Phantom

11.

Eddy

The apartment got silent after Brett went to bed. Or well, “silent”. Eddy's uncoordinated footsteps as he walked around the small living room looking for something to entertain him wasn't exactly quiet. At least he hadn’t woken Brett up yet.

He grabbed another shot of the vodka despite his worry about possibly getting a hangover. Slowly he lifted it to his lips while dumping down on the couch.
“Motherfuck..!” he exclaimed out loud as he fell through the couch. Confused as to why he suddenly was sitting inside the couch instead of on it, he realized the shot glass had spilled over the couch. Thankfully, the glass hadn’t fallen to the floor as Eddy sat on the floor with only his forehead sticking up through the cushions.
“Well that was unexpected”, he mumbled to himself, giggling quietly to not wake Brett. He pressed a hand in front of his mouth. Shit, couldn’t wake Brett. He needed to sleep, because he was alive still.

He tried to get out of inside the couch, but ended up still on the floor next to the couch. Maybe he should check if Brett had woken up from all the noise he’d made? To apologize for waking him up? He wasn’t sure, as his drunken mind wasn’t really making any sense to him.
Somehow, he managed to lean on the couch again without just passing through it again, and got to his feet.
“What the hell was that though?”, he asked himself quietly, looking from the couch to himself and back to the couch. Was this a thing he could do? Pass through stuff, like a proper ghost?
He leaned down to touch the couch again, but this time the cushion just gave in. He furrowed his brows.
“What the heck man”, he mumbled, before remembering Brett was still sleeping and placing a hand in front of his mouth again to shut himself up. Definitely had to apologize for that, definitely.

Eddy moved to Brett’s bedroom door and tried the door handle… except he just passed through it. He let out an annoyed groan. How the heck would he get through that door now? He groaned with annoyance and leaned his head against the door… except instead of resting his head gently on the wooden door, he simply fell right through it without even noticing at first. Moments later he hit the floor of Brett’s bedroom with a soft thump.
“Motherfucker”, he mouthed to himself, even though it didn’t hurt to fall over like that. He was just surprised. really. Dead and all that…

He sat up and looked over at Brett from his position on the floor. Luckily, he hadn’t woken up from Eddy’s drunken clumsiness. He slowly got up to his feet and moved towards the door to leave Brett alone when sleeping but freezing as Brett turned in his sleep. Shit.
He turned slowly towards Brett again, expecting a shocked and possibly angry look, but found only rosy cheeks, slightly parted lips and soft snoring. Still asleep, thankfully.
That feeling in the bottom of Eddy’s stomach returned as he studied Brett’s soft features in the dim room, and he caught himself smiling like an idiot. He didn’t look like he had aged a day since they parted ways all those years ago, really. He looked just like after they had played video games that time, when Brett had fallen asleep on the couch. The night Eddy put a name to what he felt for him.

Before he knew it he was standing next to Brett’s bed, to get a closer look. He did realize it was kind of creepy, but he just had to. It was like it wasn’t he who decided, even though it definitely was.
Brett’s breathing was calm and slow, and light snores echoed through the room. Eddy licked his lower lip, tasting some of the alcohol from earlier. Brett’s cheek looked so soft, and the need to reach out and slowly caress it… It was simply overwhelming, and moments later he reached his cold hand out and light like a feather ran the back of his fingers from his cheekbone and down to his jaw before retracting his hand. He quickly took a few steps back to the door, feeling like he had done something illegal. He hit the door with a new soft thump as he failed to pass through it, and reached for the handle and let himself out with a confused look on his face.
He laid down on the couch and squealed into the decorative pillow as butterflies came back to life in his stomach. The room was spinning from the alcohol still, but he didn’t care. The feeling of Brett’s cheek against his fingers was far more intoxicating.