Phantom wished he could have woken up to pale golden sunlight streaming through a window, leaving speckles of warmth on pristine bed sheets. Phantom wished he could have woken up to strands of platinum blond left on the pillow beside his, the smell of burnt eggs and bacon tickling his nose. And for a moment, he nearly thought he did, trapped in the strange realm between waking and dreaming. He could almost smell the faint scent of Aria, sweet and light and minty, faint but addicting, and tangled in the sheets with him.

But the dream faded away, sand slipping through his fingers slowly but surely until he was left blinking his tired eyes at a dark, windowless room that smelled worse than Aria's bad cooking. The only strands of hair on the pillow were his own, curly blond ones, falling out from stress.

Damn, Phantom huffed softly; how was he supposed to keep on looking good if he was well on his way to bald spots, at this rate?

Oh well. He had thick hair; he'd be fine.

But Phantom missed those halcyon days, when it was just he and she.

"You're awake," Freud duly noted, and the blond's eyes flickered to his face. The experiment was still seated in the chair by the door, knife in hand, and Phantom found himself simply observing the other man. He had a straight nose coupled with an angular jaw and small ears that were amusingly cute. His eyebrows weren't unattractively thick, and Phantom could spy a small scar slashed through one of them, resting thin and pale above his eyelid. He had a lithe build, but not unathletic.

All in all, Phantom couldn't help but notice that he was hot.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts," Phantom grinned wryly. It really did; when he had first been shot, it had felt like a baseball bat slamming into his shoulder, leaving in its path a stabbing white hot pain. The man had to commend Freud's medical abilities, though; he was fairly certain that the redhead had found a way to remove the bullet, and now his arm was in a sling.

"I have good news," Freud announced. Phantom finally noticed that there was something resting by the other man's chair. The other reached for it and held it up. It was... A cane? "I found this. You'll need it to travel."

Phantom made a face at the proffered cane. "What am I, an old man?"

"No, you're disabled," Freud deadpanned.

"Like that's much better," Phantom mumbled. "Why do I need it? It's a shoulder wound, not a leg wound."

"To use as a weight for rehab."

Phantom looked at Freud strangely. That sounded like the kind of thing a doctor would say. "How do you have so much medical knowledge, anyways?"

"I.." The redhead seemed startled by the question. His face clouded over. "I don't know."

Phantom just shrugged it off. Of course Freud was going to be strange, he'd been through a lot.

"How long do you think we have to wait before we can get on the move? This place reeks."

"Between one and two weeks."

Phantom's brows knit together. "We don't have that long. The Rotters will find us."

"Regardless, you need time to mend. There's nothing we can do about that."

The blond blinked and tilted his head to the side. "Then let's just steal a car."

Did it still count as stealing, if the owner was dead? Phantom wondered vaguely.

"I've been around the apartments, here. They're completely trashed. How would we find car keys?"

"Oh, believe me," Phantom grinned, "I have my ways."

Said ways turned out to be a rather expansive knowledge and memory of where people tended to keep their keys. On that alone, the two embarked, Phantom heavily leaning on Freud due to his instability in his walking. His vision was blurred with pain, and he was sweating heavily, drops trickling down his nose to his chagrin.

Freud was tensed, and Phantom had to wonder whether the experiment was just unused to physical contact, or it was something else. The redhead kept covering his mouth.

Eventually, they made it to the door of a broken down apartment building. Phantom's fingers skimmed the walls as they passed each door.411, 412, 413... And the blond stopped at the last one; the door was splintered and an utter wreck, clearly having been broken down by forced entry. Phantom quickly checked under the filthy doormat- no key. He shrugged and ducked inside with the help of Freud.

The place was a disaster. Broken glass littered the carpet. Rats skittered about the floor, as the two stepped in hesitantly, startled by the footsteps. Mold was growing on the couch covers within the barely recognizable living room. A rancid smell hit the men quickly and harshly, causing them to wrinkle their noses.

This was the smell of death.

With a grimace, Phantom set off to do his work; he checked the countertops in the small kitchen, on the table, and even between the couch cushions. Nothing.

Finally, he sighed and ventured deeper within the apartment, his stomach turning as the smell became more and more pungent. With apprehension, he twisted the door handle to the master bedroom.

"Oh, Gods," Phantom whispered.

A dead, rotting body was set in the center of the room, hand outstretched as if trying to crawl away. Dried blood crusted the floor in messy hand prints. A swarm of flies buzzed around.

Phantom's vision swam but he determinedly took a step forward when he saw what he had come here for.

Clutched in the hand of the deceased, were car keys.

The blond knelt down and slowly reached for the hand, peeling the fingers away before snatching the keys away and shuddering violently. He hurriedly walked back and slammed the door behind him with trembling hands.

Freud finally walked over. "...Phantom?" He reached for the door knob himself.

"Don't," Phantom grit out, hurrying past the redhead. He simply held up the keys and then walked out as fast as he could, leaving behind the awful stench. But he couldn't leave behind the disturbing images.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Freud asked worriedly, hand reaching for Phantom's uninjured shoulder once they were outside.

"I'm fine-"

Phantom abruptly turned to the side and threw up on the ground.