Title: Noisy
Author: Gh0st
Series: LOST SOULS
Warning: None.
Disclaimer: The lovely Ghost and Steve are, I hate to say, not mine. They belong to Poppy Z. Brite, the lucky lady.
Notes: A 15 minute fic based on the word 'Noisy'

Steve dragged the pillow over his eyes, sighing deeply as he would of been contented to let the couch swallow him up completely for the sake of sleeping again. And of course, because it was Ghost's creepy old couch that creaked in the night with no-one on it, Steve wouldn't off been too surprised if it had swallowed him up.

He'd headed out in search of beer, leaving his psychic friend resting in the bed room soundly. He didn't want to be a bother to him when he was just popping out for a six-pack. However, the old car, as expected, had decided it was too tired and died part way home.

It had taken five hours to get the damned thing working again.

Even a scary, possibly cursed, couch was greeted with a strange kind of silent joy when Steve had stumbled in and flopped on the moaning old thing. Some how, during the course of getting home, the six pack became a one pack and to his discomfort a nasty twanging noise had awoken him at some un-Godly hour in the morning. Un-Godly for someone slightly hung over would be any time before twelve.

He turned his head toward the bedroom, wincing at the horrible screeching sounds that came from the room before growling, dragging himself to his feet and prowling to the doorway.

All in all, he wasn't too surprised to see Ghost sat cross-legged on the bed with Steve's guitar settled in his lap like some kind of stringy cat. From the noises the thing made when Ghost's fingers ran up and down it, it may well have been some kind of horrible, screaming cat.

"...what the fuck are you doing...?" Steve grumbled, moving a hand to collect the instrument from the boy on his bed, who simply smiled up at him.

"I was playing.", came the casual reply.

"...it's nine in the morning..."

"It's one in the afternoon. The clock doesn't work."

Ah. That would explain why it had been nine four times between Steve sleeping and waking up in the night.

"You can't play guitar.", Steve stated matter-of-factly, placing the abused instrument on the floor.

Ghost gave a little mock pout.

"You just have no taste."

"I know I ain't too happy about that thing vibrating in my ear when my head is killing me."

Ghost continued to smile that ever contented smile he had. It was annoying. Even when Steve was mad with him he just smiled. He never got mad back. And for as many times as Steve could remember wanting to smack the crazy little hippy, he never could because of that smile.

"Did you want to sleep on the bed?", Ghost asked, tilting his head to the side and peering at Steve with his pale eyes.

"Yeah. Shift your ass."

Of course, Steve didn't wait for Ghost to do it himself, he shoved lovingly into him, lightly picking him up to shift him further up the bed before using his lap as a pillow. He always seemed to smell faintly of some sweet herb Steve never knew the name of.

As he was drifting off again, he began to hear a soft humming. Without opening his eyes, he gave Ghost a glare and he silenced.

Not a minute later it started again, so another glare was in order. Then silence again.

And then again.

"Jesus, Ghost...you're fucking noisy, you know that?" Steve grumbled, shifting himself a little but not moving.

Ghost lay a hand on his friend's head, looking down at him as the digits trailed through his dark strands.

"Does it bother you that much?"

There was a little pause, then Steve half opened his eyes to glance at Ghost.

"...naw...just belly-aching..."

"I know."