.

"No!" Eddy replied, shaking his head, clearly drunk.

Brett closed the bottle and stood up.

"I think I will go to bed now. You can drink more by yourself if you want."

Brett smiled at drunk Eddy mischievously.

"Do ghosts have hangover?"

Eddy stared back at Brett with blank eyes. Of course he wouldn't know. He's just dead. Brett laughed, seeing Eddy crash his head to the table.

"I hope not," Eddy muttered.