God damn, Phantom's shoulder hurt. It was one of those nights, wasn't it?

The blonde's whitened fingers clenched tightly into the sheets and his teeth grit together roughly. He was no stranger to pain, but this was agonizing nonetheless.

It was something around five in the morning following the day he had met Freud. Said man sat in a chair, keeping watch with a flick knife in his hand. His blue orbs eyed the door cautiously as he flicked open and flicked closed the knife periodically.

Phantom was finding it difficult to sleep through all the pain... And whenever his eyes slipped shut, horrifying images danced behind them, painting his inner eyelids with the red blood of the fallen as he could vividly see darkened eyes staring back at him, no longer human. Not even animalistic. Just... Dead.

"Freud," He murmured, finally fed up.

"Yes?" Out of the corners of his eyes, the experiment glanced at the injured man.

"I need alcohol. ...Please," Phantom added; it never hurt to be polite with someone who could easily stab you to death. The blond couldn't find it in him to trust the other man yet. Not in a world like this.

It was one of those nights. Where reality and nightmares blurred together at the edges, a tapestry of macabre. Maybe Phantom could drown his pain and wash away Aria's bloody face with something to drink.

"I can't help you there-"

"If you're going to scold me for drinking, I'm a grown man, thank you," Phantom bit out.

"I was going to say," Freud looked unamused at having been interrupted, "I don't have any on hand. If you need something to take the edge off, that's your own business."

"Oh," Phantom had the decency to look sheepish. To his defense, he was tired. "Have you looked in the cabinets out front?"

"No," Freud admitted. The redhead rose from his seat and, a smile twitching at his lips from the irony, he uttered, "Stay here."

"Like I have much choice," Phantom muttered, as the door slipped shut. Unless he wanted to be in a whole new world of pain.

The room was dark except for a sliver of light coming from the crack in the door. Phantom pressed the thin sheets closer around his aching body. The smell from the room no longer bothered him; he had grown used to it already. He found himself glancing around once more, and his eyes fell upon a worn hook in the wall upon which a tattered brown coat draped from. The blonde blinked his odd, amethyst eyes and found his chest aching as he wondered if the owner of the jacket was already dead, or worse.

Phantom shook his head. It didn't matter. He wasn't usually this sentimental. He only had himself to worry about- and now, maybe Freud.

It wasn't that the criminally inclined man wanted to become attached to this strange experiment. Phantom never wanted to rely on anyone. But if he had no one to talk to but himself- as much as he loved the sound of his own voice, he swore he would go insane.

Phantom laughed dryly, bitterly and wondered if maybe he was already insane.

Probably

When Freud returned, it was with two bottles of alcohol. He held them out to Phantom- a cheap brand of beer and a fine red wine. The blonde regarded the beer disdainfully and reached for the wine, uncorking it and taking a reckless gulp that burned throughout his mouth. It warmed his chest as it trickled down his throat.

Freud watched impassively as a small amount dripped down from the corner of Phantom's mouth.

It took some time before the tell-tale tingling throughout the blond's body began, along with the pulsing in his head. The pain was already beginning to feel less acute. He gazed at Freud.

"You should talk to me," Phantom suggested plaintively. Bottle hooked in between his fingers, he twirled it around, listening to the dim swishing of the liquid inside.

"About what?"

"Anything," Phantom snorted. "Everything. Tell me what your favorite color is for all I care."

Freud blinked, somewhat taken aback by his new companion's sudden straightforwardness, brought on by being tipsy. "Red."

"Morbid," Phantom commented dryly. "That's the color of blood."

"If that's how you think about it," Freud shrugged, fingering the gold trim of the bright red hoodie he was wearing. "And you?"

Phantom's hand clenched around the bottle, and it stilled. His lips curled up in an embittered husk of a smile. "Blue."

(The color of Aria's eyes.)

Freud didn't ask.

"Let's play a game," Phantom suggested idly.

"Mm?"

"I ask a question, you answer, then you ask me a question and I answer."

"And if one of us asks something the other doesn't want to answer?"

Phantom tapped his lip thoughtfully. "...We each get three 'passes'."

"It's your turn to ask me, I suppose."

Ah... What to ask? There was so much that lay unknown about Freud. But the first thing that came to mind...

"Are you gay?"

...

Silence lingered in the air and Phantom almost felt sheepish. Almost. It wasn't his fault he had no tact at the moment, he was starting to get drunk.

And then Freud doubled over laughing, eyes shut as he threw his head back with lilting chuckles slipping from his lips. This continued on for several minutes until Freud's laughter finally slowed to a stop, his face flushed from it. Still, an amused smile lingered on his face.

"How should I know? I've barely been in this world."

"Wait..." Phantom made a face. "How old are you?"

Freud held up a finger. "You already used up your question for this turn. My turn." He ignored Phantom's ensuing expression that was almost a pout.

"Are those contact lenses?"

Phantom blinked, taken aback by the question. His head tilted to the side in confusion until he remembered. ...It had been a while since anyone had asked him that.

"Oh. No, my eyes are naturally purple."

"I see."

Phantom wasted no time in firing off his next question. "So? How old are you?"

"Four," Freud deadpanned.

Wait wait wait what? "You're shitting me. I'll have you know that that wasn't a very funny joke."

"I have no recollection of who I was before they began experimenting with my dead body. I suppose I was somewhere in the realm of my twenties when I was alive and human, but I've only been who I am today for four years."

Experimenting with his dead body. Well, that was pleasant.

Freud looked thoughtful, as he most likely dug around for a question.

"Who was your first love?"

Phantom tensed. "Pass," He grit out.

"Sorry," Freud uttered gently. Phantom made no attempt to reply, feeling nauseous as he was.

"Were there any others, like you?" Phantom finally questioned after a period of silence.

"No," Freud replied somewhat sadly. "I'm the only one."

Another silence, before an amused glint came into Freud's eyes. "So? What about you?"

"Mmh?"

"Are you gay?"

"Bi, actually."

"Best of both worlds," Freud hummed.

"What's your favorite animal?" Phantom asked. He was starting to run out of questions; his head was feeling fuzzy.

"Dragon," Freud answered cheerfully.

"Dragons don't exist."

"Well, zombies weren't supposed to exist."

"Touche."

Phantom sighed. His eyes were beginning to feel heavier.

"You should sleep," Freud suggested. "I'll keep watching."

Phantom had no choice but to agree as his head fell back against the pillow. His thoughts vaguely wandered over the things he had learned about Freud as he fell to sleep, this time painlessly. This time, without phantasmagoric visions of Aria appearing in his mind's eye.

This time, with Freud watching over him. Maybe this time, 'one of those nights' wasn't so bad after all.